#when life is full of grief you must recognize the love!

[jemcore]

the grief is never-ending, but so is the love!

[multifunctionalnitroglycerin]

The Locked Tomb Series- Alecto Theory

Brace yourselves this is 3000 words of me connecting dots that aren't even there.

First things first, this post is an amalgam of various brilliant theories I have seen posted on Tumblr, so if anything feels familiar, that will be the main reason. I am just going to present my own take on this, and hopefully add something new to what we already have.

                The subjects of today’s conspiracy theory are Alecto and Anastasia -and Cassiopeia in part, the vow to Anastasia’s bloodline and what could very possible be, Dios Apate MAJOR.

                So let’s start with what we have from the books, and feel free to correct me or add sth I might have forgotten.

                Anastasia and Samael are the only ones of the original Lyctor batch, that didn’t complete the Lyctorhood process, thanks to - in no small part – John, and/or possibly Alecto. (“I am sorry about Samael”). Which could mean that Alecto was somehow involved in the whole process going wrong, and thus she feels responsible for Samael’s death, or that she was close enough with Anastasia and Samael, that she herself felt Samael’s loss, or she felt for Anastasia’s grief. (I like to believe that they did have a tentative friendship even before the vow thing happened.)

                Anastasia is also the only one of the Lyctors we know, so far, to have had children. Which is an important bit on its own, (Can full Lyctors, have children? If so, are they different from other children, necromantic or not? Is there a reason that in spite of biological capability- if it exists-the other Lyctors have chosen not to have children? Even with Augustine’s and Mercymorn’s plan we see that in the end Gideon is conceived with Wake’s material – John is a whole different story as far as Lyctorhood goes so he doesn’t count.)

Back to our discussion though, Anastasia’s bloodline was so important to the Ninth House that it has been preserved for 10.000 years. We do not really get a clear picture on whether the Reverend Family knows why the continuation of the bloodline is important, Harrow certainly doesn’t, but it was so deeply ingrained to them that Anastasia’s bloodline must remain intact, that they effectively committed genocide, dooming the House’s future, in order to produce one more direct descendant of the Saint that wasn’t.

We do get a hint, a rather big one, on why the preservation of Anastasia’s blood is so important, in Nona’s Epilogue. Alecto states that Harrow is “the blood of the tombkeeper” after kissing her and drawing blood. What did she taste on Harrow’s blood I wonder? And how did she recognize the taste, as the taste of Anastasia’s line? Did the vow she initially made to Anastasia herself involve them drawing blood? Did it bind them to one another, so deeply that they ingrained themselves into each other on a molecular level?

To add to this, young Harrow, young desolate Harrow, who had had enough with her life and was prepared to die, young Harrow who opened the Tomb for that express purpose, loves Alecto from sight. And decides to keep living for her. And there is something exceedingly weird to just how much Harrow loves Alecto. Alecto is probably the most attractive person Harow lay her eyes upon to that day, true, but this instant infatuation, and its persistence throughout the years has something more to it, don’t you think? As Gideon points out, both to herself and to Ianthe, Harrow’s heart belongs to the dead cold body in the Tomb. And said cold dead body in the Tomb, recognizes Harrow from sight when she wakes “Alecto recalled her, for it was a face once dreamed in Alecto’s dream.”

And this line begs the question. Could Alecto dream, in the tomb? If so, how? And what did she dream of? Did she dream of Harrow? Why did she dream of Harrow if that is the case? Or did she dream of Anastasia, and the resemblance is that great? On the other hand, if this refers to Harrow first opening the Tomb, and looking at Alecto, does that mean that she was in some form conscious throughout that stasis? Does this mean that she could have heard and felt Anastasia while they were both locked in the Tomb, for however long the other woman lived?

(The scene where Nona describes the feeling of Anastasia's hands in the water and feeling safe. I am going to cry.)

I do have an interesting theory about Alecto’s “dreams” but we’ll get there in a bit.

Something else that is fishy, is that the Ninth, is the House of the Sewn Tongue. It sounds a bit like too much flesh magic for a bone magic house to specialize in, right? The cure to the Sewn Tongue on the other hand? Removing the mandible and all that? That sounds like a Bone Magic solution to a flesh magic problem. And I wonder if the fact that the Ninth House’s emblem is the Jawless skull, insinuates that the Ninth is not so much a house where many secrets are kept – though this is undoubtedly true, as the Ninth is known as the House of secrets by the other houses – as much that in the Ninth, all secrets are revealed. Where the sewn tongue is healed, and the truth comes to light. And I’d like to point out that it sounds a bit like foreshadowing, and a promise. Anastasia has been betrayed by John and sworn to secrecy, and then locked in the Tomb to die and take his secrets with her. I feel like the jawless skull acts as a constant reminder, that even with the sewn tongue, all curses can be broken, and all secrets will eventually come to light. And it feels like a promise to John, that her House, the house of secrets and unspoken truths, will be the one to rid of the sewn tongue and bring the truth he so fears forward. And this aligns a tad too well with the Sixth’s mantra, Six for the truth, over solace in lies.

And you know what else fits here, in this concordance of the Sixth and Ninth Houses? Cassiopeia and Anastasia’s friendship. Their alliance if you will. We know they both worked closely together trying to figure out the perfect Lyctorhood process, and it is possible that Anastasia made her attempt a bit before Cassiopeia. The exact same attempt, that performed in perfect conditions ended in failure, with John ultimately killing Samael.

 We also know that Cassiopeia left contingency plans in place, should the emperor become a hindrance to the empire. And from what we have seen of Cassiopeia in the books, it is safe to assume that she is driven, determined, exceedingly intelligent, perceptive, logical, and excellent at planning. She is also the one to point out John’s less than favorable qualities pre-Resurrection such as his interest in taking vengeance on those that wronged him being bigger in his interest to save lives.

So, we have, Cassiopeia and her logic driven, truth seeking brilliance, and Anastasia, the thorough, overly methodical researcher. We have them both working on perfect Lyctorhood, and we have them both, in one way or another, being betrayed by John. Chances are, that they were the first post Resurrection to notice John’s flaws, the first to concoct a plan against him. But contrary to Cytherea, Mercy and Augustine, they are more subtle than those cannonball attempts. No, I believe they planned. And they planned long term, and together. Cassiopeia left her House a note, left them instructions, she was preparing them for when John would become a liability. And then an aforementioned amount of time later, Anastasia is asked to design the tomb.

We do not really know anything about Alecto’s relationships with the other lyctors apart from the fact that most found her revolting, a “monster” in Mercy’s words. So here is a thought, perhaps Anastasia, the one of the original Eight to never ascend, perhaps the one whose failure Alecto was involved in – “I am sorry about Samael” – finds kinship in John’s unnerving pet, his undead “cavalier”, the one he betrayed first, the soul of earth. Perhaps they even became friends. Perhaps she and Cassiopeia realize the extend of what John has done and realize that Alecto is the key to undoing it. When John refuses to kill Alecto to appease the others, the plan fully forms.

So, they construct the tomb. And Cassiopeia is well-known for building mechanisms within houses, so maybe her and Anastasia create secret passages, and mechanisms with extra access to the tomb that would be independent of John sneaking in, or whatever he planned to do with that blood-ward.  And hear me out, we know that Cassiopeia stayed 7 minutes in the river before being torn apart by the resurrection beast – at Mercymorn’s account at least, not sure how reliable of a narrator she is. But what happened during those seven minutes? Paul says he thinks he knows how to get to the Locked Tomb via the River. So, the river and the Tomb are connected. What did Cassiopeia do, I wonder? (Here I’d like to say that my other theory is that she did eventually die, or rather was consumed by Varun the eater, much like Judith Deuteros was. The RB burned through her in what, a couple months? How long would a Lyctor last? Perhaps that was the reason that Varun didn’t resurface until 100 years after Cassiopeia’s presumed death. She could have been alive and slowly wasting away, while still making failsafe within failsafe until she lost her sense of self and eventually wasted away)

To recap until now, the first part of my theory is that Anastasia and Cassiopeia dissatisfied with the world John had made and the truth he had served them, probably worked together to find the truth. And they worked together from the shadows, to create a plan, a long-term plan, with which they could bring John down if the need ever arose, and undo what he had done. And Anastasia’s bloodline and their secrets are really bloody important to that plan. (Also, some nice symbolism about the Ninth being about secrets revealed, rather than secrets kept, and that functioning as a bit of foreshadowing.)

Now into the second part of my theory. Anastasia’s bloodline is so important because she has bound her bloodline to Alecto. And I think this happened in the premise of the Vow Alecto has made to her, or they have made to each other. This might be part of the initial vow, of which we know nothing about, apart from the fact that Alecto pledged herself to Anastasia, and that it is important enough that she pledges herself to Harrow, or a failsafe within it. A failsafe to ensure that should Alecto wake after Anastasia has passed, she will not be fooled by any imposters, or anything else John might have planned. Or perhaps, a failsafe to ensure that even if John changes his mind and finds a way to rid of the body within the tomb, to “kill” Alecto, she will not be completely gone, she will keep existing within Anastasia’s line, thus ensuring that the plan for John’s demise can still be enacted and that the soul of the earth will not be dead.

That plays really hard in the Alecto is within Harrow from the beginning theory. And I will explain. I believe I saw something that looked like this in Twitter by lesbian_mothman, but I do not really remember so I apologize if all this has been said before.

In all the dream chapters with John, we relive memories from just before and after the resurrection, and John talks to Harrow as if she is Alecto “You always say that Harrowhark” as a response to “I still love you.” Or when Varun recognizes the Earth’s soul “green thing” within Nona in the car chase scene, or when Judith regaining consciousness asks “Harrowhark?” and Nona replies, “No, and I never was.” So that begs the question of how much of Harrow is Harrow, how much is Alecto and how much are the 200 souls within her? (And there was a crowd of dead children there. They were striving loudly against living children on the far-off shore of the tomb. CHILLS)

In Nona we learn that Palamedes and Camila on the one hand and Pyrrha on the other have two different theories about who Nona is. The Sixth believe that she is an amalgam of Gideon and Harrow, and Pyrrha believes she is Alecto, golden eyes and all. And I am more inclined to believe that it is indeed Alecto, or at least a part of her, that resides within Harrow, and took the wheel when both Harrow and Gideon were gone. Think abt it. Gideon is back in her body, and we have no idea what the hell happened to Harrow, only that she doesn’t have the wheel, and Nona acts nothing like Harrow or Gideon did. It’s like she is learning how to be human for the first time. She learns how to love and be loved for the first time. So with no soul to govern the body, the part of Alecto within Harrow takes the wheel.  

And then there is the candle metaphor in NtN. Alecto’s soul is the candle passed from one necromantic heir of the Ninth to the other.

So long story short, part of the vow, if not all of it, is that part of Alecto will always live within Anastasia’s descendants, so long as they are necromancers. And here comes the part of Alecto’s dreams. Because if indeed she lives within the souls of Anastasia’s necromantic descendants, does she see through their eyes? Does she feel through their hearts? Does she dream of their lives, while locked in the Tomb, while a part of her lives in them? Is she conscious within them? Or does the whole thing act like a cavalier- lyctor sort of connection, where she cannot take the wheel unless the other soul in the body Is gone?

 Part of her soul is bound to Anastasia’s line, and they are bound to her, and over the course of 10.000 years do they spill over? Alecto to Anastasia’s descendants and they to Alecto.  Was this part of the plan to have a failsafe within Anastasia’s line in case something happened to the body in the Tomb? Was it a promise Anastasia made to Alecto, to give her a chance to live, to be human, through the lives of her own descendants?

All in all, I guess I could some it up in a few concise points.

Cassiopeia and Anastasia worked closely together, they were friends and allies and saw in John, the unfulfilled promises he made, and all the faults he tried to cover with rewriting his own version of history.

They decide to make a plan, a long term one, a detailed one, for when John is more a liability than it is worth. And thus, Cassiopeia creates the mechanisms in the Sixth and leaves the protocols for the rest to find. Truth over solace in lies.

Meanwhile Anastasia attempts to ascend, and John kills Samael. Alecto might be consciously or unconsciously involved and harbors guilt over Samael’s death.

Anastasia probably befriends Alecto or finds kinship with this strange being that is the soul of a planet that no longer is.

The planning continues and John after being asked to kill Alecto decides to lock her in the Tomb instead and has Anastasia design it. He later asks her to stay in the tomb and guard Alecto. (Antigone style)

Anastasia designs the tomb, probably with Cassiopeia’s help, probably with a few hidden mechanisms of its own and or a secret pathway through the river, an extra way out.

At some point, Anastasia sires a line, and she makes her vow with Alecto.

The vow probably is in regards of bounding Alecto to Anastasia’s line so long as there are necromantic heirs. A part of Alecto is constantly alive within each descendant of Anastasia’s.

It might work a bit like the lyctoral process, because Alecto only takes the wheel when there is no Harrow and no Gideon in Nona’s body, aka when there doesn’t seem to be another soul guiding it.

Alecto dreams. Whether she dreams of herself within the tomb and that’s how she recognizes Harrow on sight – from the memory of Harrow first unlocking the Tomb – or her dreams are glimpses of the lives Anastasia’s descendants lead I don’t know.

Alecto is thus bound to Anastasia’s line by blood. She recognizes Harrow by her blood, tasting either Anastasia, or the part of herself residing within it, when she kisses her. It also ensures that the line is intact the vow is intact and it’s not a pretender trying to fool her.

Anastasia and Cassiopeia planned to bring John down by opening the tomb when the time was right and leaving her to Alecto’s (and the RB’S???) mercy. There is still a lot left to be explored.

The tomb is to remain closed until the time has come God has to die. We can all see how that can be misinterpreted to > if the tomb opens God will die. And instead of a promise to be fulfilled it becomes a terrible terrible thing, that will spell everyone’s doom.

The freaking skull of the ninth is a threat, a foreshadow and a promise. The Ninth was a house that should have died with Anastasia in the tomb. But it didn’t. It continued existing its bloodline unbroken for 10.000 years. Nine for the tomb and all that was lost. The Ninth is predominantly I feel a house of mourning – the whole nuns, all black, and skull makeup thing. But it is also a house of secrets. It is a house represented by the cure to even the tightest secret held. So the Ninth, the house that should never have been the house that should have died with its secrets in the tomb of its inception, is the one that will break the sewn tongue, and reveal all the secrets, bringing the truth to light.

[skaruresonic]

The idea of Sonic being Maria’s reincarnation is fascinating to me, I must admit. Though it’s funny to think that she waited 35 years for it after her demise for Sonic to actually be born and then when he is, he’s opposing the cousin and he can’t enjoy Earth and its flowers fully like she also couldn’t because ALLERGIES lol. Comedy value too.

It is, isn't it? Again, I wouldn't push it as canon, but purely as a hypothetical for-shits-and-giggles kind of idea, it definitely is interesting to think about. Particularly with the parallels between Maria and Sonic:

1.) Both admire the genius of those closest to them (Tails and Gerald), 2.) Both are associated with the color blue, 3.) Both have a playful nature, 4.) Both like to race Shadow, 5.) Both are selfless, 6.) Both share immense strength of spirit. Other thoughts: 1.) Sonic can't swim (no pools on the ARK?) 2.) Sonic also seems to have something of an "you play tough, but I just know you'll do the right thing" attitude when it comes to recognizing Shadow's trauma in Battle. Kind of like how Maria recognizes that Shadow isn't the most personable guy around, but is still kind beneath his prickly exterior.

3.) Sonic's hay fever suggests a strong immune system. Overcompensation for Maria's weak one? xP

4.) It would be hilarious if it turned out Sonic continued stealing Eggman's thunder in his current incarnation.

5.) This is the most YMMV point and total fanfic lol, but maybe the spirit "chose" a hedgehog body in order to copy Shadow. Which would make the whole "faker" exchange extremely ironic on multiple levels.

6.) Sonic and Shadow threatening to throw down every time they clap eyes on each other becomes extra hilarious too.

---

Some people have said they aren't fully on-board with the idea because they fear it has the potential to erase or downplay Sonic's agency. While I sympathize with that anxiety, I also view the concept as something akin to transformation. Sonic may very well become someone or something different when he dies, like the blue wind in '06. Nothing is ever permanent.

(And to be quite frank, I kind of find the idea of Sonic being the literal second ULF that got ejected to Earth to be more convoluted than transmigration. You can accept hedgehogs being born as test tube babies, but you draw the line at reincarnation?) It's not that Maria literally is Sonic, but rather, her spirit has moved on and has become someone else. She no longer exists except as the embodiment of the things she loved most: the Earth, full of wonders and as "cool and blue" as Sonic, humanity, and freedom. (In that vein, I like the idea that Sonic helps Shadow move on from the grief of the death of his former life.)

Sonic is, however, at the end of the day, entirely his own person, even if his underlying "substance" is technically the same as Maria's. He would never want to look back, and maybe that's why he doesn't pick up on any subconscious cues about the ARK during his time there except to bid Shadow sayonara.

That is the whole gist driving the underlying idea. There's never gonna be some dramatic grand revelation where Shadow discovers the truth and angsts about it. Chances are Sonic would just laugh it off anyway.

---

Though it’s funny to think that she waited 35 years for it after her demise for Sonic to actually be born and then when he is,

Well yeah, the spirit had to make sure Sonic's buddies would be born at roughly around the same time. Adventure's no fun without friends.

You ever watch a revolving door and try to gauge when you should step inside? That's probably what happened. Can't go now. Maybe now? Oh crap, Eggman's gonna take over the world if I don't go now. xP

---

she’s opposing the cousin and he can’t enjoy Earth and its flowers fully like she also couldn’t because ALLERGIES lol. Comedy value too.

Can't have shit in this transmigration Chili's lol.

This is a potential comedy gold mine. The Commander is ranting and raving about how Maria was slaughtered in the ARK raid, meanwhile Shadow glances over to Sonic, who's hopping from foot to foot like "I just wanna throw hands" xP

[ariiadnes]

ㅤ╭ ⿻ ･ DEATH , SEEKING

AT THE END OF THIS STORY , I WALK INTO THE SEA & IT CHOOSES NOT TO DROWN ME.

-ˋ ♡ ◞ scaramouche. genshin impact. cw : drowning quote cr : jihyun yun. reader is an angel. not meant to portray a romantic relationship. repost. tagging @pixelcafe-network

ACT I :

A FUNERAL PROCESSION DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING WHEN IT'S YOURS. THE LOWERING OF THE CASKET / THE DIRT AND DECAY THAT COVERS THE ROOT OF BEING. IT IS VOID IN EXISTENCE, & IN PLACE OF WHERE A HEART RESIDES, THERE IS AN ECHO OF WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HUMAN AND WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY.

there is supposed to be a grief that accompanies acknowledgement of loss and death, but in the open wounds of mortality, flesh torn asunder in the killing of a body, a puppet feels nothing.

he stares at the funeral, desolate. it is his, yet he does not mourn. the sight before him is somber, but it is filled with deception, he thinks, and so he reminds himself over and over that he is the one that lies in that casket, dead.

it's easy to forget it's your funeral when everyone there is someone you don't know or someone who pretended to care until it was too late. he cannot recognize half of these faces.

if he opened the casket, would he recognize himself?

"you have experienced both life and death, dearest kabukimono. which do you find to be more beautiful?"

his train of thought is disrupted, gaze shifting to the figure beside him. you have always remained at his side for reasons unknown, denied the existence of guardian angels, but he cannot find any other explanation for the everlasting presence of some supposed divinity watching over him. he could laugh, really. even if you were a guardian angel, you were far too cynical, far too perfect a companion for someone like him.

"i have no heart." the words are filled with spite and hatred and devoured by anger, but beneath it, there is a loneliness, and the ache of it all almost makes you feel something. "you can't experience both if you were made to be a vessel of nothing."

you smile, amused. you study the crowd, its mess of black umbrellas and murmurs and cries. you hear the sobs, but you are certain that there are no tears shed.

"are they mourning for you?"

he laughs, bitter.

"no. not with that pathetic acting."

"they must be very selfish, then." you hum, words spoken more to yourself than anything. "it must be tragic, knowing that your funeral is not full of love and grief. i wonder what would have been more painful for you," you glance at him, but he does not dare look at you, "the absence of the mournful or the false pretenses of sorrow from those who never cared."

you stand next to each other, watch as the crowd disperses, until all that's left is a tombstone with a name he will soon rid of.

"desolate wanderer," your voice is soft, somber, "i am sorry for you. would you like me to say a prayer?"

he does not answer.

ACT I , REVERSED :

the scene changes. the black umbrellas blur into nothing. a coldness washes over him, envelops him entirely in something known as terror. suddenly, it is still. the wretched air is quiet, profound. frightening.

he stands in a body of water, the tides calm, the shore distant. he recognizes this feeling. it is not one he can forget, even when he tries. three times he has known this sensation, the creeping dread, the breaking of something deep inside the void in his chest.

you stand before him, watch as the water drips from your fingertips. your gaze is absent, unreadable, but maybe he sees something so incredibly sorrowful in it. he watches your reflections, notes the feathers that were once part of you. how they float on the surface, lonely and listless, and in the muddled waters, the pure white twists into something black.

"do not be afraid." you tell him, and he watches the droplets trail down your skin, descend into the water from which they came, one by one, slowly.

he could laugh at the words. he wants to say it's human nature to be afraid, but he stops himself-- he is not human, after all, so why does he succumb to fear?

"i'm not."

brash words. liar, you think. but that's okay. you tilt your head ever so slightly, lips curved in a subtle smile.

"are you ready?"

he nods. the water is cold, cruel, invades his senses. there's a numbness that sinks into his skin, but maybe that's an absolution, the cleansing, the awakening. you close the little distance between your bodies, hands cupping his face, tender. there is something in your eyes-- pride, maybe, but he denies himself the possibility. who would be proud of a failed creation?

he closes his eyes. the water grows colder, but there's something warm in his chest, and he does not know whether it is fear or hope he feels the most.

"good night, kabukimono." you press a kiss to his forehead. "may you find something greater on the other side."

your hands slide down, delicate in the way they wrap around his throat, fragile, and in meaning of divinity and reincarnations and sacrifice for something better, you pull him into the waves, further and further and further down until his body loses all sensation, until he can no longer hear the violent sea, until his breath is gone and he is no more.

ACT II :

"balladeer. scaramouche. kunikuzushi. harbinger." you mumble the names to yourself, keep track of them by counting with your fingers. "have i missed any? shall i grant you another warm, endearing title?"

the balladeer scowls at you, though you find it amusing. perhaps in a previous life, you would have surely teased him, pushed it a little further. but in this life, there is a different kind of danger in his eyes, a deeper misery. you do not think you care enough to provoke him-- he could not hurt you, after all, even if he dared.

you contemplate the possibility. he could not hurt you-- not because he'd care too much about you to do so, but simply because you carry the blood of a higher being. he would most certainly try if he knew he could harm you, should you push him to the brink.

what a bitter feeling. you smile faintly at the realization and he does not like it.

"why are you here?"

"i am always here. you've just been given the impression that i'm a thorn in your side."

"are you not?"

"in your search for power and vengeance, have i failed you? was this my fault, the twists and turns in your path to greatness? i can only guide you so much, and all this time, i have watched you walk down the road to destruction." you pause, watch his expression darken with a kind of fury, some kind of hurt. "every name you are known as holds your past. you change it, try to cleanse yourself, but the truth is that you'll always carry it, unforgotten."

"so what did the sea do for me, angel? did you kill my spirit for the sake of your enjoyment?"

you tilt your head once more, smile so exhausted and worn.

"i did not kill your spirit, lonely wanderer. you already killed it long ago." your words hold a dreadful venom, bitterness on the tip of your tongue, rust lining your throat. "the sea could not save you, just as i could not."

he does not know how to respond. he hates that faint apathy you always manage to have, even when he knows it's only a facade at times. he hates that not even a higher power can help him -- but it's always been that way, hasn't it? just like everyone else, you've failed him too. that's what he'll tell himself because that's all he knows.

he turns on his heel, feels the razor edges of your brutality sink into his flesh. he walks, and he does not stop.

"we will try again." he states, command deep in his voice. "neither you or the sea are meant to help me."

you close your eyes, bow your head. somewhere in the silence, you say a prayer. you have never been a savior.

perhaps he is not meant for the saving, after all.

ACT II , REVERSED :

the scene changes once more. it's the sea again, that familiar coldness that fails to abate. it's that strange fear again, that uncertainty. and then there's you, there's always you, he thinks. he stares at the reflections once more, distorted by the ripples of motion. your feathers look darker, the harbinger notes, and there are far more than before. he rests his hand in the water, watches as one floats into his palm. his grasp is gentle as he examines it, and there's a flicker of white, then black once more. he wonders if he imagined it.

"you didn't crush it." you comment.

"you thought i would?"

"i don't know." you reply. "you are not always made of carnage." and that familiar curve of the lips. "it wouldn't have hurt in the end, but thank you for your kindness."

his eye twitches, and you laugh. he doesn't know if you're being genuine, and he's going to dwell on this moment for a bit too long, he realizes.

the air becomes heavy once more. you wonder if he is certain in this decision. it is the second time, but the fear remains stagnant, unchanging.

"do not be afraid."

there is something you cannot quite decipher in his gaze-- determination? wrath? you are unsure. you don't bother to question it. you do it all over again, this familiarity-- the ripples in the water as you move closer, hands cupping his face once more. you press your forehead against his, close your eyes just as he does.

"good night, kunikuzushi. may you find something greater on the other side."

you open your eyes. your hands trail down, fingers wrapping around his throat in yet another means of reawakening. his hands rests over yours, eyes still shut, and you feel how they tremble ever so slightly.

the sea is cold, unwelcoming. the plunge is gentle, but the sensation still frightens him nonetheless. you are merciful even for an angel, comes the bittersweet thought, and maybe he isn't worth such benevolence. he's always wondered why you chose to stay by his side, anyway.

he feels the fight leave his body, feels the way your grip tightens to end this suffering just a little faster. your hands are warm, the balladeer thinks, and it is the last thing he remembers before it all goes void.

ACT III :

maybe you truly are not a guardian angel. you have not been at his side for a long while. he thought perhaps it was just that he had forgotten, that maybe you were nearby all along. but your absence has been all too noticed, and he does not like it.

it is... lonely, here. to be forgotten by all, to carry the weight of what was.

sumeru is vast. it is beautiful, bright, radiant. all the things he is not accustomed to. he stands on the highest of heights, watches the endless landscape below him. somewhere, he hears familiar footsteps : light, graceful.

"do you remember me?"

he stills. he's not sure if he wants to see your face, see that perplexed expression, see the way you tell him that you do not. no one else does.

you hum, deep in thought, and the sound is beautiful. how he misses it so. it sends an ache in the hollows of his chest, some kind of longing.

"won't you turn around? it's been a long while since i've seen that grumpy face."

you can practically hear him roll his eyes. it is a moment or two of gathering composure and courage before the vagabond finally turns, and of course, you have that same stupid smile on your face. this time, it is more genuine, and he's not sure how to quite process that.

"i remember you." you answer. "you're far too stubborn and annoying to forget."

he almost feels something beat wildly in his chest, but he does not understand the sensation. there is nothing there, no heart, yet some kind of heartache. you speak again.

"what do you call yourself now?"

he has taken many names, few of them significant. he has not granted one to himself-- no need, he thinks, though he knows that he would not rid of it if he had one. he thinks back to the sea, recalls your many conversations.

"wanderer."

you pause, and he notes that small flicker of recognition in your eyes.

"familiar and fitting." you muse. you close the distance just as you always have in the past, but this time, there is no water, no vicious wave to overtake him. "do you wish to see the sea?"

the words are heavy in meaning, but it is different this time. in your voice there is the quiet pondering of are you happy this time? have you found the right path? did you find it, that greatness? and he understands it.

he freezes. inhale, exhale. he stares at the sight before him, recalls when you once stood with him at his funeral. things have changed now. he is the same yet different, a harbor for sorrow and anger, but a home for something virtuous. his gaze shifts to you once more. this is not the outcome he intended, desired, nor expected. but there's forgiveness somewhere out there, and maybe he'll grant it to himself one day.

"no," he answers, and in his visage, there is just the faintest trace of kindness you once remembered from memories past, "i've had enough of you drowning me."

you laugh softly, see his lips curve just the smallest bit.

"i am glad, dearest wanderer."

[amethystunarmed]

Then Everything Was Worth It

Word Count: 1409 AO3 Thank you to my phenomenal beta, @snarky-wallflower!

John picks up the notebook, as if in a daze. It feels impossibly heavy in his hands as he flips through the pages. Samuel had been frantically making notes since they arrived on Lincoln Island. The margins are full of his scrawling cursive, no space left blank. The message is on the very last page, the only place there was any room.

“You know where to find me,” John reads.

John has never mistaken his place in the life of the Stratfords. Samuel is one of his closest friends and Rose is the new Polaris that guides his way. He loves them both dearly, of course, and he knows they love him just the same. But he has never once assumed he would come first in either of their lives; that honor always belonged to the other. 

So yes, of course John knows where to find Samuel. 

He's with his sister.

Rose cradles Samuel in her arms. She clutches him close, rocking as she sobs his name again and again, words hoarse. In this state, John barely recognizes her. She seems so… fragile, nearly broken beyond repair. Nothing like the vibrant woman he knows and loves. 

The Travelers awkwardly stand around them. Dakkar leans on Ahlaam’s shoulders, Sia paces. They watch on in silence as Rose grieves. John wishes Margaret-

Oh god, Margaret. Someone is going to have to tell Margaret.

“Sia,” Rose pleads, voice thick with tears, “Please, you have to take us back, we have to try again. Before Kal knocked him out. We can do it again, we can fix it-” Her voice cracks and another round of sobs overtakes her. John thinks he should do something. He and Rose are… Are something now. Something real. They… They hadn’t determined a name for it. But Margaret had laughed behind her hand and Samuel had said he was happy for them and-

John feels a spasm of grief rattle through him.

Sia looks at Rose, seemingly helpless. “Rose… It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Rose snaps. “We just go back and do it all over again and-”

“We can't travel back in time. The orrery was our one chance to-”

“Well, you wasted it!” Rose snarls, and Sia has no response for that.

They stand in silence for a moment, only the beeping of the Nautilus and Rose's sniffles breaking it. There are a million things John should be thinking about. Margaret’s growing power and the strange words she’d mumbled, the wonder of the Nautilus traveling through the sky, what on earth they were going to do about Samuel… But John can’t seem to focus on a single one. Instead, he spins the phrase We can't travel back in time over and over and over in his head. 

Because that can’t be right. John knows that can’t be true, that Sia must have misspoke. Because, if that were true, that would mean…

“Sia,” he says, dread heavy as lead in his veins. “How did you check on Anna?”

Sis freezes and turns to him with calculating eyes, like he is an enemy she can outmatch. “What do you mean?”

John's hands feel clammy. His pulse races.

“If you can't go back in time,” John says hesitantly, hoping, praying, begging for her to correct him, “How were you able to check on Anna? You told her you'd help her.”

Sia's hands tighten into fists at her side and that is when John knows for sure. 

She never intended to go back. 

Anna.

“Oh god. She- She's all alone up there, we have to go get her-” Sia gives him a look of pure pity, and John feels like he is on the Satellite launch all over again. The world tumbles and shakes around him, as he loses all connection with gravity. “No. Please, no.”

“I…” Sia swallows. Her hand has jumped to her necklace, rapidly dancing along the edge.  “I checked on her when I arrived. It was the first thing I did, I swear. She… She’s gone, John. She's been gone for a while.”

John feels weak. His legs struggle to stay upright. He leans against the wall of the Nautilus, letting the cold metal ground him. “That’s… how could that happen?”

“It’s been thirty-nine years, John,” Sia says. Each word is careful and precise, like it’s obvious, and she is explaining death to a particularly dense child, “She was-”

“How could you let that happen?” John corrects, pushing himself off the wall and striding up to her. He has never felt rage like this, so hot and all-consuming that John almost doesn’t feel anything at all. “Anna trusted you. Samuel trusted you. We all trusted you!”

Glowing tears well in Sia’s eyes. "John, I'm so sorry. I thought, with the vision-"

"How many of my friends is your vision going to kill!"

John never had many friends. He hadn't been well-liked in school, too bookish to get on with the other boys at his boarding school. By the time he reached university, he'd grown used to being tolerated. The stars had been all the company he'd needed and he had resigned himself to a life of solitude with them.

That was before he met Anna. Before Great Astronomical Discoveries, before Rose, Samuel, and Margaret. Before he had known something more, something like-

Samuel, eyes warm in the false sun of the Traveler’s jungle. We travel together.

The Brick Satellite, Anna's new home, high in the sky over the town that holds her name. We will reunite.

It wasn't true, any of it.

Sia seems upset by his words. Her hand has flown to cover her mouth and she shakes her head, as though trying to think through a nightmare.

“I… I never wanted any of this,” she whispers. The words are so quiet, John can barely hear him. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to.

John distantly thinks that maybe he should feel bad. But there is no room inside him for anything but that blazing, numbing anger. He opens his mouth to tell her that none of them had asked to be a key or a pawn in some magic war, when Dakkar interrupts.

“This isn't helping.”

John isn't sure he cares about helping right now. He thinks Dakkar can tell, because his eyes narrow and he straightens to his full height.

“This isn't helping Rose.”

John feels himself pale, and it feels like he has fallen overboard into the icy depths. The frigid realization douses the raging bonfire inside him.

Damn his temper. Damn him, for losing track of what is actually important. 

John looks back to where Rose is still seated. She is still now, her sobbing entirely ceased. She just holds Samuel tightly to her chest, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

He kneels down beside her and tentatively rests a hand on her shoulder. At the first touch, she nearly falls into him. She tucks her head into his shoulder and wails. She pulls Samuel with her and his arm brushes against John's. He is cool to the touch.

Samuel’s eyes are open. They stare unseeing at the ceiling, with none of the creativity and cleverness John has gotten to know so well. His glasses are askew, and nonsensically, John reaches down with his free hand and straightens them. One of the lenses is cracked. John feels a lump well in his throat. Samuel never would have let anything happen to his glasses.

He's dead. He's actually dead.

Samuel's dead. Anna's dead. And there is nothing John can do about it.

Finally, the tears fall.

“C-could we have some privacy?” John stutters, as he reaches up his hand to cradle the back of Rose's head. The Travelers shuffle out of the room without protest, and John is grateful. He doesn't think he could bear their attention, not after the scene he just made. Not after they killed-

It doesn't matter. None of it matters, honestly. For the first time since they arrived in Hanover, John really feels the weight of those thirty-nine years. His father, his observatory, Anna, they are long gone. And despite traveling with them, Samuel is gone as well. 

There is no getting them back.

Margaret and Rose are all he has left.

John pulls Rose closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. He holds her tightly, as though the world may rip her away at any moment.

He will keep her safe, no matter the cost.

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 Lost in the Light 🎶

After hours of trying to sleep, Zelda rose from her makeshift bed in her parent’s workroom sometime before dawn. She paused momentarily to ensure that Violette was well asleep and then headed to the front door of the cottage. Her feet still knew the path in the darkness as though it hadn’t been over a decade since she had last done this.

Stepping out into the night was almost like stepping back in time. The air swirled with the same sounds and smells that she had known her whole life, the same ones that she had always relied on to clear her mind and cradle her thoughts when she couldn’t sleep.

When she entered a clearing that she recognized from her youth she stopped to look up at the shivering leaves. Far too embarrassed to speak aloud in the silence, Zelda spoke in her mind, Poppa, I suppose if you are anywhere you must be here. Are you with Mother and Rosella? I would like to think so, to think that none of you are alone.

She stopped for a moment, hearing the morning birds begin to sing and taking a deep breath. There was no answer to her question. No sounds other than the songbird. As if refusing to admit her own perceived foolishness, Zelda quelled her disappointment and continued,

How is Antoine, Poppa? Can you see him? Can you hear him? It’s been so long since I’ve heard his voice. Over two months now, and Violette asks after him constantly. Even she knows that we should be home by now, that it has been longer than I intended to be here.

A momentary anger rose in Zelda’s throat, one that she had been stifling every day since she boarded the steamer. She told herself that she had considered staying in England for Violette’s future, for her safety and happiness; but she knew that her daughter couldn’t have that without her father.

No, she had considered staying here out of spite and fear, of keeping Violette away to make Antoine suffer for her loneliness. She was angry, inordinately angry that Antoine wasn’t there - that he hadn’t boarded a ship to come and find her as the weeks went by. But that was the thought of a young girl with young dreams, the type that had once wandered these woods with her mind full of romance novels and grand gestures.

Her years in New Orleans and the harshness of the world had tempered the girl she had once been; for Zelda knew that Antoine’s memories of the bloodshed of war here were blinding, and that her absence wouldn’t change the reasons he had stayed. It would only cause him to dig his heels in deeper and fall further into the trenches of his own mind. After almost ten years together she knew that she couldn’t pull him out, and that he had to want to let go before she could truly help him.

And she wanted nothing more than for him to let go, to experience the same freedom that she had felt in England, the unexpected lightness in her soul and her heart when she realized that she was no longer afraid of the things which once brought her so much pain.

For to her great surprise, she had borne every ounce of grief and memory without breaking. She had found an unexpected peace here that could perhaps bring more stability and security for herself and her daughter. Yet it was also devoid of the life and love she had found in New Orleans. For as much memory as was in this place, she couldn’t deny that it felt no more like home than after her father died. The strongest bonds to her family were now all truly gone, each of them nothing but memories amongst the leaves of the Bramblewood.

She knew that she could spend her days tilling the fields that her father had sown and attempting to replace the fulfillment that being somewhere ever-changing brought her. But it also meant the loss of her daughter’s trust and the love of her life; for despite his actions she did still love him, deeply, and wanted nothing more than to be with him. Although she knew what the safe choice was, her months here had shown her that the pain of being apart was even worse than the pain of being together and that she was at home with the family she had found in New Orleans.

Poppa, tell me please, what do I do?

[blood-injections]

Expanding on this extreme violent zones headcanon of mine. Warning for torture mentions, body horror and crimes against humanity.

So everybody is violent and deadly and in the zones where it’s every killjoy for themself, allies are hard to come by and friends, people you actually trust, are even harder. So if you have a crew, it’s ride or die. You’d do anything for your team and having one is proof that despite all your violence and the monstrous things you’ve done, you’re still human, you’re still capable of love and receiving it. Having a crew is Hope incarnate.

And the fabulous four are one of the tightness knit crews there is. They’re deadly and unparalleled in the sands but then in the safety of the diner, when they’re all out of danger for the night, they’re so domestic, gentle with each other, even. They’re a family.

But the thing is, while the desert may be a sin-stained wasteland, most killjoys still have some morals intact, still feet regret and grief and fear of the horrible things they have to do to survive. But in Battery City, there are no morals, no limits. They do things that make even the most messed up things the Fab Four have done look like child’s play. Dracs are expendable mindless zombies because they’re the spoils of human experimentation. Some can’t walk, they stumble through the desert on cheap prosthetic limbs, but they’re sent out anyway. The citizens have things in their heads that keep them in line. If someone acts out something inside them cuts out and they’ll drop dead where they stand. Androids are forced to do the dirty work whether they’re sentient or not. Some can think and dream but when it comes down to it they’re not in control of their own body, their limbs servants to programming no matter how advanced the circuits in their heads may be. Some have been stuck doing the same thing for years when they just want to live, but they have no control over their body and they must scream.

And Fun Ghoul, despite all his skills, was one day overpowered, captured and tortured within an inch of his life. There was a storehouse that was bugged and when they caught him on the surveillance feed they sent Korse to take care of him. He wasn’t taken back to Bat City, they did it right in that abandoned building they caught him in and when they were done with him they dragged him out into the blistering sunlight and left him there to bleed out, a meal for some passing scavenger.

The others were able to find him in time but in order to save his life, Jet Star had to do the very thing they swore they’d never do to a friend- tear him apart. And then put him back together again. When Fun Ghoul eventually woke up, he didn’t recognize himself. He was left with a stitched up, full ear to ear Glasgow smile that’s sure to leave a nasty scar, one blinded eye, a cybernetic leg from the left knee down, stitches all over from excessive lacerations and other little cybernetic parts to keep things inside him together.. and he had someone else’s lung and right arm.

Over time he made the best of his condition, owned his resemblance to something like Frankenstein’s monster, embraced it, even. But for a while he was in a stranger’s skin.

[merlyybird]

ok here's my overall thoughts on the whole dark beginnings trilogy. spoilers below!

things i liked:

- the visuals. the action was especially vivid and really helped me understand how i'm supposed to imagine these characters in a fight. there were also a lot of wallpaper-worthy shot compositions. the use of 3D within a 2D art style was...a little noticeable, but not immersion-breaking.

- seeing all these characters together again. we haven't seen team dark in a context like this for a while! and it's especially nice to see fresh interactions between shadow and rouge/shadow and maria. fun GUN commander surprise, too.

- rouge's characterization. i like that they're leaning into a lot of my favorite Rouge Traits again---she's tech-savvy, smart, does what she wants, and she's kinda Shadow's best friend currently living. this still isn't my favorite voice for her, but, you know.

- the angst, for lack of a better word. i loved seeing shadow's canon insecurities about his identity and his place in the world. i also think it was so effective to show how isolated shadow felt on the ark, and how maria was the only person there for him. it puts his grief for her into even better perspective.

things i'm kinda iffy on:

- i wish omega had more dialogue. plus, why did they repeat him saying "i call dibs" across shorts 2 &3 ? that was really glaring. he's kinda just the less important robot third wheel to the two other more interesting characters in team dark.

- the series ended on a kind of lukewarm note. it was just a reminder that oh, yeah, this is mainly a piece of promotional material for a game that will tell the rest of the story. presumably.

- i didn't really like the sentiment that maria is the only person who could talk shadow down. listen, i love shadow's backstory and how it informs his character. like i said, i was happy to see more scenes of him interacting with maria! the thing is, though, i don't want to see him married to his tragic past when he already decided to move on from it way back in shadow the hedgehog's true ending. shadow doesn't do good because of maria's wish anymore---he does it for himself, because he chooses to. he doesn't have maria anymore, but he has new friends who understand him. why must maria continue to occupy this unattainable high standard that even rouge can never reach? even shadow recognizes that his old life was taken from him, and he can never return to it. so why does the narrative seem to push back against that?

i'm willing to give this short series a little grace since it's not the full picture. plus, i think the theme of finding new friends is still there, it's just...not carried as far as i'd like it to be, i guess. i'm not saying maria needs to be replaced, i'm not saying shadow can't remember her. i just think her memory should be used as more of a foundation for him to build new connections.

at the end of the day, though...i wanna see more stuff like this! i love that they're exploring the parts of sonic characters that make them beloved and interesting and cool-looking (same as the knuckles prologue short for frontiers)! i would take a full anime in this style any day of the week.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Music Monday Tuesday

Thank you @your-catfish-friend for tagging me!

Rules: Choose a few fics you wrote that were inspired by a song - not just with song lyrics in title - and share the tune and the link to the fics. If anyone wants to guess which goes with which go for it in comments or tags!

---

This is hard because most of mine are directly using the titles... So INSTEAD what I am going to do is link some less popular songs that inspired fics to the fic (so NOT my Taylor Swift name fics).

---

Nothing Left But You 

In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie.

In May of 2026, they all come back.

Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

Any Other Way (ongoing)

In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

Got Weird

Shortly after Buck and Natalia break up, Eddie gets tipsy and makes a rather forward move. Then immediately panics (not that Eddie panics, of course) and backpedals. Eddie spirals, Buck is confused. Lots of spontaneous kissing ensues.

Claim Your Ghost

After a near death experience on a call, Eddie starts having strange hallucinations of people who have died. There’s definitely no way he’s seeing ghosts, right? Because Eddie doesn’t believe in ghosts…

Winter Prayer 

When a work conflict prevents Athena from accompanying Bobby to Minnesota for the ten year anniversary of his family dying, Buck and May offer to go instead. Over the course of the trip, they all learn more about each other, and Bobby faces his grief.

Why Not Take All of Me?

When a small disaster strikes the morning of Maddie and Chimney's wedding, Buck, Hen, and Chim find themselves unwittingly caught up in an emergency across town, while Maddie and Eddie get stuck in an elevator.

Fuck Up the Friendship (my first ever fic)

Eddie and Buck respond to a call where one best friend confesses their love to another - leading to a pretty awkward argument between them, and maybe more?

Me and Lazarus

As Buck lays comatose after being struck by lightning, Maddie reflects on the life of the first brother she lost, how that impacted her life, and the ways grief has shaped them both.

Cowboy With a One Track Mind (ongoing)

Spin-off Sequel to Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness - Chapter 7 (Land):

Grieving and tortured, Evan Buckley has been living alone in Montana in a remote cabin for nearly a decade. After an incident that leaves him missing six months of his life, and suddenly in connection with a group of strangers from Los Angeles, Evan must decide whether to remain in his self-imposed exile, or take a chance at life again.

a mouth full of teeth and nothing to sing 

Post 07x03, Hen struggles to process the cruise ship rescue and drunk driver call in the midst of ongoing tension with her friends.

---

Tagging @pantsaretherealheroes @jeeyuns @aroeddiediaz @exhuastedpigeon @theotherbuckley

@diazsdimples @steadfastsaturnsrings @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @mangacat201 @daughterofscotland

@madneywedding @evanbegins @tizniz @wildlife4life @buckleybabyblues

@bidisasterevankinard @adarkermiserablecrow

[djinnhatescold]

What Was, What Could Have Been

Woe, angst be upon you.

Rating: Teen And Up Relationships: The Dark Urge/Enver Gortash, Astarion/The Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate) Summary: Orin's betrayal. The mindflayer tadpole. Astarion's change. Gortash's death. It was all too much.

The ao3 version has an epilogue, kind of. It's more angst.

~~~~

It was never supposed to be like this.

Even since waking up in the mindflayer pod on the nautiloid with a head full of holes where her memories should be, she was sure that this was not how her life was supposed to go.

Even after rejecting the pernicious instincts that told her to kill, mindlessly and often – a simple plan for a simple life – she knew that the world held more for her than this.

Didn’t it?

She had repented her father’s plan for her. Allowed her heart to open to another. Remained true to him, devoted to him, allowed him into her confidence and supported his ambitions. Scarcely any time passed after seven thousand and seven souls cried out their death throes in unison and he became the Vampire Ascendant before he began to betray her trust. She wanted to believe it was simply the high that he was feeling at Cazador’s end and when his powers came to be, and celebrated with him.

But soon enough he told her with absolute certainty that she did little else but await his command. Ordered her onto her knees before him. Called her his pet. To have fought so hard to be out from under Bhaal’s thumb only to be tossed straight into another’s subjugation was too much to bear, so she ended it – and in doing so nearly became undone by the guilt of facilitating Astarion’s change and the grief over the loss of their future together.

She had fled that night, unable to share the same space with him in the Elfsong, and spent hours wandering through the streets of Baldur’s Gate. She didn’t want to be stifled by the indoors yet she also didn’t want to see a single mocking star in the sky, so her feet brought her to the gazebo at the end of a dock that jutted out into the Chionthar.

How easy it could have been when she was still her father’s chosen, to forego emotion in favour of the pleasures of rent flesh and gushing blood. To replace the lost joy in her eyes with the blissful fading of light in another’s, her sorrowful weeping with the screams of the dying.

He came to her then.

He must have been following her through the unblinking eyes of his Steel Watch. Whether his surveillance was unsettling or sweet was debatable. But when Enver Gortash’s footsteps sounded on the wood behind her, something in the broken recesses of her mind recognized them. When he offered a sympathetic ear, she knew that she could trust him implicitly. He told her tales of their time before – not the meticulous scheming, the murders, or the political posturing; but the spaces between. The stolen kisses, the talk of their future together as one, making love as if the world was a powder keg and they were the spark.

The memories were gone but the feelings, oh, the feelings were still there.

They spent the rest of what was left of the night and the entirety of the next day together at his mansion in the Upper City amongst the trappings that his political and social victories had won him over the years. He promised her all he had and more, all that he was and all that he would be after they carried out their plans with the Elder Brain. And she promised him the same; she would not rule in the name of Bhaal, but she would rule in their names together. Even if there was no Brain and no plot for conquest, she would have stayed by his side come what may for eternity. But fate or the gods or anything and everything in all planes of existence would not let her realize her dreams of happiness.

In the blink of an eye the Nether Brain ordered Enver Gortash to die, and so he did.

Halsin and Minsc had to tear her away from his body and through the Emperor’s portal where she railed against them, Astarion, the gods, her father, Orin. She was dead thrice over, locked into a hellish waking nightmare instead of the beyond. No one quite knew what to do with her, and why would they? She had rejected their friendship in order to protect them from herself. None of them truly knew her; Astarion had only won her over out of sheer persistence and a common outlook on life and murder and power.

But now, life? Power? Meaningless. But murder – murder she knew intimately. She could murder the Absolute cultists. She could murder the Brain.

And when the deed was done and the tadpole in her head squirmed for the last time and the sun rose over a broken Baldur’s Gate, she turned and walked away from the city without a word.

[arvadthecursed]

not to continue being an emotional bitch on main but I was thinking about The Last Unicorn (the film, mostly, as it was Baby's First Hyperfixation) and how it is a film about growth and grief, at its very core, and that's why it resonates so strongly.

At the end, the unicorn says, "I have been mortal, and some part of me is mortal yet. I am full of tears and hunger and the fear of death, although I cannot weep, and I want nothing, and I cannot die. I am not like the others now, for no unicorn was ever born who could regret, but I do. I regret." And I wanna focus on those last lines.

There comes a time in all our lives, I think, where we experience that loss of innocence, and it feels like the first time it's happened in human history when it's happening to you.

This isn't a story I've told many people but I'll share it with you now. When I was 12, my grandmother, who I was extremely close to, died of cancer. It had spread to most of her body, including her lungs and brain. Her last days were spent in a hospital hooked up to a morphine drip.

The last time I saw her, it was in the hospital, and she was begging my father not to leave. We had to return to our home to pick up my mother for the impending funeral. And I just remember my grandmother crying out for my dad, telling him not to go, and I remember how utterly crushed I felt in that moment. Death was inevitable. I couldn't escape it, not when it was directly in front of me. At my grandmother's viewing, I could hardly look at her.

For years, I was severely thanatophobic. Death has always kind of hung over my life. My maternal grandmother, only a few months after I was born. My maternal grandfather, when we went to his apartment and found him dead. My grandmother's friend, who we found dead in his house. My grandmother herself.

That was over ten years ago. I've grown quite a bit, and I think working in a nursing home has given me a little more of a "unique" perspective, if you will. Death is just part of life. It happens. And sometimes, it is merciful.

But the grief remains. There are times I'm 12 again, and a scared little girl, watching my grandmother, who could hardly recognize anyone, cry for my dad not to go. I feel regret for not being able to look at her body at the viewing.

And even beyond death... I grieve the girl I lost to abusive boyfriends. I feel this lingering regret at the loss of my innocence, not that I could've stopped it. I think of the sweet little girl I was, and I want to cry for her, but I can't. All I can do is look to the future and try to grow and be better for her.

It's a human experience. We don't like to admit it, but grief is quintessentially human. When it happens to us, it feels like the first time it's happened in history.

And then we grow. We have to keep getting up, and going about our lives, and trying not to trip on our grief. It doesn't go away, but it tucks itself into a corner, where it'll catch us off guard when we least expect it. Then it goes back into hiding.

I think The Last Unicorn is a really beautiful example of all these ideas coming together. The unicorn must come to grips with the fact that she is not innocent anymore. She has grieved, she has loved, and she knows the bittersweetness of regret. Her journey is self discovery, but a tragic one, one that we all go through at one time or another. It's a film that still resonates deeply with me because the notion of grief and growth has always been present in my life.

Anyway, sorry for the ramble. Was just thinking about it quite a bit today.

[velvet4510]

It astonishes me just how different the ending of ROTK the film is from the ending of ROTK the book. And how much BETTER the book’s ending is.

In the book, Sam, Merry, and Pippin stand at the Grey Havens for hours after the ship leaves, late into the night, unable to move or talk in their grief at losing Frodo. They still can’t believe he’s really gone, and stand side by side in their shared sorrow. Then they slowly make their way home, clinging to each other for comfort. Something they never would’ve done at the start of the book, as Sam wasn’t among the “friend group” at first. He was just the servant. But now, the journey has bonded the 3 of them, and they are supporting each other in a moment of severe pain for them all. They’re equals now and they need each other. A perfect little ray of hope from Tolkien, showing us that they will always have each other and be there for each other.

Then when Sam comes home, he comes home to Bag End. To Frodo’s home. To the place that first brought him and Frodo together. Now, Frodo is gone. The estate, filled with memories of Frodo, belongs to Sam now. And instead of Frodo waiting for him at the door, it’s Rosie and their little daughter. Beloved and welcoming, and yet not the same.

Then Sam can’t enter by himself or sit down by himself or reach out to his daughter by himself. Rosie has to help him do all these things, drawing him inside, guiding him to a chair, and putting Elanor in his lap. He is completely haunted. Frodo is gone and he can’t process what he has just lost. He can’t fully appreciate what he has here yet. His wife must lead him, and remind him of what he still has by placing their child into his arms.

Then he takes a deep breath and says “Well, I’m back.” This is all that Tolkien writes. He does not describe the expression on Sam’s face. He does not describe the tone of voice with which Sam speaks these words. Just the words. As if it’s monotone. And why wouldn’t it be?

Sam has everything he dreamed of before the Quest. A beautiful home with a beautiful family who he loves, and who love him. Safety and comfort. Normalcy. He should be beaming with joy. But he’s not. He can’t be. Not when he just lost his other half, the person he followed into fire and doom, the person for whom he was ready to die, the person for whom he fought monsters, the person for whom he went to the ends of the earth, the person whose apparent death made him borderline suicidal and desperately wishing that he could die with him after completing the Quest. The greatest love of his life. (Regardless of how you view his and Frodo’s relationship, there’s no denying that Frodo has been the most important person in Sam’s life for so long now and they are soulmates, platonic or otherwise; you only have to read the books to see that.) Sam has a wonderful life and future ahead of him, full of love and joy. But it’s a life he must live without his soulmate. How does he feel about that? He can’t even feel anything yet. He’s numb. He acknowledges “I’m back” but doesn’t know how to feel about it. Is he happy to be back? Is he heartbroken to be back? He’s both. Can he truly be one and whole like Frodo wanted for him? Will he forever be torn in two now that he’s lost Frodo but will never forget him? In this moment, he has absolutely no idea. One true love is gone, and two other true loves (his wife and daughter) are there with him, there to stay. Will bliss or depression win the internal battle? Everything is uncertain. All that is certain is that he has just returned to his dwelling. “Well, I’m back” are words of celebration and of lament. He’s at peace and in agony, simultaneously. It’s a comforting yet bittersweet ending that perfectly ties Sam’s journey together, while still leaving it slightly open and uncertain, reflecting Sam’s own feelings on that last page. It’s an ending that recognizes and honors the weight of all that came before it.

But in the movie, all of this is lost in the final scenes. There are 3 main reasons why it fails, IMO:

#1. Merry and Pippin turn away from the Grey Havens before the ship has even disappeared, and seem to start to actually leave Sam behind. Which makes no sense. They immediately want to leave? They don’t want to keep their eyes on their friend as long as possible until the ship is out of sight, like they do in the book? And they’re completely ignoring Sam and just leaving him there alone? It’s kind of horrifying the way they don’t even look at Sam.

#2. since the movie follows a different timeline, Sam comes home to Rosie and two children, not one, which itself isn’t a problem … but they all stand close together and smile, as if posing for a picture as the perfect nuclear family. Sam shows no sign of unhappiness. Just a blissful smile, even though his soulmate has just left him forever. He’s apparently recovered splendidly. He doesn’t need his wife to support him and help him inside, like in the book. He’s … fine? Despite … the last 11 hours of the trilogy? Despite the bond he shared with Frodo, the love? It feels entirely forgotten. And Rosie grins like a commercial model through the whole scene, with no hint of the compassion for his loss indicated by her actions in the book. This image of the smiling family would be fitting in a flash forward to 10 or so years later when time has healed Sam and he’s grown into his new life in the Shire. But for him to be this cheerful immediately after losing Frodo, it undercuts the weight of Tolkien’s ending. The last page marks the moment Sam begins the transition back to normalcy, but it’s a shaky, awkward, somber moment. He doesn’t just slip back into happy family life like it’s nothing; he needs time to process his loss before he can truly be in the moment. By trying to have a “conventional movie happy ending,” the film sacrifices the impact of Frodo’s departure on Sam.

#3. the hobbit hole that Sam comes home to isn’t Bag End. It’s #3 Bagshot Row. Meaning Frodo apparently…didn’t let Sam and Rosie move in with him and didn’t leave Bag End to them in the movie-verse? Even though it’s big enough to fit a huge family? Even though making Sam his heir would guarantee that Sam, Rosie, and their children would be financially set for life, as is the case in the book? This is an absurd detail that makes zero sense to me. How hard could it have been to film this scene in front of the Bag End set? Or if it somehow wasn’t available, why not paint the door green to indicate this is supposed to be Bag End? As it is, it makes it look like Sam deserted Frodo to live all alone in Bag End when he married Rosie, as if Sam would EVER do such a thing. Whereas in the book, they all lived together during that time and Sam & Rosie took care of Frodo as his illness worsened and let him name Elanor; they included him as a full part of their family. Then the ending of the book provides a new chapter for Bag End itself, and emphasizes the fact that Bag End is its own character. The estate was built by Bungo for Belladonna and their future family, but they ultimately only had Bilbo, then Bilbo never married, and then Frodo never married. It was always too big for the few bachelors who lived there. But ultimately, when Frodo leaves the estate to Sam and Rosie, they fill the smial with the life and laughter of 13 children and it becomes the Gardner family residence for several generations afterward, finally fulfilling its original purpose as a family home. The movie disregards all of this.

In short, these two endings are night and day. The book’s ending is sweet and bitter at the same time, because it’s a depiction of someone expressing gratitude for what he’s gained while simultaneously mourning what he’s lost. It’s both melancholy and hopeful, wrapping up a melancholy and hopeful story, brilliantly reflecting the melancholy and the hope of life, especially after a great personal loss. Whereas the film’s ending is just “ok the sad part is over, now everything is happy and perfect like in any storybook, the end.”

[sonofthedunes]

ok. ok. i’ve teased it long enough: it’s time to meet my star wars oc. if you’re interested, venture below the cut…

and here she is: andrie mykarrah of tatooine. her faceclaim is saoirse ronan, specifically in her role as jo in little women-when i began to consider what andrie looked like, this face appeared to me immediately and just fit. (saoirse is perhaps my favorite young actress working today, and in fact auditioned for rey in tfa!) i’m not going to lay out her whole life story for you here, but i’ll tease out some facts for you-and if it piques your interest, she’ll be a character in my next one-shot! for it may shock you to know that she’s luke’s love interest in my little fancanon. :p

born in 19 ABY, about 3 weeks after the twins. of her mother’s eight pregnancies, she was the only surviving full-term child

Andrie’s mother was never especially maternal and abandoned the family when Andrie was eight; they saw each other only occasionally afterward. Andrie’s father loved her but was never around much; he died when Andrie was 13. she was raised on the mykarrah farm with her great-grandmother, grandmother and two uncles

by her own admission is rather hotheaded and temperamental, fighting when cornered and gathering every scrap of agency she can in her sheltered world. this can serve her well in combat later, but admittedly she must work hard to control it

is force-sensitive, but this was suppressed for much of her early life. had at least one relative who was murdered for displaying force powers, and her grandmother feared what might happen to the family if her abilities became known

encountered Luke a few times when they were children, but only properly met him when they were 18 and he came to her farm with his aunt and uncle…because the older women were trying to marry Andrie off in order to continue the family line

of course the marriage didn’t happen (Owen vehemently objected to his nephew being treated like breeding stock), but Luke and Andrie discovered they were kindred spirits who yearned for life beyond the desert and over the course of the next year became friends (of which they both have precious few). neither of them know it, but this is the force guiding the future builders of the new jedi order together…the whole slowly falling in love thing is just a bonus

when the news of the lars’ murder reaches her, Andrie assumes Luke’s been killed too and in her grief vows to travel the galaxy for both of them, no longer willing to allow others to control her life. she runs away from home and makes her way to mos eisley, where in her search for a ship she comes upon a certain corellian freighter on which to stow away…

and thus begins a journey on which Andrie helps rescue a princess, joins the rebel alliance, reaches at least the rank of lieutenant (possibly higher?), becomes a head of the reconnaissance team, sees planets and battles beyond her wildest dreams, recognizes her worth as a woman and soldier, feels accepted for perhaps the first time in her life, fights for an end to tyranny…and eventually opens herself to the power of the force, becoming both padawan and bride to luke. their love, which bloomed in a desert and was solidified by a whirlwind rescue mission, changes the jedi order forever and shakes the stars. not bad for two farm kids.

that’s enough to start on i think :p i’m always open to questions about Andrie, so feel free to drop them in the inbox! and thank you all for indulging me

[zibethrose]

Know that SelfLove is having the fortitude to do the things that will change your life.Reclaim your majesty and live in the fullness of your sacred being recognizing that SelfKnowledge and acceptance will provide you with the sacred blueprint to start afresh💞 Cultivate unconditional love to promote divine transformation into your life knowing that love helps one to have faith and hope in the unfolding of life and helps develop the mechanisms needed to transmute rage and grief.

Release the need for external validation innerstanding that wellness relies on your inner state not the image promoted by society which feeds on illusion and delusion. Drop into your heart to fill your own cup to heal from emotional anguish. Recognize that when another brings more misery than joy to your life, let them go as its madness to continually return to the status quo of unhappiness. Go within to commune with the sacred to be Free from emotional shackles to generate a new beginning and move forward in grace, no longer burdened by people, places and things that no longer serve you. Accept that sometimes you must separate yourself from people you’ve had significant relationships with as you have grown apart and find yourself now on different pages, chapters, sometimes different books, no longer sharing a value system. Rescue yourself by getting back into alignment by allowing your soul space to be. Find the courage to let go of what you cannot change to arise like the phoenix, renewed in spirit from the ashes of your emotional pain. Recognize that now is the Time to detach from toxic situations. Stop worrying about what other people think and enter the temple of your truth shutting down yesterday, which allows you to move forward with love and hope.  

Please like, share, subscribe and follow me @ www.zibethrose.com

[alecsalamander]

Admittedly, he just assumes the unknown Utica number that calls his cell phone at 7pm on a Tuesday is Cătălina’s all but forgotten landline – she’s the only one from New York that would be calling him. “Bibio,” and he’d been doing the dishes when his phone had buzzed insistently, tucked against his shoulder now while he’s elbow deep in bubbles and hot water, “is everything okay?”

“Hi Jim,” his ex-wife says, and he very deliberately takes the minute of brittle, tense silence to dry his hands.

She sounds the same as she does in all his memories of her, or at least the ones he’s allowed himself to keep over the years. Says his name exactly the way she used to, back when they were in love; she says ‘hi Jim’ like nothing has changed. Like it isn’t the first thing she’s said to him since the day she ran off.

“Stefania,” he finally responds, and buries thirty years of hurt into the worn fibers of the tea towel. She’s been gone long enough that he’s stopped imaging what he would say to her, if he saw her again. Gone long enough that he’s long since stopped hoping she ever comes back. But she says his name like that in her low, honeyed voice and he’s twenty-two again, young and stupid and so full of hoping for things that it’s almost enough to make him forget how angry he is.

Almost.

“This is a… surprise.”

There’s a soft noise in the overwhelming awkward quiet that he recognizes is her, trying not to cry. Or, maybe, just getting over crying. He might still know her voice but he doesn’t know the rest of her tells, not anymore. “I know,” she says, “I know but… CJ,” and it takes him a moment, a sharp breath, to stop himself from hanging up right there. The name in her mouth is of the young boy she’d abandoned, of the unwanted wretch that pulled himself together by tooth and nail and sheer, stupid determination. He hasn’t been CJ in years. A lifetime, even. He does not hang up, and Stefania does not cry. “He died.”

A series of frantic voicemails and the longest plane ride of his life, hands clenching the arm rests because he refuses to clench them in prayer, screaming to a god that has long since abandoned his family. Cold wind and cold rain and the cold, hollow feeling that settled in his stomach like a stone, like a boulder, when he’d asked the cab to take him to the hospital. The seventeen hours of waiting, of mourning an ending that had not yet come, of grabbing hold of his family and pulling them close, closer, because they had barely survived losing Lacey and he knew beyond any shadow of a doubt they would not survive losing Cat.

There’s no word for a father who knows what it’s like to lose a son only to get him back again, no fancy term to describe the grief that lingers like a rot in a space that no one else can see. Jim was, for long enough for scars to form, a man who lost everything. “I know,” he says flatly, because it’s something they’re all still coming to terms with. “I was there.”

I was there, he tells her, because she wasn’t. Hasn’t been. She lost the right to cry over Jim’s son the day she left.

Another soft noise, like maybe she isn’t crying because she knows that. “He died and—”

“And he’s fine,” he stresses, because honestly? He isn’t. None of them are. Cat is alive and Lacey is home and all of them are caught up in the sorrow and the loss and the hollowness that doesn’t go away as easily as a loved one comes home.

Only time will tell just how much of them was left beneath the ice.

“I know,” Stefania says again. “I saw him last night.”

That definitely explains the otherwise confusing series of text messages he’d received. “He must have been thrilled to see you,” he grins as the threads of the towel tear under his fingers. He’d left marks in the armrest of the plane too, gouges from his fingernails ripping patterns into the fake leather. He thinks maybe Cat isn’t the only one who has survived by leaving claw marks in the world. It’s mean, and it’s petty, but his ex-wife is calling him after nearly three decades to unburden herself of a grief he carries like a bruise, like an infection, like a festering wound around his heart the rest of the world ignores.

“He has a daughter.”

He sucks in a breath turned sharp with surprise. He obviously knows this – he’s known Lacey almost as long as Cat has, and loved her just as long. What throws him is that Stefania knows this too; Lacey is not someone their family shares lightly. “You can’t possibly think I don’t that,” he says finally. He’s done sparing her feelings. She’d made her choices and stood by them all these years, and so had he – his just happened to be his son and the family he’d collected, piece by piece across the years.

She’s quiet. The open line of communication between them hangs fragile and delicate. And then, just as breakable, she whispers. “I think I made a mistake.”

James waits a second or two, and then he barks out a laugh. “If you’re calling me to have me tell you that you didn’t, I’m hanging up.” He's not going to soothe whatever hurt she's caused herself since leaving; if anything, he hopes it gets worse. There had once been a time where he held onto his anger for the marriage that she destroyed in the wake of her departure, for the future they had planned together and she had ripped away from him. There had been a time, back at the beginning, where he had been so angry for the hurt his ex-wife had caused him. And then Cat died, the first time, and he couldn't be angry anymore. Not for himself. Instead all of those feelings had crystalized into a fury that he knew would never be broken at the hurt she had caused him.

If he's learned anything at all since learning about magic, and about curses, and about the world now, it's that Cat and Wendy are hardly the only men who would rip apart the world for their child.

"You want forgiveness? You won't get it from me." From Wendy either, he doesn't say. Or from Lacey. He still won't say her name to Stefania, or be the one to bring her up; he hadn't known what it meant, back when his son first brought over the girl he cared for. Hadn't known she would one day have a room in his house and a firm grasp of his heart. He hadn't known, when he first met her, that he would be her grandfather. But he had known that she was special, not only for the way she brought back the parts of his son that had been buried under the rage and cynicism that he wore as an armor, but the way he knew from meeting her that he would do whatever was required to keep her safe. "You want to make it right with Cat? Good luck. But if you're just trying to feel better about yourself, I'm the last person you should have called."

He doesn't need to see her, or know her anymore, to know that she's nodding – agreement sounds the same across all distances. "He's okay?" she asks tentatively, like she isn't sure she deserves to know.

"He's safe," James doesn't elaborate, "and he's home."

A final pause, like the connection has broken; it's only the continued count-up on the screen of his phone that tells him the call is still active. "And," Stefania finally sounds like what she is – a stranger. "And he's happy, right? He's been happy?"

He leans back just enough to glance down the hallway to the living room, where he can just make out one socked foot dangling over the edge of the couch. He's not sure which of his boys it is, but it hardly matters – the three people he loves most in the universe are here, a well-deserved quiet evening at home, and the sounds of the movie are just loud enough that his conversation has gone unnoticed. Or, most likely unnoticed. He wouldn't be surprised if Wendy approached him later, since he's always had a knack for knowing exactly everything that happens around him, but the chances are good that Cat and Lacey will never know. The peace they've found since Alaska will remain undisturbed, and the home they've built together will never know the pain and loss of the childhoods they've spared their daughter from. "Yeah," he can't help the smile that creeps into his voice. "Yeah, he's happy."

[1dont-really-know]

@kitwasnothere <3

Characters : Malva Draconia (OC), Altair Gerbera (OC)

The thing is, Malva always knew Altair’s time to die would arrive far sooner than hers. It is a mere fact of life, after all, that the fae live longer lives than other folk, be it merfolk or landfolk.

It was only a matter of time.

But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

She could almost not recognize the man in front of her now. His once sunshine-colored hair all faded out to a muted gray, his bright blue eyes weary and dull. He had once been as lively and joyful as any being could be; so full of genuine love for the world as a whole that the whole room seemed to light up whenever he entered.

He had once been a child the same time as she was.

He calls her name now; gently, like one would call to an injured animal so as to not scare them. Malva can still see love in Altair’s eyes. They’re softer now. Not as fiery and all-consuming like it once was. She steps closer regardless. She steps closer until her feet carry her to his bedside and she collapses onto the chair beside it.

There should be more people here. More people to remember him. More people to love him. More people to grieve for him. Instead, only Malva herself and Coriander were there to witness his final moments. And even Coriander stayed outside while Malva talked with Altair.

And Altair seems so happy just to see them there.

This feels so wrong.

Yet, when Altair reaches out to hold her hand with his withered, wrinkled fingers, Malva meets him halfway and squeezes his hand tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice raspy. It sounded like a gargantuan task, just for him to say that. “I know you don’t want to leave Malleus alone, but…”

So he knows.

Malva puts on her best smile, though she knows that the half-human would see right through it. Just another effect of having known and loved each other for so long. “Lilia’s there,” she hates how the words just rolled off her tongue. She hates not being able to pour her heart into his arms and let him do what he must with it. “Someone’s with him, so it’s alright.”

You… you’re more important right now.

Altair laughs, still understanding the part she didn’t say out loud just as he always did, but the sweet sound of his mirth quickly gets cut off by a series of coughs and wheezes. Try as any of them must, all three of them know it will not do much of a difference. “How sweet of you,” he finally says after his breathing has stabilized, “to put me above your nephew. I’m honored, truly.”

Thank you for being here, his eyes silently conveyed.

Unable to look at him any longer, Malva leans her head onto Altair’s shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut as the grief settles into her chest, her brain, her heart- the very marrow of her bones. He’s still warm. At least she has that comfort for however long he has left. The familiar weight of Altair’s head against hers, always with his cheek pressed against her hair and nudging one of her horns, lights another fresh wave of love and anguish inside her soul.

“I wanted to introduce him to you.”

I thought I had time to. Why didn’t you tell me?

“I’m sure he’s a wonderful boy. He must be if he could reignite the light in your eyes as he did.”

You just regained your happiness when he hatched. I don’t want to take that away from you.

You wouldn’t have, Malva wanted to sob. Her hand closed around the edge of the bed, clutching it as hard as she could without breaking it into a million tiny splinters. Instead, she takes a deep, shaky breath, and pressed herself closer against his side.

He smells like medicine and balms.

“And why would you say that?” Her voice sounded pitiful even to her.

“Because I know you. And I know how stubborn you are in your ways.”

Despite the odds, a strained laugh wrestles its way out of Malva’s throat. “What a nice way to say that my moping was becoming pathetic.” She opens her eyes in time to see him frown.

“Not at all,” ah. So his voice can still be that gentle even after all these years. “You lost your sister, Mallow. I would react the same way had I lost Coriander.”

“And how do you know your death wouldn’t do the same?”

The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them. Altair’s eyes dim with sadness. Malva’s heart clenches. She was supposed to be comforting him in his final moments and yet… He shakes his head, reaching towards her with both of his hands and cradling her face. His thumb brushes gently over her cheek, wiping away something wet. When did she start crying?

“Because it’s my-”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself!” Malva snaps at him as he opens his mouth to speak, her hands encircling his wrists and forcing him to hold her just a little longer. “You know it’s not true! None of this is your fault! You didn’t choose to get sick, you didn’t choose to age so quickly, you didn’t-”

“Mallow, please.”

Malva’s jaw snaps shut.

Altair’s eyes gaze at her so gently and so fondly that her heart clenches in her chest. “I wasn’t about to blame myself or my heritage, Mal,” he chuckles, once again stroking her cheek and wiping away some of her tears, “I was going to say that it was my pleasure to see you heal. You’ve grown. You’re stronger now.” What? “And besides, you promised, didn’t you?”

Ah…

Malva swallows back a sob, but nods. “Yeah. I’ll… I’ll take care of Cori.” Altair nods in return, smiling. But still, Malva continues, “and I’ll make sure the world remembers you as I do.”

As a man so bright that he lit up even the darkest of days. A man with a heart so warm that anyone would love him if they saw through his heritage. A man so caring that the world was a better place with him in it. A man so smart that Malva Draconia would have never been as good as a healer as she is without him. That Malva Draconia would have never survived the heartbreak of her sister’s death without him.

A ray of hope. A beacon of warmth.

His breathing is becoming unstable now. Altair releases Malva from his hold, and Malva’s head thunks back onto his shoulder.

“Do you want to call Cori in?”

Altair shakes his head sadly, “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

A hum, and Malva snuggles closer to his side, relishing in his warmth for one final time.

“… Hey, Sunflower?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

I love you.

Altair smiles. “I should say the same to you.”

I love you too.