#so no children necessary for this joy to exist. just another way for him to get there

[rosieofcorona]

i don't often headcanon my faves as parents, but there's a charm to solas as a father that just...appeals to me. i've seen other folks posit that he'd never talk down to a child, and i agree with that fully, but he's got a silly streak for all his stoicism, and i think he'd also humor them quite a bit. i can see him wanting very much to foster their imagination, especially with art and play and storytelling.

he’d let them paint murals alongside his own. he’d play pranks with them (DAI lizard prank callback, anyone?). he'd restructure some of the great elven histories as bedtime tales, and not really skip out on the hairier details, and then encourage thoughtful critique of said bedtime tales. intentionally or not, he'd almost definitely raise a small historian, who'd have no problem correcting any inconsistencies in his recollections. a real treat for fen'harel, i'm sure.

in my view, he'd cherish the chance to see and experience both the fade and the waking world through fresh eyes. mythal says he watched the world for so long as a spirit, only to suffer when he joined it himself. i think this would be a chance to start over, to see things as a child sees them, to rediscover old joys and fascinations. centuries of wonder made wondrous again.

and i think, too, that it would give him an opportunity to teach someone as he's always wanted to. a new little spirit to nurture and guide. someone who loves him right from the beginning, and who relies on his wisdom. who lets him meet his purpose, and loves him unquestioningly, the way lavellan does.

[ceapa-mica]

Family Life: Exile 🪁 - a Thrawn headcanon

My fingers did a high speed race on the keyboard writing this hc. I'm surprised they didn't fall off. 😄

Enjoy!

🔞 This is slightly NSFW 🔞 + angsty

Taglist: @bingbongooo @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @ele-millennial-weirdo @enaelyork @jesslove23 @thrawnalani @thrawnsboots @twincesskorisoka @davesrightshoe @shoe-bag @tearyeve @blackddarling @obbicrystaleo

Life in exile is not exactly easy, especially when confronted with the many dangers of Peridea and with an always curious daughter to keep safe…

In the blink of an eye you're confronted with a new reality - exile. (or in Thrawn's case exile from an exile lol) You quickly realize how dangerous Peridea is with the amount of troopers getting killed by faceless bandits while out exploring.

Since then Thrawn only sends out scouts when absolutely necessary and keeps most of the crew aboard the Chimera, safe for those in search of food. Otherwise you couldn't sustain the entire crew for much longer.

At first you're mad at your husband. You blame him for being exiled with no way to contact your family and friends, and you're not the only one.

You try to shield your daughter from the cruelty of the exile. There's a designated safe outpost for your crew where you spend some of your time. Catching fresh air and going for a walk under Peridea’s cloudy sky can lift the spirits.

She loves flying her hand crafted kite on the outpost’s rocky plateau. One time she actually put her little ysalamir on her kite. It survived, but what followed was a reprimand from her dad, telling her not to needlessly put lives at risk and that the lizard certainly didn't have any fun clinging for dear life onto that piece of fabric in the air. She never did it again.

Since there is no holonet connection on Peridea you and Thrawn teach your daughter everything she would usually learn at school in your quarters. That can't replace actual lessons with other children though. You soon realize that your daughter misses her peers from her holonet classes.

Not just the lack of friends her age but the entire situation affects your daughter’s behavior. She becomes less playful and more serious, leading to her being eager to learn more self-defense in her father’s dojo. Thrawn thinks it's a good thing. You are worried though.

Another thing you're worried about is the presence of the nightsisters. They claim that they're able to contact someone from your Galaxy, so Thrawn insists on working with them to return back home. You don't trust them though and keep your daughter as far away from them as possible.

Look, the perfect marriage doesn’t exist. Even your marriage with Thrawn has its ups and downs. You argue quite often during your time in exile. Thrawn never raises his voice though. This maker-forsaken planet weighs down on everyone’s mood, including yours.

Makeup sex helps a lot with that. Thrawn leaves more marks on you than usual. After so many years your sex life is still going strong. It's the perfect way to let out the pent up frustration with your unfortunate situation.

You’re not the only ones using sex to cope. Among your crew a few women end up pregnant and some not so secret weddings are taking place.

Meanwhile your daughter finds joy in learning how to ride a howler. She's not allowed to leave the outpost unaccompanied, a rule she doesn’t like at all. She still has this neverending thirst for knowledge and thinks the death troopers joining her on her trips through the Peridean wasteland are just slowing her down or disrupting her studies of the local flora and fauna.

One day she actually leaves on her own and gets captured by bandits. Fortunately your husband is a strategic mastermind able to track her down before it's too late. To say Thrawn was mad is an understatement. He reprimands her in a dangerously low voice and grounds her for an entire month. He was actually as scared for her safety as you.

Tbh Thrawn feels guilty af since you’re in this exile because of a mistake he made, and during that incident with the bandits he felt he let his family down again. He orders his best people to take out those bandits once and for all to make this place a little safer for all of you.

At the point your kid is 10 years old she's super interested in collecting and documenting rock fossils she finds on trips through the rocky wasteland. Thrawn thinks they are beautiful, telling her that nature is truly the greatest artist. A few fossils even find their way into his art collection.

Most people would consider a 10 year old too young to use a blaster. Thrawn on the other hand thinks it's the right age to get her used to the weapon. He takes it upon himself to teach her to shoot and gifts her her first blaster. He sleeps better at night knowing she can defend herself from a distance. The circumstances make it necessary for her to learn this skill this early, at least that's what he tells himself.

You take your daughter to the outpost almost every day at this point and show her how she can help out. You both help wherever you can. Collecting firewood and herbs for tea, cooking stews, building shelter, and even taming wild howlers.

Thrawn doesn't join you at the outpost, he's busy keeping everything running. Even in exile he takes his job as seriously as ever.

When you and your daughter return to your quarters at nightfall you can barely keep your eyes open. So when Thrawn returns after a busy day of keeping his troops motivated, and finds the loves of his life cuddled up on the sofa waiting for him, he feels at peace. He knows wherever his life takes him, you will follow.

Your daughter shows interest in helping babysit the offspring of your crew. Thrawn agrees, glad his little girl accepts that kind of responsibility. Soon she, and a few junior officers, look after a bunch of rambunctious toddlers. It keeps her occupied and playing with other children, despite them being eight+ years younger, benefits her mental health. She becomes more playful again and no longer feels like she has to grow up fast in this exile.

Thrawn is still busy working on a plan to escape Peridea. Seeing your daughter adapting to this exile makes you less worried for her. In fact, you get used to Peridea as well, without losing hope of returning home one day.

You know how much pressure lasts on Thrawn's shoulders, and you do your best to help him deal with it. He's so glad his family has his back at all times, and he knows that he's not really far from home, because his home is his family - you and your little girl, right there with him. As long as he's got you both, he is exactly where he needs to be the most. He's determined to return to your home galaxy though. He still has his mission that needs to be finished. Then, and only then, he will be able to introduce his loved ones to his homeworld and his people.

There is one more family life hc I'm planning. One thing we haven't explored yet is how Thrawn (+you) will deal with your daughter once she hits puberty. That will be the next and last family life hc coming soon.

[pinkinsect]

Oughh hi I was the previous anon and the one you just responded to... I wanted to add one more thing and it's related to the Kaiser and Shidou parallels. I'm not sure if I'm just overthinking but to be honest... I think one factor that can connect both Shidou and Kaiser together is how they treat their midfielders. You see how Shidou treats the midfielders who make him explode (Sae and Charles for this instances) giving them so much affection. And then you see Kaiser treat Ness like absolute ass, like a dog which he can abandon at whatever time he wants (And to which, he already did!) Maybe I am reaching, but I think it's a pretty interesting thing to look at. Perhaps it is connected someway or another to the parallels between the two? Perhaps Shidou also like Kaiser, got abused by a parent/guardian, who depraved him of getting the life he wants. I think it's possible too, considering the main characters in his favourite media such as Chainsaw Man and A Clockwork Orange

hello again!! i haven't thought about their respective treatment of midfielders together before (i have for kaiser, but not so in depth for shidou), and that is a pretty interesting point.

for a tl;dr, shidou and kaiser have different reasons for playing football, and different sources of joy from it—as such, they treat midfielders far differently. for kaiser, football is for himself, and while football is shidou's method of leaving proof of existence, his philosophy takes into account that other people can "explode," and are necessary for his own explosions.

(i ended up saying more than i thought i would in more words than necessary so the rest is under the cut!)

we have a lot more info on some of why kaiser acts the way he does—he was repeatedly regarded as subhuman, to the point it's how he still views himself. we see in ch 262 that "piece of trash" is used as a kanji spelling for "michael," and in 261 he contrasts himself to his teammates who were born humans—"wanted humans."

i think one reason for the difference between the two of them is that for kaiser, football was (and still is, in his mind) the only way out of his situation. shidou, on the other hand, wasn't affiliated with any team, so it really seems like there's less stakes to it.

the nature of kaiser's abuse left him with some sort of sense he was intrinsically flawed—while he never explicitly said it, all of kaiser's father's actions told kaiser that his mother, and even worse than her, kaiser's existence, are the reason he was abused—shidou seems to take these things less personally. if we look at his monologue in chapter 130, his viewpoint is that people hurt other people in order to leave behind proof of their existence. i found it interesting that he also mentioned having children with that—is it that people hurt each other for the same reason they choose to have children? does he think it's inevitable that children are hurt? or are they just all in that category to him?

kaiser and shidou have both escaped their previous circumstances, but the impact on their senses of self, and the role football played in their escape, is likely very different. kaiser needed to become the best because he was afraid of "returning to that hellhole again" (his words in ch. 262)—and to be honest, to have something to make himself feel worthwhile. shidou plays because it's his way of making himself "persist in the memories of others (ch. 130), but also because it brings him joy.

so i do think that they both had difficult childhoods that led to the way they view football and their end goals, and that's reflected in the treatment of their midfielders, like you said.

i think because kaiser views himself as subhuman, he needs someone worse than him—a dog. and he needs to crush others to feel joy (ch. 207). the joy is in the ascension, not in the act of playing, because ascension guarantees a full escape. (kaiser, being a legal adult and probably emancipated at this time, likely would not end up going back to his father, but if childhood trauma resulted in the ability to always see situations realistically, we wouldn't be here, would we!). in order to guarantee ascension, guarantee escape, he needs to guarantee someone will pass to him, and that is in the form of ness and the whole. dog thing. (pre 267. there was some development there in. Some Direction that is not relevant here) so i don't think

shidou's joy comes from the act of playing itself, or the "explosions" made during it, and players like sae or charles are ones who make it possible. shidou doesn't seem as interested in being the Best—it doesn't mean the same thing to him as it does to kaiser—so he's very willing to acknowledge others' skills, especially of the midfielders who pass to him.

[sacrificialarrow]

Headcanon: Spirits and Evolution.

Spirits are a fascinating subject, because they're vastly more complex than most of Thedas give them credit for -- but in fairness, Nevarrans aren't in that group, bc they so routinely and without prejudice interact with spirits that they've learned a great deal about them. As echoes of the real world, spirits are usually born of strong emotions mirrored in places or people.

That said, 'demon' isn't really an applicable term until you get into the ideation of intent. Spirits are inclined to mirror in action the emotion they're born of, but the actions themselves may still be neutral in nature. A spirit of grief may linger at burial sites and imbue passers by with the feeling of mourning for a lost loved one just as easily as it might be inclined towards actively trying to incite genuine grief in the mortals it comes across. It all depends upon personality and experiences, and thus, even the same types of spirits are nearly as different and varied as people are.

The more a spirit learns and experiences, the more its mind expands from a more basal form towards full sentience. They're sort of like children in that way, except that you can begin influencing and or teaching a spirit things from the moment it's born, and how quickly they advance is dependent upon how they're taught and what, as well as individual learning curves. Some spirits simply cannot grow beyond a certain point, while others can reach the peaks of mortal intelligence.

Another thing of important note is that spirits are capable of evolving from one emotion to another, and it's not necessarily a linear path. How they change depends upon the circumstances that cause their change in the first place. Given the right circumstances, and depending on the way an individual responds to them, a spirit of valor has the ability to become a spirit of fear, then rage, then perhaps joy. They're sort of like emotional sponges, although they are somewhat less likely to be influenced the more intelligent they are -- though none are ever immune.

In terms of Solas, he began life as a spirit of empathy. Becoming a corporeal person and fighting in the Titan War changed him into a spirit of valor, as reflected by his then classification as a warrior and reaver. His next change was more gradual, and thanks to the way his people were treated, he became a spirit of cunning rebellion, and thus his class became a rogue. ( Mind you, he's used magic the entirety of his life, it's just a matter of what method he prefers to fight with at any given time. ) Over time, he uses magic for his fighting more and more until he doesn't typically use a blade anymore.

His sense of mischief is something that has been a part of his personality all his life, and has really only taken on new facets as he's grown, which does branch out to include deceit as well. As has his pride, which ironically isn't why he was given his name as a young spirit, and has been greatly influenced by learned necessary independence. In his earliest days, he would have been somewhat like a cat, in terms of his pride trait showing.

Solas' life started like most spirits, coming into existence in the forests of what would become Arlathan. His birth came from one of the titans molding the earth around a wolf pack to help them thrive, and so his earliest days were spent among the pack he was born from. ( And for the record, since Elgar'nan likes to boast about his age, Solas isn't any younger than he is. He simply took to an elven body much later. ) As the elves came into existence, his curiosity about them grew, eventually to the point of following them out of the forest and to their village. Incidentally, the leader of this village was Mythal, who came to deal with the mischief the giant wolf spirit was causing. Though she may have wrestled him into submission, he took a liking to her, and kept returning to seek her out. Thus, he eventually becomes one of the spirits that she takes beneath her wing and nurtures into sentience.

Consequently, that's why Solas thinks of her as his mother, and why you will take a -100 friendship buff if you ever so much as imply they were romantically involved.

It is of note, though, that the particular label of their relationship didn't come until much later, when Solas was himself an elf and had spent time among the later generations who had been born as elves. Because before that, any notion of a 'parent' is completely alien to him.

[mononijikayu]

I absolutely LOVED the other woman series like it was so well written like genuinely there was tears in my eyes from how good it was but like i wanted to ask, would u ever make a version where sukuna loved the reader and not just fully devoted to hiromi, an AU where sukuna learns to like idk move on and actually love the reader instead of substituting it for just “caring” for her and stuff because to me i really did think sukuna loved the reader but was just gaslighting himself into thinking it wasn’t love but concern because he loved hiromi more than anything yk but anyways please keep making more content!! I cant wait to see what you’ll write next!!!

hello nonnie!!! 🫶

first of all, i am grateful for you love and your utmost enjoyment about the other woman series!!! i am sorry for the tears too!!!

my beta reader asks me a lot about this because sukuna in a way had spent a longer married life with concubine reader than he did with hiromi. and hiromi had moved on with her life.

she lived a life outside of sukuna and a life he hsd seen blossom without him. thats why her descendants exist (both gojo and mikoto/ryomen descendants — us and them fic series)

in a way, i think that's there is a huge part of sukuna that refuses to believe that he had moved on and that he had found something new in his life again.

i like to think that its because of a few things.

one is that hiromi was all he had growing up. hiromi had saved his life and had made him who he is as a man and a sorcerer. his love and devotion to her exists in an interesting place. no matter what, no matter if she pushes him away — he'll view that she did no wrong and that he loved her.

another is that there is guilt about moving forward. hiromi wss destressed and left alone after he left and he thinks its his fault. had he been strong, their clan wouldn't have been wiped out. if he had been stronger, she wouldn't have suffered.

and a lot of that, sukuna feels deeply. he feels responsible for many things. and because of this, he feels that he deserves to punish himself. that he deserves to be viewed as a monster. and most of all, he does not deserve to be human and therefore love.

and so when you read devotion; im a slave onto the mercy of your love, sukuna has conflict with being someone that has lived a long time and found changes and moved on. he moves from hot and cold. even with his children. its as if he feels like that distance was necessary.

and so as much as he says he thinks concubine reader is second to hiromi, he loved her a lot. and felt deeply about her. because as he says, she is the person that accepted him for anything and everything.

even after all that he had done to her, she stayed by his side, unwaveringly for fourty years. and that isnt easy to do. staying put in a cage and through that misery for fourty years is devotion, its love. no matter how twisted that is.

as for a happier version of the story, the main story is done. BUT the epilogue will be wrapping it up in a happy end. also, there will be little stories of their life together. there were fourty years. and they spent so much time together. so i think there is a lot to tell. and a lot more joy than the misery lived together. every bit of life is two sides of a coin, isnt it?

im thankful for your love for the series once again!!! thank you for your ask!!! i love you!!! 🫶

[the-wales-5]

"In another life..." 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

29th April 1931.

The newlyweds Catherine Murray and William Howard just left the little church in the village where they tied the knot surrounded by their close family and friends. The bride was a part of an aristocratic Murray family but she still wanted to keep a low profile so instead of having a rather huge ceremony in London with King George V attending, she decided to have a small wedding in her favourite part of Wales and to wear a crown made of her favourite flowers instead of an expensive tiara from her family's vault.

William was looking at her with love as if she was the only woman to ever exist on the earth and that was something she considered her biggest achievement and joy in life.

"I cannot believe we did this at last" Giggled her as she looked at her now-husband. They'd been together for almost 10 years at that point, having met each other when they both were 18.

"It is real, Lady Murray-Howard" William whispered and kissed her on the lips, causing their guests to cheer.

"Promise me that we'll never be separated" she whispered as she took his hand in hers.

William smiled without replying to her and just squeezed her hand more as they walked to the car driving them to their house in North Wales where a small wedding reception was about to start.

*

1939.

Their life was almost idyllic, with two children and a dog living in Wales, until September 1939 when Germany declared the Second World War against Poland and therefore other countries as well.

"You know what they say.. about the war.. and you are the pilot, they may need assistance from planes.." said Catherine as they were coming back from a horse ride with their 7-year old daughter Mary.

"Yes indeed" William nodded and then he noticed his wife's fearful facial expression. He told Mary to go inside the house and then approached his wife "I will join the forces if that will be necessary. No need to elaborate on that, Catherine"

"Are you serious?" She scoffed, "We've got two children!" 

"And our country may soon experience war. We both have seen what it means to live in a country at war, haven't we? My father died during the First World War in 1919 and if I have to, I will defend my country just like he did"

"So you want to die as well?" Catherine murmured and chuckled with sorrow "Just to defend your country and keep his memory?"

"Do not be ridiculous" he sighed as he approached her "I am aware that we have children. I will not be risking my life on the front line if that won't be necessary to protect our nation".

He kissed her on the forehead and held her hand, helping her to get off of her horse. Catherine hugged him and then they shared a kiss. Mary and her brother Patrick giggled as they ran towards their parents.

 Back in London, the royal family lived their lives, attending official engagements while ordinary people on the streets, the same as Lady Howard and her husband were talking about the possibility of war coming to the United Kingdom.

*

1944. 

Three words. 3 words she dreaded to hear for the last few years. "I am leaving". She didn't even have to ask "Where?". She knew. 

The war. The front line. He was needed for the operation near Normandy where the Alliance forces were fighting with the Nazis. An easy way to die and leave her and their children for good. Seeing him saying "goodbye" to Patrick and Mary made her curse his abilities to fly in planes even if she always used to admire that in him. 

William was about to travel to France by train. Although he told her to stay at home, Lady Howard traveled to the station with him. The media knew about this but they were unusually respective and didn't bother the couple at all. 

"You never promised me that we'll never separate. Not during the wedding, nor later. You knew that it was coming" She whispered with pain in her voice as they were looking at each other right before he left.

"I don't know how to explain it, darling"

"No need for an explanation. Just take it" she handed him a dried-up white "Sweet William", her favourite flower, a part of her wedding's flower crown worn in April 1931.

One picture of her wiping tears upon leaving the train station was published by the press but Catherine's father The Earl of Pembroke forced them to erase it. Otherwise, both the photographer and the author of the article titled "LADY MURRAY'S FAREWELL TO  HERO WILLIAM HOWARD AS HE GOES ON WAR" would have faced a law prosecution in London's court for invading her privacy.

As she was sitting in the car that drove her back to her small cottage, Lady Catherine Murray was looking at his picture but her thoughts were not about him but about someone else. A baby. She and William's third baby that she was carrying. Nobody knew besides her and her doctor. Her pregnancy got confirmed the same day when her husband decided to leave for France to "defend the country". Therefore, she had no time to tell him about their new "bundle of joy". By all these days leading to his departure, she has been wondering if telling that would perhaps keep William at home. Her heart was telling her to do exactly that but her mind was consumed by thoughts like: "That would make me a selfish person" .

Her sense won against her heart and now she was regretting it. A few hours later when she was in the bedroom, she touched her bump for the first time ever and whispered "He will return to us. We have to believe it".

Then, she pulled a picture of her husband out of her purse and began to pray. She used to do that often years ago when her then-boyfriend was attending a military academy to get his pilot licence and also when he was a rescue pilot back in the very beginning of the Second World War between 1939-1942. It finally began to sink into her brain. It was not just assistance in helping injured soldiers anymore. Now he was a soldier too. This thought was enough to make her cry after only one minute of her prayers.

*

Weeks passed and William Howard was getting used to his new routine of being a pilot during the war. Despite only two months of warfare, a majority of people serving in the same battalion whom he met on his first day in France were killed off. He knew he could not give up. Every single time when he doubted if all of this was worth its price, he was immediately 'brought back' to London's train station full of other soldiers saying their goodbyes to their families.

 Every night, he was thinking of his children, and of his wife's teary eyes and had been falling asleep while inhaling the 'scent' of that dried-up white flower which she gave him.

"Catherine, I will come back to you. I promise". Those words seemed like a prayer for him. He often told himself when there was danger close to his battalion or in the air. 

*

Lady Murray-Howard had to keep herself busy so as to not worry too much about the ongoing war. She has been attending many charity events founded to help the families of men who were fighting on the front line. She was attending almost all of them despite her tiredness. She wanted to show her unity with other waiting women even if that meant crying while hugging her husband's pillow after coming back home.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Her father asked. He was about to join an event like that with her for the first time. 

"Obviously yes" Catherine weakly smiled as she was finishing putting on her make-up in front of the mirror "It is an amazing initiative, you will see it for yourself, papa"

"I have no doubts about that. It's just--.. Catherine, let me tell you the truth. Do you still believe he will return? It's been weeks and he can already be deceased! Nobody knows what is happening there!"

Lady Murray rolled her eyes but spoke up: "Let me tell you a story of a woman I met during a meeting in Leicester last week. Her husband Richard has been a soldier for four years now. Four years, not weeks. Last year there was news about Germans bombarding the battalion he was in. That woman I met went through a nightmare trying to get even a small piece of information, first about the whole incident, and then about her husband's condition. He suffered from brain injury but survived and even remembered his wife during their meeting in the hospital! It is truly a miracle and I know it is just one of many! You cannot think only of the worst-case scenarios possible".

"But this is the cruel reality of war, Kate. You must accept the fact that happy endings happen to just 1% of soldiers and their families" Michael, The Earl of Pembroke said.

Catherine closed her eyes and after taking a deep breath she said with confidence in her voice: "I'd rather believe in happy endings than sink into depression after imagining the death of my husband and other men!" .

Michael sighed. He was now facing the window as if he was afraid to tell his daughter the following words while looking at her face: "The moment you revealed you are engaged to a person from the middle class I had a feeling that it will only bring us problems. If William was a nobleman, he'd never go to war! He would stay at home and defend the country in a civilised manner, by donations to charities".

Catherine was speechless for a second. At last, she replied: "Oh, thank you for confirming how much you despise my husband. You needed almost 15 years and a war to admit it. Wow" she chuckled with sorrow and her eyes narrowed as she added: "You know what, papa? If William's manners are not good enough then let me tell you that yours aren't good either right now. These poor women do not need your appearance during this meeting this afternoon, nor do they need your 'donations'. I'll go there on my own! Stay with Mary and Patrick, if you have enough time for it" she scoffed and left the house with furiousness.

Five weeks passed since Lady Murray's last conversation with her father. She was attending yet another charity meeting in Cardiff when all of a sudden a man from her father's office came in. She had no slightest idea what it could mean but she listened to each word he said, getting paler within seconds.

"No.. It's impossible" she mumbled at last and fainted.

*

48 hours earlier.

He looked for 'one last time' at the white dried-up flower.

"I am so sorry, Kate," soldier William Howard murmured and closed his eyes.

*

Michael arrived at the hospital where his daughter had been taken after losing consciousness during her meeting. He already knew what happened to his son-in-law and considered it a blessing to Catherine. In his mind, The Earl of Pembroke already imagined his daughter's second wedding taking place. A wedding with a Welsh, noble, wealthy man whom she "deserved".

"Lady Murray-Howard is such an unlucky person" one nurse said to another standing in the hospital corridor.

"What are you two talking about?" He asked but without hearing their answer he entered Catherine's cabin. She kept her hands on her stomach while looking through the window.

"I've lost them both" she whispered through tears when she noticed Michael's gaze.

He had no idea about her pregnancy, therefore the fact he just realised struck him like lightning.

~~~

'Why is this bloody war so cruel to me? Why is the whole universe against me? Losing him would have been easier if I had our third baby close to myself, that thought would console me a little. C. Howard, 1944." 

~~~

That was her first note weeks after getting to know about her husband's death and her miscarriage. Now, after a year since writing it out, she was looking through old notes, finding that particular one from 1944. As she was closing her notebook, her father watched her.

"Your life has been surrendered by anxiety since he left for France. It was quite predictable that you would lose your child sooner or later" he said

"Your grandchild," Catherine remarked and looked at her father with narrowed eyes "How can you be so heartless? I lost my husband and a baby and you say that it was 'predictable'? I am lost for words, papa".

"Think of the positivity that comes from this situation. Soon, you will finally find a man who will not be risking his life at war"

"You mean you will find him for me, right?' She scoffed. "It has been more than a year and so far there is no luck. I am so sorry for being such a disappointment for you but.." she stopped to take a breath and continued: "But I will always love William. Only him. You can even try to organise my meetings with as many potential future husbands of mine as you want. Just know that I will reject every single one of them." she emphasised each word "No matter how much money they will keep in their houses or how handsome they will be. It does not matter to me at all. Your attempts will all be pointless, as they have been until now".

"I am constantly giving you a choice, Catherine. If I was to threaten you, I'd force you to get married a month or perhaps even a day after we got to know about William's death. In my mind, there was a possibility of a wedding ceremony with the first nobleman I could think of. Be kind enough and notice how I was, and how I still am letting you get used to life without Mr Howard and get to know someone of your choice. Moreover, you are not held hostage here either so do not exaggerate this situation" he said louder.

"I'd rather be held hostage than have to think about 'someone new' in my life, papa" she murmured and closed her eyes "Leave my room, please".

"Lady Catherine Murray, soon you will see for yourself that living in the land of the dead takes you nowhere. The hurtful truth is that you are wasting the greatest years of your life now'.

She finished and looked at her father with 'sharp eyes' so he left to go to the garden where his grandchildren were waiting.

"No. I am not Catherine Murray, papa. For almost 15 years my surname is Howard. It will always be Howard, not Murray nor any other name of an unknown, noble man" she hissed, yet she had confidence and determination in her voice "Papa, let yourself accept that in 1931, on the day when Lady Catherine Murray got married, she died and instead she became Mrs Catherine Howard. Accept that it is my surname now and please let it be written on my gravestone in the future when I will, at last, join my husband".

 Catherine watched Patrick and Mary through the window for a few seconds. Then, she closed her eyes and burst into tears. After she calmed down a little, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, noticing a silver locket which had been hanging from her neck since the day William asked her to become his happily ever after.

There was no ring or other expensive jewellery for the proposal, just that locket which he found in his teenage years in an old box with his family belongings in the attic and which he then named "A piece of jewellery for my future wife". 

A silver locket with a small blue stone and two pictures of them were both put there by William himself days before asking her to be his wife. Simple, yet meaningful.

She promised to wear it always. Now, though, she took it off and opened it for the first time. "I cannot keep it with me forever. I guess my father is right. I must leave the land of the dead. I spent too much of my time there. But no worries, my William" she weakly smiled, closing her eyes "I will not marry anyone else. Remember that I will always love you. Your Catherine Howard" she whispered and put the locket into a wooden drawer in their bedroom. As she was closing it with a key, she was not even trying to hold back her new tears.

*

France.

"Where am I?' A soldier asked one of the nurses working in a hospital minutes after waking up from a type of coma that lasted more than a year.

"You are in the hospital, Sir. Your battalion was attacked in 1944. A year ago. It is truly a miracle you are alive"

'So there's still an ongoing war."

"No. It ended two months ago, Sir. Today's date is July 20th, 1945"

"My son's birthday is in two days," William said and weakly smiled.

His doctor did a checkup but it seemed like he remembered every detail of his life The names of his children, his family members' birthdays, the date of his wedding and he remembered her. Catherine. His wife and someone who kept him in her memory all this time. He assumed that she married someone else meanwhile so he did not try to write a letter. "I do not want to ruin her life".

*

On the day of her son's birthday, Catherine couldn't help but think of her husband again. She still thought that he was deceased on that day in France back in 1944.

"Do you think he is looking over us?" Mary asked her mum as she stepped closer to Catherine and put her hand around her

"Yes, certainly," her mother replied and smiled as she looked up to the sky. She felt quite worried about her father now because he was late for Patrick's birthday party.

 The Earl of Pembroke was attending an 'urgent meeting' in England, regarding the situation of his son-in-law. He knew everything all along and despite that, lied to Catherine and her kids. "The most convenient solution for this would be to keep it all a secret, and in case he would try to return to Wales and Lady Murray's life, then you must take steps to kill him" he commanded without a blink of an eye.

*

25th August 1945.

William was able to leave for home after the long hospital treatment. Home. He wondered where to go. His old house was destroyed in the war back in 1942 and the home where he lived with his wife and children was no longer his. The decision he made not to come back to Catherine's life was upheld. All of a sudden, he noticed a familiar silhouette of a man.

*

Catherine Howard tried to find the strength to keep going through her life, bring up her children and had hoped to find peace. She kept her promise of not marrying anyone else and cared for her two children and charities. Nothing of that had given her the liberty she desperately needed but she knew she could not leave. "He left and that caused us enough heartbreak. I cannot leave as well" she thought to herself over the years when been getting suicidal thoughts.

On his deathbed, her father who died due to cancer in 1950, had given her a letter without explaining it. Catherine opened it three days after his funeral.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"My beloved daughter,

I apologise for not having enough courage to tell you about it before. Your husband survived. He survived the attack on his battalion six years ago. I am sincerely sorry for keeping it a secret. All along since 1921 when I met William, I thought you made the biggest mistake of your life. It turns out you were right and I was and will stay the worst possible father and grandfather ever.

William was the victim of war but also a victim of my eagerness to make your life better. I met him once after the war ended. It was the day him being discharged from the hospital. I had wanted to make sure he would not try to return to your life. Consequently, I told him that you met someone and got married for the second time. I mentioned a pregnancy that you miscarried and I blamed him for it. I was astonished when his reply to that was: "I assumed her second marriage a long time ago. Tell her I am sorry for making her life a misery and that she and our three children were my everything above all". 

He was run over by a car driving at a high speed right as he walked away from the spot where we met. I am certain it was not an accident. I killed him. I wanted it for years and yet when it was announced to me by a doctor in France I was in a state of shock, almost sadness even. His gravestone is located close to the church where you two got married. Nobody knew it was his funeral, only me. You can find it. -8 / 1945- is all that's written on it..

Patrick, Mary and you are victims of my selfishness and greed. I understand completely if you won't be able to forgive me, Kate. But remember I loved you and cared for you and your children. I've made huge donations to all those charities you supported over the years. Last year, I also made several secret visits to a few of those, just like you always wanted me to. It is not enough and I am aware of that. I have not left money or any other sort of inheritance. You and your son are owners of our family estate, so you can keep it or sell it to get money from it as I once told you. But there is something that you would probably like to keep with yourself. Look inside this envelope. "Something that saved me during the war now is supposed to keep her safe" were his last words to me.

I, most likely, will not get your forgiveness so I can only hope for God's forgiveness.

Your father - Michael".

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs Howard was shocked to bits after reading the letter. It dropped from her hand onto the floor while tears appeared in her eyes. "It is insane.." she murmured and broke down crying. While doing so, she looked inside the envelope as her father told her to. Almost yellow now, dried up flower "Sweet William". A 'talisman' she had given her husband back in May 1944, something that "saved him during the war" did not manage to do that for the second time because he returned it to her father, almost as if he did not want to live anymore. 

Catherine Howard quickly wiped her tears when her son came to her room. 

"Mum, is everything alright?" He asked as he approached her. She sniffed and with all her possible strength she hugged her son.

In the evening, that 'talisman' in an envelope was put right next to Catherine's locket with two pictures of her and William Howard. Her father's Welsh property was sold three months later and she and her children moved out of there as soon as it was possible. The Earl of Pembroke's daughter did not want to stay there as she considered it cursed because of him.  She had taken all the significant things with her to another, much smaller house in Wales. She also ordered William's full name to be written on his gravestone.

Mrs Howard witnessed the wedding celebrations of both her & William's children, had become a grandmother three times and lived in her second home until her death at the age of 79. A white flower "Sweet William" was put inside her hand and a silver locket with two photographs was again put on her neck on the day of the funeral. The location of her grave was right next to one of her dear husband William. "Catherine Howard" was the name written on it, just like she wished years before.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

2010.

Prince William and his fiancée Catherine Middleton entered their first real house in Anglesey, Wales.

As she stepped into one of the rooms, she felt something weird, as if the spirit of someone 'checked' what she was doing there. For some reason, it did not scare her but instead made her open an old drawer with a key.

"What is this?" She whispered as she took something into her hands and slowly opened.

It was an envelope with one petal of "Sweet William" and a piece of paper with words:

"Life is too short to love you in one, I promise to look for you in the next life".

She knew this quote was by William Shakespeare. It made her feel confused and amazed all at once. As she stared at the letters on paper and dried petals of "Sweet William", her future husband put his hand on her shoulder.

"What is this?" He asked

"I wanted to ask you the same question now" she startled and showed him the envelope and what was inside it. William was astonished as well but as he read the sentence by Shakespeare a few times and looked at the petal of one of his wife's favourite flowers, he looked at her and kissed her on the lips. 

The air surrounding them had a familiar scent. The scent of flowers which years before were a part of Catherine Murray's flower crown on her wedding day to William Howard.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

THE END.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

I would love to see more fucked up tree being from another dimensions meets devout but profoundly fucked up cult leader again...? Love those two

The terrible people who control a village couple~ <3

Sure! I'm up for writing more for these two again!

(Since it's been a while, for anyone new here, the Spriggan is a version of Ten who came from an alternate universe during the Time War and took control of an English village, acting as a faerie tale villain to them because he's, basically, a faerie tale villain. I love him, he's the worst. He exists in an audio story.)

On with the fic!

--

"What's this?" The Spriggan asked as he studied the jar given to him, swishing about the liquid. "Blood?"

"Yes." Malcolm replied, seated at his dining table, looking at him from across it. "It's an offering."

The Spriggan looked up at him from the jar, then looked back at the dark fluid. "An offering, huh? Any particular reason for it? Not that I'm opposed to gifts, love a good gift, always have, but what's the occasion?"

"We've had a successful harvest this season." Malcolm replied, clasping his hands together. "We are so thankful for the bounty you have given us, Lord, that we felt it was best to offer some of our blood from everyone in the village as thanks for what you have done for us."

The Spriggan set the jar down carefully, frowning. "I'm shocked you didn't just slaughter a lamb, isn't that typical with humans?"

Malcolm blinked, looking up. His head had been lowered, almost as if he had been praying while he had been talking. Probably had been. "Would you rather us do that?"

"Blood is blood." The Spriggan shrugged. "Fresher the better, but I can revitalize what you've collected. The whole village, huh? Even the young?"

"Y-yes, the newborns offered a few drops, we are all thankful. We felt it was necessary."

The Spriggan's lips curled as he chuckled, studying the offering. The village was in its fifth year, and children were being born, the population was slowly growing, and that meant that those born on the island would be of great use to the Spriggan. In due time, it was too early.

That's alright, he could wait.

Still, a little bit would go a long way. None of this blood would be for himself, it would go to his TARDIS. The old girl needed her fuel too, he couldn't be taking it all. He needed to see if a blood offering could be done outside of the cave his ship had hidden herself as, might help.

"You've done wonderfully with this, prophet." The Lord of Life smiled, feeling the bark on his skin creek as he leaned back in his chair. "You have pleased me greatly, I shall make sure that your people do well in the cold months."

Malcolm relaxed, sighing, nodding. "Thank you, my lord. We will do our best to honor your gifts to us."

"And they shall be received with great joy. Though... I would like a little more."

"A little more?" Malcolm asked, looking at him as the Spriggan stood. He watched him as he walked around the table, pushing the table away from his human. He sat himself down on his lap.

"I would like a special thank you gift from my prophet, if he's willing to give me something." The Spriggan purred.

Malcolm looked at his lips, then back at his eyes, nodding. He leaned in, kissing his so-called god on his lips.

--

Spooky month means writing monster stuff, and the Spriggan is a manipulative monster. :)

Also, a jar of blood sounds so freaky, but then I remembered that this is literally a plot point in Apostle. It just happens a bit earlier in this au (okay, only this one jar, but it will happen later in time to try and keep the Spriggan from taking kids.)

[cherryblossomshadow]

#red said #also there are posts and tweets like THIS IS JUST FOR MCU FANS #like please go on demonstrating how you've adopted 'mcu fan' as a shorthand for 'person who likes films i don't' #or 'person who likes films that are popular' #because the defining features of mcu films are that they're high budget irony poisoned derivative works #targeted at a broad audience so aiming to be accessible and inoffensive #and it really seems. like 'accessible' is the part of that you object to #bc EEAAO is a highly original A24 indie film with a 14.5m budget which is NOTHING #it's made mostly with practical effects and sets #and most importantly it's beautifully painfully earnest. it's never trying to shy away or go Hey Look How Silly This Is 😏 #everything is driven by its earnest desire to talk about specific themes #i think the people comparing it negatively to mcu films are stuck on the fact that it's about a multiverse and it's got jokes #and colourful action scenes #but they miss that the referential jokes (like racacoonie) and setpieces aren't the point of the film (tags courtesy of OP)

#red said #ARGH!!!!! MEDIA LITERACY!!!!!!!! #so irony poisoned i watch a film very explicitly about the importance of absurdity in a painful and exhausting world #and point at it and say haha look how silly that is isn't that pathetic #YEAH IT'S TALKING ABOUT YOU MAN. YOU'RE EATING THE BAGEL. EMBRACE JOY. (more tags courtesy of OP)

.

Despite this world that is constantly moving faster and rarely makes any sense one clear feeling cuts through all noise and it is that I want my loved ones to be okay (comment courtesy of @meams4u)

.

And anyway: WHAT THE FUCK IS IMMATURE ABOUT THE MESSAGE “BE KIND TO ONE ANOTHER”??? Kindness isn’t immature! It’s incredibly difficult! Kindness means having to look beyond your own comfort and needs (while not disregarding them) and seeing the humanity in others, and trying to understand what that person needs. If kindness was easy to understand and do, do you think the world would look the way it does?

Kindness if absolutely necessary for vulnerability to exist, and without vulnerability — as EEAAO tells us — we slip into destruction of either the self or the people around us, or both. (comment courtesy of @stele3) .

how is "find joy" as a message that fundamentally different from "be kind" also a character literally gives a "be kind" speech at the emotional climax of the movie like forgive me for thinking what the movie is saying is what the movie is saying (comment courtesy of @2rat2touille)

.

I mean yes be kind is PART of the message of the movie but it's part of a message that also includes allowing yourself to be authentically open and vulnerable and stop trying to be Sensible. Like that's why Waymond's admirable behaviour is framed in terms of stuff like googly eyes and dancing and play, and why Evelyn's act of reaching out is both 'have an emotional breakdown' and 'put on the googly eyes'

Like Waymond's strength of character is that he's kind and thoughtful, and that is part of him being comfortable with his own vulnerability and the vulnerability of others, which is also part of his relationship to joy which he explains in the SAME speech - "it's not naive" etc

and yeah tbh I'm oversimplifying by saying the message isn't "be kind" cause you're right that that is part of what the film is saying. but the film is also saying a lot of other things and this post is a frustrated reaction to people acting like because one part of one speech sounds like a message that's often simple and moralistic, the only thing the film has to offer is a shallow "be nice to each other" (literally multiple people are using the word 'shallow')

and that IS a fundamental misreading. especially because the other "written for children" claim is that it's silly. which as a choice makes perfect sense if you look at the whole of the film as conveying a coherent idea, rather than, as these people are doing, look at part of one speech at the climax of the film and say "well that's the extent of what this film is saying" (comment courtesy of OP)

Quotes:

The message of the film isn't even "be kind" as much as it's "be silly. fuck around. laugh it off. find joy in being ridiculous. fuck cynicism."

The message isn't "be kind" it's "find joy." literally it's so on the nose the character Evelyn is reaching for is Literally Called Joy.

I do not understand how multiple people seem to have decided the theme of the film was "be kind to one another" and not "engage authentically with the absurdity and joy of the world because nothing matters except what you make matter!!!!" Simone de Beauvoir did not die for this!!!!!!! kill both the sensible man and the nihilist and revel in the absurd!!!!!!!!!!

people seriously pretending EEAAO is overrated suddenly bc it swept awards? it swept awards largely because it is very very very good. I cried like someone who’s just had a religious revelation BOTH times I watched it bc it touched something raw and real and beautiful but it was also just very, very funny. everyone’s performance kills and the concept is creative and interesting and doesn’t distract from the emotional core. you guys are just contrarian.

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Away From Home

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Captain America: The First Avenger

Pairing: 1940s! Bucky Barnes x Female! Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are half a world apart. How are they holding up without each other? ft. some love letters!

Word Count: 1644

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, hint of smut, angst, talk about war, mention of suicide. Please read at your own risk!

Authors Note: Just want to thank my beautiful wife @buckybarnesdiaries for hyping me up with this series! Not everything may be accurate to the 1940s, war or Bucky’s story. My apologies! Enjoy loves <3

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

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It wasn’t easy being all alone without your other half, but you managed to fill up your day with fun and responsibilities to take your mind off it. The women at the office missed their husbands immensely, just like yourself, so it was good that you all took comfort in one another. It was good to talk with them about the shared feelings of fear and uncertainty that came with the men going off to war.

The office work that was ordinarily boring to you became very interesting as your bosses ordered you around. At home, you had organized your various pieces of literature more times than what was necessary. You couldn’t either count how many times you’ve gone “I missed a spot” on the kitchen counter when it was nothing there in reality.

When there was nothing at home to do, you called up your girlfriends, hoping they would be willing to go out on the town. The few times they were up for it, you forgot all about the hurt inside as you danced the night away with your best friends.

Bucky's parents could come and go as they pleased. Your house was their house; whenever they wanted to drop by, they could. On the weekends, they would invite you home to their residence for dinner and drinks. It was sweet of them to ask you. You already had a strong relationship with them that only increased with you spending more time with your parents-in-law.

The stories they would tell you about James growing up in Indiana with his siblings were stored in your memories to use late at night when you couldn’t sleep. Those thoughts would turn into dreams and scenarios of him and your child that you would hopefully get pregnant with soon.

On the few occasions his parents and your girlfriends had other plans, you sat mostly inside staring at one spot on the wall. The book by your side would only be read a few pages before it was placed to the side again so you could continue gawking at the flower patterns on the wall.

That’s how you were sat now. The television was on, but you weren’t paying attention to the boring movie you had watched countless times playing on the screen. You decided that you would write another letter to James. Writing letters to your husband and receiving letters from him was the thing that brought you joy and was the closest you could come to him for the time being. Picking up the pen and paper, the words flowed easily as you wrote.

~~~~~~~~~~

My Dearest,

I feel I must write you again altho there is not much news to tell you from the last time I wrote. Work is keeping me busy, while your parents’ comfort and the fun my girlfriends are bringing keeps me content. I dreamt last night my husband. I dreamt about a child. Our child. A child that will bring us love and joy in the future.

I miss you terribly, my love. I miss the warmth from your touch as we are tangled in the sheets together. I miss the softness of your voice as the words whispered in my ear are meant for me only. I miss your laugh filling up the house that feels so empty now without you. I miss you. There is nothing more that I desire in life but to have you with me constantly.

I wonder how you are getting along, my love. I shall be so relieved to get a letter from you. I can’t help feeling a bit anxious for you, my dear. Thinking about what you are going through in the gruesome war overseas. I pray to whatever higher power exists for you to survive and come home to me in my arms.

Well, my husband, my brave soldier, I don’t know what more to say now, so I will finish this letter with fondest love and kisses from your wife.

I love you the most. From yours truly,

xoxo

~~~~~~~~~~

You sealed up the envelope containing your love letter for your husband, your other half, your soul mate, and hoped that it would bring him a hint of delight in his usual dark, empty and deadly war days.

Somewhere in hostile Germany…

With barely enough sleep from the night before, Bucky rested his eyes for the few minutes they had before it was out on another day of fighting the opposition. The faint sound of bombs dropping was heard in the distance. His heart started pumping in both fear and excitement to be out there again.

As his eyes were closed, he sat and wondered what his wife was up to at the moment. You were most likely at work. What would you have for dinner later? Something good, he hoped. It would at least be ten times better than what he ate for breakfast, soggy bread with a slice of cheese on top.

His mouth watered at the thought of a homemade meal from you right now. You always made the tastiest and fulfilling dinners.

What were you doing after? Out with your girlfriends? Were his parents coming to visit? Either way, he hoped you had the most beautiful time being as carefree as you always were.

When the darkness came, and it was time for bed, what would you be doing? Had the day been exhausting that you dropped dead on the covers as soon your head hit the pillow, or would you stay up and think about him?

His mind started racing to you, touching yourself dead at night while you remembered the last time the two of you were intimate. The thought about you moaning his name so softly and innocently had him adjusting himself in the seat.

Not now, Buck. We have to leave soon. There’s no time for that now.

“BARNES! Post for you.”

Once he had the letter in hand, he immediately knew it was you from the little drawing you drew on the envelope. You always did some form of artwork on it that had his heart warm up.

A single tear ran down his cheek after finishing the heartwarming letter. He could never fully express to you and his parents how these letters had saved him when he needed it the most. When he had thought about ending it all after watching the inhumane things he had witnessed that no human should ever have to see, the pieces of love from you and his family were what kept him going.

There was still some time left before they had to go out to war again. So he took that chance at writing a reply to his wife.

~~~~~~~~~~

My Darling,

Thank you for the heartwarming letter. It found me well in the time when I needed it the most. I so long to be close to you. Trust my love that I do not forget you. I am doing everything in my power so that these few lines reach you.

I am happy to hear that you are keeping yourself busy with work, friends, and family. I��m jealous.

I miss you terribly, my love. If only we could be together soon. I’d give anything to be back in the comfort of your arms. To be tangled in the sheets together. To feel you wrapped so tightly around me in all the ways possible. To hear your laugh that fills my heart with warmth and butterflies. Soon my love, soon.

A child? I’ll give you as many children as you want when I return safely to you. We will buy a big house out in the countryside to raise our children and grow old if that’s what my wife desires.

The war? I don’t know what there is to say? I won’t sugarcoat it. The war is brutal and gruesome. It is something I don’t even wish upon my worst enemy to experience the things I’ve seen and gone through. Don’t be alarmed, my love, by the words you just read. As long as I have you in my mind, I can make it through the days and nights.

There is not much more for the time being to write to you. Just know that I am coming back to you after the terrible war is over.

I love you the most. From your brave soldier,

xoxo

~~~~~~~~~~

He sealed it up in an envelope, and he once again hoped that this wouldn’t be the last letter he ever wrote to you.

A few weeks later…

You waited anxiously out on the steps of your home for the postman to arrive. Legs were bouncing up and down in anticipation if today was the day a new letter from James would arrive.

“Morning, ma’am,” the postman nodded at you. By now, he knew very well who you were as he would find you most days waiting for him to bring you the mail.

“I believe this is yours.” He handed you a single letter. A smile on his face once he saw the excitement on yours when you realize it was from your husband.

“Thank you, George.”

“Have a wonderful day, Y/N.” “You too.”

You opened it right there on the steps. There was no time to walk a few meters into the house to read it.

You took the time to read the lines on the paper written by your love. Sadness came over you as you read the part about war, but a smile was left on your lips nonetheless after you had read the whole thing a few times over.

You clutched it to your heart. To try and feel that extra bit of love that radiated off it. A few tears rolled down your cheeks.

Soon my love. Soon you will be back safe and sound in my arms again.

Credit @ firefly-graphics for the wonderful divider

Thank you for reading <3 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated if you liked it! As well as a reblog to share it with others!

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Marvel Taglist: @whothehellisbuckybarnes @phoenixhalliwell @x-goddess-of-nature-x @trulysuccubus @skyesthebomb @whoreforsamwilson @natashadeservedbetter @beth-winchester21 @mrs-salvawhore @soldierstucky @missswritings @sariche @claudiaatje @myakai13 @paintballkid711 @ttalisa @teti-menchon0604 @J-e-nster @-im-fantastic- @donut-crazs @tatestripedsweater @feetoffthetablee @uraesthete @mae-black @midnightdragonzero @julia2000love @yvngzxx @midnightzonzz @kaystacks17 @missroro @living-that-best-life @alwaysclassyeagle

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @sirrwritesalots @acciosiriusblack @academiawhoree @feescher @cigarettesonmars @doyoumindifislytherin-1 @yippikaiyaymotherfucker @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @hemsbucky @ripredwing @90smalfoys @rosiebrands @falcvns @jazzseb11 @my-patronus-is-a-raptor @milkshakelol @maddnastyyyyy @obxcalm @poetic-heart

Let me know if you want to be added/removed!

If your name is in bold it means I can’t tag you for some reason. My apologies!

[hamadacare]

“Woah! Must be all the love you give him that made him the biggest.”

Love makes things grow. Hearing himself say that gave him joy, he hopes it gives this trainer joy too. Joy to see his beloved companion outgrow the norm height. Joy to have nurtured a living being that loves him just as much as he loves him. Joy to exist under the same sky with someone precious. Tadashi’s smile intends to stay as long as these two remain together for the rest of their lives. When he is done honoring their friendship, he goes back to answering the young boy.

“My Mochi? He’s a calico.”

‘By the way, your bag’s open-’

Wait, his bag was opened, and he doesn’t know how long it’s been like that?

“Oh my gosh! Are you serious?!--”

He exclaims as if the boy would say ‘sike’ and make such a reality not true right there and then. Tadashi reacts justifiably when his hands rummage through his book bag as if he dropped a gem that was going deeper and deeper into an endless sea. Items collide and clang with one another as he stirs this pot. Tadashi is responsible; he is a light carrier, only bringing things that he needs. But in this instance, his errand outdoors was for grocery shopping. That makes him have to carry a wallet. His hands stop spasming when his wallet remained at the bottom of his bag. Phew.

“Oh thank goodness everything is still here.”

He breathes out in one go as if he ran a marathon. He didn’t, but his heart did! Tadashi’s voice comes back to him when his worry subsides. The day has just begun and it was already eventful.

“Thanks for telling me or else I would've not noticed.”

A nervous little laugh sneaks in for his stupid mistake. He would’ve felt far more idiotic had something been stolen in the end. Nobody should feel dumb for someone else’s wrongdoing, but being Tadashi meant staying at the top of his game and look out for others, not be the one that gets played with. He too shifts to face his body to the student, his book bag between them and Mamba in front of it. What a loyal trinity they make.

Tadashi’s eyebrows furrow in concern upon being warned about the dangers during broad daylight. Bids? Things like that belong in dark alleyways or in businesses between rich and entitled beings. It’s a good thing that the young boy did not understood how such a gamble worked. There was no need for anyone to wager money for something so necessary to living like food, much less, a minor. Arven wasn’t Hiro, but in this moment, Tadashi uses a tone that he mainly reserves for his little brother, the type of tone that takes itself a volume deep to emphasize the gravity of a situation, eye-contact and all:

“Good. Don’t you ever go to anyone that makes you unsure how much you should spend. Get things with a firm price because anyone who plays around with their numbers in the first place, is going to keep on playing around with them. You earn honest money. So you should only pay to honest prices. Don’t let him go to bidders you hear me?”

Tadashi finishes by looking at the dog in the end. He knows Mamba would understand him, it’s an adult thing to feel paternal around children. At least, this child already had that effect on them, didn’t he? Tadashi softens when he finishes, not that he hardened in the first place; he doesn’t do a good job looking tough with that gentle face of his. He does mean it though; if it isn’t going to be his looks that are taken seriously, his words should be.

“Arven. Well, hey Arven! I’m Tadashi Hamada.”

It contents Tadashi to learn the names of these two who have done nothing more than look out for him on an otherwise harmless-seeming day.

“-Not a student from here, but I am a college student at San Fransokyo. I'm here for ... research purposes.”

Tadashi gets himself ready to elaborate his foreignity with an inhale of his nose.

“San Fransokyo doesn’t boast any leagues or competition like other big regions; we’re a place that focuses on technological innovation instead. People in San Fransokyo don't really aspire to be trainers or champions. So Pokemon don’t really inhabit our place with all the design and technology we got going on there-”

He finishes with a guilty chuckle, like if describing this small state was embarrassing. However, it wasn’t. The obvious distinction of San Fransokyo compared to the rest of the world was just simply too obvious for him to not chuckle about it. From these few days in Paldea, Tadashi has learned that it is a different world from his home. Like other prominent regions such as Unova, Kalos, and Galar, pokemon battles are glorified. And from what he has seen from passing by up-and-coming trainers, a battle ends when a pokemon has endured long enough to the point of fainting. He’s glad San Fransokyo doesn’t pride itself in pokemon battles, but its culture and infrastructure. It was a good call that he continues to develop Baymax's protocol. These poor creatures would need his healing-

A conversation for another day, maybe the universe would give them more pressing matters at hand asides from his open book bag.

“Oh? Just one cat?~ Hehe, well, he doesn’t sniff other animals unless they approach him first. He’s too good of a boy to be chasing anyone.”

He heard correctly, but in his own cliche notion of cat owners, he’d expect a little more than that. And for the age of this young man it would be rare to have just one Pokemon on their team, lest battling wasn’t in his plans. His hand already parked on top of Mabosstiff’s head, caressing his fur back repeatedly, content with the vouch given on Mamba’s behavior. 

“What breed are they specifically? Mamba here is a Mabosstiff, the biggest one you’ll ever see!” 

And he’s a dang proud owner of one. Even with the fair share of attention he showers on his most loyal companion his inquiries are genuine, tilting his head at what team has this man curated for himself. But of course, in his observant stance, his eyes wander to everything around him, notably the transparent bag open like that. Brows furrow in preparation of another genuine concern, interrupting his next train of thoughts as he makes direct eye contact.

“By the way, your bag’s open - wanna be careful there before you head off.”

He holds back on an ‘I hope you did that just now,’ biting down on his bottom lip as he’s been told often he worries more than he should. Doesn’t make the possibility any less quieter in his mind, a quiet whimper enough to be heard by Mamba making him look up at his dearest, the boy tucking his chin away. He’d close the bag himself, but this action is satiated with helping himself to sit beside the empty space on the bench, being a shield as if someone could just run up about now to steal that bag.

“Trainers here are weird sometimes … bids aren’t really easy and I don’t get how it works yet, so I just stick to the independent shacks surrounding the main sellers.” 

Porto Marinada, home of a new type of currency; there is an unspoken fact that students are susceptible to the regulation that the shady vendors impose on them. All made sense when the esteemed gym leader of this town was around, but that only happened scarcely. Arven’s naivety would not know all this yet, but there was always a lingering uncertainty for each time he passed the spotlighted area. The stranger didn’t seem like a regular, be that as it may of his age, the possibility lies that a certain individual could be trying to get smart with him. Shifting in his seat, Arven seems to be getting cozier, a feeling in his gut insisting he stay, and so that’s what he does. 

“I’m Arven, I go to the Uva Academy here, are you also a student? I’ve never seen you around before … unless …”

Spoken with a gentle cadence, leaning his upper half to peek under the man’s cap and chuckle the last word for open interpretation; it was also his sign of his own anxiety fleeting, basking in the calm of the comforting presence.

[corvidiss]

On the Creature’s early influences and how they affected his view of relationships.

(Two TL;DRs at the bottom; one as a detailed summary, one as a far briefer summary.)

I will refer to Frankenstein’s creation as the Creature rather than Adam in this essay, as A) not all people call him Adam, and B) it will avoid confusion with Adam from Paradise Lost.

When thinking about the maturity and motives of the Creature, I was compelled to think on his request for a bride, and his early influences. My thoughts on the matter follow:

The Creature grew up (though his body was adult, his mind was arguably reset and had to grow like a child’s) with no guidance from any parental figure or friend. Instead of being shown the ways of the world by someone, he had to find his way himself; and of the few human things that influenced him, three stand out: Society’s reaction to him, the epic poem Paradise Lost, and the De Lacey family.

Society’s reaction to the Creature was the first, and arguably most important, human factor that affected the development of his worldview. He is immediately abandoned by his creator, and shunned and attacked by the people he stumbles across. Later, Felix De Lacey attacks him violently. All this shows the Creature that he is unaccepted by humanity, and the constant denial of the kindness and love which should come with family (his father, Victor) or familiarity (the family he helped and grew to love) is sure to make him wonder if he’s unworthy of it. His experiences subtly teach him that he is incapable of being loved by humanity, however much he is capable of loving them, and however much he longs for it.

The second factor I’ll address is Paradise Lost, which the Creature says had a profound effect on him. I’ve not read Paradise Lost myself, but I’ve gained the best impression I can from plot summaries and thematic analyses online.

(It is worth mentioning that the Creature relates to Satan – “I ought to be thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. In Paradise Lost, when Satan comes to Earth to take revenge on God by causing the downfall of his newest and most favoured creations, he is moved to great envy at the sight of Adam and Eve’s innocent happiness; a feeling the Creature will come to know all too well.)

In Paradise Lost, there is no depiction of familial love; only of divine love (of God) and romantic love, and the former is presented as more important than the latter. But the Creature has been shunned by God’s creations, and has been denied the love of his creator, whom he might compare to Adam and Eve’s God – so perhaps the Creature sees divine love as inaccessible to him, and romantic love his only remaining option in a theoretical companion.

Furthermore, when Eve eats the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, Adam chooses to do so too, because he feels his connection to Eve is so strong that they must share each other’s fate, whatever it may be. The Creature has never experienced this kind of devoted connection himself, nor has anyone sacrificed anything for him. Reading about this connection, he must have longed for such a thing himself – a thing, he sees, which has its source in romantic love.

And finally, when Adam and Eve leave their paradise, they are horrified at what they have doomed humanity to, but are comforted by the knowledge that their offspring will have revenge on Satan, and by each other’s love. While Adam’s choice to eat the fruit as well, valuing romantic love over divine love, is depicted as bad in Paradise Lost, Adam and Eve’s romantic connection is shown to be strong enough to keep them happy when they are expelled from their home and the favour of their creator. The Creature might see in this, that if he had a partner like Adam had Eve, he would be able to live with and even enjoy his own exile from humanity.

And thirdly, the De Laceys. Here is the Creature’s only source of what familial love is – and while he sees it to be a comfort to the family, it cannot truly combat the sadness and despondency that hangs over them. They spend evenings listening to the father’s music or reading aloud, but the happiness it affords them, and the happiness it affords the Creature, both fade soon after.

When Safie – Felix’s romantic love – comes along, however, the family’s spirits are brightly restored and their despair disappears. They teach and welcome her – and by doing so teach and, in a way, welcome the Creature too; everything is better for Safie’s presence. Where familial love was inadequate, this appearance of romantic love banishes the family’s sorrow.

Regardless of the true meanings and causes behind the De Lacey’s sorrow and return to happiness, these were the first impressions the Creature got, and so must have shaped his view of the world.

The Creature might be compared to children raised on classic Disney movies of princesses and princes and the portrayal of romantic love in modern media – seeking to enter a romantic relationship before they know what it truly means, or before they are ready, or even before they know true friendship. He grew up an outcast from society, and with sources that taught him of the power of romance, and not its nuances, or what else is possible and just as powerful.

As a result, he sees the only chance of gaining happiness to lie in romantic love. He no longer wishes for the acceptance of his creator – which he has come to see will never be granted to him, and perhaps even begins to believe that he does not deserve it – and instead demands the creation of another like him, so he can have this romantic love which he has been taught, inadvertently, is the only thing that can lift him from his despair.

In short, he's a child who is misguided about relationships: Paradise Lost showed blissful harmony (something which does not occur perfectly in most romances), and the imbalance of power and knowledge between woman and man. While somewhat in keeping with the sexist views of the time, this is a bad starting point for forming romantic relationships when one has had barely any contact with people, let alone the personal interactions necessary for forming one's own opinions on the difference, or lack thereof, in qualities between genders. Not only this, but he is simply not ready for a romantic relationship, especially with someone of an adult age, given his incredibly small experience of relationships and of the world as a whole – and therefore shouldn't be pushed into romantic relationships until he gains more experience as he grows, just like any other child.

Thank you for reading. :)

(TL;DRs beneath cut.)

TL;DR 1:

The Creature was raised with three main human influences: neglect from humanity, Paradise Lost, and the De Lacey family.

The neglect he experienced (Victor's abandonment, the villagers' attacks, Felix's attack) taught him that he is only going to be denied the kindness and love that should come with family (Victor) or familiarity (the family he helped for so long).

Paradise Lost contains only divine love (of God) and romantic love, and since the Creature has been denied the love of his own creator, he might see that romantic love is all that is left to him. The connection between Adam and Eve is strong – the Creature, who surely longs for such a connection, would see its source in romantic love. When Adam and Eve leave their paradise, their love makes it bearable – if the Creature had that love, perhaps, he might think, his own shunned existence would be easier, or even enjoyable.

The De Laceys' familial love is present, but seems inadequate to combat the sadness and despair that hangs over them. But when Safie, a romantic love, arrives, everything gets better and the happiness is restored. Romantic love seems, to the developing Creature’s mind, stronger than familial, whether it be true or not.

The Creature was raised with the concept of romance as a cure for sadness, perhaps similarly to how children grow up on the presentation of love in the modern media. He has come to see romantic love as the only thing that can give him happiness, without knowing its nuances or even what friendship is.

He's a child who is misguided about romantic relationships, and who simply can't be ready for them, given his incredibly small experience of the world and the people that inhabit it.

TL;DR 2:

The Creature’s view of the world was shaped by the few distant human influences he had in his developmental early age – the neglect of humanity, Paradise Lost, and the De Lacey family. All of these contributed towards the idea that romantic love was the Creature’s only remaining chance at happiness, while not teaching him the values of friendship and the subtleties of romance and love in any form.

He was misguided by his influences and convinced that romance was the only thing that could grant him happiness; but with so few experiences of people and the world as a whole, he is not only drastically ill-suited for a romantic relationship, especially with someone of an adult age, he is simply not ready, and therefore shouldn't be pushed into romantic relationships until he gains more experience as he grows, just like any other child.

[soulmate-game]

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 5: Overprotection

Disclaimer: Dick was adopted when he was 12 in this fic. Just for math’s sake.

—*—*—*—*—*

“What.”

Damian stared at his father, face carefully blank. Bruce grimaced, shifting.

“I said, you have a half sister. Biological.”

Four sets of eyes bored into him, from all of his sons. They were gathered not in the Batcave for once, but just one of the sitting rooms in the Manor.

“... and what, Father, does that have to do with the French class visiting Gotham?” Damian asked again, posture steadily growing stiffer and more and more stone like. He was trying hard to suppress emotions, but not even he was quite sure what those emotions were yet. Anger? Fear? Resentment? Probably. He might have detected some excitement there too, deep, deep down. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for this.

“Well. I’ve kept up with her life, but last time I checked she had no idea that she was adopted. When her birth mother died, it was right around the time I adopted Dick. She was still an infant, and I knew I was not equipped to handle taking care of a baby—“

“Father,” Damian interrupted again. “You sent her off. Have her up for adoption,” he said slowly, as if realizing that that would have been his fate had his father known about his existence earlier, as well. It was almost ironic, considering how Bruce seemed to have a problem with adopting other children nowadays. Bruce nodded.

“She was adopted by a couple in France. Paris, to be exact. I’ve kept up to date, asking them to just send me a letter or email once or twice a year about the general stuff she’s been up to. Nothing too invasive. A few pictures. And last time I asked them, they said that she had no idea about being adopted or that I was her father,” Bruce sighed again, running a hand over his face. “But I think she does.”

“Why?” Jason asked, confused as everyone else to the change in subject. Except Tim and Damian, who seemed to be quickly connecting the dots.

“Oh boy,” Tim breathed. Bruce just nodded.

“Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She is the one who organized the trip for her class to come here, to Gotham. She is the one who entered and won our international internship competition, and turned that into an excuse to get her entire class to come here for two weeks. To get to know the place she will be living for her internship next year, after she graduates Lycee, France’s version of highschool essentially.”

Tim winced. He had been in charge of the internship competition, and Bruce had given him free reign. He had chosen the winner without even thinking to run it by his adoptive father.

“Bruce—“ Tim tried, but the man just held up a hand.

“I don’t blame you. I haven’t been paying too much attention to her life, and I didn’t expect her to do something like this. But we know now that, if she does know and this isn’t a giant coincidence,”

“Unlikely,” Dick agreed, wincing. “Possible, but unlikely.”

Bruce huffed in agreement. “Then, we know she is very resourceful, determined, and has skills that impressed Tim enough to choose her out of tens of thousands of contest participants worldwide.”

“The minimum requirement for a Wayne,” Damian finally managed to bite out, still coping with this proverbial slap in the face but doing his best to handle it. He was seventeen damn it, and had come a long way from who he used to be. He could handle this. He could. He would.

Bruce rolled his eyes, and then leaned forward with his hands braced on the table. “Okay. So now we need to make plans.”

“Plans?” Jason asked, frowning. “For how you’re gonna tell her without getting your faces plastered over every tabloid in the city right?”

“No,” the older man shook his head. “Plans to keep her alive, unharmed, and unaffiliated with us until she leaves. I will not be making any public appearances unless absolutely necessary, so trips to the Tower are out of the question—“

“Are you…” Jason’s eyes were wide. “Trying to keep her out of our Shitshow? Because yeah, kudos to you even if it took you way too long to learn, but if she went through all this trouble to come here then it's probably too late.”

Dick nodded. “If she’s anything like you and Damian, there’s no way she’ll back off easy. Avoiding her will only make it worse on you, and probably the rest of us too.”

Damian stared straight into his father's eyes, glare sharp and searching. “What is this about, Father? You have not worried this much about any of us—“

“Because none of you were as naive!” He barked, quickly catching himself and taking a breath. “You all had a way you could benefit from this life. A way I could help you. But Marinette has both of the parents she has known her whole life, they treat her wonderfully. They care. She’s never had to worry about constantly moving, or fighting, or going hungry. The only deaths she has ever experienced have been from afar and due to natural causes. She designs as a hobby and has no problem with socializing or handling emotions in a healthy way— introducing her to our life holds no benefit for her. The only thing it can give her is unnecessary danger and risk and secrets.”

“Yeah, well. I guess Batman doesn’t know everything, does he?” A new voice startled them all from the doorway, making everyone's head whip over to see who had managed the near-impossible and snuck up on all of them.

Standing there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, was a short part-Asian woman in her late teens. Her midnight black hair was cascading down her back in one thick braid, tied off at the end with an indigo ribbon. Her eyes were a piercing cobalt blue, matching those of Bruce perfectly. Her jaw was clenched, and the infamous Bat-glare coming from her was directed right at the person who made the expression infamous in the first place.

“Marinette,” Bruce breathed, shoulders squaring. “Your plane isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

“It won’t,” she agreed. “I took a portal here. You see, my extensive research into Batman’s known habits and tactics, which I started after I figured out about your alter ego last year, informed me that you tend to go to the extremes to protect people you deem incapable of protecting themselves, and are also prone to idiotic self-sacrificing behavior in the form of purposely making yourself look like an ass.”

Jason chuckled. “She’s got you down to a T, B,” he quipped with a grin despite the caution still in his eyes. “But let’s back up a bit, little Spitfire. What’s this about a portal?”

Marinette pushed off the doorframe, walking closer to the scattered group. Tim and Jason were spread across one sofa, Damian on the other with Dick, and Bruce was occupying an armchair. Marinette just walked until she stood where she could easily be seen by everyone, but also had nobody at her back.

“The portal is part of a bigger story. Like, the fact that father dearest wanted to protect me so badly that he placed the JLE in Paris, but didn’t realize that relations with that branch were so bad that the JLE never informed him or the JLA about getting kicked out of France and reassigning themselves to Italy. Bruce never kept a close enough eye on the city, because he wanted to keep emotional distance, and therefore was completely blind to when a supervillain showed up and terrorized Paris for almost five years,” she continued, her glare never leaving Bruce’s face.

“I found out about being adopted when I was eight. I found out who my biological father was when I was thirteen. Last year, I finally put in the work to connect Bruce Wayne to Batman. And yeah, I never told Maman and Papan, because they have never completely understood me. They wouldn’t have understood that I was fine with having no contact with you, back then. That my snooping had nothing to do with being unhappy with them as my parents. They would have immediately assumed they were inadequate when I am merely curious by nature. But then I ended up being chosen to be one of the child heroes that fought said domestic terrorist that showed up five years ago. And I sure as hell couldn't tell them that a magical artifact showed up on my desk one day and that the god inhabiting it told me to fight the monsters the villain made and just, just go with it. I couldn’t tell them when I went from being one of two Parisian heroes to being the leader of a team. I couldn’t tell them when my elderly mentor, unable to fight by our side but who had at least provided emotional support and knowledge, passed away and gave me his title and responsibilities. I’m sick and tired of being protected, Monsieur Wayne,” Marinette didn’t seem to notice the tears that had begun to fall.

“I’m sick of it. I know you were trying to keep me safe, but I fought a war I wasn’t prepared for. I died, thousands of times. But my own powers and the powers I have my partners brought me back to life. Over and over. I don’t need protection, damn it. I don’t need you to distance yourself, because you're the only fucking person I can call a parent who might understand,” she held out a hand, her scowl turning into a gentle smile. “I have so much I need to talk about. Before I drown under all these secrets. Please. I’ll go back through another portal before my parents notice I’m gone, but I’ll be back in town tomorrow when my plane lands. Just. Please, don’t push me away. That’s all I ask. I want to get to know you, all of you. I… I need family who understands.”

“Thousands.” Bruce repeated, all of them still recovering from Marinette’s very sudden, info-dumping speech. “You died… thousands of times?”

Marinette laughed, but it was a sad sound. No mirth there. “I gave my friend a magical artifact that reverses time, and the artifact that gives me my own powers can reverse any damage from a fight I use it in. Even death. Sending untrained teenagers to fight a villain three times their age makes some kind of failsafe like that kind of necessary.”

“Fuck,” Jason cursed under his breath. “Well. You’re welcome to join the living Zombie club,” he offered. The girl snorted, giving him a watery grin in thanks.

“I’m sure you know about my stance on powers and metas,” Bruce decided to say, wincing immediately after. That wasn’t what he meant to say. At all. He earned another brief glare for it.

“I’m not a meta, and I only have powers when I use the artifact to transform, thereby borrowing powers from the miniature god that the artifact houses. Think of it like doctor fate, but my gods are actually not parasites and my powers are much more… specialized. I had to learn combat on my own, and I was able to train in my sleep with the past users of this artifact. That includes people like Fa Mulan, Joan of Arc, and someone you actually know— Hippolyta. I’ve mastered more fighting styles by now than I care to remember, and I’ve done gymnastics since I was three. I don’t know if my parents told you that in their letters. I even won the gold in the nationwide France gymnastics competition two years ago. I assure you, I don’t rely on my powers nearly as much as you might think.”

Bruce swallowed. “I can… greet you when your class arrives.”

Marinette grinned. “Well, that’s a start.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Idk what happened, I don’t know if I like this at all but oh well. I’m posting it anyway. Maybe one of you will like it. I… couldn’t really find any other way to do this so oh well. Also, I think Mulan was a past Dragon..? But I put her as a Ladybug because I Can.

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl @iamablinkmarvelarmy @meme991001

[ireallylikejonouchi]

𝙽𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚑𝚢𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘 𝙼𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚁𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠

Written and drawn by Shiibashi Hiroshi, Nurarihyon no Mago is a manga series that ran in Weekly Shonen Jump with 210 chapters, 25 volumes. It’s about a Japan that has a massive Yokai underbelly, consisting mostly of yokai yakuza clans that run certain parts of Japan. The protagonist, Rikuo Nura, is the third heir of the Nura clan, kingpin of Kanto. His grandfather is the legendary Lord of Pandemonium, the yokai Nurarihyon, but Rikuo is only a quarter yokai, having a half-human father and a full human mother. As a child, Rikuo thinks yokai are the coolest thing, but his classmates mock him for this, not believing that they exist, and finding it even weirder that someone could admire them. Rikuo is told that it is his destiny to take on this role, and that he cannot live a human life. Hearing stories about evil yokai who enjoy making humans despair, Rikuo decides that yokai are terrible and he wants nothing to do with them. When Rikuo’s classmates are attacked by some rebellious yokai from the Nura clan, who are unhappy about their new leader being a quarter-human child, Rikuo awakens to his yokai blood and transforms in order to defeat them. He decides here that he will become the third heir in order to subdue yokai that would bring terror to humans with his “Fear,” the power system of the series.

With the synopsis out of the way, from this point on there will be spoilers. Be wary. I’ll try my best to spoil only what’s necessary in order to get my point across.

The beginning of this manga takes its time setting up character dynamics with short story arcs, as well as establishing what the yokai of the world are truly like with various examples of opinionated yokai antagonists. Some consider it boring, and I can understand why, but I think it pays off very well. The characters are incredibly likeable and fun. Even the ones that don’t have very much development are still a joy to see on the page when they show up. Rikuo himself is simultaneously a complicated character and a very easy character to follow. The first chapter takes place a couple of years before the second one, and his childish judgement to go from worshiping yokai to hating them is intentionally so. The story is about his growth. Rikuo is told that he must take on this role, he denies, but eventually accepts under his own terms, and for his own reasons. This ultimately sets up what his character arc will end up becoming, as one of his final conflicts at the end of the story sees him battling against another half-yokai, Abe no Yoshihira, who believes it is his duty to follow his evil father’s plan because of his "cursed” mixed blood. Rikuo doesn’t simply reject this title, but he also doesn’t accept out of obligation. He accepts this as an opportunity to bring about change. The change he wants slowly evolves from protecting humans to bridging the social gap between human and yokai so that they may find peace together. Fate shouldn’t be fought against or ignored, but you must make whatever you can out of it. Rikuo feels that connecting human and yokai is something only he can do as a half-yokai, so he feels a responsibility to carry this out, yet it is also what he truly believes in and wants. He is a leader because he was graced with the opportunity to bring about a better world. Your fate is only what you perceive it as. The final villain Abe no Seimei believes that human and yokai are fated to be at odds forever, and that influences his evil plan to purify the world. Both are believers of fate to some extent, the message isn’t something as simple as “defy fate” or “there is no fate,” which I appreciate. This manga is very good about exploring all facets of the themes it presents, which I will give more examples of shortly.

The power system is an interesting one. To quote the wiki, “ Osore (畏, Fear) is the term that denotes the unique skills and traits of each yōkai. It refers to the "fear" of the unknown, an emotional reaction produced when the yōkai represent themselves as "monsters". As yōkai first existed as creatures who induce fear in humankind, the general concept of "fear" revolves around being feared and respected by humans and making them feel small and weak. It involves exerting a wall of pressure to make one's presence feel larger than the actuality. When done correctly, this also creates a change in the mood and surrounding air - as seen whenever a dense fog appears when a Hyakki Yakō gathers in the series. Itaku states that Osore only applies to scaring humans.“ Fear is an inherently negative word, especially when associated with demons. However, Rikuo is proud of his fear, despite scolding yokai who scare humans. Fear in this manga is not quite so black and white. Rikuo’s form of fear is reverence, admiration. He considers this to be a form of fear, and he is indeed proud of the awe he is able to inspire within his followers as well as his enemies. Rikuo is able to use a power that comes only thanks to his human side, letting a yokai haunt his humanity while keeping control with his yokai half, performing Equip and gaining that yokai’s powers, but only if they entrust themselves to him. It is the ultimate representation of the Fear that Rikuo believes in. For the core power system of the series to have such a double meaning about it speaks to the coming complexities, and it is incredibly fitting for this story, as I hope to convey.

Fate, lineage and connection to history are the main themes of this manga. Many of the characters in the story are tied to tradition before it starts, and have to be brought out of that by Rikuo and his progressive mindset. One’s blood is used to portray this theme in an interesting way. Rikuo’s father, Rihan, describes him as a symbol of hope for the future. Rihan longed for a world where human and yokai could get along, yet he came into constant conflict with both evil yokai and evil humans, as his son Rikuo would soon come to do as well. Rikuo loved his father, and carries on his dreams. However, similar to his “fate” of leading the clan, his respect for his ancestors is well-informed by his individual beliefs, and not from any kind of feeling that he MUST do what his ancestors wished. Abe no Yoshihira failed here, becoming a slave to his perceived fate. Hagoromo-gitsune, the main antagonist of the Kyoto arc as well as Abe no Seimei’s mother, was tied to her blood relations as well. She did everything for her son, who was soon to be reborn again into this age. She had her own image of an ideal world, erasing humans and making a world full of yokai, but she didn’t consider her child’s ideals, which she could have presumed from Seimei’s suffering he received when both human and yokai betrayed him. Seimei is born and casts Hagoromo-gitsune into hell, declaring that he will purify all life from the world, as neither human nor yokai can be trusted. Abe no Seimei is the agent of fate, declaring that all living things on Earth have doomed themselves to a fate of death thanks to their own horrible and greedy nature. Abe no Seimei is a half-yokai himself and he has found solace from neither of those sides. Rikuo, however, does not give up. He equips himself with the true fear of this reality that places him in-between two worlds, unable to fully enjoy life as a human or a yokai, refusing to resign himself as Seimei did, and instead fighting against the fate Seimei enforces by bringing together humans and yokai, including Hagoromo-gitsune, in order to seal the final blow against him.

You may be wondering what it means that Rikuo was able to finish off Seimei by fusing with his mother. Well, you see, Hagoromo-gitsune is sort of, in a way, Rikuo’s mother as well. You see, before Rihan had a child with Rikuo’s mother, he was married to another woman, Yamabuki-otome. For context, Abe no Seimei is a man who reincarnates throughout generations, as does his mother, Hagoromo-gitsune. Some time after Yamabuki-otome’s death, Seimei used her to take revenge on Rihan for disrupting his plans, by reviving her as a child and turning her into the host of the yokai Hagoromo-gitsune, sending her with false memories and subliminal orders to kill the man she loved when she was alive. Once she had killed Rihan, her human self hid itself away in despair and Hagoromo-gitsune was able to take control of her body for good. In modern times, after being cast into hell by Abe no Seimei, she is revived by Nurarihyon in anticipation for the final battle. After encountering Rikuo and his burning feelings in Kyoto, she had regained her human memories before being struck down by Seimei. Upon her most recent revival, she found she had feelings for both Rikuo and Seimei, and considers both to be her children. She regrets that her feelings for Seimei had ended up being met with treachery, and she goes to confront him. When she hears his full plan, she decides to do kill him herself, though she fails. She feels it her duty as a mother to make up for not understanding his suffering earlier, as it’s now too late to reason with him. Hagoromo-gitsune’s progression comes from her ability to find love for her yokai followers, considering them to be her children all the same as Rikuo and Seimei, and learns that she should have seen this love all along rather than being blinded by her obsessions with her blood son. Once again, she values her children and the blood she shares with them, but she is only able to find happiness when she realizes that the feelings she has for them don’t have to be restricted to only them simply because they are her kin, and similarly she does not need to follow Seimei’s plan just because she thinks it’s what a mother “should” do. Fusing with Rikuo is the culmination of this. While Rikuo is technically her kin, as Seimei is, we see through her arc that she has matured and learned to spread her love. So even though without context it would seem that she simply went from one child to the other, we can see the complexities of this and see how it relates to Rikuo’s arc, accepting something not out of obligation, but from your own will. 

By coming to a true understanding with the woman that Abe no Seimei had discarded, his mother, and her doing the same, an act that seemingly defies their fates (Rikuo’s fate to be a cold yokai ruler and Hagoromo’s fate to be a slave to her child’s whims), they’re able to defeat him and sever fate itself.

The Hundred Stories Clan Arc is one that I really appreciate for showing me how truly interesting Rikuo was as a character. I hadn’t realized it up to that point, and it’s clear why. His characterization and progression is subtle. The text doesn’t tell you how Rikuo grows, the art and his actions do. When humanity told of Rikuo’s half-yokai status is convinced that he must be killed for the safety of Japan, Rikuo is forced to face the fact that the humans he wants to protect are not perfect, and have as many imperfections as yokai do. Humans can be greedy, they can do horrible things when they’re afraid. In a backstory, the leader of the Hundred Stories Clan is shown to be a despicable human from Japanese history named Sanmoto Gorozaemon, who takes control of yokai to secure his political and social power, and turns himself into a yokai in order to secure that power. When a member of his clan is assaulted by humans who don’t care about the harm they’re causing, some of them even reveling in it, through facial expressions we can see him struggling with the thought of killing these humans to end the conflict, or out of revenge possibly. Shiibashi leaves this to the reader’s interpretation and it works wonders, he has no internal monologue relating to this feeling and nobody points out that he seems crazed or anything. It’s some panels that you could easily miss if you’re reading too fast.

In this panel, we are shown his reaction to a female yokai appearing and tormenting the humans that were tormenting him and his clanmate just moments ago. Even when he showed such rage at the humans, seemingly almost snapping, he decides he needs to stop the yokai from killing them. However, the expression on his face conveys perfectly how complex his emotions are over this. Despite how confidently he’s saying he needs to save them, his face almost looks like he doesn’t want to. Of course, he overcomes this and saves them for the sake of his dream.

It’s clear to see the moral dilemma he’s going through and it’s conveyed entirely through art and subtext. This is confident storytelling, and not to mention incredible artistry. Shiibashi has a certain maturity and respect for the reader that is hard to find in Shonen Jump manga sometimes.

Rikuo’s fight against the yokai artist Kyosai in this arc is notable for being similar to what I just described from the beginning of the arc.

Kyosai has an interest in turning human women into yokai using his painting techniques, including one of Rikuo’s classmates. Enraged, Rikuo engages him in combat with his newly acquired Attack Mode, which switches his Fear from a defensive technique to an offensive one, and changes his hair from white with black underneath it to having half of his hair being black on one side and the other being white. As the fight progresses, Rikuo is continuously injured and decomposed by Kyosai’s abilities, burning his flesh and scarring Rikuo black.

Rikuo’s deteriorating mental state during this arc is conveyed visually through his design, with both the way he is inked as well as his literally evolving design, his new transformation. He’s never had to confront these kinds of humans and yokai before. This leveling of suffering is new to our middle school-aged protagonist. After Kyosai is defeated, his momentary rage subsides but he is still scarred, physically and mentally. Encho, the acting leader of the Hundred Stories Clan, betrays Sanmoto’s reincarnated brain for personal gain, confusing Rikuo who is already in a fragile mental state. He struggles to comprehend the enemy, as he had been forced to face humans that he wanted to protect, yokai that despised those humans, and even his own best friends. Once again, exclusively visually conveyed and up to interpretation.

At the end of this arc, he accepts the help of his friends, his aide Yuki-Onna, and equips with her, washing himself of the stress he’s in and covering him in a beautiful veil of ice. His design goes back to normal in order to show this, and get across just how much his friends mean to him, in a truly impactful way that really strengthens the theme by giving real weight to his connection with both his yokai and human lives.

Every arc is strong in its own way, I simply wanted to discuss the few that best show what I’m trying to say. I hope you now understand why I love this manga so much and why I think you should read it. I promise the things I’ve spoiled here are only a fragment of the whole experience, and your appreciation will only grow as you experience the full context by reading the manga. If I got across what I wanted to, then you understand that this manga cannot be explained as much as it can be experienced. There are probably more things that I never noticed, maybe you’ll discover those before I do.

This manga is an ode to the future, to humanity. We can overcome our differences and coexist. Perhaps all it takes is for one person to take the fear that we as people feel in our daily lives onto themselves. The fear that there can never be change, the fear that our road only ends in sadness. The fear that our history defines us. The fear that we must conform to our duty. The fear that accepting a duty strips us of individuality. The fear that we can never bring these conflicting aspects of our mind together and find inner peace. The fear that we can never bring the conflicting aspects of people together and find true peace amongst ourselves. Not many people can overcome that fear, but he who is truly strong is he who equips that fear. He who takes that uncertainty of the future and uses it to empower himself and push for that change he wishes to see. This review is my ode to the man who was able to understand what makes people who they are and didn’t let that fear consume him. The man who equips true fear. Thank you for reading.

[sirenprincess15]

Please Don't Leave Me Chapter 15

Title: Please Don’t Leave Me

Author: SirenPrincess

Description: What if Aleksander hadn’t answered the door when Ivan interrupted the war room kissing? What if Aleksander and Alina had a bit more time to get to know each other before Baghra told her his true identity? Alina is the only one who can comfort Aleksander through his nightmares. Will she leave once she knows who he is?

This story is based on the show version and features a soft on the inside, hard on the outside Aleksander with an emphasis on emotional hurt/comfort and angst. If you are looking for lots of hurt!Aleksander thoughts, then this story is for you. Mal exists but pretty much solely to cause Aleksander some angst. Don’t worry. It will be a Darklina ending.

Chapter 1 is a missing scene at the end of Ep 4, and Chapter 2 takes place alongside Ep 5 and then diverges from canon there.

Pairings: Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, bits of Ivan/Fedyor

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Grisha are oppressed in this universe, and I don’t shy away from showing the horrors of that. There may eventually be mentions of canon-typical torture (Fjerdan pyres), death of family members, and cruelty to Grisha children. It’s not the focus, but that backdrop is definitely there and comes up as characters discuss their past.

In this chapter: Aleksander struggles to share his secrets with Alina until he finds her upset and needing him.

Recommended listening: Lady A "Need You Now"

Chapter 15

They went on that way for a couple of days. Alina spent most of her time with the tracker. It tore Aleksander up but he permitted it for her. Most of Aleksander’s time was spent handling details of the war, receiving intelligence reports, and managing Ravka. Keeping everyone alive kept him focused.

It was the evenings he spent alone that were driving him mad. He kept thinking of Alina’s desire to be fully honest with each other and Fedyor’s words of the importance of knowing and accepting a partner wholly, even with flaws. He had always been a strategist, always played through all scenarios in his head a thousand times until he arrived at one he liked. No matter what scenario he envisioned with Alina, none of them ever turned out as he desired. He desperately longed for the kind of love and acceptance that Alina called for. There had been so many years alone where he had yearned for someone to share things with. However, every time he tried to plan the discussion of one of his secrets, it all went to hell quickly. He had even spent one evening writing it all out for her in the hopes that would help him solidify his thoughts. It hadn’t, and he’d burned it all as he realized how beyond stupid it would be to give her such information in writing.

The problem, he realized, was that he could eloquently justify every decision he had made, but no matter how he poured his heart out into explaining it all, none of that would make the truth any less horrible. Marie was dead--that knowledge would hurt Alina, and he just couldn’t stand the idea of her experiencing all that pain. Genya was his spy--without the centuries of seeing Grisha persecuted to understand what it meant if they lost this war, without seeing the king’s ineptness firsthand, seeing the battalions they had lost because of inadequate supplies and wasted funds, she would never be able to understand this decision. It was unforgivable to leave Genya in that situation. He knew it was, even if Genya had agreed to stay in it herself. That didn’t mean it wasn’t the necessary decision, too. They weren’t mutually exclusive, but Alina would never be able to grasp that. He had a way to potentially take control of her power and use it against her will--would she ever believe he didn’t intend to use it? Was that even really true? He had always hated the idea and told everyone they would not be using it, but deep down he had always known it was the back-up plan. Could he even say he didn’t intend to use it if he knew there were circumstances where he would? All the thoughts swirled in his head and threatened to take him past his breaking point. And then she would be there to help him sleep and somehow it was enough to get him through the next day.

He was stuck, and he didn’t see a way out of this pattern. He couldn’t stop thinking of ways to try to explain things to her. He needed her. His desire for her to actually accept him was overwhelming. But how could she? As he imagined trying to explain things to her, he saw things through her eyes. It was a fresh perspective, and what he saw was horrifying. It all caused him horrible guilt, and, yet, he knew he would make the same decisions again. Over the centuries, he had become numb to accepting the small pains to prevent the true horrors. Alina had reignited emotion inside him, and suddenly everything was raw again.

Aleksander looked at the clock and groaned. It would still be several hours before Alina would visit his chambers to help him sleep. He could not take another night of tearing himself apart while trying to come up with words to help Alina understand how the murder and torture of Grisha over the centuries had forced him to make harder and harder choices. He should get up and do something productive, something, anything to keep his mind active. The library might be a good idea. He thought he had most of the good sources on the Stag in his chambers, but there could still be some good books with more information on relics in general that he and David had not yet read that could at least keep his mind engaged. There was the added bonus that the library reminded him of happier times with Alina. He had never seen someone smile so broadly at books. The memory of stolen kisses between the shelves brought a smile to his face.

Decision made, Aleksander strode to the library. He froze when he saw Ivan hovering near an alcove. Ivan was supposed to be guarding Alina. Aleksander raised an eyebrow, and Ivan gestured with his chin toward the alcove. Years of working together made a silent exchange possible. Alina was in the alcove, and Ivan thought Aleksander should go in there.

“Alina,” Aleksander gasped as he took in her appearance. In her nightgown and robe, she was disheveled, hair a mess, with tears in her eyes.

She desperately tried to wipe the tears away when she saw him. “Aleksander.”

“You’re crying,” he whispered as he closed the distance between them.

“It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

He reached out and tilted her chin until she met his eyes. “You never let me get away with that line.”

The tears started to fall again. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. To his surprise, she started sobbing. He tentatively sent his power through to her. It caressed against hers and begged for a response. This time, she let the connection flow between them. Emotions echoed back and forth with the familiar comfort of each other. She was sad, confused, scared. He was concerned. He made sure to let her feel his love for her, whether she wanted it or not.

“I missed this,” she whispered after a long while.

He blinked. Didn’t she know she was in control of that? He constantly longed for the connection with her. She was the one who decided when they were allowed to have this. “I missed you.”

She sighed and finally let go of the stress in her. In their bond, she pulled for his comfort.

“Did he hurt you?” It was a quiet question, but there was a clear threat in his tone. If the tracker had harmed her, there was nothing that would stop him from enjoying that man’s death.

“No,” she responded quickly. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Are things not going the way you want with the tracker?” He tried not to enjoy that idea. Alina was hurting. That was bad even if it would result in the tracker being out of the picture.

“You’ll be relieved to know that we’ve realized what we are to each other and it’s family. I tried to kiss him. It was awful. So awful, Aleksander.” She made a face and then gave a soft little laugh. “I do love him, but that felt so wrong, and I realized it’s because he’s like my brother.”

“That is not why you are crying, though.” He could tell. He couldn’t let himself become distracted by the jealousy he felt at the idea of the tracker’s lips on hers, even if it was awful as she said. She was comfortable with the decision that the relationship with the tracker was not romantic. He might take more joy in that, but he could not because something else was devastating her. “Whatever it is, you know you can tell me.”

“I’m afraid it will upset you.”

Because the tracker had actually hurt her? Because she was going to say something against Aleksander? Something to break his heart? “I can take it.” He kissed the top of her forehead. “If I somehow found a way to talk to you about the Fold, you can share this with me.”

She looked up at him with uncertainty in her eyes. “I can’t. You’ll hurt him or ... lock him in the dungeons.”

So this was about the tracker. He might very much like to kill, mame, or at least imprison the tracker for whatever she was about to say next, but he knew she wouldn’t tell him unless he agreed not to hurt that idiot and she could feel that he meant it. He took her hand in his so she could get a strong read of his emotions. “I promise I won’t hurt him without your permission.” That, at least, he could agree to. He’d just convince her to let him kill the tracker if that was called for.

Unable to look him in the eye as she spoke, she focused her gaze on the floor and whispered. “He wants us to run away and hide. He has a whole plan. I tried to explain how I can’t do that. I can’t hide my power. I told him how sick it used to make me. I didn’t understand what was causing it at the time, but now I do and I can’t go back to not being able to eat or sleep, to feeling so exhausted constantly. Nadia told me some stories of Grisha who tried to suppress their powers and got seriously ill. But he just keeps saying it will be fine just for a little while.”

Aleksander tried not to react to the news that the tracker was trying to escape with her, but Alina could probably feel his response. Anger was there, of course, but more than anything it triggered his protective instincts. He swallowed as he tried to push away any concerns of the tracker stealing her out of his safe space in the Little Palace. That wasn’t why Alina had told him or what she was asking for his help with. “He doesn’t accept you as you are, but it’s only because he doesn’t understand you. What we are is impossible for him to comprehend.”

She leaned against his chest so he could wrap his arms back around her. “He keeps saying things against Grisha. Not against me, he says not me, but … I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it half the time. ‘We can’t trust her, she’s Grisha.’ ‘Those people always have tricks up their sleeves.’ Please don’t be mad at him. He isn’t trying to hurt me, but it does.”

“Prejudice against our kind is something learned at an early age. It’s so ingrained in Ravkan society, worse so in other countries, he probably does not realize that it is hate he is speaking.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not trying to defend or slander him. It’s the truth you need to hear, Alina. He is otkazat’sya. You are Grisha. They have always hated our kind. Fight as we may to be accepted, we never are.”

“I’m tired of feeling so … foreign … other.” She sighed.

“Do you feel like that here at the Little Palace? When you are with me?”

“No, and when he says things like that … I … It’s stupid. I’m so stupid.”

She knew he couldn’t stand for her to put herself down, but he was trying to get her to open up and let all her feelings out, so he didn’t correct her. “Tell me. All of it.”

“I’m a mess, Aleksander. I’m such a mess.”

“You hold me together when I am a mess. I can do the same for you.”

“When he says things that hurt me, all I want is you. I miss you. I miss our connection. I find I can’t breathe when I’m not with you. There’s just this tightness in my chest that won’t go away. I long to reach out to our bond.”

“And that’s a bad thing? Maybe when he puts you down, you subconsciously reach for the only person who has ever made you feel like you are enough and worthy of being loved. I wanted to give that to you, Alina.”

“I’m so scared, Aleksander. I’m in here crying because I need you and I’m so scared to need you!”

“You have taught me it’s okay to need you. It’s okay to need acceptance and love, Alina. I offer those.”

“How can I need you if I don’t even know if I trust you?” Her voice cracked.

Aleksander sucked in a breath at the pain those words caused. “Because of what Baghra said?”

She nodded into his chest. “And the manipulation. If I didn’t know about the letters, what else don’t I know? What else are you doing to manipulate me? At times I think I am strong enough and I can tell when you are lying to me, so that will be enough for me to be able to stay in control of things with you. Other times I’m terrified that I’m still falling for you and I will end up your slave. I realize I’m not in control of anything. I don’t feel whole unless I’m with you! When I’m with Mal, I am constantly thinking of you. I thought that if I gave myself some space, I could separate from that and sort things out, but it’s only worse. It takes all my strength not to run to your rooms because I need you.”

He wanted to reassure her that he was worthy of her trust, but he wasn’t sure that was even true. Wasn’t he just a bit earlier going through the list of all the secrets he had kept from her? He hadn’t managed to confide any of them to her or even come up with a plan of how he could. “There’s so much you don’t know,” he admitted. “It terrifies me, too. Trying to find a way to share it all with you is destroying me.” It was the full truth for once. There were horrible secrets there. He did not want to be manipulating her. He truly did want her to know all of it now, but he wanted her to understand it all too. Figuring out how to make that happen was eating him alive. He focused on those feelings and opened their bond fully so she can know the truth of that. “I need you. I fear if I use the wrong words, you will leave me, and I will not survive.”

“So … we both are driving ourselves mad with self doubt and worry and the pain of being apart. What do we even do with that?”

“If I had come up with a solution, I would not still be tearing myself apart trying to figure it out.” He sighed at the familiar ache in his chest. “Do you … Do you want to just take a break from … trying to figure everything out? My only solace in life is you. If I am your only respite, can we not just give ourselves a night to have that?” He needed a break, and she needed his comfort. They both were in so much pain from trying to survive alone.

“I’d like that,” she admitted, finally looking up into his eyes.

Aleksander reached out his hand and cupped her cheek. She leaned into his touch, and the clenching in his chest finally relaxed. She wanted his comfort. He wasn’t quite sure what a break would look like to her. Would she just want to sit and read in the library? Hold each other perhaps?

Tentatively, he leaned forward to kiss her. Her lips parted, and her body arched into him as if she could not get enough of his touch. He was shocked at the flood of desire that she released through their bond. There was no doubt that she wanted more.

As much as he longed to make mad love to her right there in the bookshelves even with Ivan only an aisle away, it didn’t feel quite right to dive straight into ripping off her clothes. Their relationship was awkward and uncertain at the moment. They needed cuddles and contact and warmth before he reminded her what it felt like to have her body worshipped. An idea occurred to him. “Do you want to take a bath together?”

She smiled. “Yes, please.”

=========

Author Notes: I wrote this chapter a dozen times and deleted them all. Every attempt at writing Aleksander come clean was ridiculously bad. So I started writing about him feeling that way, and Lady A's "Need You Now" came on my station and inspired me. Aleksander was a mess of guilt, self-doubt, and fear until Alina needed him, and then the story just clicked and was so easy to write. All of the emotions felt right once he realized she needed him. He doesn't need to be perfect for her. He needs to be what she needs, and he can be that, even with the dark past. This version felt genuine to the characters, including Alina and Mal. Alina's future with Mal was miserable. I wanted to let her realize 'hey, I don't like this' and choose something else for herself.

[trashcankitty12]

Helia Headcanons

Helia Scofield, nephew of Saladin; Master Artist in the making.

Don’t let his soft demeanor and pacifistic leanings fool you; Helia’s up for the fight if he’s needed.

(All headcanons are mainly for my verses: Left and the New Company of Light. Fair warning.)

-Helia was born to Harley and Hannah Scofield.

-Hannah, Saladin’s twin (and the elder twin, thank you) is an illusion-based witch who works with her Great Uncle’s army. She’s a commander of the Pegasus Unit of the Callistan Army, and unlike her brother, tries to keep herself out of trouble.

-Harley’s more of a gentle soul who enjoys art and runs an art gallery in Callisto.

-As you can imagine, his parents, though loving to him and though they did love each other at one point, have had many disagreements about their lifestyles and what would be best for the family.

-Harley was more pacifistic while Hannah preferred to ‘face things head on’. (Both have great strategic minds though, and… Tended to use them against each other.)

-At a young age, Helia showed potential for magic. Hannah and Saladin tried to help hone his potential skills as a wizard, but the best he could do was simple spells to make himself faster and stronger than normal and to send magic notes. (And a few other minimalistic spells. He couldn’t do anything fancy like his mom and uncle though…)

-It didn’t really bum him out too much though. In fact, it was partially a relief that he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting someone with his magic if his feelings or concentration went out of control. And he had an easy way of keeping his utensils nearby while he was working.

-Helia was in a junior sword fighting league as a kid, something his Uncle Saladin and his mother were very proud of. (Though his father thought it reckless and dangerous and ugly… Even if there was a sort of elegance to sword fighting when done right.)

-He also participated in art clubs at his school and did his to earn high marks in elementary and middle school. (He tended to be a daydreamer and often spaced out in class, especially if the subject was boring to him. Which became another argument for his parents.)

-When he was about 12/13, his parents decided to divorce. Hannah relocated and deployed to serve in Magix at the Callistan Embassy (and to be closer to her brother). His father remained in Callisto.

-He was actually happy that they finally divorced, thrilled to never have to hear one of their ‘we’re not really arguing, just having a heated discussion’ sort of fights. Having to decide where to live and what his plans for the future, however, made him sick.

-His social anxiety was through the roof anyway, and on top of all of this… His art took a bit of a dark turn and so did his poetry.

-How dare his parents fight each other and then demand he choose? How dare they implode on him like this?

-(Faragonda and Griffin were honestly the best people during this time. And so were his childhood friends. They helped him keep his cool and realize what he wanted and how to go about talking to his parents about this stuff.)

-Helia left the sword fighting league, he never really enjoyed it anyway except for the moments he was benched and could sketch the matches. And he decided to stay with his father and enroll at the Callistan Art Academy. His mother was so proud that he wanted to follow his dreams, and agreed to weekends and holidays.

-(Honestly his parents were just happy that he was talking to them again instead of pushing them away. They were so worried, they even went to therapy so they could try and do better for Helia.)

-Helia stayed in touch with some of his sword fighting league friends and kept up with his childhood friends when he went to the Art Academy.

-He loved showing off his new works and talking his friends into being models for some of his works. (One of his favorite portraits is of his best guy friend posing with his new weapon after being accepted into Red Fountain.)

-His parents did move on from each other. On his dad’s side, he has a stepdad and a lovely younger stepsister who adores him. (And he has a half-brother on the way!!)

-His mom remarried a fellow soldier, Monroe. And Monroe has two children of their own; Seneca and Marie. (Older stepsisters… They’re loud and boisterous, but they mean well and Helia enjoys watching them pose and give him fashion shows to help out his own work.)

-Though he was only at the Academy for a short time, Helia discovered many things about himself. (And made friends with the Princess of Linphea who had gotten in despite her age. The fairy is truly gifted in making topiary art.)

-He loves his charcoal brushes and using colored pencils when doing sketches. Something about the way it moves on the paper just makes him so happy.

-And he does love to paint, though he’s not much for water colors. (And never ask him to do a digital piece. The last time he tried working with a tablet, he nearly got electrocuted. Granted, it was probably a one-time thing, but he took it as a sign.)

-Poetry is second love, aside from sketching and painting. He loves being able to verbalize his feelings and put the words down that he can feel inside. Its one of the few ways he feels he can truly connect to people, since it’s easier to write down the words instead of saying them. (Though he has done poetry readings from time to time.)

-Between portraits and landscapes, Helia prefers landscapes. And he’d really gotten into architecture drawings before he left the Academy.

-Because his parents were often busy when he was a kid, he found he had useful skills to ‘adult’ while at the Academy and on his own for the first time. (He can cook fairly well, at least, you know what you’re supposed to be eating and it tastes pretty good. But he’s no Chef Langdon.)

-He was great at keeping his room spotless and clean. His workspaces however? Not so much.

-Over half his wardrobe is stained with either paint or charcoal or clay.

-(Yes, he can do pottery. Just not very well. In fact, it usually looks pretty shit, but hey, he tried.)

-After seeing the news about what happened in Magix and how his uncle’s school was destroyed and the people he cared about nearly died, Helia decided to transfer. (Which took a lot of convincing with his dad and the Dean of the Academy and Saladin.)

-But once he was in, he was in. And when given the choice about his weapon, he went with one his mother loves to use, the laser-string gloves. Great for restraint and for quick weapon-recovery in battle without potentially causing further harm.

-Add in his ability to make himself stronger, and he can wield that glove with the confidence of a sword fighter.

-He quickly clicked with Timmy once he joined their squadron, despite the two having different views of technology.

-Helia was Riven’s roommate though, and while their personalities didn’t compete with each other, they didn’t completely get along either. (Riven reminded Helia of Hannah with his ‘let’s just face it’ ways and Riven felt Helia wasn’t much of a hero if all he did was restrain instead of fight.)

-Of course, as time went on, Helia and Riven do have respect for each other, and have many inside jokes that came from their time living together.

-Helia quickly found he was one of the ‘advisors’ of the group, with everyone coming to him for advice. He was flattered, sure, but dudes… Just because he managed to get what he got, doesn’t mean he knows how he did it.

-Aside from training with his gloves, he’s good using a whip and decent with a sword. Bows and arrows/anything needing aim isn’t his strong suit. He’s also not the best at giving reports on how things went on their missions, which is why that task gets delegated to Sky or Riven.

-He trained as a medic too, deciding that while he wouldn’t be the best in a fight, he can help with the aftermath. And his squad kind of needed a medic aside from Timmy and Brandon…

-Helia may not enjoy fighting, but he’s not above doing what’s necessary when the people he cares about are in danger. There have been plenty of times, not just when saving the Magical Dimension, that Helia has risked his life and limbs to protect his friends.

-One such incident was a survival trip to the Marshlands of Amanal. Brandon never would have made it home in one piece if Helia hadn’t thrown himself at the hippogriff. (And he somehow managed to befriend it afterward. No, he has no memory of how he did it.)

-Helia tends to be a stress-sketcher. Worried about a test? Doodles on his notes from class. Worried about an upcoming mission? Sketchbook in hand. Relationship issues? Sketchbook.

-Oh! He’s a great pilot too! Helia has a great sense of direction and has grown up around the ships, so he knows how to work them. (Now, if you want to know what makes them tick or how to put them together if they fall apart, ask someone else. Preferably Timmy or Riven.)

-Helia has a whole stash of teas. A collection, if you will. (Something that he blames Faragonda for, but hey, it’s not the worst habit ever.)

-After all the traveling he’s done thanks to Red Fountain, Helia sort of understands better why his mom and uncle loved their military days so much. Seeing new places, learning new things, enjoying new foods… It’s quite an existence. (If you can look passed all the fighting and wars and invasions…)

-Yes, Helia does yoga. He also enjoys dance. (And with friends like Layla, Musa, and Nabu, he never has to do it alone.)

-Some of his favorite people to sketch: Flora, for her grace and beauty and the way she seems to just breathe life into natural settings; Sky, for his posture and presence and ability to always appear in charge; Layla, for her strength and grace and how every body of water seems to be at her command; and finally, Timmy and Tecna, As a couple, those two just radiate this feeling of joy and it just… How can you not want to sketch it?!

-(Kiko is also a favorite sketch subject. The little rabbit just has so much personality!)

-This may come as a shock to people, but Helia enjoys horror movies. Preferably the psychological/thriller-based horror movies. It’s the way they capture human emotion and it’s just so poignant and interesting. He wants to learn how to convey such feelings in his work.

-Between his parents, you’d think Helia was closer to his father… In actuality, he’s closer to his mother.

-His mom enjoyed doing things and showing him things and just getting him to be more active and curious as a child.

-His father was more of a watcher. An observer-type. Always looking for something awe-inspiring for his next piece. (Something Helia and Harley bond over now. And laugh at, from time to time.)

-Helia enjoys swapping sketching ideas with Bloom and Stella, looking to see what they’re up to and how they can try and work off of each other.

-(And he has done some physical character sheets and layout ideas for Tecna’s video game idea to help her see her vision more clearly.)

-Helia doesn’t play a lot of video games. They’re just not his thing… But he does have a soft spot for the Sims series after Bloom introduced him to it, and he enjoys this maze creation game that a Solarian gaming company came up with for phones (level 200!!!).

-He swears more than people think he does. It’s almost comical how shocked people are when they meet this ‘sweet and soulful guy’ and then he drops a few ‘f’ bombs while working on his projects. (Not just ‘f’ bombs either… Dude gets creative with his curses. Even Riven’s impressed.)

-Helia didn’t go to Earth with the others, instead taking up a job offer on Callisto to help with remodeling his great uncle’s barracks. (And now, the castle itself… He’s so honored it’s his designs in the works.)

-However, he does visit from time to time. It makes him a little sad though, seeing Earth the way it is. All the pollution creating cars, the strange fashion, the way people seem to disregard each other. It’s so sad.

-When the ‘saving the Magical Dimension’ stuff stops, Helia’s hoping to join with his father’s art gallery and to build on his portfolio of projects. (He knows he already has a few jobs waiting for him, like Stella’s coronation portrait for when she becomes queen.)

-He just hopes his works inspire and touch people the way they do as he works on them.

[mymovingfingerwrites]

courage, dear heart

When we think of Lucy, we think of her golden hair and her cheerful smile, we think of a girl walking through a wardrobe and accepting a new world without question. We think of Queen Lucy, blessed with the power to heal, the only girl on a ship full of boys searching for a hint of whence they came. We think of her at the end of the world, kind and lovely and sorrowful as a mouse rows away, and in the world beyond the end of the world, her eyes lit up with delight. Resolute Lucy, bold Lucy, perched like a bird on the back of a lion.

When we think of Narnia, we think of Lucy. How could we not? Was it not Lucy who opened a wardrobe door and found winter, was it not Lucy who refused to be minimized, was it not Lucy who infused the land with good cheer for years after her coronation, was it not Lucy who first cocked her head and said that the land was speaking to them and they must listen?

We think about Lucy, bright Lucy, glittering Lucy, and we know instinctively that Lucy was always the heroine of her own story. What we don’t consider is that in her darkest moments—for Lucy, like us all, was not always bright, no matter how the legends insisted otherwise—she felt at times captive by the winds of fate stirring her hair. Perhaps we are–though we don’t like to admit it—some of the many people in both worlds who looked at Lucy and resented her for having the audacity (the privilege) to fill the pages of her book with her own words without considering how heavy her pen may be.

(Was it really her book, though? Lucy did not deny she wrote her own narrative. She was Lucy the Valiant; she spoke the language of High Narnia, she heard when Aslan called, she commanded the long-dormant trees into existence once more. Lucy was familiar with the power of words. What she objected to was the idea that her life was her very own, that her canvas was blank except for marks of her own making. Dear Lucy, pulled uncomplainingly into heroics, a simple game of exploration leading to death and betrayal and heartbreak (and majesty, and light, and animals that could talk). No; this was not her book but if she had the (mis)fortune to open it she certainly would inscribe her legacy on it herself).

To our credit, we sense what Lucy had always known: she felt as though her role was inevitable. (In boys, we call that responsibility, or heroism). Perhaps that is what we resented. When you are a young girl with golden hair and blue eyes and the lightest smattering of freckles, when you are the baby of the family and coddled and loved dearly, when you are born with an infinite well of self-possession and three protective older siblings, when you believe in your own worth–stepping into the pages of your story and titling it as your own looks like a foregone conclusion from afar.

(Her sister, Susan, struggled with this for many years. Though she was the pretty one, or at least that was what her mother told her, Susan eyed Lucy’s waterfall of blonde hair with envy. Though she was meant to be gentle, Susan watched how animals flocked to her sister first, how even the most timid of creatures lined up to whisper their secrets into Lucy’s ears. This would take Susan a considerable amount of time to overcome, but let us not blame her too harshly. Being a girl is difficult enough; being the other girl in the story is harder still).

But what we do not see, unless we look very closely, is that nothing felt foregone for Lucy. What looks easy from afar was not from within. Lucy chose herself, over and over; she chose to follow the path Aslan lay out for her, and she chose to do so with good humor and kindness as armour against the inherent cruelty of the world, even the magic one.

Of all her siblings, Peter understood this best, though they never discussed it in so many words. Perhaps that is why Peter always trusted Lucy, or at least apologized to her without resentment when she was proven right. The bookends of the family, they were as temperamentally different as any other pair of siblings. Peter sometimes felt blinded by Lucy's incandescent optimism; Lucy at times was weighed by proximity to Peter's practicality.

But both of them understood duty, more so than Edmund, led so easily astray by pleasure, and Susan, who believed (at times to her credit) that the world owed her the same that she owed it. Neither Lucy nor Peter strayed from their tasks, not even when Lucy picked her cold and lonely way down to the shadow of a godly voice, nor when Peter first felt the undeniable weight of his gleaming sword marred by enemy blood. They chose, and they chose again, even when those choices did not feel like choices but inevitabilities.

For when one understands duty, taking one's place as hero is not self-indulgent. It is not privilege; it is a prerogative, and it is difficult. But where Peter found his duty in protection and caregiving, in oversight and the hard labor of daily majesty, Lucy found hers in vision and clarity and momentum. When Susan hesitated over the unknown and Edmund lay sniffling quietly when he thought nobody could hear, Lucy knew that her relentless confidence was as necessary as Peter's guidance.

(This was a burden, too. Who was positive for Lucy? Her siblings tried to be, of course; they loved each other dearly, more so in the following years. But this sense of need never left Lucy, this fear that if she did not smile that nobody else would ever smile again).

Cheerfulness and friendliness can be their own prisons. When you believe in yourself, others are relieved; they need not take on the responsibility of believing in you too. Lucy never allowed herself to stray (save from moments alone in a large, soft bed, save from a magic book that in its pages contained temptation, save from tears that splashed hotly in the cool Narnia wind) all the more rigidly because everyone expected that she never would.

(It takes strength to choose optimism; it takes willpower to respond to situations with cheerfulness. Lucy was valiant even at seven years old, remember. She knew that raising her head high was an act of defiance, she knew believing in her own experience was brave, she knew that daring to rescue a friend from the clutches of an unknown evil was perhaps foolhardy but nevertheless necessary. She may not wield a sword but do not mistake her empathy for weakness).

Beauty and softness can be their own prisons, too. Youth and innocence and loveliness can make you more—it can mark you as worthy to speak to a god-turned-lion, your friendship as worth the threat of eternal damnation—but it invariably means that more is all you are allowed to be. There were days when Lucy fled back to her castle, her nose red and her eyes stinging, her hair twisted into disarray, and wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath a heap of blankets and throw pillows at the door just to prove that she too could be cruel, she too could be wanting. It is no easier to smile when tasked to in Narnia than it is anywhere else.

Sometimes Lucy resented her role as the youngest, the softest, the angel (or was she meant to be the prophet?). She saw Susan notching an arrow to her bow, watched Peter and Edmund joust in the courtyard, and looked down at her glittering bottle of cordial and longed to smash it against the door and take up war instead of peace.

Father Christmas gave her that vial, after all, a children’s story speaking to a child. Her power was limited, finite. Lucy began to use it sparingly, though she would have liked to heal every small hurt that befell a member of her kingdom. Part of her always felt a frisson of fear at the thought that she may one day no longer have the power to heal. Part of her felt anger that even Father Christmas did not think her capable. None of her siblings had gifts of borrowed power.

(Edmund did not get a gift at all, but he was, surprisingly, placid about this slight. He still remembered the enchanting taste of Turkish delight, even years after it last melted on his tongue. He knew that even now he would betray his family for another taste of that wickedness, and that knowledge made him humble. His gift was that he would never be tempted again, and for that, he would trade all the gold in the world).

Let us talk about what it must have cost Lucy, more than her siblings, to return to a world of mundane happenstance. Let us think about her, forced to be seven years old, forced to plait her hair and be seen and not heard and befriend children scarred from years of war. These playmates did not want to be coaxed into the brilliant world of Lucy’s imagination. They did not want to hear of Aslan, they did not want to pretend to be anything they were not. They had survived days or months or years away from their parents, but not in the warm embrace of a magic land; they had been torn from their families by trains and cars leaving in the dead of night, they had been sent to farms where food stretched thin, to towns that covered their windows with black paint and slept six to a bed, heel to head. Magic to them was their father, home from the war, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes but was nevertheless warm. It was their older siblings, reunited and once again casual monarchs of the family dynamic. It was their mothers chiding them to eat, their friends once again within easy access, the serenity of the night broken only by lorries and not sirens.

Lucy had experienced hardship before, of course. Everything has a balance, after all. When you feel joy deeply, sorrow cuts you to your very core. When you are easily delighted, you understand how ephemeral delight can be. Lucy carried joy with her, of course: the wild exhilaration of Bacchus and his nymphs, how right it felt when her and her siblings rushed out to the parapet to see a brilliant golden sun nestle into the cool embrace of the Narnia forest, the softness of Reepicheep's fur tinged with drops from the sea at the end of the world, how Aslan looked at her and she felt seen. Lucy never shied away from emotion. Lucy was valiant in this too.

But she never forgot the lesson of dear old Tumnus. In Narnia, he was a constant presence in her dining hall. But she never forgot that the cost of her entrance into this glittering world was an innocent creature frozen for daring to take her home for tea. She never forgot that her siblings doubted her, that her youngest brother was led astray by sparkle and glitter. She remembered the silent despair of Caspian searching for his family, Eustace wondering which poor soul he devoured in the guise of a dragon defeating another. To the end of her days, she thought of the quiet dignity and terrible sadness of Lord Rhoop gazing upon the still bodies of his very closest companions, choosing to condemn himself to an endless sleep to be by their side on only the faintest suggestion of hope. Because Lucy was Lucy, she took those feelings into her own and cared for them as she cared for their benefactors.

But in a way, Lucy had not yet experienced loneliness and fear, not like her siblings had, not like these war-torn children. The closest she had gotten were those first few days in the professor’s house where none believed her, or when she walked alone to Aslan in the middle of the night wishing desperately someone would follow. For most of her time in Narnia, however, Lucy was easily, automatically accepted, her majesty unquestioned. In Narnia, she was unique: lovely Lucy, Queen Lucy, friend of centaurs and fauns and nymphs, immortalized in ballads, welcome in badger dens and banquet halls alike. Lucy was Aslan’s favorite, of course–didn’t he speak mostly to her, didn’t he cuddle her in his great and terrible paws? Queen of peace and harbinger of joy.

When she twisted back into an unfamiliar body she expected this world to accept her, too. Yet Lucy was not celebrated in this world; at least not automatically. Susan took one look at her circumstances and tossed her head and vowed to be queen in this life too. Edmund chewed his lip and sighed a little to Lucy but bent his head to his studies, just in case Aslan was wrong and he would be forced to rely on the battles to be won in schoolhouses and universities. Peter raged, in his own way, at the loss of his kingdom, unable to cope with his duty and his purpose and his raison d'être so brutally torn from him.

Lucy tried to talk to the trees, but they ignored her, their bark cool to the touch. She tried to dance in the meadows, but the grass was sharp and covered her legs with rashes. She tried to befriend the dogs at her local shelter but they snapped at her suspiciously. She tried to talk to her peers and hear their stories and stand up for them like she stood up for her subjects but they eyed her with mistrust and laughed at the boundless optimism she tried desperately to embody. This generation of children was not prone to easy positivity, remember. Those in Narnia had been so desperate for help after their long years of winter. Humans, she found, were surprisingly not.

Lucy had never been ignored before. She had never been disliked openly, she had never struggled to make friends. She did not know how to handle girls eyeing her with jealousy or derision, how to process boys that pulled her hair not to flirt but to hurt. Her gentle heart and loving manner had always won her praise and acclaim, but in those brittle years after the war, she was playing a game where she did not know the rules.

She was not able to admit until years later that perhaps this loneliness was good for her. Heroines need strife to grow, even in all the old stories. Lucy could have turned her back on who she was in Narnia; she could have tempered the blaze of her spirit, fell obediently into the ranks of conformity. She could have stemmed the flow of her hope and turned instead to sheer practicality. Was that not what her siblings were doing?

(No, dear Lucy, stubborn to the very end. That was not what they were doing and you should have given them the benefit of the doubt).

In some sort of twist of fate, Lucy did most of her growing in this world, off the pages of the book, trying to decide what was important to her in a world where the rules were more (less) rigid, the values were more (less) prescribed. This was where she became truly valiant, in the mundane manner as well as the majestic. In this world she learned how to listen: quietly and patiently. Here the silent trees aided her, providing a calm and soothing canvas on which a friend could shyly begin to paint her troubles. She learned that being bold and brash could sometimes be selfish instead of brave.

Lucy remembered what it felt like to be seven and ignored. She remembered encountering a fawn risking death for her company, even though she was not yet a decade on this earth. She remembered her own siblings’ gentle condescension. She knew what it felt like to be dismissed. Sometimes you do not want somebody to fight for you. Sometimes you want somebody to help you as you learn how to fight for yourself.

In this world, Lucy learned what it meant to be valiant without pride. She learned how much bravery it takes to be heroine of a story with many other heroines and heroes and warriors and soldiers, that being one of many provides strength. (It reminds her of those old sunny days, playing chess in the courtyard, all her siblings casually, loosely together). In this world, when she lifted her head and smiled warmly, when she woke in the morning and greeted the sun, she did so with optimism she crafted herself, with positivity she forged out of the steel of her spine. She learned you did not have to be in the forefront of a story to blaze in it, that sometimes people did not want love and laughter but truth and honesty and justice. She met her peers’ eyes and they lifted their chins and she made them feel fierce, not protected.

When Lucy thought, years later, of the vial Father Christmas gave her, she realized he was giving her an instrument of her own power. Her ability—her great burden—was that she could not save everyone but she could save many. She had to choose. Lucy was not alone in this; a sword gives one the ability to take a life—but to trade a death for many lives. A bow allows one to even the stakes while remaining aloof, to assign death to others from a great distance. No gift at all forces one to look inside themselves and find the strength that was always there. Magic to heal, like all of these gifts, like all gifts, was meaningless unless one wielded it.

Lucy could have been afraid of indecision; she could have kept her vial locked away or pretended it had run out. She could have used it all within years, saving this generation of her subjects only to damn the next. The choice was hard, sometimes. Sometimes she left the vial behind and had to grasp the hand of a dying soldier and know in her heart that she could have saved him had she only decided to bring it. Sometimes, particularly toward the end, she had it in her pocket but knew she could not use it, that she had to be brave for those ahead as well as those now. These choices were not easy. These choices were her own. Peter, burdened with majesty, had to make choices about who to damn to combat, what was worth fighting for—but he never had to choose who to save. Susan, gentle, had to weigh the many competing demands of the land and decide which to prioritize, strategize how to best achieve her goals, knowing the weight of her kingdom was on her back—but she knew there was always a second choice, always a way to optimize a situation. Edmund, even and fair, had to devise a system of just rule, had to know when to stick to it and when to revise it, even when a friend had to be punished, even when it hurt to be the judge—but he did not have to enforce these laws, only set them.

Warrior, strategist, arbiter, healer: all four Pevensie siblings shouldered their own burdens and supported each other in the heavy task of ruling over many. When three of them returned (when six of them returned) to see their land destroyed, to see a new land created, they remembered those choices and they vowed to uphold them. Lucy had no vial in the kingdom of heaven but that had never been what gave her power. Even in the golden light at the end of the world there were jealousies and anger and injustice and strife. Even in the endless summer of forever there was the chance to be brave.

(Susan, on Earth, mourned her baby sister more than anyone else. Peter had death in the shadows of his eyes since he took a life at thirteen years old and was praised for it. Edmund too seemed to know that he was living on borrowed time. But Lucy, dear Lucy, did not deserve to be struck down so young. Susan had watched her grow into the set of her shoulders and ignite the light in her smile not once but twice. She watched Lucy forge a mortal crown out of sheer determination and optimism and she felt something like awe. She wanted her sister to wear it; she wanted her sister to join her in this brave new world, where women were beginning to display the beauty of their resilience and their wild and clever strength. She wanted to apologize, to admit she too remembered Narnia, that she had not understood the type of strength Lucy drew about her like a warm shawl.

Susan did not know for many years where that fateful train journey took her siblings. She deliberately did not consider Narnia, for why would a land full of kindness and light steal her family senselessly, randomly? (She did not know of their mission, of magic rings, of beasts lurking in the darkness. How could she, when they deliberately did not include her?)

She chose to believe that Lucy and Peter and Edmund were in a land of eternal stillness. Susan remembered those burdens, too, even if the details of Narnia were on some days blurry. It seemed more sad, somehow, to think of her siblings once again wearing their crowns on stone thrones, as if their time on Earth meant nothing.

When she opened her eyes and saw Lucy again, young and royal, she felt at first a deep pang of regret before the relief flooded in).

For Lucy, going to the world after the world of Narnia was not frightening but exhilarating, not limiting but empowering. It did not take long for her to forget what she left behind on her mortal world; they had teased Susan, once, for shutting out remembrances of talking animals and magic dancing along the stone paths. If Lucy remembered that, she might have felt shame, now that the quiet majesty of a row of silent English oaks faded into blurs, that the chatter of her peers became as dim and incomprehensible as squirrels.

But Lucy was never one to look back; she was eager to flip ahead to the new pages in her story, here in a world where the pages had no ending. There were new friends to meet and a kingdom to build and cheers to receive and challenges to fight. Susan would realize this too, one day, joining her siblings in this world beyond the world. Lucy was suited for this, as if she were chosen for this, as if she chose this over everything else she could have chosen.

She wrote her own story, yes, but we should remember that does not mean that all of her words were her own.