#this is why we have bereavement

[whywontvulcanseatreplicatormeat]

I've been going through Shakespeare's sonnets and I just got to 31 and I think it could be used as a prayer from the Ninth to Reverend Daughter Harrowhark:

Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts Which I by lacking have supposèd dead, And there reigns love and all love’s loving parts, And all those friends which I thought burièd. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol’n from mine eye, As interest of the dead, which now appear But things removed that hidden in thee lie. Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give; That due of many now is thine alone.   Their images I loved I view in thee,   And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.

Like, it posits that the speaker's current object of affection embodies everything they loved in other friends / lovers / whomever else, dead or out of their lives, and so the object of the poem comforts them. And whether you assume that the Ninth lowkey has an idea about what her parents did or whether they simply are horribly grieved about the loss of the rest of the kids, this would work, and the tension of that ambiguity is to me just *chef's kiss*.

[absolutedestinyapocalypsse]

When Harrow is very obviously grieving, (and also when he wants to gaslight her) John tells her to make soup about it, to focus on the little things, to take it day by day. When asked to help with the lobotomy, Ianthe tells Harrow that the worst is over- she's a lyctor now, and she should try and move forward instead of sticking herself permanently in limbo. These are not terrible pieces of advice to give a grieving person; if actually practiced, they might even be helpful. Except for Harrow, they are the absolute worst things you could possibly say.

None of what happened to her should have happened, of course she doesn't want to accept it and progress further into lyctorhood. Everything is terrifying and new to her, of course she won't find peace in "the little things". John is actively trying to fucking KILL HER, of course SOUP isn't going to help! Like obviously the general grief advice isn't gonna work for Harrow because she's in a psychological horror book and is being haunted and is grieving jesus christ herself, but also, does it really work that well ever? Does being told to move on actually ever in any circumstance help the person move on? Or does it just make them feel more broken, more inadequate, more lonely?

Sure, focusing on little things that give you joy and trying not to ruminate on the past are on paper productive ways to cope, but its also the LAST thing a grieving person actually wants to do. Telling someone to simply forget about what they went through and who they lost, to just focus on the boring and isolating minutae of everyday life instead of the world-ending tragedy they've experienced feels impossible. To do it would be like betraying yourself, and the people you lost.

Most of the book is Harrow knowing that certain things would probably make her feel better if she would just try, being told constantly that if she would just do x y or z, things would fall into place and she would be less broken. She doesn't even remember WHY she feels like this, but she does, and it's all-consuming. Lyctorhood is the scale by which her "normality" is measured, and she is failing SPECTACULARLY. She refuses to set aside Gideon's humanity and significance in her life to use her as a battery, and that makes her weak and a failure in the eyes of the other saints.

But by failing to move on, she ends up actually preserving (??? who actually knows man) Gideon's life. For the classic grief advice to not only be unhelpful to her personally also ACTIVELY MALICIOUS/ HARMFUL PLOT WISE is such a great 180 to me. Instead of a "grieving character comes to terms with loved one's death for the Greater Good and moves on because its the Right Thing To Do" narrative, we get a kind of bereavement revenge fantasy. Harrow's complete refusal to move on stops Gideon from actually fully dying. And she does makes soup, not to cope with the constant terror she's living under, but to EXPLODE her tormentor from the inside out. These things probably aren't "good" for Harrow, or for anyone dealing with grief. They do not make life easier for her, and they do not make her a lyctor, but they are honest and they are SO satisfying. Having the power to bring back the person you lost, even at great personal detriment and to explode everyone who hurt you with your mind is i think the perfect power for someone in mourning and i love that htn let Harrow have it. There is no greater good to be served, no larger moral about loss to be told. The objective is not to see Harrow heal from loss, it's to see her by sheer determination and force of will, refuse to fucking lose.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Haunting of Riverrun

fancast!bloody ben x widow!tully!reader

Summary: After the death of her childhood love Y/n is left broken. Her parents can take no more of her moping and invite the River Lords to ask for her hand. She never thought she would find such a love again in her life until he walks into her parents hall.

Warnings: 18+ mention of death, grieving, swearing(and i think the only swear word is in my authors note 💀), teasing, oral (f receiving), p in v

Authors Note: fuck if i know why i made her a widow??, guess i wanted some hurt comfort :), soft ben bc why not, this man is down bad fr

Word Count: 4.8k

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���You must remarry, I would prefer it to a house that’s close to ours, but above all I just want you to be happy, daughter. You’ve been haunting these halls after your husband’s death for too long.” my father’s words repeatedly slam into me.

“I didn’t know my bereavement had an expiration date.” I say exasperated, shaking my head at a loss.

“It’s been well over a year. War is coming for the crown and I’d like you to have the opportunity to choose your husband rather than being placed into an unhappy marriage pact for alliances and swords.” he looks to me from our house seat and my mother grabs onto his wrist supportively.

“We just wish to see your smile again.” my mother whispers to me with a soft smile.

“It sounds as if I don’t have a choice in the matter.” I shrug my shoulders, looking up at the ceiling to stop the tears that threaten to fall.

“I’ve summoned some of the unmarried Lords of the Riverlands and they’ll be here by the end of the week. Try to keep an open mind daughter.” my father looks to me and then comfortingly to my mother.

“I’ll see you for supper.” I murmur as I turn and leave the hall.

I sequester myself in my chambers for the rest of the night, even refusing to attend supper much to my parents displeasure. I know they mean well but how can I possibly think of remarrying when every time I go to sleep all I can think of is waking in the middle of the night to my husband’s dead body.

The maesters say it was overindulgence mixed with a poor heart. We were only married for one turn of the moon, but I knew him much longer than that. He was in every sense the gentleman and even waited to consummate our marriage not wanting to be presumptuous.

It was a very innocent and young love kind of marriage. I always thought my cheeks were going to split from how much he made me smile. He would whisper sweet nothings in my ear throughout court making my cheeks tint. At night he would cuddle in close and pepper kisses across my face before curling into me and drifting off to bed. I never expected it to end so quickly. So yes, I have been haunting the halls of Riverrun.

One of my maids knocks softly and enters with tea and a sleeping draft should I want it. She brushes through my hair and helps me prepare for bed. I slip under the covers and lay back ready for another fitful night of sleep.

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The rest of the week goes by in a blur as gowns are being fitted and hemmed in haste for the upcoming events. I’m to be paraded around like a prized mare ready for auction. My breath catches in my throat as one of the maids pulls my corset strings tightly.

“Might we loosen it? Even just a bit?” I say trying to calm my nerves.

“Yes, my Lady. I’m sorry.” she says as I breathe out a sigh of relief as I can fully inflate my lungs again.

I’m quickly brought down to the main hall where my mother and father are sitting in the house seat waiting for my arrival. A chair has been brought in for me to sit at their side on display. My mother’s smile spreads across her face as she takes in my new gown.

“You look lovely, Y/n.” my mother coos to me.

“Thank you, mother.” I take my seat without further word.

“Bring them in.” my father calls to his guards.

The doors groan open and in walk four men. I scoff at the first two men who enter as they seem to be older than my father. The two men that follow are finally closer to my age, if not the same age as me. They all stand in a line in front of my father looking to him except one who won’t tear his eyes from me. I look him over from head to toe and roll my eyes when I see the smirk ghosting on his lips.

“Y/n?” my father says getting my attention.

“Yes?” I ask absentmindedly taking in the frustration on my father’s face.

“I asked you to introduce yourself.” he says hushed as he narrows his eyes at me.

“Have they come here not knowing whose hand they’re vying for?” I asked with a clipped tone completely over this already.

“Y/n.” my mother hisses from my father’s side.

“Good morrow, my Lords.” I sigh and look to them. “I’m Lady Y/n Tully. Tell me who you are and what you can offer me.” I tilt my head looking to them all expectantly.

The one who can’t take his eyes off of me lets out a loud laugh as the other men look to me distraught. I raise my hand in motion for them to start telling me their names and houses so we can get this meeting over with. The three men look to my father and mother for help as they fall over their words and each other in the process.

“That’s enough,” I raise my hand with annoyance. “You.” I point to the one who is smiling at me and seems to find this entertaining.

“Me?” he raises his eyebrows as his smile never falters.

“Yes, tell me your name.” I purse my lips looking him over more in depth as he steps closer.

“Lord Benjicot Blackwood, my Lady.” he says his voice smooth like butter.

“And what can you offer me, Lord Benjicot?” I lean forward and raise an eyebrow studying him.

“Anything your heart desires. Say it and it shall be yours.” he says inclining his head to me.

“I’ll have him.” I turn to my father and take in his distressed state.

“My daughter, you still haven’t-“

“No matter,” I wave off my father’s words. “I’ll have Lord Benjicot or no one.” I say with finality.

“Y/n please,” my mother’s voice begging.

“Two of these Lords are older than father and the other is just as bumbling and stuttering as them. You’ve practically made the choice for me.” I blink at them, daring them to go against what they know is true.

“At least enter a courtship first.” my mother pleads.

“I thought you wanted me out of Riverrun so I could stop “haunting the halls” I think was the way you phrased it?” I tilt my head looking to my parents.

“We didn’t mean it like that.” my mother adds with soft, sad eyes.

“Enough, this discussion can wait.” my father stands from his seat, his face red with embarrassment for this conversation in front of his vassals.

“Agreed.” I stand with my father defiantly. “Lord Benjicot, would you like to go for a walk along the river?” I ask holding my arm out for him to grab.

“I would be honored, my Lady.” he smiles and grabs my arm as we exit the main hall.

As we walk out the main doors I can practically feel my parent’s eyes burning into us. What did they expect me to do, wed an old man? I turn to the Lord on my arm and see that he’s already studying me himself. He’s actually quite handsome and I can tell he knows it by the way he carries himself.

“Tell me of your home.” I request tearing my eyes from him to look at the river beside us.

“It’s one of the oldest standing castles, dating back to the first men. We have a massive weirwood that is home to hundreds of ravens, hence the name Raventree Hall. We’re close enough to the coast where if you stand in some of the towers you can see the bay. It’s not too far from Riverrun should you get homesick.” he studies my expression, looking unsure of what to say.

“Very well.” I hum as I lead us to an unoccupied bench. “You truly wish to wed me?” I turn to him as I take a seat.

“I would be honored to have your hand, my Lady. I do not wish to force you into this marriage, should you not want it.” he bites his lip looking almost nervous.

“I must wed again.” say barely audible turning my head back to the river. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Or that I wouldn’t want to wed you. It’s just only been a year since.. It doesn’t matter.” I shake my head wishing I bit my tongue. Of course he wouldn’t want to hear about my dead husband and he’s going to change his mind and-

“Tell me of your first love.” his voice as soft as mine as he interrupts my thoughts.

“What?” my head snaps to him. “Why?” my eyebrows furrow with confusion.

“I can tell you loved him dearly. If you don’t want to you don’t have to. I just wanted to offer a listening ear.” he fidgets with his hands looking at me nervously.

“He was,” I sigh trailing off. “He was very kind and sweet. We grew up together. A young blossoming love like the books tell..” I shake my head unable to continue.

“It’s okay.” he places his hand on mine in comfort. “You can tell me whenever you’re ready or want to. I’ll be here to listen.” he smiles softly to me.

“I shouldn’t be speaking of this to you, it’s uncomely.” my voice is wobbly as my glassy eyes look to him.

“Your feelings are no burden to me. You lost a great love.” his eyes full of promise and patience.

“My parents seem to think it’s excessive. So much so that they’re pushing me off onto someone else.” tears fall down my face and I wipe them away angrily.

“I- May I hug you?” he looks to me with pitiful eyes which would normally enrage me but I could use a genuine hug.

I turn to him and fold into his embrace. His arms wrap around me tightly, protectively. Feelings of safety and comfort wash over me as I melt into him. I cling to him as tears continue to pour down my face. Gods what am I thinking sobbing into him like this.

“I’m sorry.” I sniffle pulling back. “No, I’ve got tears all over your jacket.” my voice cracks as more tears fall as I try to wave my hand to dry off the stain.

“Hey,” he tries to get my attention away from the wet mark. “Y/n it’ll dry.” my name falls off of his tongue stilling me.

“I’m sorry.” I look to him with red cheeks.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” he smiles softly to me.

I scoot closer to him as we look on at the river in front of us. We sit in comfortable silence as he allows me to grieve. Once the sun starts to dip below the horizon he escorts me back to the castle and offers me a goodnight. For the first time in many moons I tuck into bed with hope for the future and sleep restfully.

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It took me all of a week to completely fall for Ben. My ribs hurt from the laughter he’s been able to pull from me daily. My parents look at us with happiness throughout the week and finally relent and accept my leave to go to his home for a fortnight before we wed.

As we approach Raventree Hall my breath escapes me looking on at the large gates painted with moss and life. As we enter through his men greet him happily and offer me warm smiles. He escorts me into his castle and I’m entranced by its architecture and detail.

“You have a beautiful home.” I hum looking around the hall. When I finally turn back to him he’s leaning against the door frame looking at me with a soft smile.

“It’ll be your home as well soon enough.” he pushes off the doorway and walks to me.

“You haven’t decided I’m too crazy for you?” I look up to him as he approaches.

“Not anymore than I am.” a smile pulls across his face as he grabs my hand leading me out of the hall.

He gives me a full tour of Raventree Hall that ends with us in the Godswood. I’m speechless at the massive weirwood that’s a home to all of these ravens. The tree itself stands taller than the entire castle making me crane my neck to see the entirety of it. Ben leads us out of the Godswood and into the castle where we share an intimate dinner alone.

“I must admit something.” he looks to me from across the table once the servants disappear.

“Which is?” I look at him with a raised eyebrow, my interest piqued.

“I first saw you when I was just a boy. We were all summoned to Riverrun for some event I no longer remember,” he trails off, his cheeks turning red. “But I’ll always remember you. You were wearing a billowy pink dress with flowers in your hair and you looked less than pleased to be surrounded by so many people. I thought you were so perfect but I couldn’t work up the nerve to speak to you. It has always been such a regret.” Ben’s eyes look to me as the memory appears in my mind of that scratchy, terrible dress they made me wear and I giggle.

“Was I your first crush, Lord Benjicot?” a wicked smile appears on my face as his cheeks turn a darker shade of red.

“You’re never going to let me live this down.” he groans covering his face, peeking at me through his fingers.

“Not anytime soon.” I hum as I pull his hands away from his face.

“Your parents say you’ve been haunting Riverrun, but you’ve been haunting my dreams for much longer.” he says intertwining our fingers looking to me.

“I’m sorry I’ve caused you so many years of restless sleep.” a smirk plays on my lips as I squeeze his hands.

“You’ll have plenty of restless nights coming up.” he winks at me causing my cheeks to catch on fire.

“Ben,” I gasp scandalously as he chuckles at me.

“I’ll never tire of my name on your tongue.” he smiles and leans back in his chair watching me.

We finish our dinner with palpable tension as we steal glances at one another. He escorts me to my chambers through the silent halls. The castle seems to already be asleep for the night as we linger, not quite ready to leave each other’s company.

“Let your guard know if you need anything. Although, my chambers are right down the hall if you need me.” he looks at me with low lids and a lazy smile.

“Then I’ll know which direction to begin my haunts during the hour of the wolf.” I smile up at him as he chuckles and shakes his head.

“I’ll make sure to leave my doors unlocked for you.” he winks, reaching behind me to open my chambers for me.

“I’ll see you in your dreams.” I whisper before whisking myself into my chambers and sealing myself behind the doors before he can see the extent of my blush.

I take in my chambers and smile at the warmth and new beginnings they carry. I begin to change into my night dress and retire to my bed. I figured it would feel weird sleeping in a home that’s not mine but all I feel is excitement for what the next fortnight will hold. I fall asleep with a smile etched on my face.

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The first week at Raventree Hall was full of innocent glances and hand holding but there seems to be a rise in tension between us in our last week before we wed. We constantly tease each other and seem to always be touching each other whether it be his hand on my back or mine on his arm.

I exit my chambers early this morning to explore the halls and yards on my own. I stop in the Godswood and look upon the ravens that fly about the grounds. I slowly make my way to the training yard to watch Ben work alongside his men. I haven’t had the courage to come down here and watch him but my curiosity is getting the better of me.

As I turn the corner I’m greeted with grunts and clashing swords. My eyes dart around the yard until they land on a shirtless Ben. Gods this is why I never came here to watch him because I know I look like a lovesick puppy. I claim a seat on the outskirts of the circle near Ben and silently watch him train.

He is a true leader to his men and is actively cares about their advancement. I sit with a smile painted across my face as I watch his muscles flex deliciously. His eyes finally land on me and his face lights up as he jogs over to me.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Y/n.” he looks down at me with hungry eyes as I continue to lounge in my chair.

“Am I not allowed to look upon my betrothed?” I blink up to him innocently.

“Shall I remove more layers so you can look upon the rest of me.” he chuckles lowly as my cheeks inflame.

“Benjicot Blackwood.” I hiss as I quickly rise and cover his mouth with my hand. He chuckles into my hand and grabs my wrist to lower my hand.

“You get flustered so easily.” he says lowly, trailing his fingers up my arm causing me to shiver. “Do you enjoy watching me train?” he dips down to whisper in my ear to which I nod not trusting my voice.

His confidence is so exhilarating. I feel my blood thrum in his presence in anticipation for anything he does. I never thought I would feel the life brought back to me. He pulls back much to my quiet displeasure and looks at me with a serpentine smile.

“You can come and watch me whenever you please. I’ll have a chase brought out for you, I wouldn’t want you to get uncomfortable while you fantasize about me.” he teases as I roll my eyes and turn to walk away without another word.

“I’m sorry.” he breathes out as he turns me around to find a smile on my face and he sighs out in relief. “Mm, in that case do you want to share your fantasies with me?” this man is absolutely relentless.

“Maybe when we aren’t around so many eyes.” I shrug him off with a smirk of my own and continue to walk into the case.

As I continue inside the doors I hear his men laugh at him for scaring me away and I can’t help but chuckle myself. I don’t know how I’ll ever get used to his teasing and not turn into such a blushing mess. I’m quite excited to be wed to him because there’s never a dull moment.

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“My wife,” Ben whispers down to me softly before he captures my lips for the first time at our ceremony.

I feel as if my heart is going to burst out of my chest as I sigh into his mouth. He pulls me closer as my arms wrap around his back. I care not of the audience watching us as I allow myself to indulge in my husband. We pull apart and he offers me one more chaste kiss before we turn to the crowd with red cheeks.

I turn to my parents and see my mother all but sobbing and my father with watery eyes standing tall next to her. I chuckle at them as we descend from the alter. Ben twirls me around the open dance floor before bringing me back so we can share our first dance.

My body is buzzing with anticipation as Ben glues me to his body as we begin. I look up at him through my lashes as cups my face. He offers me a soft kiss as we continue to sway to the soft music.

The celebrations go on long into the night. Ben and I try to sneak off a handful of times but got lured into conversations as we tried to make our escape. As the crowd begins to slow we are quick to slip away and rush into the castle.

Ben’s hand grips mine as we run through the front doors trying to stifle our laughter so we don’t draw attention to us. He pulls me up the stairs after him silently. We come to a stop in front of his chambers both of our chests rising and falling rapidly.

“My chambers or yours?” he licks his lips looking down at me.

“I thought your chambers were mine now, husband?” I tilt my head with a smile.

His lips crash into mine causing me to squeak in surprise. He smiles into the kiss before pulling us inside our chambers. He pulls us apart and seals the chambers shut and turns to me with dark eyes. He stalks over to me and his hands pull my closer by my waist.

“This is a beautiful dress. May I take it off?” he whispers as he starts to kiss my neck. His hands trail to my back waiting at the strings for my word.

“Yes,” I breathe out as his fingers begin to unravel my dress. He pulls back to help me step out of it leaving me in my silk slip. He looks at me hungrily as his hands slide back to my waist. I bring trembling hands to his jacket and begin to unbutton it.

“Do I make you nervous?” I can tell he’s smirking without even looking at him. His hands go to mine to steady them before taking over and removing his jacket the rest of the way.

“Don’t tease me.” I pout as I begin to unbutton his shirt.

“So eager to see me shirtless again?” he chuckles as he pulls his shirt over his head quickly.

“I will make you sleep in the guest chambers.” my eyes narrow on him as I push his chest.

“Is that truly what you want?” he tilts his head smugly.

“No.” I cross my arms.

“Oh come here.” he relents and pulls me to him once more.

He dips down and encases my lips with his. He licks along the seam and I open my mouth and his tongue is immediately dancing with mine. I melt into his touch and gasp out in surprise as his hand travels to my thighs and they clench shut. He pulls back breathlessly and looks to me with low lids.

“Have you been touched before?” he asks without his teasing tone for once as his hands return to my waist.

“No.” I shake my head with burning cheeks.

“Would you like to be?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” I answer faster than I would’ve liked.

His lips find mine again as his hand finds its way between my thighs. I whimper into his mouth as his fingers trail through my wetness. He continues with one tortuous finger until he decides to swirl against my clit.

“Ben,” I cry into his mouth as my legs threaten to give out.

“Let’s go to the bed.” his voice laced with desire.

Once we make it to the bed he slowly lifts off my slip and helps me back on the bed. He begins to remove his pants as I gaze up at him with heavy eyes as I take in the rest of his body. My legs squeeze in anticipation looking at him on full display. We shameless drink in each other’s body admiring.

He climbs into bed and hovers above me for a moment before he fiercely kisses me once more. His hand makes its way back between my legs as his teeth nip at my bottom lip. His fingers begin to circle my clit once more causing a moan to tear through me.

“Does that feel good, Y/n?” he whispers before he attaches is mouth to my neck.

“Yes, Ben,” I whine as my legs begin to shake.

His fingers continue to slide through my wetness as his kisses begin to trail down my chest. I suck in a large breath as he takes my nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it. He leaves wet kisses across my chest as he makes his way to my other breast. His deft fingers find their way back to my clit as he offers this nipple a playful bite causing me to arch up into his mouth.

He chuckles lowly as he begins to kiss down my torso until he’s watching his hand pull pleasure from body. I moan out in frustration as his finger slips away from my clit once more. I whimper as his tongue begins to lap against my clit as my thighs start to clamp around his head. He chuckles into my core before holding my thighs open to lose himself in me.

“Ben, please,” my hips grind against his face as one of my hands fly to his hair.

A sob tears through me as I explode all over his tongue as he continues his assault. He pulls his mouth back but continues trailing his fingers down my sensitive center. He looks to me and watches me as my legs twitch when his fingers pass over my clit. As his finger slides down it circles my entrance and begins to dip in. My hips lift off the bed wanting more of his fingers as he groans looking at me.

“Gods you’re perfect.” his voice dripping with devotion as he slips his finger the rest of the way in.

He leans down and entangles us in a kiss as his finger begins to pump into me. He teases a second finger and I moan into his mouth as he pushes them both into me. He holds his forehead to mine as I pant while my hips begin to chase his fingers for more. His thumb makes its way to my clit as his begins to move his fingers faster.

“Yes, Ben please,” he groans at my words and kisses me hard.

His fingers begin to curl as he pushes them into me faster. I clench around his fingers as I let go once more, losing myself to all of the pleasure he offers me. He slowly removes his fingers and I whine into his mouth at the loss.

“I need to be in you.” he breathes deeply as he settles between my legs. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him down to me. “Someone’s impatient.” he chuckles against my lips.

“You can still go to the guest chambers.” I scold breathlessly as his length presses against my core.

“I wouldn’t dare leave my wife so needy.” he pecks my lips as he begins to line himself up at my entrance.

He watches my face as he slowly pushes into me. My eyes flutter shut as I feel the burn of his delicious stretch. My hips begin to rock against his and he grinds into me deeply. My hands fly to his back as his continues is slow moments as my nails dig in.

He begins to rock his hips slowly getting faster. Moans fall from my lips freely as his hips snap into mine. Our breathes become one as pleasure washes over us. His hips falter as cry out his name coming around him with tears in my eyes. His hips still as he fills me with my name on his lips.

He kisses me softly as he pulls out and lays next to me. I curl into his side as he smooths my hair. Ben pulls a blanket over us as my eyes get heavier.

“Shall I go to the guest chambers?” he chuckles lowly as I groan in annoyance.

“I should make you go out of spite.” I huff pulling him closer to me anyways.

He kisses my head once more as we slowly begin to drift off.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Masterlist

[louisupdates]

INTERVIEW: Lottie Tomlinson: we lost our mum and sister. Louis saved me

At the age of 20, the sister of One Direction singer Louis had already lost her mother, Johannah, and sister Félicité. Now 25, the social media star has written a book about how they coped

Alice Thomson | Tuesday July 23 2024, 5.00pm BST, The Times

Losing Mum was so hard. I was only a teenager but at least I knew that her death was a possibility, even though she didn’t accept it. She was 47 and had cancer. But when my sister died three years later, I was on this hotel balcony in Bali and I was screaming, ‘No, my baby sister, no.’ The pain was indescribable. I kept thinking, ‘Why me? This can’t be happening again. When is this going to end?’ ”

We are sitting on Lottie Tomlinson’s immaculate white sofa in her pristine white house in Chislehurst, southeast London, where she is curled up in tiny shorts with a perfect tan and impeccably applied make-up. But her French manicured nails are digging so hard into the sofa I think they might snap, the heart tattoo on her minuscule wrist is throbbing and her eyelashes are clogged with tears.

Her life sounds blessed. The influencer has 4.8 million Instagram followers waiting for her to dispense advice on how to apply mascara; the fake tan brand, Tanologist, that she launched at 19 has gone global; and she has a devoted fiancé, Lewis Burton, who runs a luxury concierge business and whose former girlfriend was the late Caroline Flack. They have an adorable son called Lucky, who is dripping ice cream on her marble counters. Her new book is also called Lucky Girl; her older brother is Louis Tomlinson of One Direction and she was touring the world with the band as a make-up artist at 16.

But after her mother died when she was 18, Tomlinson was left looking after her younger sister and two sets of twin siblings, aged eight and two, while creating her businesses, and trying to process her grief. Her father had left their home in Doncaster years before after a battle with alcohol. “Dad had a drinking problem. We’d see glimpses of his good side but he let us down,” she says. “I ended up trying to take care of him rather than the other way round.”

When her mother died, life felt bleak, “I lost the one person who loved me unconditionally, and then when my sister Fizz [Félicité] died of an accidental overdose, I thought I could never be happy again,” she says. “I found the lead-up to Mother’s Day devastating without my sister as well. It was a constant reminder that I was now different from my friends. In my dreams, my mum was still there; she was alive. I woke up feeling comforted, only to realise that she’d gone.”

Tomlinson, who is now 25 and a patron of the bereavement charity Sue Ryder, moves easily between telling you how to apply the best tan and how to talk about death. She cares passionately about both subjects and takes them equally seriously, worried that I’ve never tried a bronzer or used foundation before asking how I coped when my mother died during the pandemic. Her soft Yorkshire accent is both reassuring and no-nonsense.

Born near Doncaster, she was only two when Fizz was born and six when the first twins arrived. “I’ve always been the big sister — Fizz and I each got one and then more twins six years later.” While Louis had his own space, the girls all shared one room with bunk beds. “It was chaos, but my mum, Johannah, was a midwife and loved being pregnant and having so many babies,” she explains. “I used to be in awe of the way she could feed the twins at once, one on each hip. She would do the night shifts, while I held the fort at home.”

Within a few years, Tomlinson would be touring America, Asia and Europe, flying first class with Louis, part of the biggest boy band in the world, but until she was 15, the family had only ever gone to France once a year all packed into a seven-seater car, with her mother’s new partner, snacks laid out in the middle. They stayed in a caravan park. On a Sunday, a treat was to go to their mother’s hospital to see the babies.

While Louis just wanted to sing, play the guitar and listen to Oasis, the girls were obsessed with make-up. “From the age of 12, I struggled academically, but I loved cropped clothes and my mum’s highlighters and mascaras.” She learnt how to apply everything from YouTube tutorials, rather than doing algebra. “We didn’t have much money — we sometimes couldn’t afford to top up the electricity meter so used candles — but everything my mum earned she spent on us. We all looked immaculate — I remember her being horrified when I dyed my hair orange. So it was lovely later when we could treat her.”

Saturday nights were spent watching The X Factor. “My mother and brother kept applying; in 2010, he got in and the whole family went for the audition. We believed in him, but we never thought it would go that far.” One day the family were going to the live shows, the next the boy band was formed with Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Niall Horan and Liam Payne. “He was 18. For my mum it was a big shock. It was all so sudden. The press and fans were in our front garden every day.���

The older twins had already made their first TV appearances — they sound like Doncaster’s Von Trapps. “My mother was gently pushy,” Tomlinson says, smiling at the thought. “When I didn’t get good enough GCSEs to stay at school, she sent me off to join Louis on tour as work experience. I was so scared. I remember her ringing up Lou [Teasdale], their hair and make-up artist, and saying, ‘Lottie has not got through to sixth form; she’s going to come and assist you.’ I was in the car going, ‘No, please don’t.’ But it ended up being the best thing that happened to me. I went for a week and stayed two years. Lou and I are still so close.”

Suddenly, the two eldest Tomlinson children were circling the world, eating room service and ducking the paparazzi hanging out of helicopters taking snaps. “At first Louis didn’t really want his little sister gate crashing his new rock-star life, but now it feels like the best time of our lives — we experienced that craziness together,” she says.

The teenage Tomlinson found it harder to cope with being photographed wherever she went. “I had some puppy fat which made me very self-aware, and the filler culture was coming in and I felt I had to look perfect.” She had her lips done first at 17. “Then I became addicted: cheek filler, jaw filler, more make-up, blonder hair, slimmer and more tanned. My mum thought I looked perfect, but I was always searching.”

Five years later, when she became pregnant with Lucky and her lips started to swell and crack, she realised she didn’t need the enhancements any more. “I had everything removed, the false eyelashes too. It was liberating.” She kept her boob job, however. “That was just enhancement,” she says laughing. “The rest radically changed the way I looked. My breasts also got huge when I was pregnant and it was a bit painful. But I still breastfed. I loved carrying my child. I felt fantastic even when I was sick and exhausted.”

She leans forward, wraps her bronzed arms around her stomach and whispers, “I am pregnant again. We don’t know yet if it’s a boy or girl. It’s only 13 weeks, so this is the first time I’ve said it publicly. I think I want a big family. I loved having Lucky but after a year I wanted to give him siblings.”

Tomlinson’s influencer career began once she established herself on tour. Soon everything she did, even dying her roots rainbow-coloured, went viral and fashion companies from Asos to Dior wanted in on it. “I was just going for it. I couldn’t believe the money I was making and spending — money I didn’t know existed as a child.”

Then suddenly her mum came home from holiday with flu. “She didn’t want to get out of bed. The doctors quite quickly told her she had leukaemia and she went straight to London for treatment. It all happened so fast. I remember being in London at work and getting a call from her partner — she couldn’t say the words herself, it was too hard for her.” The family were told it was treatable. “We kept so much hope.”

Her mother asked the family to keep her illness secret. “It was hard because you feel so isolated, but I understood. Louis was in the public eye and she didn’t want him questioned. She was determined to fight it and didn’t want everyone pitying her. My friends noticed I was acting differently for a few months. But I wanted to respect her wishes. It was her one request.”

She also dropped everything to go back to Doncaster to help her grandparents with the twins. “The younger ones were two and I wanted to keep everything as normal as possible. I can’t imagine what my mum was feeling leaving her kids to go to hospital.

“I would take them down and treasure seeing her — we tried to keep it light, no serious conversation. The only way Mum could cope was to keep it normal. Then, when the doctors said the transfusions hadn’t worked, she came home to die.”

Tomlinson tries to sound matter-of-fact. “We went to see her in hospital in Sheffield and the next morning we woke up and were told she had died. We felt numb. We didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Now I am involved with the Sue Ryder charity, I am surprised we were offered no support or counselling at all, from the GP, the teachers, the professionals. They all kept away.” Her nan and grandad picked up the pieces.

It’s not surprising she can’t remember the funeral. “I just remember getting really drunk to numb the pain. I couldn’t come to terms with it. I can’t even remember how we organised it. My instinct was to take over as the eldest girl and step into my mum’s shoes so that is what I did.” Meanwhile, her older brother, who was launching his solo career, ensured there was enough money. “He’s incredibly generous. We looked after each other.”

Tomlinson returned to London months later, after her grandmother said she needed to become a role model for her siblings. Her younger sister Fizz worried her most. “She was very academic — she got straight A’s without trying — but she always said she felt different. She was bottling her grief for so long; it was too much and made her turn to other things. I think Mum’s death destroyed her. Only my mum seemed to understand her. If she had been offered some help at the start, things might have been different.”

Meanwhile, Tomlinson’s self-tanning brand was soon being sold in Los Angeles, New York and Australia, while her own fanbase grew; she hardly ever needed to pay for drinks, meals or holidays. However, she finds the term influencer obnoxious. “I don’t want to act like I tell people what to do. I am more of a content creator,” she explains. “I get paid by brands to create content for their clothes or beauty products and promote that to my followers. I also wanted my own business. I was quite aware that, at the end of the day, I was just working with an app. That’s why I started Tanologist with my business partner. I was always using tanning treatments that would end up turning my sheets orange and my face would break out in spots — this is more natural.”

Louis was also forging his career as a solo artist, eventually creating the song Two of Us about his mother’s death. “We were always so proud of Louis and what he was doing. We were not going to match up to being a global superstar, but we didn’t want to — ‘successful’ looks different for everyone,” she says.

But her sister Fizz was slipping and struggling. “She was old enough to do what she wanted at 19; she was partying and taking stuff to numb everything. She did go into rehab but to me it didn’t feel like an addiction problem, but a way to blank out her grief.” When Tomlinson was invited to Bali, she asked Fizz whether she wanted her to stay behind. “She said she was OK, and then it happened while I was away,” she says. (Fizz accidentally overdosed on cocaine, an anxiety drug and painkillers, her inquest found.) “Louis called me…” She stops talking.

The shock of a second death must have been devastating. She doesn’t speak for a minute while she twists her huge diamond engagement ring. “We weren’t mentally prepared,” she eventually says. “I can’t even remember if the two funerals were in the same church. I think grief has affected my memory a lot and that’s quite common. Grief is such a powerful emotion; it takes up a lot of your brain.”

Five years later, she now knows how to remain positive. “I had an amazing mum for 18 years. I have the most amazing family, my little boy and my career, and that is because of her. The same with Fizz — I had an amazing sister. It’s heartbreaking they aren’t with us any more, but they are together and they are looking out for me,” she says, sounding as though she is repeating a mantra.

Having a baby made her feel closer to them both. “He was a boy — it’s funny, he actually looks a lot like Louis did — and I thought, this is what my mother must have felt. But then I had so many questions I couldn’t ask, even more because she was a midwife.”

Her biggest problem was her terror that something terrible would happen to her son. “I became fixated [on the idea that] something bad would happen to him, so I couldn’t sleep. You go to the worst-case scenario, because that’s happened to you twice, to two of the closest people in your life. I couldn’t turn the lights off at night; I needed to see him all the time. Luckily, it calmed down quite quickly.”

We are still flitting between her story and advice on make-up, exercise and clothes.

“I like sharing advice. If a child lost their mother, I would say there is no magic answer. But the point of this book is to show that you can have tragic things happen and still keep going.”

What would the 25-year-old now say to her younger self, struggling at her second funeral at the age of 20? “I would say, ‘You are going to be OK; you will live a nice life.’ I didn’t think I could. I thought this will be a really sad, lonely life without my mum and sister. I wouldn’t have believed then that I could be happy again. But it would have been nice to hear.”

Lucky Girl by Lottie Tomlinson (Bonnier, £22). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members

[undying-love]

Paul being in denial of John's death

“It’s still weird even to say, ‘before he died’. I still can’t come to terms with that. I still don’t believe it. It’s like, you know, those dreams you have, where he’s alive; then you wake up and… 'Oh’.” (1986)

"I know I will never get over it [John's death] and hope I will never get over it." (1990)

"Delicious boy, delicious broth of a boy. He was a lovely guy, you know. And it gets sadder and sadder to be saying “was”. Nearer to when he died I couldn’t believe I was saying “was”, but now I do believe I’m saying “was”. I’ve resisted it. I’ve tried to pretend he didn’t get killed." (1995)

"Paul talked about John a a lot, but the strange thing was that it was in the present tense, “John says this" or "John thinks that".-Peter Cox (2006)

Seth: I wonder how all these years later, you're processing it [John's murder]?

Paul: I'm not sure I am. It's very difficult for me and I, occasionally, will have thoughts and sort of say: "I don't know why I don't just break down crying every day? [...] We were friends. That was one of the great things about it. You know, I don't know how I would have dealt with it because I don't think I've dealt with it very well. In a way... I wouldn't be surprised if a psychiatrist would sort of find out that I'm slightly in denial, because it's too much."" (2020)

"Like any bereavement, the only way out is to remember how good it was with John. Because I can't get over the senseless act. I can't think about it. I'm sure it's some form of denial. But denial is the only way that I can deal with it." (2020)

[sukifoof]

hii i was talking about this on twitter so i think i will just copy paste it here cuz i’ll probably delete it there at some point <3 twitter frightens me but i love my mutuals here we are all insane about flowey in the same way

 i think saying “you’re the type of friend i wish i always had” is a really important thing for asriel to admit... this whole time asriel has dealt with so much grief and guilt about chara that it separated the actual person chara from the idealized version of them in his head who he has never stopped grieving. its a huge part of his character that hes unable to view them as they were because that’s just how his ptsd and guilt affects him. as someone who went through a similar thing that kind of grief can mess with your head and how you view yourself and the person who’s gone really badly. the pacifist route, for flowey’s character specifically, is a really good example of how grief and ptsd can make you feel disconnected from yourself, everyone around you, and like if only the person you lost was back everything would be perfectly fine again. the fact that he can admit they weren’t perfect and that he made the right decision is a huge character development that we don’t get to see in the no mercy route because he’s still convinced that this idealized version of them birthed from bereavement will make everything okay. similarly to how he believed toriel might have been able to fix him, he wants to believe there’s someone out there that could somehow return him to who he was before being traumatized, but the reality of it is this is just who he is.

his grief and trauma is a huge part of who he is like it is with real people, but it doesn’t have to be all of him. i think the emphasis the fandom puts on whether chara was Good Or Bad completely misses the point that it doesn’t really. matter i guess?? they were a kid people loved and now they’re gone. we're seeing people deal with the grief this brought and we know so little of who they are because there’s also a degree of separation about who they are to the people they loved as well. idk i hope this makes sense i think a lot about how chara is a kid who hated humanity and calls themself a demon. to me that just shows an EXTREMELY traumatized child with self hatred. i don’t know why there was ever this huge moral argument about chara when they’re literally just a kid with issues. they weren’t taught how to deal with how they felt and likely held themself in lower regard compared to the dreemurrs. its the same thing with asriel, he feels responsible for them being gone and his own trauma. he just wants a friend who can teach him to understand his grief or someone who can at least let him view the situation for how it really is

i just think. flowey is so well written but not understood very well by the fandom because the type of thing he’s gone through is kind of hard to grasp. it’s a weird situation that doesn’t have a completely black or white Is He Or Chara At Fault kind of answer. they were children. people are complicated and want someone to blame when something goes wrong and flowey directed that at himself. hes such a fascinating and well written character i love him dearly i hope u guys understand how insane he makes me <3

[sad-girl-hours23]

I Know The Last Page So Well, I Can't Read The First

For the @tevanadvent2024 Day One: Beginnings

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Rating: G

I’m so sick of endings.

Lately, Tommy’s life has been nothing but endings. 

First, his relationship with Evan. (Tommy’s not the forever guy, he knows that story all too well).

Then, his favorite show on Netflix was cancelled. Again. Why he bothers to get invested anymore is beyond him. 

He nearly cried in the middle of a Baskin-Robbins when he found out his favorite flavor of ice cream had been put in the deep freeze. The girl behind the counter looked far too concerned for his well-being.

It was a sad state of affairs.

He heard from Lucy that Eddie’s moving to Texas. It stings, even if he’d all but left their friendship in limbo these past few months.

And then…his dad. Tommy’s never experienced a loss so fraught with complications and contradictions.

It’s his last day of bereavement leave and he’s eating alone at his favorite restaurant, alongside what feels like half of Los Angeles. He’s tucked away in a booth far larger than is appropriate for his sad reservation of one, but with the specters of his past, he’s not alone.

He’s picking at mushrooms on his pizza when somebody slides into the booth.

He wonders briefly if this marks the ending of his sanity. 

As if the sheer power of his wanting has conjured an apparition of the man he loves.

Evan doesn’t stop sliding until their sides are pressed together. He’s here; real, and warm, beside him.

“Evan, what are you —”

Evan ducks his head. “I heard about your dad. I’m sorry.”

Tommy nods. “Thank you. I assume Lucy told you.”

“Yeah, but I wish you had.”

“I didn’t think, I mean, I don’t get to —”

Evan places his hand over Tommy’s. “But you do, Tommy. I would have been there for you. You still don’t get it do you?”

Tommy tries to suppress the embers of hope burning within him, they’ll only end in smoke and ash. “Get what?”

“I —” Evan’s phone chimes with a text and he looks towards the main room. “Look…can we talk later?”

Tommy hesitates. He should make a clean break, he knows. He won’t have the strength to walk away a second time. He forces a smile. “Of course. I’m sure you have someone to get back to. You shouldn’t waste your time with me and my misery.” 

“Well you know what they say about misery.”

Before Tommy can reply, Eddie’s sliding into the booth on his other side, followed by Howie, Hen, and Bobby. 

“What —”

Tears well up in his eyes as Hen takes his hand in hers. He can’t find it in him to be ashamed when he sobs as Eddie puts his arm around his shoulders and squeezes, says, “we got you, man.” 

Howie grins. “Bet no one was expecting dinner and a show.”

“Chim,” the rest of them groan. Tommy just laughs. He’s missed this, missed them. He’s missed the person he is with them.

They all express their condolences and catch him up on their lives when he asks, as if no time has passed at all. 

He finds out Evan’s been baking, and knows they have so much to unpack when they’re finally alone.

Evan lays his head on Tommy’s shoulder. It shouldn’t be this easy, he thinks. 

He half expects Bobby or Hen to yell at him, to make him face the mess he’s made of his and Evan’s lives. He almost wants them to. But when he dares to look, they’re both smiling. It cracks his heart right down the middle.

He’s starting to think he doesn’t know this story half as well as he thought.

And Tommy, he’s so tired of endings, and so skeptical of beginnings, and so very terrified of the feelings starting to form in his chest. Everything ends. But if this is the middle of his story, if the bulk of his life’s pages get to be like this, it will have been worthwhile.

Also on AO3

[senualothbrok]

Love and beauty

Summary: A few days after Astarion has taken you to his grave, you are lying in bed together. You decide it's time to make a confession.

Musings on beauty, love and death.

Word count: 1.3k

Non-18+. Astarion x female Tav. Non-ascended Astarion. References to bereavement.

AO3 link

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

You are lying on your side, looking at Astarion.  Here at the Elfsong Tavern, morning is rousing from its slumber. You are cocooned in the bed you have shared with him since the night he took you to his grave. The sheets are warm and soft beneath you, and in their burgundy shadows, his skin glows like porcelain. He lies on his back, his silver eyelashes fanning out below his closed eyes like silk. His crown is a white maze of waves. Just recently you have noticed the faint threads which form around his mouth and eyes when he laughs, slight indents where his eyebrows meet his nose when he is focused. And sometimes, barely perceptible dimples dance on his cheeks.

You never tire of looking at him. There is always something new to see, and you never know how long you have left to see it.

“I can feel you staring at me.” A lazy eye opens and fixes on you. “Has no one ever told you that it’s rude to stare?”

There is mischief in his smile, and you return it. You run your fingers over his collarbone. He shifts his chin closer to your hand.

“I can’t help it.”

He stretches, long and languid, a fang peeking out on his lower lip.

“I know, darling.” He turns onto his side to face you. “It’s why you’re here. You can’t get enough of my devastating beauty.”

The words carry no edge. He is still himself, not the masked imitation. He twirls his fingers around a strand of your hair as it caresses your shoulder.

“You are devastatingly beautiful, it’s true.” You play with a curl at his temple, tracing the edge of his ear. You consider for a moment. “But you know, all of that… it only goes so far.”

“Oh?” He regards you quizzically.

“Well…” You turn the thoughts over in your mind. “I’m human, Astarion. Even humans blessed with devasting, soul-crushing beauty, like yours – most of us don’t live that long. We get old and grey. We get wrinkles.”

He scrunches his nose. You laugh.

“I know, disgusting, those wrinkles. But when you have to contend with ageing, and with death… it’s different.”

You are not sure he understands what you are saying. You yourself are not entirely sure.

You nuzzle your nose into his. He slides his arm under your head, circling it around your shoulder. You curl into his chest. There is a silence, but it is so light, like being bathed in morning sun.

Maybe it is because every day draws you closer to the Netherbrain. Or maybe it is because he has shown you where he died, and has shared with you his rebirth. Now, you feel the last bastion inside you can come down. This last pearl you have hidden from him, you can now give, trusting he will not cast it away.

“I had a husband once,” you say.

You have not spoken about him for a long time. It surprises you that it does not hurt anymore to mention him. To remember.

“It was a lifetime ago now. He was beautiful too, when we met. Though nowhere near as beautiful as you.” You brush your lips across Astarion’s skin. “He was smart. He had a way with words. And he was kind.”

You are relieved that Astarion does not say anything. He does not tense in shock or anger. There is no judgment. He only listens, holding you.

“He actually looked a lot like Gale. Sometimes when he speaks, Gale even sounds like him.”

Astarion bristles at this. “So you’re telling me that one of our travelling companions, one of our closest allies and friends, is the spitting image of the love of your life? And you’re telling me this, why?”

You are not entirely surprised by his reaction. And maybe you find it endearing that Astarion could feel even a prickling of jealousy about a man you loved and lost so long ago. You chuckle, reaching up to kiss him lightly on the curve of his jaw. He eases with a huff.

“This isn’t the point of my story.”

“Well, you best get to it soon,” he shoots back, but he does not pull back his embrace.

There is a softness, a playfulness, to his irritation. You nibble his ear lobe gently and he sighs. He waits. You go on.

“He was a lot older than me. When he got sick, I took care of him. He died in his sleep. I laid him to rest. By that point, he was an old man. And he’d lived a good life.”

You remember your husband’s face through a haze. His papery skin, so thin you could tear it by mere touch. Frosted hazel eyes, and snaking veins on hands that you clasped so tightly against your wet face after he had breathed his last. The years of love that had filled the hole he left, buoying you through the grief.

“There’s something about that kind of love. Through age, and sickness, and everything in between. The long and boring days. The petty arguments. The stupid things we joked about. Everything we shared together.”

You heart fills as you speak of him. There is no more sorrow when you think of him now, only gratitude.

“I loved him till the end. That kind of love - it went well beyond his beauty.”

Astarion is quiet and still for a long time. When he moves back to look at you, you cannot read his gaze.

“But I won’t age,” he says. “I won’t die.”

You nod.

“I’ll be like this forever.”

“Forever beautiful, forever young.” You glance at the scars and ripples of your flesh, and you cannot help but feel a pang of envy.

He frowns. In the pause that follows, you wonder where he has gone. You wish he could take you with him.

“How will I know, then?” he asks suddenly.

“Know what?”

“How will I know…” He struggles, as though each word is a heavy load. He clears his throat. “How will I know what kind of love it is?”

There is an emptiness in his eyes now, like a kind of sadness. A loss. You reach out and press your palm to his heart.

“Are you asking me whether I would still love you-“

“If I wasn’t beautiful.” He grimaces. “If I was old and grey, or sick, or…” He trails off briefly. “If I had wrinkles. Like Gale.”

You laugh, and you see that it gives him comfort. Because Astarion still cannot help but mask a plea with a jibe.

“What do you think?” you ask.

He hesitates. His eyes caress your face, drinking in every detail, every line and curve, every shadow and blemish. A balm spreads through you as he sees you, just as you see him, since the very first time you promised to be his mirror. You know he can see your answer.

But he is uncertain, and he is still afraid.

“Without a doubt, Astarion,” you breathe.

He turns away. You wait. It no longer weighs on you when he withdraws. You know now that he will always return. You will give him time, now. You will give him space. He will come back when he is ready.

But then, so abruptly, he clasps you against him. You are enveloped in the coolness of his skin, the warm wetness of his mouth, the blanket of his body around you. The moment is a world in itself, swirling and gathering and expanding, holding you fast.

It ends as it began. You lie there, tracing circles in each other’s souls. Morning has broken, and muffled voices are bustling through the bedroom walls. Slowly, you edge to the side of the bed, and he rises to join you.

“I don’t think he was the love of my life, by the way.” You say it like an afterthought, but it is not.

“I damn well hope not,” he counters, sharp and fast.

But the gentleness in his gaze tells you all you need to know.

---

Liked this fic? You can find more of my work here.

[sugar-grigri]

Creating a story from grief

I reread Volume 1 of The Summer Hikaru Died and sometimes I try to imagine how the author came up with this idea.

I can't answer that question, but I think everyone can find some answers through their own experience of grief.

The terrible thing about death is the disappearance, and even if it seems obvious, I think it's more precise than it seems.

The terrible thing about losing someone is :

1) the idea of death: our loved one ceases to live and can no longer accomplish anything

2) the idea of disappearance

Even if you're a believer in the afterlife, the most terrible and material thing is to know that suddenly you'll no longer be able to see this person, smell their smell, touch them or hear their voice for the rest of your life.

If I try to break down my own bereavements, there were 3 feelings that went through me with death

1) the person is no longer alive and can no longer accomplish anything, which means rage for them

2) their absence, i.e. no longer having what they brought into my life

3) a purely sensory and material aspect: no longer feeling and seeing my loved one.

I think it's brilliant that Yoshiki knows it's no longer Hikaru he's looking at, but accepting the creature means accepting that his best friend's body doesn't cease to exist, and that he himself can continue to hear and see his best friend.

In exactly the same way as we would watch photos, videos and recordings over and over again.

Trying to feel the person, telling ourselves they're still with us - these are ideas that help us to mourn.

But in reality, to mourn is to digest the disappearance, not to pretend the presence of the other.

Why did you make "Hikaru" look so dangerous and childish?

Because it is the consequence of not mourning

1) by instinctive and childish reactions to want the other person close to you

2) but that's doing more harm than good to yourself

"Hikaru" is a creature we can't identify.

But it also symbolizes all the dangers of unfulfilled mourning.

Imitating the lost being almost perfectly

But without perfectly piecing it together

Like memories

[sky-scribbles]

Party banter with Rook!Blackwall

(but it's just the part where he falls in love)

—

Thom: I have to say, Emmrich, you’re not what I expected. Thought necromancers would be all about commanding corpse armies and the like.

Emmrich: (sighs) Whatever depictions of our practice gave you such impressions, I assure you they are inaccurate.

Thom: So there aren’t corpse armies?

Emmrich: The Mortalitasi have not the least interest in conquest. We comfort the bereaved. We speak with our beloved dead, passing on their final messages, ensuring any last requests are met. We soothe the frightened spirit and calm the watchful.

Emmrich: Love is our business, Warden Rainier. How could we possibly be uncaring?

Thom: … Right. Well, that’s me put in my place.

—

Thom: Sorry about what I said earlier. Should’ve known better than to run my mouth about something I don’t know a thing about.

Emmrich: I appreciate that, master Warden. And I apologise if I was oversensitive. I think I was unprepared for how many… opinions everyone outside Nevarra would have about my art.

Thom: Well, I’ll keep mine to myself from now on.

Emmrich: Oh, you needn’t. I would much rather you be honest than continue to carry unspoken doubts that I cannot put to rest.

—

Thom: You said I could talk to you about the whole death ma – necromancy. Thing.

Emmrich: I’m entirely at your service. I hope I can set your mind at ease, even a little.

Thom: Look – there’s no question your heart’s in the right place. I don’t doubt your intentions. But all those skeletons walking... all those corpses speaking…. It’s not natural.

Emmrich: Magic is a part of our world, master Warden. A smith forged your sword into metal, giving raw metals a shape. Likewise, necromancers merely take a form of magic present around us, and give it shape.

Thom: But it’s not right. Moving a body around. Waking up bits of their memories. The dead should stay at peace.

Emmrich: I promise, every soul laid to rest in the Necropolis does so with the express hope that a spirit might inhabit their remains someday. The few who request to remain untouched… well, we simply don’t put hinges on their sarcophagi.

Thom: But how can anyone be at peace with that? How do they know it’s going to be a good spirit who finds their body? What if… because of who they are, they draw something… twisted? Wrong?

—

Emmrich: I know you find necromancy unsettling, master Rainier, but I hope our visit to the Memorial Gardens was able to provide you a deeper understanding of it.

Thom: It made some things make sense, certainly. I wasn’t expecting a necropolis to feel comforting. Suppose I’ve always thought of the dead as distant and haunting. Cold.

Emmrich: Whyever would they be? The dead are still people, as full of feeling and as fond of connection as ourselves. And what are the people we mourn, but repositories of our boundless love?

Thom: And what if the dead have reason to hate you?

Emmrich: Ah. Master Rainier… do you have someone to fear among the dead?

Thom: … Find me later. I’ll give you the full sorry story. And drinks for both of us.

—

Emmrich: If I may… I wanted to express my thanks for trusting me with your story.

Thom: I should be thanking you. For not turning your back on me.

Emmrich: Perish the thought! You’ve shown me no reason to look at you with anyone other than the deepest respect.

Thom: Well, now you know why I wouldn’t expect the dead to have any good feelings toward me. Callier and his family… they’d never love me. They shouldn’t. If anything of them’s out there, they deserve to not think about me at all.

Emmrich: But you love them. You have let them change you. Their memories guide your decisions. In every innocent you protect, every moment of compassion, you honour them.

—

Thom: What you said, about me honouring Callier’s family. Feels like a twisted legacy, to live on through your murderer. I doubt they’d find much comfort in it.

Emmrich: Perhaps not. But what of your comfort?

Thom: It’s not about me.

Emmrich: I beg to differ. That poor family is gone; you are alive. The living deserve peace as much as the dead.

Emmrich: If you ever wished… I could perform a memorial ritual. Some candles lit, a few prayers uttered. A simple tribute to them.

Thom: It wouldn’t help them.

Emmrich: My dear Thom, mourning rituals are not really about those lost to us. A memorial would not help them, no – but it may help you.

Thom: … I might need a stiff drink afterward.

—

Harding: You seem different, lately.

Thom: Different? Different how?

Harding: I don’t know. You’re talking a bit more. Smiling. Like someone took a weight off you.

Thom: I suppose going to the Memorial Gardens helped. All these years, pretending to be a Warden, then actually being one… I’ve been trying to make up for what I did. Even if it never feels like enough.

Thom: I suppose I never took a moment to think about… doing something for me. To help me live with it. Not ‘til Emmrich suggested it.

Harding: Hard to be kind to yourself ‘til someone else shows you some kindness, huh?

Thom: (chuckles) Well. Guess it’s a good thing for me that he’s not in short supply of that.

Harding: Look… maybe if there’s anything of that family out there, they do hate you. But I don’t think you need to hate you anymore.

—

Thom: Neve, you know you said you were going to check in on Dock Town? Could you take a note to Dorian for me?

Neve: Sure. But you could just come talk to him yourself. He’d actually be glad to see you.

Thom: And that’s how I know the world’s ending. (sighs) Look, it’s just… it’s one of those talks that’s easier to do by paper.

Neve: Hm. You’re nervous. Everything all right?

Thom: I think so. I just think… I need to ask his advice on… something personal.

Neve: If it’s that personal, isn’t it better you do it face-to-face?

Thom: Probably. And it’ll be fucking awkward.

—

Emmrich: Do you mind if I ask – are you still unsettled by necromancy? I hate the thought that I might be making you uncomfortable.

Thom: I think I’m getting used to it. When I heard about your mages, I thought it was some… obsession with death. Disturbing bodies that should be at peace.

Thom: But it’s not about that, isn’t it? You’re talking to your dead, all the time. Letting them help you. Care for you.

Emmrich: Exactly so! We maintain a dialogue with the dead, and in doing so, try to find peace with death itself. (sighs) Even if some of us still struggle with a certain cowardice.

Thom: You’re no coward. Cowards run from what they fear. I know; I was one. You look it in the face, work with it, even when it frightens you.

Emmrich: I… thank you. (clears throat) So are content with my art, then?

Thom: I think it’s admirable.

—

Thom: Lace, those flowers in your room. Are they real plants, or…. Fade plants?

Harding: They’re Fade plants! But Emmrich says they’re sort of… becoming real? Because I believe in them, or something.

Thom: So if you picked them, they wouldn’t, I don’t know… disappear, or something?

Harding: Haven’t so far! Why? Wait, are you giving someone flowers? ‘Cause I bet Emmrich could tell you which ones have meaning. You should ask him!

Thom: No, I’ll just… get some that look… nice.

Harding: Why not? He’ll be happy to talk about it, he loves flowers – oh!

—

Davrin: So, Rainier. Emmrich came by to ask if I knew who left flowers on his desk. I told him he should keep asking around.

Thom: You – what? No! Davrin – stay out of it!

Davrin: What’s the point of getting a guy flowers if he never knows? Can you face an ogre but not an old necromancer?

Thom: Look, it’s… it’s easy for all of you. You already know who you are, and what you like, and I… didn’t think I… (groans) Never mind.

Davrin: Oh. I see.

—

Taash: So, you talk with Dorian?

Thom: I did. It’s up there with most awkward experiences of my life.

Taash: So what’d he say? Did he help you figure shit out?

Thom: Well… I asked him how you know if you like men, and he asked me some questions about what was going on, and I told him. And then I said, ‘Doesn’t every man look at other men like that sometimes?’

Taash: And?

Thom: And he laughed at me for ten seconds straight, then said, ‘Oh, big man, no.’

—

Bellara: So, um… I know this is kind of nosy, but... what made you realise? About the professor, I mean?

Thom: No keeping secrets in this fucking Fade house, is there?

Bellara: I… sort of guessed a little while ago. You kept being protective of him in fights. I mean, even more than you usually are with everyone else. And you were helping him climb up things, and giving him little looks, and asking about what he liked…

Bellara: And I… maybe also saw you sneaking into his room with a load of flowers.

Thom: (sighs) I… look, he’s a gentleman. Treats everyone with respect and kindness, even when they’re dead. I like listening to how he talks. And… watching how he moves. He’s graceful.

Thom: Someone like that deserves to be courted. Honoured. Someone to make him feel as important as he makes everyone else feel. And I realised… I wanted to be the someone.

—

Taash: Hey. You know it’s okay to still be figuring yourself out, right?

Thom: (chuckles) When'd you get so wise?

Taash: I dunno. It's what Mae and Tarquin keep telling me.

Thom: Look, you’re young. It’s only to be expected that you’d be working this shit out at your age. But me… I’m getting toward sixty. Shouldn’t I have figured this all out by now?

Taash: That’s vashedan. You already proved it’s never too late to find out who you are.

—

Harding: You know, Thom, I’ve been thinking. Emmrich’s graceful, and good with words, and he’s kind to everyone. He even wears gold.

Thom: Uh… what’s your point?

Harding: The point is that I remember Josephine. You have a type, Warden Rainier.

—

Davrin: So, are you ready? Trimmed your beard? Found a shirt with no bloodstains? Had a bath for once?

Thom: Look, it’s just a visit to the Necropolis. For all I know, he just wants my help killing a demon of… mild disgruntlement or something.

Davrin: Hey, battle’s a good opportunity for this kind of thing. Just make sure after you kill it, you turn to him, wipe the blood from your mouth, and put our your hand to pull him up…

Thom: He’s the healer. You don’t think he might be the one helping me up?

Davrin: Good point. All right, after the fight’s done, you slump down, wincing bravely. Make eye contact as he treats your wounds.

Davrin: Better yet, take your shirt off so he can give you a proper look over. He’ll get in real close to do the healing magic. Play your cards right, and… well, there’s no one down there to see how far things go.

Thom: Keep on like that, and I’m going to put all my wood shavings in your bed.

Davrin: Sure, old man. I saw your eyes go all distant there.

—

Emmrich: Thom, my dear. Would I be right to assume that you were behind those flowers that kept appearing on my desk?

Thom: Sorry to keep you guessing. I was… figuring some things out.

Emmrich: Well, I did have my suspicions about who my secret admirer might be. I only hesitated to talk to you about it because I feared I might simply be… seeing what I wanted to see.

Thom: … Oh. Well, then.

—

Neve: So, Emmrich’s wearing a new bracelet, you’re bathing twice as often, and both of you keep smiling at nothing. Any chance that’s connected?

Thom: It… might be.

Neve: Good. You two fit well.

Thom: Glad you think so, 'cause I worry about that. A necromancer and a Warden? Sounds like the start of one of Sera’s jokes.

Neve: Well, let’s see. Emmrich reads romance novels in our book club as if he’s aching to have them become real for him. And you act like you’re ready to swear deathless devotion at the drop of a hat.

Thom: That a bad thing?

Neve: (laughs) No. I mean that neither of you do half-measures when it comes to feelings. Like I said: you fit.

—

Davrin: So, you and Emmrich took your time showing up to breakfast. Guess you showed him some swordplay last night? Or did he show you his favourite bone?

Thom: Davrin. Don't. Start.

Davrin: (chuckles) Seriously, though... glad you two are making it work. Not every Warden's brave enough to risk something, with the Calling hanging over them.

Thom: I've been a soldier and a Warden. That's a lot of death for one life. Being around him, it's... like taking a breath.

Davrin: Take your comfort where you find it, old man. Even Wardens deserve to get some. (pause) And to get some.

Thom: Maker help me, I will shove a chisel somewhere chisels where not meant to go.

[swordsswordsswords]

Sorry to Get Into It today but this has been on my mind. I want to preface this saying I love Pacat’s series, all of them, I have enjoyed reading them and have spent much time engaging in discourse over them. However…

In all of Pacat’s series there is a blond main character who has a clear, specific birthright that automatically gives them power. And I get from his interviews this has to do with the racial caste system (if you’re wondering why I refer to it as a caste system I encourage you to read Caste by Isabel Wilkerson) in Australia, how Anglo white people automatically have a certain privilege by being white and blond. And how does Pacat respond to this? Not by calling out the flawed system, but by creating a brunette character who, little known to Blondie, has from their own birthright, just as much power, dare I say, *more* power than their blond counterpart. And in the end, that character uses their own power, still given largely by birthright, to overcome or match the blond character.

But to me, this is not a satisfying conclusion because instead of dismantling the oppressive system, it instead reinforces it, by choosing to acknowledge and respect the hierarchy. This is the same sort of struggle, for example, with types of feminism that don’t actively denounce the flaws of a patriarchal system and put the burden on women to align themselves better with the system. For example, Lean In culture: “gender pay gap at work? You just need to work harder and be a girl boss!” And it’s worth noting this type of feminism only works, if at all, for women who have a lot of privilege already— white, able bodied, middle class, straight, cis.

So, similarly, in all three of Pacat’s franchises—Captive Prince, Fence, and Dark Rise, the main characters all have some birthright privilege of their own—Damen is a prince, Nicholas is the son of a famous fencer, Will is really [spoiler]—and this helps bolster their otherwise underdog status. For all three of them, we admire their tenacity and bravery in the face of their circumstances, but even so, if they “win” in the end, it’s at least in part because of this birthright.

Now I ask you to imagine, what would these stories be like if they didn’t have that privilege? What if Damen were really just a random soldier who happened to kill Auguste at Marlas? What if Nicholas were just a kid who could barely afford fencing lessons? And what if Will were simply a dockworker, bereaved by the death of his mother? Perhaps it seems they wouldn’t stand much of a chance, but then I ask you, instead, what narrative could we create where these characters, and their blond counterparts that have power over them, realize that in fact the system itself is unjust and actively work together to dismantle it?

I want to read that next.

[hunters-vigil]

The Archon's Baby - Chapter 22 - Aftermath

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Warnings: pregnant!reader, Mavuika's impending death, Chuychu healing from losing a limb, R and Xilonen are both scheming for different reasons, R struggling with the idea of being bereaved soon, brief mention of nausea/queasiness.

Fic under the cut, don't repost my stuff on other platforms, i have ao3. Reader is not the traveller. Reader's adoptive sisters are Chasca and Chuychu.

Mavuika was constantly preparing now that the abyss had been driven into the depths of the Night Kingdom. But she wasn't the only one preparing.

You were stuck on bed rest and regular monitoring, while Chuychu was on bed rest as she adjusted to her lack of a limb, and overuse of her vision trying to heal you both. Her recovery having been… the fatal injury was healed by the ode of resurrection, her other physical injuries healed by her vision at the expense of her energy levels, but psychological effects of losing a limb were still there. Those couldn't be healed by elemental power.

Chasca went between the two of you, guarding you both at the stadium, until you distracted her with a request. Find Xilonen and bring her to you.

"Are you going to talk to me?" you whispered, but Chuychu refused to even look at you, her green eyes focussed on glaring at the floor, fighting against the rage inside of her, "I'm sorry."

She whipped around to frown at you, noticing your crumpled eyebrows, how your fingers bundled the blanket together between your fingers, and the deadness in your eyes.

"What?"

"I'm sorry you lost your leg saving me." You tugged at the blanket, trying to cover your bump as Chuychu's frown turned into a glare.

"Do not say that. Do you really think I could let you die? We were both so close to that- You're my baby sister, I love you. I just… have no idea how to do anything now. I feel like a flightless qucusaur." Chuychu seethed, eventually her anger melting into vulnerability, avoiding your gaze.

"You're recuperating on the ground until you can fly again… if you want, you can ask Xilonen about prosthetics or something. That's not why I asked Chasca to bring her though! Before you bite my head off… it's your choice. I just need to ask her about help for a nursery, before it's too late."

"Are you having it built here?" Chuychu caught her words, but not before they slipped out, watching you shift slightly in bed, pushing the body pillow away.

"After Mavuika is gone, everything here will be for the next Pyro Archon. Depending on who that is… the twins might not even be safe within any of the tribes. The abyss will be gone, but I don't know what will happen. They're not even born yet, but people are giving me looks, talking to Mavuika and pretending I don't exist… Mavuika's roots are with the Scions of the Canopy, and I know mama and papa would want me with the Flower-Feather Clan, but can Chief Mutota guarantee our family's safety? Can anyone?" a sigh escaped your lips, directing your gaze to the ceiling, "I can't exactly go raise them on some outskirts with their granny Citlali and uncle Ororon…"

"What about Chasca and I? Do we get to help at all?" Chuychu raised an eyebrow, looking at her her amputation before tugging the blanket over it.

"Have you seen Chasca with babies? She's good with children having conflicts, yes, but I've never seen her near a baby, or hold one. Chuychu, I trust you with all of me, but you have the stress of everything else going on too." You admitted, hearing a scoff.

"And you call me a stubborn butt, stubborn butt." Chuychu folded her arms, about to say more when Chasca returned, with Xilonen behind her.

"I brought her like you asked-" Chasca froze, looking over her two younger sisters, "what happened? You two seem off…"

"Hi Xilonen." You gave the geo vision holder a weak smile, moving to get up, much to your sisters' horror. The little iktomisaur began to stir as the blanket that had been covering her shifted due to your movements, but she only cooed as you picked her up, placing her in a reluctant Chasca's arms.

"You're supposed to be on bed rest!"

"I want to talk to Xilonen without you two eavesdropping. Also, to no one's surprise, I have to use the bathroom." You brushed them off, giving Xilonen a minute of peace as you left the room. Well, as much peace as she could get, as Chasca fawned over Chuychu, who puffed up her cheeks, folded her arms and ignored her older sister, and the sleepy iktomisaur she was holding.

"So… that was kinda tense, did you three fight again or something?" Xilonen asked, Chasca shaking her head to answer but Chuychu spoke first.

"No. I just… need more time with my injury, before any talk of prosthetics. I need to process this in my head, even though it's 'healed', okay?" If the ode hadn't healed her fatal injury when resurrecting her, things would have been a lot more complicated. The risk of infection, the healing process, whether the residual limb would be enough for a prosthetic. "So, our little sister's issues, she just wants to ask you some questions, but she'll avoid actually asking you to do anything because she thinks you're busy enough without adding to your plate. Her time with Mavuika is limited… she's going to need all the help she can with the twins."

"Limited? Wait you said-" Chasca frowned, but Xilonen nodded in understanding, looking up as you returned from the bathroom, gesturing to go for a walk, "limited how, Chuychu? You said before, Mavuika's going to die before the twins are born?"

But it was not Chuychu's place to explain… and you were in no state to, closing your eyes and ignoring Chasca's outcry.

///

"Is there something bothering you? You're all…" Xilonen enquired, gesturing to you as her eyes looking over you for whatever was causing you such a discomfort.

"You're one of the chosen heroes, so you know her plan. Did she ask you about help for the nursery or… is that something else I need to figure out on my own?" dragging your hands down your face, you let out a huff as you continued to wander around with Xilonen, ignoring how people watched you everywhere you went.

"She mentioned something briefly, but with it being… double the expectancy, I'll get to work-"

"You have our Golden Outlander's ancient name to sort out, and a long backlogs of commissions already, including my weapon eventually. I just need… to figure something out. I need to ask Ororon to check on my house, see if it's still intact. I don't know how safe it'll be there, but I won't be staying here after she's gone. I can't. I just…" fighting back tears, you froze as Xilonen reached for your hand, gently guiding you out of your pacing.

"How about we sit down, take a breath, and I point out that you're not alone in this. You will never be alone in this." Xilonen encouraged you, letting you rest your head on her shoulder as you stared into space, processing.

"I hope they look like her… I'll see her in them anyway, but…"

"Sun eyes and all? Two baby Mavuikas… ha, look out Natlan." Xilonen chuckled, the vibrations calming you as you hummed.

"Her eyes weren't always like the sun… they changed when she ascended to Archonhood, back then. You're good at naming things, can you persuade Mavuika to pick some names? My sisters don't like my naming choices, and honestly… I have no ideas anymore." You perked up, much to Xilonen's shock as she looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, wha-why me?"

"You and Chasca have that… weirdness, chemistry that you're both denying, but I see the way you two look at each other. Also, after everything you've done for my family, if it's okay with you… you'd be Auntie Xilonen?" you played with your fingers, giving the name engraver a knowing look as she avoided your eyes, her cheeks warming up at what you were suggesting about her and your sister.

"I… wow, I can see how Mavuika got wrapped around your finger. So, do you tease your Archon like this too?" Xilonen changed the subject, but she soon began to regret it with the smirk on your face, "okay, maybedon't answer that, I don't need the dirty details you've got in your mind right now. There's evidence enough with your pregnancy… honestly, how have your sisters not chewed her out yet?"

"Chuychu stopped Chasca from storming the Speaker's Chamber when they found out she was the one who, uh, got me pregnant… but then the twins, we kept quiet until, um…" a shaky breath escaped your lips, closing your eyes momentarily before you continued to explain, "Chuychu died then got resurrected, but before that, she revealed she has a vision, figured out how to heal me, and herself I think, but she lost her foot. It was when she was healing me that she found that I'm growing two babies…" Your voice growing quieter the more you spoke had Xilonen straining her ears to hear you. Her gaze however locked onto something you were fiddling with.

"Something else has been bothering me too… if my babies died when the ode was active and protecting all life, would it have resurrected them? If I died, would it…" Your questions were rhetorical, Xilonen watching your fingers as you let out a sigh. "I'm not supposed to have this, the elemental energy could be a risk, so… can you keep it safe for me? My sisters suck at hiding things since I know all their hiding spots, so please, keep it safe. I need to return Atea's to the People of the Springs soon too…" You held out your pyro vision for Xilonen to take, watching her carefully hold it in her hand, with a look on your face that you couldn't describe.

"Hmm, how about an exchange? I look after this, and you give me some advice about a book. It's Nechca's birthday soon and she wrote a letter to me, asking for a copy of Tequil the Brave. I have a couple of copies of the older one in my collection, but since I'm not sure which one she'll have read, I wondered about the new version too."

"The newer one is more child friendly, but massively unpopular, but you'd know the story and it's changes well already?" you raised an eyebrow as Xilonen let out a sigh.

"Fine, you got me. I just, the new version was so poorly received, but it took forever for me to find the older one in a warehouse. Plus, this type of stuff is your thing, preservation of stories and history. Your eyes light up just at talking about this stuff… but you don't smile that much anymore, I think I've only seen you happy when you're with Mavuika, or your sisters… but uh, that's when you three aren't squabbling, anyway."

"You should come for dinner sometime, with my sisters, mama, papa… I might be able to get Mavuika to come, if it's not before…" you trailed off, avoiding Xilonen's eyes as they narrowed, realising what you were implying.

"Right… well, I'd like that. Oh, as long as Mavuika doesn't try make me listen to any more of her ridiculous ideas, I mean… seriously? How does she come up with this stuff?" she tried to make a joke, but you folded in on yourself, the prospect of Mavuika no longer being around making you feel queasy, "although that makes me wonder who would be cooking. I'll bring enough xocoatl though, how does that sound?" Xilonen offered, nudging your shoulder with hers as she changed the subject.

"Probably just make a list of dishes closer to the time. I can ask Chasca for your favourite foods if I can't ask you myself, I'm sure Chasca would love to have you at our dinner table. So would I, but in a different sense to my sister… also, Chasca likes wine…" You smirked, watching the name engraver stare at you with a look.

"You…"

A giggle escaped your lips before you cleared your throat to change the subject, "about the book, give Nechca both copies. That's what Mavuika did as a gift for me. I lost my copy of Tequil the Brave in Ochkanatlan, so I didn't have it in my archives. She noticed, and got me a copy of both versions as an anniversary present."

Xilonen raised an eyebrow at your chosen topic. "Anniversary? Just how long have you and Mavuika been together? Wait, Mavuika asked for a second helmet to be made for Flamestrider. I just thought she broke the first one somehow, but it was for you, wasn't it?"

"Longer than you think, longer than anyone thinks… and yes. That's why she brought it back to you to be adjusted." You winked, standing up to stretch, "I should head back before my sisters, or my beloved, send a search party looking for us. Take care, Xilonen. I mean it, please, take care of yourself."

"You too, ki- well, calling you kiddo is a bit silly now, isn't it?" Xilonen dryly joked, but you only shrugged in reponse.

"Doesn't stop my sisters from calling me that, or 'little one'… why does nobody ever call me by my actual name? Whatever… see you around, Xilonen!" you waved, heading back to the Speaker's Chamber, glad that the people were too busy with the rebuild to notice you.

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil’s Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part one

It’s the way that I am BURSTING with excitement about posting this fic 😈🫣

Warnings: nothing here really, just talk of Haley and Jack’s deaths

Don’t forget to follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be notified when a new chapter is posted!!

One: All along we called it normal — “The News” by Paramore

“Please say your name and rank for the record.” The tape clicks. Across from you, Strauss sighs.

“Supervisory Special Agent Y/N L/N,” you reply confidently, “with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia.”

“How long have you been with the BAU?” Strauss asks.

“Four years.”

She takes the seat across from you, crossing her legs, and opening a file folder. “Did you work under Agent Hotchner the entire time?”

“Yes ma’am,” you reply, lacing your fingers together on the table. “I did.”

“How would you describe your relationship to Agent Hotchner during this time?”

“Professional,” you say firmly, knowing exactly what she is trying to get you to say. “Strictly professional.”

+++

When Hotch returned to the BAU’s offices, he headed straight into a meeting with Strauss. She didn’t know he was coming, and a meeting wasn’t scheduled, but he knew if he went straight to his office that she’d call for him immediately. He thought he might as well beat her to it.

He stepped off the elevator and turned toward Strauss’s office. She locked eyes with him through the glass walls of her office, her expression frozen in shock.

“What are you doing here?” Strauss asked, right to the point, barely letting Hotch shut the door first.

“I’m here to get back to work,” Hotch replied, just as blunt.

Strauss was unamused. “Did you even think about the retirement offer I showed you?”

“I did. I’m declining it.” It was a nice offer, really, but it made no sense. He’d have more free time than ever before, but he didn’t need free time. He needed to be occupied constantly if he was ever going to make it through this mountain of grief.

“It’s been two weeks,” Strauss stated. “You need a month of bereavement, Aaron. Minimum.”

“You’re getting two weeks,” he said with a defiant shrug.

Sensing a losing battle, Strauss caved, settling on a compromise. “You’ll need to pass a psych eval with flying colors, then.”

“I will.”

“Today,” she said. “You’re going to wait here until they arrive.”

Hotch put up no fight. “Alright.” He turned and took a seat on her couch while she placed a phone call, ordering an immediate evaluation.

It took an hour for the psychologist to arrive, and they appeared to have rushed there. In truth, Strauss made the situation sound much more dire than it was.

Hotch stood and shook the psychologist’s hand, already securing a good impression before the evaluation had begun. Strauss led them down the hall to a conference room for some privacy.

Hotch hadn’t been in many psych evals, but he was well aware of how they work. Passing this one was easy, much to Strauss’ displeasure, and he was cleared for work by the afternoon.

“I will be watching you, Aaron,” Strauss warned.

“Don’t you already?” he quipped, pushing through her office doors.

+++

The team was in a frenzy when Hotch walked through the BAU’s glass doors, wearing his usual suit and tie, briefcase in hand. Like nothing had happened.

“Is that…?”

“Already?”

“Why is he here?”

You lifted your head from your paperwork and stared, jaw dropping ever so slightly as Hotch walked past your desk. Your eyes followed him up the stairs to his office, unlocking the door and flicking the lights on.

“Did you know he was coming back today?” Emily asked from her seat next to you.

You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from your boss. “No. Not at all. Hasn’t it only been two weeks?”

“If that,” JJ said.

“Is he even allowed to be here?” Morgan asked.

“Standard bereavement time is three to seven days,” Reid quoted, chewing nervously on his nails. “But it varies based on the relationship to the deceased. He should’ve gotten at least a month, or maybe two, since it was Haley and Jack…”

“He definitely shouldn’t be here,” you murmured to yourself mostly, but Emily voiced her agreement.

“He needs more time,” she said quietly, shaking her head in disbelief. “We know he’s a workaholic, but this is…”

“Way too soon,” you finished, and JJ nodded.

Rossi exited his office next door and walked into Hotch’s, immediately embracing him in a hug. You couldn’t hear what they said, but Hotch cracked a small, barely-there smile. It was more than you expected.

Hotch turned his head and locked eyes with you, and you looked away, embarrassed. You really shouldn’t stare. You just didn’t expect him to be back so soon.

You returned to your work, feeling like a kid caught red-handed. Minutes passed before you started to hear Rossi and Hotch’s voices a lot clearer, as they walked down the stairs into the bullpen.

“Hey,” you heard Emily say, smiling gently.

“Long time no see, boss,” Morgan joked lightly.

You lifted your head again, seeing Hotch say a small, “Hi,” and nod. He looked down at you, offering another nod.

“Hey,” you murmured. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright,” Hotch said, directing his answer to the entire team. “I’m glad to be back. I need something to keep me busy.”

You nodded solemnly. You figured that was the reason, but it didn’t make it any better. You still felt like he should’ve waited a few more weeks at least.

“Well, we missed you,” Rossi said, filling the silence.

Everyone murmured their words of agreement, even you. You probably missed Hotch more than anyone else, but it wasn’t a competition.

“I have some cases to review,” JJ said, gesturing in the direction of her office. “I was just about to bring them to Rossi, but if you…”

“We can review them together,” Rossi offered, nodding with Hotch.

“Sure,” Hotch said. “Just bring them up to my office.”

“Coffee?” Rossi suggested. “I’m sure the pile is as high as ever.”

Hotch seemed strangely comforted by the fact, and by everyone’s attempt to behave as normal as possible, as everyone would have worked before Haley and Jack’s death.

The two men fell into easy conversation, as old friends tend to do, and headed over to brew a fresh pot of coffee. JJ headed to her office to retrieve the case files. Emily, Reid, and Morgan shared looks with you before sinking, defeated, back into their chairs.

Garcia came through the glass doors, her empty mug in hand, and stopped in her tracks when she saw Hotch standing in the small kitchen.

“Sir,” she said. “What are you doing— I mean— Welcome back!” She hugged him, unable to help herself.

“Thank you, Penelope,” Hotch offered a tiny smile, hugging her back.

Garcia set her mug down on the kitchen counter and came over to share her confusion with the rest of the team.

“I saw his psych eval get posted,” she whispered hastily. “What is going on?”

You shrugged. “He said he’s ready to be back.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Babygirl, we know,” Morgan shushed her. “He won’t listen.”

You snorted, knowing that was the truth. Above anything else, Aaron was stubborn. You didn’t know why you didn’t expect him to pull something like this. In fact, you felt stupid for not seeing it coming. You should’ve known.

You gave him a few weeks, depending on how many cases came through that needed the BAU’s attention, but nothing more. He’d realize he needed a break eventually, and then he’d most likely take a month off.

Or he’d retire. But you didn’t want to think about that.

You wanted him to have his time to grieve and heal, but you didn’t want to lose him entirely. The BAU wouldn’t be the same without him.

You were not alone in that sentiment, either. Garcia asked you a few days earlier if you thought Hotch might take Strauss’s retirement offer. You didn’t know what to tell her, not really. If he did, you’d understand. But you’d miss him even more than you had these past two weeks.

+++

Your relationship with Hotch had always toed the line of being inappropriate, ever since you began at the BAU a few years ago.

After his divorce from Haley was finalized and she seemingly wanted nothing to do with him, you felt less guilty about your lingering looks. The guilt evaporated entirely when Hotch began sharing the looks, and added small touches.

At first, it was nothing to concern yourself with.

He always sat next to you on the jet, so these times were no different — although he began sitting closer. Thighs nearly touching, forearms brushing, always bordering on too much, but never enough to raise any suspicions.

His fingers brushed against yours while he handed you files, your bulletproof vest, or a piece of evidence. He started putting his body in front of yours when gunfire was involved, even though you both had the same level of protection on your bodies.

And when he could, he paired you with him for interviews, interrogations, or general splitting of the team. The two of you never shared a hotel room, but he and Rossi always get their own rooms. You did notice, however, that your room was often next to his.

You were tempted, many times, to knock on his door, but you never did. Foyet’s terror began, and then Hotch’s family was targeted, and his attention was torn away from you.

Not that you blamed or resented him for that, of course. It made perfect sense for Hotch to turn his focus to his ex-wife and his son when a serial killer was after them. Disappointment crept into your body, but you pushed it away. Bigger problems were at hand.

You comforted Hotch as best you could during those times without crossing any lines.

“We’ll get him,” you remember saying one night, among other things that you probably shouldn’t have uttered. But your words worked and he thanked you for talking to him, even though you’re sure Rossi and others said similar things.

We’ll get him, you all had said. We’ll catch Foyet.

And you did, but there was no “we” involved. Aaron knew where Foyet was going and was already headed there by the time the team figured it out. He was on a one-man mission, no matter what anyone says to try and make it seem less so.

With Hotch back in the office, feelings were resurfacing, though you tried quieting them. The circumstances now seemed even more inappropriate than before, so you kept yourself under a close watch.

It didn’t help, though, that Aaron had gone back to his old ways.

When the team boarded the jet for the first case since his return, you took your seat first, expecting him to sit elsewhere, but he took the seat directly to your right, effectively boxing you in. Not to mention, he was closer than he had ever sat, and you didn’t know what to do with that.

So, you behaved as normal.

“Alright,” you exhaled. “Let’s figure out what the hell we’re dealing with here.”

The case was standard, reminiscent of a thousand others you had worked on already. In a way, you were glad that this was the first case Hotch was back on. You thought maybe it would help him to work on something so familiar.

Your hopes were confirmed when the jet landed, and the team headed to the precinct. Hotch was behaving as his usual Unit Chief self.

+++

It didn’t take long for your relationship with Hotch to get back to where it was, and for it to take the step further that you wanted it to way back then.

It only took two cases, three months, for you to be in bed with him.

You didn’t knock on his door like you always wanted to. He knocked on yours.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, your lips just barely touching his cheek. He hovered over you, his arms bent at the elbows and resting on either side of your head. His entire body was pressed into you, the weight comforting.

His heavy breathing filled your ears. “I know.” He rested his forehead against yours.

“You’re drunk,” you said, not upset by the fact, just aware of it.

“I’m not,” he said, shaking his head, but you could smell the alcohol on his lips. You could taste it.

He wasn’t lying. He had one drink, one glass of whiskey, but that was it. He wasn’t drunk. He was buzzed. He’d remember this in the morning. And he wanted to.

“If you’re not,” you murmured, “then what are you doing here, Aaron?”

He lifted his head, his eyes raking over every inch of your face. “What I’ve wanted to for a long time,” he said. “If Foyet hadn’t come back, I would’ve…”

He shook his head, and you shushed him, wanting him to stop this train of thought before it continued. “Don’t. Shhhh, don’t, we don’t have to talk about that right now,” you cradled his face in your hands. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

He nodded. He thought for a moment, regret and shame passing over his face. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, even though you hated it, even though you really wanted to. But you knew it was the right decision for the night. “You should sleep.” You paused, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You should stay.”

“Can I?” he asked softly, like he knew he shouldn’t. “Just for tonight?”

“Yes,” you murmured. “Stay.”

He did.

[arclundarchivist]

Thinking about Downfall again, and I just have to wonder why the three missing Prime’s weren’t there.

We know why Etharis wasn’t there, we know that Ioun had been taken captive, we know that Kord and Bahamut were waiting in the wings alongside Tiamat.

But what of the Changebringer? The Moonweaver? Moradin?

Could they not stomach the thought? Did they simply not agree?

Was the Lady of Change willing to see the Change of Aeor through one way or another, yet so tied to Freedom that she couldn’t put her own hand on the tiller?

Moradin is the God of Craftsman, was he too impressed by the workings of Aeor, but unlike the chaos within the heart of the Arch Heart was he too staid to lend a hand in its destruction?

Was the Goddess of Love to bereaved by all that would be lost to raise her hand against her children? Did she hear all their secrets and feel too moved by them to move against them? From where does the deepest amount of care spring, love or mercy?

I want to know their thoughts. Why they weren’t there. What they would have done if they had been. Would things have been different?

[codenamesazanka]

I've been looking at some old Japanese villain fan tweets about Toga from Chapter 395, and most of them seem pretty okay with Toga's ending - her dying on her own terms. Which is 😕 to me but.

The overwhelming conclusion from both japanese hero and villain fans alike that no matter what, the League will be getting the death penalty. Maybe life in prison, but most agree it's the death penalty for Shigaraki, Toga, Dabi had he been less burned. Even Spinner and Compress, the less notorious members, might be getting it, because they were part of the terrorist cell. Not immediately that we would see in the epilogue, but eventually.

From the book The Culture of Capital Punishment in Japan:

...Murakami noted that “as a general argument, I adopt a stance of opposition toward the death penalty” but then said “I cannot publicly state, as far as this case is concerned, ‘I am opposed to the death penalty’,” because he had acquired “a painful awareness of the feelings of some bereaved families.”

By arguing that he opposes capital punishment but not in this case, Murakami is articulating a sensibility—the death penalty is “unavoidable” (yamu o enai)—that is ubiquitous in Japan’s culture of capital punishment. [...] Japan’s government uses it to ask citizens whether they support capital punishment (a typical survey question asks “Do you agree that the death penalty is unavoidable in some cases?”). The “unavoidable” expression simultaneously suggests that the death penalty “cannot be helped” and that the speaker is ambivalent about this purportedly “inescapable” outcome. The reservations wrapped in the expression suggest that Japanese capital punishment continues to operate because agents of the state (prosecutors, judges, politicians) and citizen-onlookers represent themselves, to themselves and others, as cogs in a machine over which they have little control.

This punishment simply is. Even in this fictional world. Even though a lot of the League were victims. Even if the villains we saw locked up in Tartarus are never put to execution, and the death penalty is only offhandedly mentioned.

And if this is inevitable in the League's future, then why not go out on your own terms? If death is certain, you might as well die by your own hand (Toga), or go out in battle (Shigaraki). (Never mind that Toga's death was preventable, and Shigaraki was possessed and all he got to do was help punch-kill AFO.) Japanese villain fans are upset about Dabi's fate, but from what I saw, it's mostly because he's meeting such a quiet end.

Another thought: perhaps it's because the Villains were saved, they also had to die. If you stay a unrepentant mofo, like Muscular, then you don't have the decency to recognize your sins and allow yourself to die. But if you were saved and recognize your sins, you have no choice but to die for all the deaths you caused.

(Again, I don't think that works quite for the League, who stay pretty unrepentant about the upheaval they caused??? especially Toga, who states that she was gonna skeddadle; but in a way, she recognized that she hurt Ochako, so she gave up her blood.)

(also. to say nothing of Enji and Hawks being alive. or even Nagant. But some japanese fans are at least upset that Enji and Hawks aren't going to receive any in-universe official punishment for what they did.)

[the-morningstar-family]

Poor Felix.

Maybe check if there are counselors in sloth? Or hospice workers? People who are used to working with families where a member is suffering from a fatal illness.

I don't know what the proper term is but these people aren't exactly therapists. They focus on helping people who are dying and their family members.

On another note, or maybe related, Lucifer darling, you do know that racism is a big part of hell's society?

The Goetia treat imps as if they're lesser beings which is more or less encouraged by Satan, everyone thinks they're better than hell hounds and some people even consider them nothing more than pets.

This is something you should already be aware of considering you are, you know, the KING! But it's especially something you need to become aware of when raising one half-Goetia/half-succubus child, one little hell hound and three half-angelic/half-sinner babies, because Alastor is not Lilith so chances are good that the triplets will be considered lesser than Charlie, especially because you and Al aren't married which would, in medieval speech, make them bastards.

Not saying you need to get married, but definitely saying you should get on top of that narrative before any of your small children hear about it.

But as you have a lot on your plate, let ne do you a favor:

Hey Charlie, I gotta talk to you about your siblings.

[insert everything I said before to Lucifer]

[lay back, eat popcorn and enjoy the show]

Charlie: “Dad? Alastor?”

Lucifer: “Yeah honey?”

The princess takes a breath, handing over some papers. A small list of a few people with Bel’s approval. She looks between the two, especially sheepish towards Alastor.

Charlie: “I know you have a lot to do and all that, so I thought… I wanted to help you and I looked at Bereavement counselors. It's not exactly like therapy but maybe something for now- if you want to!! I don't want - I didn't do it because - I hope it's okay -”

Alastor: “Charlie, dear, slow down. Thank you for the suggestions and the work you put into this, we will look it over”

She smiles sweetly, and claps her hands in excitement.

Charlie: “Oh-! I made sure to look for uhhh. You know, those that have worked with all kinds of hellborn and sinners before.”

Lucifer: “Yeah, it's always good to have some experience”

Both Charlie and Alastor give him a strange look.

Charlie: “Dad… uh I know you haven't been to involved for a long time but…. Um the reason I watched out for that is because some might not treat Felix and Nova like everyone else…”

Lucifer: “Why's that?”

An indignant noise leaves the deer's throat.

Alastor: “Darling, Felix is a hellhound. And Nova essentially is what one would've described as mixed during my time”

Lucifer: “What? No! That can't be! I've never made any laws about stuff like that. It's fine”

Alastor stares. Unbelieving. Opening his mouth, and closing it again.

Alastor: “How are you not aware?”

Lucifer: “Huh? I don't… I wouldn't- You don't think I would make laws like that, right?”

Alastor: “I should hope not. And based on the fact that I had to explain quite a few things about the concept, you couldn't intentionally.”

Lucifer: “See then it must not exist!”

The demon massages his temples. While his little girl cringes in sympathy.

Alastor: “Who governors the Hellborns?”

Lucifer: “Well, mostly satan, but my word still goes above his”

Alastor: “And when was the last time you intervened, changed or even looked over a law he has passed?”

The king mumbles, face as red as an empire apple. Even the deer ears can't pick the words up.

Alastor: “What was that?”

Lucifer: “I don't remember, okay!?”

Alastor: “So it stands to reason, that it has been a very long time, since you had any governing power over the Hellborns?”

Lucifer, reluctantly: “Yes… but -”

Alastor: “And. Have you walked amongst the common folk since then?”

Lucifer, mumbling: “Don’t say it like that…”

Alastor: “Well? Have you?”

Lucifer: “Not for long…”

Alastor: “To summarise. You have not passed, nor forbidden laws in an extremely long time and have not overseen the day to day of your subjects either. Yet you claim to know whether or not any type of class- or racism exist?”

The king picks at his palms nervously. Not daring to meet his partner's eyes. He bites his lip as well, and tears gather in his eyes.

Lucifer: ”Is it really that bad?”

The deer looks at him. His initial anger passed with the sight of tears. Ugh. He's going soft. But he has an idea.

Alastor: “I think there is something I should show you.”

Lucifer: “Wh- what is it?”

Alastor: “A business venture that is quite ambitious. Come along”