Fun fact if you pick up the Mikey he will scream and scratch like a little cat

This does not apply to death swap Mikey if you somehow manage to pick up his heavy metal body he will melt... So you will end up with metal spaghetti in your arms...

Since you made shifters AU - the crowd (me) asks for more. HCs maybe?

Hi, love! Sorry, it took forever. I wasn't sure, anyone would even notice my little shifters. Anyway, here how it started, and let's check, how it's going.

Ground rules

So when creating shifters AU, I made a few rules, that would help me personally in a world building. These rules are valid ONLY in my AU, so don't worry, it's not a must.

Shifting process is long and painful. While the body may change its form relatively fast - it is the shifter's mind that needs time to adapt. The shifter needs some time to remember, who are they and what is happening. The first minutes after the shifting - it is just a scared animal in terrible physical pain, so it can harm even its beloved ones.

Cat shifters are the most feral of all mammal shifters. You don't want to be in the same room with a freshly shifted lynx or lion - their mind needs much more time to come back to 'normal'.

The closer your 'second face' to your human body (in terms of measurements and body funktions) - the easier your shifting process is. Shifting to a mouse is much more complicated than shifting into a bear (because of size differences). Insect/bird/fish shifters are fucked rare and they are doomed to have much more complicated shifting process.

Wolf-shifters are the most common type in my world, because they learn and adapt faster than any others. Also they are very welcome in military because of that. Everybody wants a fellow wolf in their squad.

Shifting process can be trained in time. The more times you shifted - the faster your body and mind adapts. So the fact that cat shifter Nikolai didn't try to harm his beloved is due to his enormous experience.

Second faces

Second face is simply their animal form. One shifter has only one form. I dont make any segregation in my AU and shifters may work alongside non-shifters just fine. Nevertheless, 141 is a shifter party 100%

Captain John Price

I wouldn't dare to NOT make this man a bear. Because c`mon, it's John Price. He has his timing, his fair share of violence, he's highly territorial, he's absolutely gorgeous. If you're not on his team, "Bravo six going second face" is your death sentence. He can chase his prey for miles, he crosses ice-cold rivers and climbs peaky mountains like it's nothing. There is practically no place, where you could hide from him.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

As intimidating, his angry roar can seem to you - your real problems start when you don't see him. Because Kyle is a lynx. He won't let you know, he's around, until you believe, he lost your tracks. You won't hear his feather step behind your back, won't feel his hot breath right above your head as he climbs that tree. He's just a shadow caught in the corner of your eyesight. A trick of light.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

Now Johnny is a wolfboy. Wildly talented, loyal to the end, restless. Harm his beloved ones, threaten his comrades and his piercing amber eyes will hunt you down in your nightmares. You would await him being just a hot headed pup, but when you realize, how skillfully his hunt is planned - you will finally notice unmistakable intelligence and wisdom in every his move. As he will corner you - you will notice that his movements are not just those of a predator, but of a creature with an innate understanding of the world around it.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Ok, this might have me canceled, but hear me out. Ghost is not a wolf shifter in my AU. And there is a reason, why almost nobody even in 141 ever saw his second place. There is a reason, why Simon relies only on his human form, trains like there is no tomorrow, fights, like there is no plan B. This ideal soldier, the legendary war machine was 'blessed' with one of the rarest shifter forms, which can be utilized only on a very special occasions. Ghost has no problems with fighting armies in his human form. But god forbid you meeting him on open waters. It will be oh so quiet after he falls into the darkening abyss under your boat. Only waves licking plastic boat sides and a few birds screaming somewhere far. You would calm yourself down, convince yourself, Ghost is no more around. Drown. Dead and silenced finally. This would be when the dark abyss beneath will shift and move. Your boat would twirl and crash as a paper ship, sacrificed to the wild waters. Your men will disappear beneath the dark waves one by one, and you will have nobody to call for a help around. It's then when you will notice a jet black fin appearing and hiding between waves. He will let you see his second face before he drags you deeper to meet your end. An enormous beast, a deepwater demon with black skin shielding him from the sun and white belly masking him from anyone looking up. The last thing, you'll notice, before his jaws clench around you - will be a strange white pattern on his face. Now that you look at it - it doesn't resemble average orcas white spots. It reminds you of his skull mask.

Sozin's Comet Part 2 Re-Watch

Whoo, here we go, hurtling toward the final battles while Aang convenes with his past lives. I understand that there's a lot about this show's conclusion that can & should be critiqued (to an extent) but I think that overall, the tension is well built & Aang's final words with the past Avatars are beautifully written & the final discovery with the lion turtle is exciting & narratively satisfying. Is it a tiny bit of a deus ex-machina? Eh, maybe, but....so what? I really do love these final episodes.

The reappearance of June was fun. I also like that Appa & Nyla are friends now. June is such a fun character because she really is morally neutral. She's just a bounty hunter who works for a price. Love that for her. Also, "I see you worked things out with your girlfriend" *cue blushing & embarrassment.* I think it's funny that this show literally did not build their endgame romance at all & wrote Katara as totally ambivalent about her feelings for Aang & then proceeded to spend the final episodes baiting a non-canon ship. Like, what were they thinking? That's so funny.

[id: the Gaang talking to June. end id]

So, June & Nyla can't find Aang because he's busy discovering a neat fantasy creature but she CAN find Iroh thanks to his lack of hygiene. Nice. I know a lot of people dislike the White Lotus & I get why, but it's a fun moment when the kids find all these old friends who have helped them in the past. No comment on Pakku & Kanna getting back together.

Let's talk about the most emotional scene in the episode. Zuko & Iroh finally get a reunion, & Zuko gets to earnestly apologize & learn that Iroh was only ever hurt, not angry.

[id. Iroh & Zuko hugging. end id]

Zuko is so open & vulnerable here, crying & apologizing & it just makes me think....He's expecting anger because that's what he's been taught to expect from his father. After how far he's come, Zuko finally has a father figure telling him it's ok that he's made mistakes, he's forgiven. It's just a really beautifully written scene.

I loved each of Aang's talks with the past Avatars. They all give him meaningful advice based on their experiences, & culture, but what it boils down to is...Aang has a responsibility to more than just himself. He has a responsibility to the world. He has to do what's necessary. And something that I think is often forgotten is that he does accept this. After these talks, he is prepared to take Ozai's life if there is no other way to save the world.

[id: Aang facing a giant lion-turtle. end id]

The lion-turtle gives Aang some very interesting words of wisdom - "The true mind can weather all the lies and illusions without being lost. The true heart can tough the poison of hatred without being harmed. Since beginning-less time, darkness thrives in the void but always yields to purifying light" - and then fucks off to the ocean, leaving Aang to fight Ozai.

No one earned any iconic behavior points in this episode because this one is really just about setting up the final battles, exploring Aang's conflict over killing Ozai & letting him speak to his past lives, & building tension. So, it's not like there were any fight scenes or opportunities to earn any points, really. Anyway, this was a really enjoyable episode & a strong setup for the final battles!

Prize of war

Yandere!Morax x water deity!reader

Wordcount: 1459

CW: Yandere, violence, confinement, sexual harassment

The archon war is at its peak, when an oceanid, Periboea, brings sudden news to you - the deaths of Guizhong and sealing of Osial. The former produces nothing but a sly smirk - the Dust Goddess, despite her kindness and wisdom was still a formidable opponent, another competitor for the title of the Seven.

The latter, however, makes you both frown and sigh in relief - the Vortex Lord was your ally, a needed help to fight and defy Morax of Guili plains, yet he also was a future enemy - the grounds of your so called alliance were shaky, unreliable, ready to change at any moment like dark waters you both command.

Now, with him sealed away you don’t have to worry, you don’t have to worry about Osial turning against you, you have to worry about facing the Lord of Rock alone instead.

“Out”, you dismiss Periboea, sensing the forming headache. What should you do? What should you do? With the Guizhong out of the picture it would be easier for both you and Osial to finally overpower Morax and take over the plains if it wasn’t for him being sealed away.

You stay motionless and deep thought for a while, thousands of possibilities appearing in your mind - none of them a clear solution, a path to absolute victory. Suddenly water spirits visit your abode, bowing in both fear and deep respect - Morax has made a new step in this bloody version of xiangqi. You stand up then, gritting your teeth and taking your weapon - war never waits.

With no reckless but also insanely strong and fast Osial by your side, Morax’s power shines in a new light - his presence is felt everywhere, despite his figure still being unseen. You call to the power of the seas, sending wave after wave to look for your enemy, until a voice booms nearby.

Ah.

That’s why you couldn’t see him.

Morax looks pitifully small and weak in his human form - with a razor sharp talons and long serpentine body replaced by the soft mortal flesh he doesn’t inspire usual awe or terror, yet you keep your guard up. He stands on the shore, surrounded by his lackey adepti near some strange machine.

Guizhong was working on that ballista, you realize, focusing your eyes a bit longer.

“[First]”, Morax says, his usually calm voice now gravelly and dead - Guizhong’s passing must have been hard on him.

“Morax”, you reply, understanding his intention - it’s the last battle then.

You start to fight - adepti lunge at you, while their lord stays on the ground, fiddling with the ballista. You keep an eye on him, while carefully evading the blows from his lackeys - they might be lesser creatures, but even a snake can kill a lion, so you keep a distance, slowly but surely approaching the sandy shore.

“Now”, Morax yells, to his adepti, not you. You quickly turn in his direction, alarmed of what he might do next, only to see a bright glowing bolt shooting your way. The time freezes, as you scramble away and somehow you succeed, projectile grazing only a side of you.

“Huh”, you whimper, seeing how the nearby waters turn red from your blood - oh, Morax will pay for that. You will make him pay for that.

“Oceanids!”, you command your servants, voice travelling through the entirety of the seas: “rip Morax’s loyal dogs to shreds”, a thousand of voices echo your war cry, water spirits finally emerging from the blue deeps.

With the loch folk on the surface, the tides of battle turn against your opponents, as you shift your look on the Morax again - he feeds ballista his energy, hastening the next shot - you won’t have it. Focusing hydro energy is easy, forming your own water mimic is even easier.

You send the replica of a great leviathan to Morax’s direction, the volume of water splatters everywhere upon crushing on the shore, breaking Guizhong’s last masterpiece. This prompts Morax to finally face off you, with his spear in hand and fierce amber eyes burning brighter than any star.

“You will pay for that”, he whispers, the dragon evident in each syllable.

“We’ll see”, you taunt, finally taking out your weapon. Your battle looks like a dance, with your moves fluid and flexible, yet fast and unstoppable, like a river flowing in the spring. A laugh escapes your lips, the thrill of the battle getting into your head, so you don’t notice his lackeys disappearing from the battlefield.

“Now”, Morax says again, looking past you.

A blindingly bright bolt flies into your direction - you haven’t destroyed the ballista completely - there's not enough time to dodge.

It goes right through you.

You scream.

Everything fades to black.

***

You wake up in the unfamiliar room, clothed in the unfamiliar clothes and surrounded by unfamiliar things. You can’t sense the call of Celestia, meaning that you’re either outside the Teyvat or in someone’s pocket dimension. This is bad. You almost jerk, but you can't - a burst of pain explodes in your solar plexus upon the slightest of movements.

With a shaking hand you touch your midriff, feel a hastily sewn hole and then you come to a horrifying realization - you can't feel your hydro. A distressed noise escapes you as you caress the injury, a lack of elemental core crushing you better than any humiliation or defeat.

Consumed by your grief for the lost powers, you miss the moments someone enters the room. It’s Morax again - he looks vastly different now, with all hints of his usual bloodlust and cold fury gone, he resembles a kind and wise dragon from the fairy tales human parents tell to their children.

“[First]”, he starts, taking one slow step after another, careful not to scare or enrage you: “I am happy you’re finally awake. You’ve been unconscious for a while now”.

You look at him with angry, accusing eyes, all of your grievances temporarily forgotten: “I can’t believe you did it, I thought you were an honourable person”, he lightly tilts his head, feigning ignorance: “You ripped out my core! I bet you were enjoying every second of it, you sick bastard!”.

“None of that”, he deflects your insults: “your core was destroyed by the ballista, not me. The last projectile went through you and subsequently your core”.

“Well”, you rise from the bed, despite the agonizing pain: “you stole me too! Ballista has nothing to do with this!”

“It’s either that or the eternal seal”, he adopts the patronizing tone and you want to kill him just for that: “with your core gone, I doubt you will restore even a fraction of your power, so sealing you away will be a waste”.

“A waste”, you repeat, remembering that Morax is not only a god of martial arts, but also business and commerce: “What is there to waste? I have no power now, no reason to live”

He wordlessly comes to you after this phrase, his hand touching the bandaged torso, before his amber eyes glance at you momentarily. You know that look, have seen it during the countless battles - cold, calculating and thoroughly fixated - a shiver goes through you.

“I am the one who defeated you”, he finally says, so quietly that even you with your superhuman hearing have to strain your ears: “You belong to me now, I can give you a new reason for living, I can make you accept and embrace it”.

You look at his eyes and the hand he laid upon the injury, fear caused by his words alone paralyzing your whole being. A whole tornado of thoughts appeared in your mind, each one of them anxious, nervous and unsettling.

“You should have expected this”, Morax mutters, noticing the dread that clings to you: “your insufferable taunts and your little tricks, you wanted to be my first thought in the morning and the last in the night, you have succeeded”.

A warm hand cups your face, and you can’t find any comfort in it, as strong fingers pry open your lips. He forcefully kisses you, his tongue invading your mouth, as you desperately battle the panic. Finally you take control of your body back and quickly shut your teeth together, biting him, tasting a coppery blood”.

He leans back, still collected, despite the blood escaping past his lips: “I should have expected this”, he says more to himself than to you and then he shifts his eyes back to you: “Still, I have a lot of time to tame a wild sea beast like you”.

He leans in again, his hand forcing your mouth open with a renewed strength: “Water can take any shape, [First], and I’ll guide you to the shape I want you to be, my prize of war”

12. All About Bilbo from the POV of...Thorin

And FINALLY I’m done. Thank you guys so much for all the notes/comments/reblogs/etc. I appreciate each and every one of you. If you haven’t been keeping up and want to see all 12 POVs, you can click on the masterlist here or I may just go ahead and post them to AO3. Please enjoy the long awaited Bagginshield conclusion.  😉

***

Thorin knew after the battle, after laying in that healing camp, after finally being free to have thoughts not consumed by his treasury, there was only one edict he could make as his first one as king: the hobbit had to stay in Erebor. An advisor, a cook, a gardener, he did not care what occupation he took. He would invent a position if he needed to! He just needed Bilbo by his side if he were to be of any use to the mountain. Of course, convincing the hobbit of this was easier said than done.

 In all fairness, Thorin could have gone about it a lot better than all but demanding he stay. The hobbit ranted and raved, he seemed on the verge of lashing out physically (which Thorin would reluctantly admit he would have deserved), and he spent several long agonizing nights in Dale. Finally, Bilbo came back to inform Thorin that he would be returning to the Shire, he would be allowed six months to make his choice, and Thorin would respect it. Balin had to remind Thorin it would be within his best interest to accept. Thorin couldn’t argue with that. In fact, he needed Bilbo to know just how much he appreciated him before he left.

It was their first real conversation since the Battle. Thorin made his apologies and explained just how much the hobbit’s unconventional wisdom was needed both in his kingdom and to the king personally. In return, Bilbo expressed his fears during Thorin’s goldsickness and why exactly he turned over the Arkenstone. It was far from fixed, but it did go a long way towards regaining their former friendship. The hobbit would cite it as what finally convinced him to come back just under two years later. It should have been the happy ending Thorin had been waiting for. He never would have guessed just how wrong he was.

“I’m going to kill him.” Thorin growled.

“You’ve said that before.” Balin reminded patiently.

“This time, I’m really going to kill him. Whose idea was it to make him ambassador to the elves anyways?”

“I believe that would be...yours, Your Majesty.”

Thorin had no energy to deal with Balin’s misplaced amusement as he marched towards the hobbit’s room. He pounded on the door making sure this time that the sneaky burglar couldn’t claim not to hear him.

“I’m not answering if you’re going to be in a mood, Thorin Oakenshield.” Came the muffled response.

“You approved further negotiations after I told you I would not go to that despairing Mirkwood if my life depended on it!”

“Yes, I remember the conversation vividly.” Bilbo sighed.

“Then why…!”

“Your Majesty, if I may?” Balin interrupted. “Perhaps the hall is not the appropriate setting for this discussion.”

Thorin glared at his friend and advisor before turning that look onto the door before him.

“Let me in.” He ordered.

“Only on your word that you will quit raising your voice to me.” The hobbit conditioned.

“I will raise my voice if I please! I AM KING!”

“And with that winning attitude, who could forget?!”

“By Mahal.” Balin swore softly, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

Thorin silently fumed as he glared at the stone before him. Any that claimed dwarves were the most stubborn creatures on Arda clearly have not met Bilbo Baggins. Thorin took a deep breath to center himself before trying again.

“Master Baggins, will you please let me in so we can discuss this in private?” He all but hissed.

It was silent for a moment before the door swung open to reveal the curly haired hobbit who was currently sitting as the bane of Thorin’s very existence.

“There, was that so hard?” Bilbo answered snidely.

Thorin’s fists clenched at his side, and Balin rolled his eyes before turning to go the other way.

“I’m done with the two of you. Fetch me when you’ve figured it out or someone’s dead.”

Thorin gladly slammed the door on the traitor, leaving him and Bilbo alone. However, now that he had the hobbit before him, he found himself unfortunately speechless. He loathed that. As if his mere presence could steal all Thorin’s words away. His rather impromptu first words upon their meeting came to mind. Clearly, he was wrong about this burglar of senses.

“I’m not apologizing.” Bilbo began, crossing his arms. “They asked for a show of good faith from Erebor, and frankly I couldn’t see a reason to fault them.”

“You couldn’t?” Thorin raised a mocking eyebrow. “Clearly you remember our last stay in their wooded halls differently from me.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows furrowed with a scowl. “See! That’s exactly what I’m talking about. If you want this alliance to work, you’re going to have to bury past slights. Goodness, I couldn’t even imagine what the Shire would be if we held onto grudges the way dwarves do.”

“And I can’t imagine the state of my kingdom if I allow flippant hobbits to not hold people accountable for their actions!”

Bilbo pointed a finger at him. “You’re shouting.”

“A'lâju Mahal (Shame of Mahal)! You are...irritating!” Thorin bit back.

“So you’re saying people shouldn’t be forgiven?”

Just like that, the fire that had been steadily building in his breast was snuffed out. Still, Thorin Oakenshield did not bend completely.

“I believe there is a difference when that forgiveness is desired.”

“And I think Thranduil fits the bill...in his own way.” Bilbo shrugged under Thorin’s disbelieving look. “He’s let his son go, he’s lost Tauriel to Dale due to his actions, he’s gotten back the gems he’s been denied. I think he’s ready to make amends. I’m not saying we have to pretend he’s not hurt us. I’m just saying, it would be a good show of...neighborly airs to meet with him and see what he has to offer.”

There was logic in the hobbit’s words, even if Thorin did not want to hear them. And that simple thought probably was the single summary of all their hard feelings as of late. He turned to leave before he had to accept any more difficult truths.

“Fine. Have it your way.” He spat. 

The long disappointed sigh that followed him cut quicker than any blade.

***

The journey to Esgaroth where they would spend the night before continuing into the dreaded woods the next day was...tense to say the least. Even Dwalin was uncomfortable, and that was saying something. The inn was a welcome sight if only to get an ale and free Thorin of the abrasive atmosphere surrounding the hobbit. The man who owned the inn was tripping over himself to welcome the King of Erebor, and when Thorin was finally allowed peace in his own room, he was reluctant to leave. However, that ale was calling his name, and he waited long enough that surely the hobbit’s final meal was complete to avoid any awkwardness.

That was too little credit to the brilliant burglar. He waited until Thorin was sat down at the bar halfway through his ale before he appeared at Thorin’s elbow as if out of thin air.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Bilbo demanded. “In fact, what possible excuse could you have to be angry at me if you are in fact angry?”

Thorin was choking on the amber liquid that had rushed down the wrong pipe. 

“Well, you see…” He edged around his persistent cough.

“Need I remind you, I’m only doing the job you gave me. Going back further than that, I’m only here in Erebor because you insisted I be.”

“If you would just let me…” Thorin growled only to be interrupted again.

“Is this some sort of punishment for taking the Arkenstone? You lure me back with words of forgiveness and then argue with every single decision I make when I’m only trying to help…”

“IT’S BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! You confounded creature!”

Thorin nearly sighed in relief to finally see the hobbit’s mouth had stopped moving. It was as he took in the widened eyes and nervous stance that his words were able to catch up to him. His hands shook as his eyes darted around the significantly quieter room.

“You love me?” Bilbo whispered.

Thorin didn’t want to have to deal with this in front of all these men and dwarves, especially Dwalin’s irritating smirk. Grabbing the hobbit’s hand, he led him into the hallway where it was a little more private.

“You love me?” Bilbo repeated once they were alone.

Thorin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was one secret he had hoped to hold onto for a little while longer. Not that he was never going to act on his feelings, just he was waiting for a little more time to pass. For the chasm between them to be bridged stably once more. But they hadn’t been able to stop arguing! He certainly didn’t expect Bilbo to accept him right now, but he also would not lie to him.

“Yes.” He answered, holding steady for the ire that was sure to erupt.

Instead, the hobbit all but flung himself at the dwarf king, his mouth immediately meeting Thorin’s. It was abrupt, it was warm, it was wet, and it was wonderful. When Bilbo pulled away it was to utter a phrase he never even allowed himself to hope to hear.

“Thorin, take me to bed. Now.”

The dwarf’s jaw dropped at the invitation and the open lust dilating the hobbit’s pupils.

“Wait. Now?” Thorin repeated, his mind whirling but not connecting.

“Now.” Bilbo asserted as he wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck to kiss him again.

“Shouldn’t we...discuss...this?” Thorin persisted through their kissing, rather stupidly in his opinion.

One that seemed to be shared by the hobbit if his sigh and impatient glare were anything to go off.

“Discuss what?” Bilbo demanded. “I love you. You love me. I’ve bloody been waiting for you to do something about it for months. Now are we going upstairs...or would you rather we postpone until after our meeting with the elves?”

Thorin all but slung the hobbit in his arms making his way as quickly as he could to his bedroom. The sly, conniving, extremely frustrating hobbit. And finally, finally he would be his.

World Building Wednesday!~Yokaifell

🌼One of my personal favorites was chosen this week and I am so excited! It was a tie between Wiccafell and this and I just decided to do a little coin toss. I am happy to also announce that the ideas in Yokaifell will also be appearing in a more original form in the Souly Damned Universe. I will talk more about that on SD Saturday!

Yokaifell AU

Yokai Masterlist:

[Red] Ryutsuki (Ryou) 龍月- Kitsune (Kitsune Ebi- Shou & Rin)

[Boss] Kuro  黒- Gashadokuro

Doomfanger- Maneki neko (a variation of the bakeneko this kind brings good luck and fortune which I thought would be cute for the brothers. Hilariously Doomy was with Boss before he died coughs. Doomy is kind of like that cricket in Mulan supposed to be lucky but... questionable.)

Flowey: I am unsure if I am planning on putting Flowey in this or just have him as Asriel. Either way, he would most likely resemble the higanbana. These are also Red’s flower of choice, which is…ironic if you know the language of flowers.

The Dreemurrs: (this is a hard one. There are no Yokai as far as I can recall that are goat like, however there are some good candidates that could work. I have a few in mind right now and that is the kotobuki, hakutaku, shisa, Kirin or even the baku.

Undyne: Uni nyobo

Alphys: Honengyo (This is kind of the “Godzilla” idea she would just be mini XD)

Muffet: Jorogumo

Grillby: Onibi (this is a strange one because he would have to be a combination of onibi for this to work but don’t worry I am on it!)

Gerson: Kappa/ Genbu (due to his wisdom)

*{The lesser monsters would be a variation of yokai not exactly pertaining to their UT counterparts unless I can make that connection. The Underground/ Underworld, in this case, it basically the spirit realm so it’s not really necessary. They are not exactly trapped like in the original.}*

Main Plot Synop:   Frisk is a foreigner trying to start a new life across the world in Japan. I am still trying to pick a possible location in Japan but that is a minor detail. I will say that I would like it to be a little more secluded. It is also modern day (I settled on Izumo). The people she moves to live among tell Frisk of their traditions and stories but her being from the West she has a hard time understanding. Frisk is told not to stay out too late and wander the nearby forest but hey who listens to reason? She ends up getting lost, alone, and afraid. That is until a series of flame like lights presumably show her the way back to the town. This happens a few times but she becomes more and more curious by them until they lead her deeper into the forest. She comes upon the entrance of an abandoned shrine stopping before a Torii Gate as the lights disappear. These are kitsunebi by the way. Only when she is hesitant to pass through it do they appear on the opposite side.

She ends up being startled by a white haired human that seems to have just appeared out of thin air. He tries to speak to her but she barely understands the language if only a few words. In frustration the stranger steals a kiss from the shell shocked human girl only for her to suddenly be able to understand what he is saying. A still highly confused Frisk ends up learning that he is in fact a demon or rather her interpretation since she is from the West.

It turns out that in order to give her the ability for her to understand him a dose of his magic was required changing the physical makeup of her soul causing it to become desirable to other hungry yokai that roam both the spirit realm as well as the night. Not believing his claim and rather angry at his sudden advance she storms off heading back toward the village. She begins to see more than she should as spirits appear out of the woodwork.

An oni appears in front of her ready to devour the poor unsuspecting human in which she ends up running back to the gate in order to avoid the giant monster. At first Ryou is not interested in saving the human girl but it is his fault that she has ended up in this situation. He saves her but not before she ends up accidentally running through the Torii Gate attempting to dodge an attack. The beast follows and Frisk ends up trapped in the spirit realm when the monster destroys the gateway. Kuro, Ryou’s older brother makes quick work of the beast.   

The rest of the story revolves around Frisk trying to return home which requires a journey since a human does not belong in their realm and the gate to “leave” is on the opposite side of the realm. It is incredibly dangerous for someone like her to be there so she ends up in disguise with the help of Grillby and Ryou. Ryou is a kitsune so he is able to create the perfect disguise adding more magic to her soul to fool it into becoming a yokai temporarily. He is surprised to find she is the same kind as him, a kitsune. 

Their journey takes them all the way across the spirit realm to find another gate and on the way they run into a colorful cast of characters. Some are helpful spirits. Others are man eating demons that are looking for a delicious human soul to devour. At first Frisk is content staying with the brothers but a human does not belong in their realm and that causes complications. 

Yokai Lore/ Spirit Realm world: 

The spirit realm is a dangerous place that few humans have ever set their eyes on. It the world between. A space that is home to various yokai. Humans cannot naturally see spirits as the modern setting has diminished the humans that still believe in them. They are not trapped but rather there is a hierarchy that is established. The more powerful the yokai the more they are able to interact with the human realm. 

Hierarchy brief explanation (restrictions and interactions): 

Servants of the gods- Yokai that can interact with the human world during the day or whenever they see fit. They are messengers for their respective deities. They are not known to be troublesome or mischievous. 

Kitsune- A more rare type of yokai that can shift its appearance at will but mostly represented by that of a multi tailed fox. Some of them are servants of the gods but those who have no alignment can walk among the living during the day for a duration of time. When the night comes they can walk freely and interact with humans as they see fit. They are mostly known for luring humans away with kitsune ebi or fox fire.

“Boss” Yokai- Yokai gain their status by either specific species or their prestige. That can either be obtained by LV gain or doing favors for the gods. Some are hostile and some are passive it depends on the encounter. They can walk freely during the night without hindrance but unlike the two prior they cannot take form during the day. 

“Lesser?” Yokai- Yokai that are relatively weak and unable to hold a physical form in the human realm. They can move objects and possibly possess humans but they have no ability to interact on a substantial level. They can be seen by some humans as little dancing and vanishing lights. They can rarely pass the barrier as is.  

Lost souls- Lost spirits that wander between realms. They cannot interact with humans but can be seen from time to time. They are what the west consider the typical ghost.

Human Struggles Info {Plot}:

A human does not belong in their realm which also means that the world is also an enemy. The power of the soul plays a huge factor in this as weak souls are more susceptible to the world influence. There are three different outcomes that are possible for a human if they end up trapped in the spirit realm.

Dinner is served-  A large number of yokai are known for their man eating tendencies finding human souls and flesh a kind of delicacy. Some are beasts that kill for pleasure but humans worst outcome is being eaten or killed.

You’re one of us now- A strong human soul slowly can be changed. The soul decides what kind of yokai that humans can become or will become. It is entirely possible that most of the yokai were once human but it is unknown. They are usually lesser yokai or spirits.   

Lost soul- What the title implies. A soul unable to remember who they were. They wander for the rest of eternity searching for answers they will never receive. They are miserable creatures that pull others into their fate. Their depression is infectious and anyone already questioning themselves could easily find themselves among their ranks. They are not malicious only confused and desperate.  

Symptoms of becoming a Lost Soul: 

Confusion

Memory loss

Random emotional outburst/response

Physical weakness/fatigue

Relationship {Plot}:

Ryou and Frisk become close for a reason that they are both unsure about. They could be soul mates or his magic that is embedded in her soul begins to spread making her have feelings for him. Either way her love for him never wavers. A human can never fall in love with a yokai. It is not only forbidden but also very dangerous. *whoops* Their soul bond only grows stronger as their outward feelings increase. They spend the night together not understanding the consequences of that kind of action.

Unfortunately, Frisk begins to show symptoms that her soul is not powerful enough for this world and she begins to lose herself and forget. In desperation Ryou and Kuro make the decision to travel all the way to the end of realm to get her back to the human realm. When they get there she has a choice. She can stay and become a lost soul for the rest of eternity or leave and forget everything about them. Since Ryou and Frisk are soul bound she would feel a loneliness for the rest of her life unable to understand why. It is like losing a part of yourself. It hurts but she chooses the second option returning to the human world a little bit changed from before.

*Have any questions past this point be sure to drop them in my ask box! If you want to see more drop a comment and/or a reblog! 

(spoilers ahhhhead)

Epilogue {Plot}:

Though Frisk has forgotten about her soul mate and her time spent in the spirit realm she still has these feelings. She finds herself spending more and more time peacefully sitting by the gate or in the forests surrounding her home. It is calming and peaceful for her. What is even more curious is her new condition. She finds out by some miraculous way (not really she just doesn’t remember) that she is pregnant. When she has her children she finds them as normal children for the longest time until they turn 10. They start seeing things that they shouldn’t including dancing among little fire like lights that she swears she has seen before. She could swear she sometimes sees little fox creatures dancing in the flames. A trick of the light...right? 

Frisk doesn’t know but Ryou’s ability to walk in the human realm has him visiting his children and her even though she is unable to see him any longer. Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like someone is there. A kind of warmth that she leaves her feeling cold when it’s gone. Her two children begin to show physical signs of being yokai including little fox ears and tails which she does not seem to question. It feels right to her for some inexplicable reason. Her children eventually see their father through the gate one day and Frisk is hesitant to step through it (for obvious reasons). She follows her children only to leave the human world behind once more meeting a stranger that to her is not so strange. Her memory slowly returns his Ryou’s help and they live happily together with their kids. It turns out that giving birth to two yokai children strengthened her soul from before giving her the ability to stay and become a yokai herself. As before she becomes a kitsune.

Legend

♡   —   personal favourites

☆   —   fan favourites

♠   —   nsfw

♫   —   includes songs

Headcanons

RFA + Saeran - Dirty Dancing  ♫ ♡

RFA + Saeran - MC wants to have her own business

RFA - MC is ten years older than them ♡

RFA - What goes through their mind when they’re cuddling? ☆

RFA + Vanderwood - Having a rebellious kid ♡

RFA - MC can’t sleep unless with them

RFA - A bubbly MC makes self-deprecating jokes as a coping mechanism ♡

RFA - MC that is bubbly, confident and never afraid to stand up for someone

Yoosung dragging MC back to bed because it’s raining

RFA + V - MC blasts music when she’s upset ♫

RFA + V + Saeran - MC with a passion for anime and drawing

RFA + V + Saeran - MC with a major in fashion

RFA + Saeran - Quarantine edition ♡

RFA + V + Saeran + Obey Me! brothers on a trip to the beach ♡ ☆

RFA - MC with a hand fetish

MC has Jumin trying commoner food

Zen + Jumin + Saeyoung - MC is selfconscious about being chubby and they make her feel better  ♠ ♡

Jumin comforts MC about a guy who is texting her constantly and making her upset

RFA reacts to a MC that is called Elizabeth

RFA + V + Saeran - As Les Misérables songs  ♫ ♡

Saeyoung messes with Yoosung’s phone to help him out

Saeyoung x MC - MC makes her own music

Latina!MC and Jumin get stuck with MC’s latino parents during quarantine ♡

RFA + Saeran - MC gets her wisdom teeth out ♡ ☆

RFA + V + Saeran - MC has a bad coping mechanism of punching her thighs (tw!)

Domestic Texts Series: Zen & MC || Saeran & MC ♡

RFA - MC is obsessed with Elizabeth the 3rd

RFA + V + Saeran with a MC that likes going to protests

RFA - MC grew up in really bad poverty

RFA + V + Saeran - They find out MC is only eighteen after everything that happened during their routes ☆

RFA - How do they calm MC when she’s anxious?

RFA - MC has dyslexia

RFA - MC with chronic pain

Royal AUs with Jumin, Zen and Yoosung

Love Language Event with Yoosung, Zen, Jumin, Saeyoung, Saeran and V

Happy New Year Event with Saeyoung, Saeran, Zen, V and Yoosung

Thirst Asks [+18]

[All Asks]

[Jumin] [Jihyun] [Yoosung]

Fanfiction

Mystic Messenger as failed love stories  ♡

reminiscing about the characters and your failed love stories in an alternate universe

You get me ♡

What happens when you’ve finally found your prince charming, but he doesn’t seem to fit in your life anymore?

Bet you can’t leave me

Mystic Messenger Week 2020. “The first time she threatened to leave me, I felt like I was dying.”

Who are you?

Drabble prompt - Zen always sought recognition for his work. Lately, he’s been using other resource to achieve his goals.

Dance with me

Latina!MC tries to teach Zen to dance bachata.

Jealousy [Kinktober 2020 - Day 2] ♠

When Zen agreed to be MC's plus one at a fancy party, he never expected she would lock them both inside a bathroom in a fit of jealousy. The hunger in her eyes could only indicate she was about to remind him who he was with.

A plan gone wrong [Mysme Angst Week - Day 1]

You convinced Zen to stage a fake coffee date in order to give Jumin, your fiancé, a wake up call about how much he had been ignoring you lately. However, things don't go as planned.

i could buy you anything but i cannot buy you  ♠ ♡

[kinktober 2021 - day fifteen: body worship] Zen had always had the need to be in control for a lot of years. (...) His guard may not be up as much as it did back then, but to this day Zen still takes a second look at any situation he’s in. He can’t let anything drive him away from his acting career so he always has to give his best and not take anything for granted.

You get me  ♡

What happens when you’ve finally found your prince charming, but he doesn’t seem to fit in your life anymore?

I always wanted to marry rich

Jumin Han stood with his hand holding the doorknob, not believing what he had just heard. There was no way this was happening. Not days before his wedding. Not only that, days before he married who he thought was the love of his life. The one who he thought he could trust, the one that didn’t ask for anything but his love and attention.

Home

You are staying at Jaehee’s after Jumin did something that made you really angry. While staying there, you start feeling sick and end up at the hospital. What you first thought was nothing to worry about, quickly turns into a nightmare that could change your relationship.

Sweet Creature  ♫ ♡

Jumin gets stuck in another country away from his wife due to the pandemic. He’s been having trouble falling asleep, so MC decides to tell him a bedtime story. A simple request ends up making Jumin open up about a small insecurity he had over his wife and his best friend.

If I could tell him  ♫

Request: “can i request a jumin fic where MC has a crush on jumin but is very shy and so ends up talking with the other members more and then jumin confronts her about it and she accidentally confesses/he confesses.”

Animal I Have Become  ♫

500 followers event. “So what if you can see the darkest side of me? No one will ever change this animal I have become. Help me believe it’s not the real me.”

Young God ♫  ♠

500 followers event. “He says: “Oh, baby girl, don’t get cut on my edges. I’m the king of everything, you know my tongue is a weapon. There’s a line on the clock that’s separating your thighs, if you wanna go to Heaven you should fuck me tonight.”

Crowded Room  ♫ ♡ ☆

500 followers event. “Baby, it’s just me and you, just us two, even in a crowded room, baby it’s just me and you” - [SMAU Epilogue]

Dear Jumin ♡ ☆

What if after all the events that happened during Jumin’s route, he didn’t fall in love with MC?

A new life

When MC gets into a car accident, Jumin ends up with her medical records. He never thought he would find out about what happened to his wife six years ago.

You see me in my room, wish you were here right now [Kinktober 2020 - Day 12] ♠ ☆

Jumin Han clicks on a pop-up ad and gets stuck into a cam girl website. As he waits for someone to come to his penthouse and fix his laptop, he can't help but notice a young woman giggling as she read through he comment section. From that moment on, he's hooked. And he can't wait to see more of her.

Sometimes I think about Elizabeth [Mysme Angst Week - Day 3]

Jumin tries to deal with the grief of losing Elizabeth the 3rd.

A late night conversation

A late night conversation with Jumin takes another turn into a much better scenario. [Fix-it fic for Jumin's DLC. Set on Episode 3]

Seven Minutes in Heaven - Holidays Edition  ♠

You’re home for the holidays and your friends invite you to a party. After a couple of drinks, one of them proposes playing seven minutes in heaven and makes everyone at the party leave an item of theirs in a small basket. When it’s finally your turn, you walk over and inspect the items before choosing the one that will decide your fate for the night.

A day off

For @/mysme-rbb event! You convince Jumin to take a small trip to the theme park. Taking into consideration it was the first time either of you had stepped foot in a place like that, it went exactly like expected.

you know i’m just a flight away (if you wanted you could take a private plane) ♠ ♡ ☆

[kinktober 2021 - day five: sex tape] Knowing Jumin is about to leave on yet another work trip, you suggest recording something for him to see while away. A little souvenir so he doesn't miss you too much- but now he's not sure he wants to leave at all.

Superstar  ♫

500 followers event. “Before I met you, I pushed them all away / Soon as I kissed you, I wanted you to stay.”

What you always wanted

Mystic Messenger Week 2020. As MC’s anniversary with Saeyoung is approaching, she asks her friends of the RFA for advice on what present is the best one. After several recommendations, she decides on what she should give him. Her only hope is that he’ll be happy with her choice.

The Ghost Of You   ♡   [ Vietnamese translation ]

A love story between a man with a mysterious job and a nurse during the Second World War. “And all the things that you never ever told me and all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me. Never coming home, never coming home.”

Loving You ☆

Drabble Prompt. “I am profoundly enchanted by the flowing complexity in you.” - John Keats

Discoveries [Kinktober 2020 - Day 27] ♠

After you find a transparent light blue dildo hidden in Saeyoung's room, the question hangs in the air. Why not trying it out together?

Lost on you [Mysme Angst Week - Day 2]

A discussion about how to handle Saeran's recovery turns into the worst fight Saeyoung and MC have ever had. Both of them bring back past memories that should have never been talked about, in a desperate try to prove their point, not noticing how much they're tearing their relationship apart.

Just like him [Mysme Angst Week - Day 7]

No one teaches you how to grief. Sometimes you just do whatever it helps the pain go away.

give me the stars

For @/gureishi’s event. A small piece to celebrate Saeyoung’s birthday. A late-night escapade for two young lovers.

Wildest Dreams  ♫ ♡

500 followers event. Slightly NSFW. “He says no one has to know what we do, his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room.”

Seven Minutes in Heaven - Holidays Edition ♠

You’re home for the holidays and your friends invite you to a party. After a couple of drinks, one of them proposes playing seven minutes in heaven and makes everyone at the party leave an item of theirs in a small basket. When it’s finally your turn, you walk over and inspect the items before choosing the one that will decide your fate for the night.

Beautiful  ♡

Jihyun has a couple of burn scars on his torso after the fire that took his mother’s life. You make sure you know he loves every part of him.

Wait for me

When the pandemic starts, MC gets stuck in another country, away from Saeran who was just starting his recovery. She tries to work a system with him so they can feel close even when they’re kilometres apart.

How ♫

500 followers event. “I’m asking for your help, I am going through hell, afraid nothing can save me but the sound of your voice.”

Vanilla ♠ ♡ ☆

NSFW. Saeran’s favourite place was between MC’s legs.

Apricity

Drabble Prompt. He never understood the reason behind this change (...). All he knew was that when winter came, he would start feeling tired out of nowhere and he would lose his appetite.

Gardening

Drabble Prompt. In which Saeyoung and MC break one of Saeran’s pot and they try to cover it up before he gets home.

All I’ve Ever Known  ♡ ☆

Drabble Prompt. Saeran has some doubts before his wedding. Thankfully, you’re there to send all his worries away.

Not to be able to love

Drabble Prompt. He wants to love her, he does. But when you’ve been through that much, it gets hard to love and not need.

Four Seasons (15 chapters)  ♠ ♡

Saeran’s After Ending. Saeran has finally found MC and is ectasic to finally be able to enjoy the good ending his tumultous life has reached. But with Saeyoung still missing and Mint Eye around, his happiness may have to wait a little more. Was love really capable to win against his inner demons or will he have to learn to fight for himself?

In another life [Mysme Angst Week - Day 4]

When MC knows her time is coming, she promises Saeran she will do whatever it takes to find him in another life. The only mistake was that she didn't expect to find him like that.

Our time

Saeran is saying his goodbyes but this time, you decide not to let him go. || Fix-it fic for Saeran's After Ending

even in the dark

For @/gureishi’s event. A small piece to celebrate Saeran’s birthday. Some days are better than others. But the people who love us stay through it all.

52 Project #24: The Princesses and the Peas

(Inspired by a post on Tumblr and if I can ever find it again I will link it here.)

(Not proofread, beta’ed, or even read through a second time because this is massively late and if I don’t post within the next hour it will officially be next week everywhere in the United States and I will have failed in my mission. I’ll try to re-read and proofread and edit next week. Also this note is highly unprofessional, but I learned my relationship to my audience through fanfic, so this is how I roll.)

***

Surely you have heard a similar tale before, almost but not entirely like this one, of the queen who sought the perfect wife for her son, the crown prince.

The queen had ruled the land alone since the death of her husband. She was praised for her wisdom and her benevolence toward her people. But she was no longer young, and it was time to make sure her son made a politically beneficial marriage, to strengthen his position when it came time for him to take the crown. Many in the land whispered that the young man would make a terrible king, and wanted him to abdicate in favor of his younger sister, who was beautiful and bright and smiling. Celia, the young sister, could look anyone in the eye and make them believe that in that moment, they were the most important person in her world. Arien, the prince… could not do that.

The prince had a talent for mathematics, and it had expressed itself very young. Some said he should be the chancellor of the exchequer rather than the king. But Queen Leyta knew her son would make a compassionate and wise ruler as well as a prudent one. He also had a gift for seeing the humanity behind the numbers he calculated, of being able to think of the impact they would have on the people he would one day rule.

Once, when he was a child of six, his nursemaid lost him. Leyta found him behind the kitchens, picking through the garbage bins to find table scraps. She would have punished the kitchen staff for allowing such a thing, but Arien insisted that she should not. “It’s not their fault, Mother. I ordered them to let me, and I’m the prince, so they had to obey me. I told them that if you became angry at them I would tell you that they were only obeying my orders. They can’t get in trouble for obeying their liege.”

Leyta sighed. She could punish them for obeying their liege, when their liege was 6 and the thing he wanted to do was eat garbage, but she wouldn’t, because she knew why they obeyed. When the prince was thwarted, he would ask why. And if he received an answer, he would argue with it and present his position. Sometimes, this debate would lead to him accepting the necessity, and calmly going about his business, seeming to forget all about what he’d asked. More often, if he didn’t get an answer to “why”, or he didn’t like the answer and thought it didn’t make sense, and he was still thwarted, he would start to scream and hide under tables, or scream and run around and break things, or scream and slam his head into the wall, and he wouldn’t stop even when offered the thing he wanted. It was very, very hard to calm him once he started shrieking. So instead of punishing the kitchen staff, she asked Arien, “Why were you eating garbage?”

“Our food is bought with the taxes we take from the people,” he said seriously. “If we wasted less food, we wouldn’t have to tax the people as sorely as we do, and they would have more money to buy things for themselves.”

So she took him aside and told him that the scraps were fed to the dogs, who helped the palace huntsmen bring down game, or the goats and fowl, who gave the palace milk, meat and eggs, or they were tilled into the ground to make the fields around the palace more fruitful. They did not, in fact, go to waste; food that wasn’t wholesome for humans to eat could still feed animals, who would turn it back into wholesome food.

Then she had a lengthy discussion with him about tax policy, and listened gravely to his suggestions as to how they could ease the burdens on the people, and told him what the problems with his ideas were. And when some of his ideas didn’t have significant problems, she told him so, and discussed them with him, and even implemented a few as policy.

Arien also had a great love for bugs. He spent much of his days wandering the grounds, sketching every insect he saw, capturing some to study them and figure out what they ate. When Leyta learned of this, she found a learned scholar of insects, and hired him to be Arien’s tutor in the matter of insects, only. The man was at first openly resentful of being required to work with a small child, assuming that Arien would be a spoiled princeling with no real interest in learning, but when he discovered Arien’s love for the tiny creatures, he embraced the boy wholeheartedly and tutored him as well as he could.

The prince had few friends. He was open and innocent, happy to make friends with any child close to his own age, but the honest children who truly wanted a playmate were put off by Arien’s tendency to talk about bugs and math almost constantly. The children who put up with Arien’s chatter were, to Leyta’s eyes, obviously coached by ambitious mothers, pretending to friendship with the strange young prince to improve their position at court. She arranged for most of these children to be sent away – either their mothers dismissed, or the family sent to one of the crown’s holdings with some duty to perform or another. Arien was saddened by the disappearance of his playmates, since he didn’t realize they saw him as mere stepping stones to power. Celia knew, and would comfort her brother as well as she could… but she didn’t have a lot of patience for math, tax policy, and insects either.

As he grew up, Arien continued to display a strange mixture of wisdom and childishness. He would run around the palace grounds, playing with children far younger than he was, and they were not old enough to try to manipulate him, so Queen Leyta left them alone. He enjoyed riding his horse and taking care of it, and was often found at the stables, for he believed his horse needed to cared for in just the exact way he did it, and he didn’t trust the stablehands to follow his instructions exactly. He would spend hours discussing the politics of the land and the problems facing various groups of his subjects with Leyta and her own advisors, and then he would scream and throw himself on the floor at dinner because a chef had put visible onions in his soup, and he would need to be put to bed with his favorite blanket and a knitted doll of a dog that he’d had when he was four.

People said that the boy was touched in the head, that he was slightly mad, and also, that a future king who threw temper tantrums over onions was not to be trusted. But they weren’t, exactly, tantrums, as Leyta saw them. They didn’t stop when the problem was solved, they usually didn’t include demands – in fact, usually it was hard to get the prince to explain what was wrong, because he seemed to lose much of his ability to speak when these fits came on him. And she could see in his eyes that he was terrified and overwhelmed, not angry and demanding. Arien needed the world to work a certain way, and when it did not, it left him adrift, frightened and lost in a world that seemed to make no sense to him anymore.

Some of these ways that the world needed to work involved food, and the importance of not being able to see onions, for an onion large enough to see was large enough to crunch in his mouth in a way that apparently was so disgusting it would make him lose his ability to eat all day. There were similar rules regarding peppers, and certain cream dishes. Other ways the world needed to work regarded his mother’s advisors treating him like their future king, not in terms of obsequious deference but in terms of actually listening to his ideas and explaining things to him – even when he was merely eight. And then there was the care of animals – his own animals needed to be cared for in an exact way, and if he saw anyone being cruel to an animal, he might actually become violent to that person. The same was true of stronger people being cruel to weaker ones. When he was fourteen, he heard a maid crying, and asked a kitchen maid to find out for him what had happened. And then, when he learned that a nobleman under his roof had ill used her and cast her aside, he went to his mother and demanded the man be whipped for his crimes. The political explanations she gave for why that couldn’t be done fell on deaf ears; he was a cruel man and he’d harmed someone he had power over, and that was all Arien cared about. Leyta only managed to satisfy him by sending the man on a probably futile sea expedition to try to find a cheaper source of rice.

This was the boy that Queen Leyta had to find a proper bride for.

Her mother-in-law, the Dowager Queen, had ideas, but it had been many years since the Dowager Queen had actually held any power; she was one of Leyta’s advisors now, nothing more. So the idea would have to be one that Leyta agreed with, herself.

A ball to introduce eligible young women with powerful families to the prince? No. The prince didn’t handle crowds or parties well, or meeting a lot of new people in one evening.

A series of daytime salons, where a small group of eligible women would converse over luncheon with the prince? No. That was still too many people and the prince  was self-conscious about people watching him eat.

Individual visits from each eligible young lady and her chaperones, to the palace, to meet with Arien, and also to be approved by Leyta? Yes! An excellent idea. Leyta had her secretary write up the invitations, to all the young women whose parents had written to her or the Dowager to express an interest.

In the palace was a suite of rooms that had been Leyta’s, once, when she’d lived in this palace to learn its ways before marrying the then-prince. She had that suite cleaned and prepared for the guests. Sleeping quarters to either side for the princess’s guards. Ladies-in-waiting to sleep in the antechamber outside the princess’s bedroom. And inside the princess’s bedroom, a bed heaped with several thick eiderdown duvets and pillows, incredibly soft, with sheets made from the finest linens.

And under the second eiderdown duvet, dried peas.

Queen Leyta tested the peas. When she sat on the bed, she couldn’t feel them. If she laid in the bed, she could barely tell they were there. But when she had Arien try it, he said, “You’re going to take them out before the guests come, right? The peas make the bed much too uncomfortable.”

“The peas,” Leyta said, “are to test whether a girl is right for you or not. It’s magic.”

Arien looked at her skeptically, unsure whether he believed in magic or not. “How are dried peas supposed to find me the right wife?”

“Magic,” Leyta said. “I can’t tell you exactly how it works. But it’s very important that you not tell them about the peas, or the magic won’t work.”

“Mother, I’m sixteen. I’m not a child. This whole story sounds ridiculous.”

“All right,” Leyta admitted. “It’s not magic, but I won’t be able to explain it to you until after it’s proven that it works, or doesn’t. But it is very important that you not tell any of your guests about it.”

Arien looked like he wanted to argue some more about it. Leyta said, “Trust me,” and he sighed, plainly remembering the number of times his mother had stood up for him or had come up with some scheme to help him.

“All right, Mother, but I’ll want that explanation afterwards.”

The Dowager Queen had her own theories. “You want to see if they can tell the peas are there?”

“To a certain extent,” Leyta said.

“You know that old wives’ tale about princesses being true and refined if they’re extremely sensitive is just a myth. I wasn’t a fragile flower who’d lose petals if you looked at her hard, and neither were you. And neither will Celia be.”

“I know that, Mother,” Leyta said – it was custom to address your mother-in-law as Mother, and Leyta’s own mother had died shortly after her wedding. The Dowager Queen had been the closest thing to a mother she’d had the entire time she was Queen. “I’m not testing for extreme skin sensitivity. Trust me.”

“It’d be hard for him to get an heir on a princess that fragile, don’t you think?” The Dowager chortled.

Leyta sighed. “No need to be crude about it. I have my reasons, and I’ll explain them to you, eventually. Let’s see if it works, first.”

***

The first princess was from the west. She had long straight hair and delicate-looking eyes with folded lids that left them shaped like almonds, rather than the eggs that the people of this realm wore in their face. She had pale creamy skin with a golden undertone, and she was demure and very polite, her etiquette perfect. She sat with Arien for hours, smiling at him with a face that expressed great interest, as he explained to her the complexities of life in a beehive.

In the morning, Leyta asked her, “How did you sleep?”

“Oh, wonderfully,” the princess said. “The bed was perfect! So soft! Your hospitality is wonderful.” She bowed her head.

Leyta saw her and her entourage off. When she returned, she asked Arien, “What did you think of her?”

“She was nice,” Arien said. “She listened to me. I’ve only had a few friends who listened to me, and they all moved away.”

Privately, without Arien present, the Dowager asked, “So what’s your verdict?”

“Unless none of them pass the test, she’s a no.”

***

The second princess was from the land immediately to the north. Her skin was tree- brown but as smooth as a tranquil lake, her hair floating around her head in a soft, curly cloud. Arien talked to her about beetles. She made excuses of not feeling well about half an hour into the beetle discussion.

When Leyta asked her how she slept, she said, “Your rooms are very nice. And the food last night was excellent, I’m so sorry I had to cut the evening short. But I feel fully rejuvenated today.”

Arien said, “She seemed okay, but she kept looking around while I was talking to her, so much that I think she gave herself motion sickness. I think that’s why she got sick.”

Leyta said to the Dowager, “A definite no.”

***

The third princess was from the far south. She had beautiful straight golden hair, cut short and asymmetrically, where it was shorter in the back than front and where it was parted on one side rather than in the middle.

She complained about her soup being cold. She complained about her roast beef being too bloody. She complained that the dessert course had small portions and also that it was too sweet. She screamed at servants for not bringing her wet towels for wiping her hands quickly enough and for refilling her wine glass too quickly. She insisted on talking to the seneschal about the servants who had served her, demanding that they be banished from the castle for incompetence. When Arien tried to talk to her, her demeanor was sweet, but every time he tried to talk to her about something he liked, she insisted that he show her another part of the castle. She made plans for room redecoration as if she had already become Arien’s queen.

In the morning, she was sickly sweet with Leyta, saying it was only a minor thing, really, but surely more competent servants could be found to make the bed? It was extremely lumpy. Leyta found out that she’d woken the chambermaids at 1 in the morning to demand an additional five featherbeds piled on top of hers.

Arien didn’t look at his mother. “Um… I don’t want to be impolite, but… I didn’t like her very much.”

The Dowager Queen said, “Please don’t tell me you’re considering that young harridan just because she could tell there were peas in the bed.”

“Oh, no. Not even for a moment,” said Leyta, and drew her quill through the name “Princess Carinna” on the list.

***

The fourth princess was actually the daughter of a powerful merchant, not an actual princess at all. She had deeply tanned skin and thick black hair, and beautiful dark eyes. She and Arien talked for hours about tax policy and accounting techniques, and she seemed genuinely interested.

She said the bed had been wonderful, and there was nothing wrong with it. Arien liked her. But Queen Leyta marked her as a provisional choice, the first on the list if no one passed her test.

***

And so it went with princess after princess. Most of them showed at least some slight sign of impatience when Arien monopolized the conversation, but none of them admitted to it, and few even tried to change the topic. No others were as rude as Carinna. No others admitted to detecting the peas, either. Leyta was on the verge of contacting the merchant to make an offer for his daughter to wed Arien. And then Princess Inaya arrived.

Princess Inaya was from further north than the second princess had been, her skin darker and her hair in braids that lay directly against her head, with ribbons and beads woven into them at the bottom. She didn’t look Leyta in the eye – or anyone else, really, keeping her head bowed demurely. She picked at her food, more or less eating only the potatoes, and she barely spoke… until she met with Arien.

He offered, diffidently, to show her the garden, and she accepted. He started to point out interesting bugs that he saw in the garden… and she began to point out interesting rocks. They soon began an animated conversation that sounded to Leyta more like two separate threads, where Arien would say a sentence or two about insects, then yield to Inaya, who would say a sentence or two about rocks. Sometimes they had a genuine back-and-forth when they talked about the habitats of pillbugs, who lived under rocks, or other areas where rocks and insects somehow intersected. Arien showed Inaya the notebook where he drew bugs and made his observations, and Inaya seemed to be thrilled with his artistic skill. She showed him her own notebook, with no art at all, where she wrote down the properties of rocks she had discovered and outlined the tests she did on stones to see what they were made of. Arien was fascinated with the efforts she’d gone to and how thoroughly she’d documented her findings; he’d never thought of doing anything to research the insects aside from looking them up in his tutor’s books.

At no point did she ever look Arien in the eye. At no point did he seem to care. He relaxed enough with Inaya to flap his hands when he grew excited; Inaya had a chain of polished stones that, instead of wearing around her neck, she tossed in the air as she paced.

In the morning, when Leyta asked Inaya how she slept, she squirmed.

“I, um. The bed was mostly very nice. Very good linens, nice soft down. But, uh. It felt like maybe there were… tiny pebbles in there somewhere? I’m not sure, I didn’t want to be rude and strip down the bed to look, but, uh. It was kind of uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Leyta said.

She made arrangements to ask Arien his opinion before Inaya’s entourage left, this time. He spoke very simply. “I love her. Pick her, she’s the one.”

“I thought you would say that,” Leyta said, and she finished drafting the offer to Inaya’s parents, and signed it. “Take this to her lady-in-waiting before they leave, to give to Inaya’s parents.”

“I can’t!” Arien said, looking all around. “I can’t be the one to do it because I have to give her a parting gift if I see her and I don’t have any nice rocks!”

So Leyta gave him a bracelet with a large inset opal, and smaller jades all around it. “Take this to her and tell her which kinds of stones are in it, and tell her she can wear it as a bracelet if she wants, or take it apart for the stones, whichever she prefers.”

Later she heard that Inaya collapsed on the ground crying when he made the offer, but that her lady-in-waiting reassured Arien that this wasn’t abnormal – that she did this whenever her emotions were too strong to control, even if they were happy emotions. Inaya confirmed that she was crying from relief and joy, because she had always thought that no man would ever want to marry her and if one did, he would hate her rocks and want her to do normal womanly things like embroidery or something, which she wasn’t good at in the slightest because her coordination was bad and she was always poking the needle into the wrong place, and she had never imagined that she would ever find a man who understood her and didn’t demand that she look in his eyes and liked to listen to her talk about what she loved. Then Arien asked her very gravely if she liked hugs, because most of the time he didn’t like hugs, especially when they were a surprise, but if she would like a hug he really wanted to give her one. They hugged, and declared mutual love (“as far as I can define the feeling of love, anyway,” Inaya said, “because I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, so how can I know for sure that that’s what this is?” Arien had agreed with her, but said “I think that even if what we’re feeling isn’t the same kind of thing as other people feel when they’re in love, it’s close enough that we can use the same word, because who wants to have to make up a new word?” And then they spent several minutes amusing each other to the point of hysterical laughter in making up new words that sounded ridiculous, sometimes repeating them to each other ten or a dozen times.) When Inaya finally had to leave, Arien cried.

Leyta wasn’t there for any of that, but her spies were everywhere in the castle.

***

When the Dowager demanded that she explain her test, Leyta summoned Arien, who had washed his face so it looked more as if he had had a terrible runny nose and sneezes than that he’d been crying.

“You asked me about what it would prove, to put peas in the bed,” Leyta said, “and I was looking for two things, but one was more important than the other.”

“What were you looking for?” Arien asked.

“Arien… you know that you’re a special young man, and different in some ways than other people your age. I’ve consulted with many scholars. Children like you are often strangely sensitive to things that other people don’t notice… often to the point where it’s unpleasant. Such as your feelings about onions.”

He shuddered. “Please do not remind me of the existence of those devil vegetables.”

Leyta laughed. The Dowager scowled. Leyta knew she preferred that a king, or a crown prince who’d just been betrothed, have a serious demeanor. She also knew that Arien would be who he was, no matter what anyone asked him to be.

“So I thought, the peas might be noticeable to some of the girls, but they would be especially notable to a girl who was like Arien. More importantly, if a girl noticed it but claimed she didn’t… Arien, I know you are often taken off guard by lies, and you’re a very honest man yourself. I know you would prefer a wife who will tell you when something makes her unhappy, rather than her trying to guess how you feel about it and then telling you what she thinks you want to hear.”

Arien nodded. “Nobody can see inside someone else’s mind, so why would anyone even do that?”

“I wanted a girl who would be honest about something she found unpleasant, even if she had to offend her host to admit it. But, obviously, kindness and compassion and a lack of malice about it were necessary as well… we don’t want a Carinna anywhere near the rulership of the kingdom.”

“You can say that again,” Arien said. Leyta suspected he was setting her up so she could tell a joke.

“But I won’t, because I know you heard it the first time,” she said, smiling.

The Dowager frowned. “So you picked a girl who has the same kinds of problems as Arien? Was that wise? The kingdom may need rulers who understand the idea of telling lies when they must, who can be charming and adept with politics. I thought you’d pick a girl who would cover Arien’s weaknesses, not one with the same issues.”

“Your son understood me,” Leyta said simply. “It was an arranged marriage, but we quickly grew to love each other, because we respected and we understood each other. I don’t want the kingdom to have a queen who resents her husband because she thinks he’s strange… who may play politics behind the scenes to have him killed so she can take power. Or who takes lovers, so we don’t know if the royal blood is even in the heirs. It’s more important to me that Arien’s wife respects him and understands him, and that he understands and respects her, than to have rulers who can detect all the subterranean undercurrents of a conversation. That’s what spymasters are for… and Dowager mothers and grandmothers, and perhaps even younger sisters.”

“Mother,” Arien said, “thank you. I know the people think I’m strange, and maybe I am, but you’ve always watched out for me. I didn’t even know I needed to find a wife who wouldn’t lie to protect my feelings until you pointed it out, and now it’s obvious.” He looked at the Dowager. “And Grandmother, Inaya does complement me. I understand mathematics, and finance, and things like that. She was trained by her parents to understand logistics, so she could run the castle, but she went deeper with it; she understands things about what kind of weather will do things to the crops and what will happen to the farmers when that occurs, things I never even thought about asking. Together I think she and I can make our country one of the most prosperous and happy nations in the world.”

***

And so it came to be. Prince Arien and Princess Inaya were wed in a lovely ceremony that they immediately fled to go on their honeymoon as soon as the marriage vows were taken. They understood the economics of the nation, and other nations, as few kings and queens ever did, and when they needed someone to tell them that someone else was lying, they had the Dowager Leyta and Princess Celia. The country prospered as it never had before, with no beggars on the streets of the cities, because the King and Queen gave homes to those who had none, and living expenses to those too sick or weak or lacking in some ability so that they couldn’t work.

It would be a lie to say they lived happily ever after, because no human can be happy all the time, and they had arguments and problems in their relationship from time to time. But even Arien the Honest and his Queen would agree that we can say they lived mostly happily for the rest of their lives.

Okay Okay

You all want my full theory, so as a good blogger I will provide. Tell me if I run off course. And no one tag me with the timeline, I am well aware of the the timeline. What I am theorizing does fit into the timeline. So lets begin.

So we are aware of the Megabird. God, or creator, call them what you will. A creature of light. It gifted the light to the first of its creation, is also aware that the promised land was a lot easier to get through and the only way to be reborn, as mentioned in the first part of the timeline.

But we are also aware that at one point, immortality or god-like power was reserved only for the elders and that for those who could not make it through the promised land, death was final. This is noted in the time during the “Dark Stone Era.”

And name one player who hasn't at least heard of the king and the prince. Now all this is connected, so bear with me.

Assuming my theory is correct when you are reborn, you are reborn as a youth, no matter what age you go through. It seems as though the Ancients didn't migrate to the promised land to be reborn until they age. (See image below) For the sake of theory, in the beginning, that was part of their life cycle ritual. You grew old, and if you aged, you were granted access to rebirth through the promise land door. However, if you died before your time, you were not reborn. Pretty simple.Now, you have the prince who seems to have survived several centuries without aging, but their is no mention of him being reborn. Judging by the images as well, you aren’t allowed to be reborn and yet he has not changed. Meanwhile the ancestors are aged, tall and grown, perhaps ready to Migrate. 

The Elders then take their place at each of the realms. Including the prince, who is granted a throne in Eden as king. 

Proof that the prince is one of the elders is in some of the concept art as well. (Look at baby princy)

As we know from the timeline, Megabird has created a balance, a chance for people to live their lives, have children, grow and share, and yes, even die. They are eventually reborn to start a new life. And judging by this culture, as well as many other cultures who share reincarnation beliefs, you may have been reborn as animals and plants too. So keep that in mind. This what I meant by Megabird; sure, they may not be perfect. But they seem to be an entity of balance, fairness, and wisdom. 

Mind you, there isn't flight during this time either, at least not by their own power. All the traveling is done one foot, and as the creators mentioned and revealed, there are and perhaps are even more villages in this world. Meaning people settled, people ate, people lived. 

Okay, how we doing? Still here? GREAT!Let’s keep going!

Now to why the elders may be broken, and yes even dead. The Elders are obsessed with immortality find a way to cheat it, giving themself godlike powers.  Unlike what is believed to be in the timeline, I believe the Elders came before and corrupted the king. 

So why.

Because they thought they had the right to. It’s mentioned that the Elders think they better then Megabird, separating themselves from its worship.

Note how all the Elders match the above colors, not only in death but even in life. When shown in nonspirit form, it is revealed that all of them match the dark opposing colors of the light. Aka Megabird. Often in myths, legendary characters are torn down by their hubris, which isn’t surprising as they considered themselves “Godly” with the dark stones. But it’s a little more than that.

There is another color, rarely mentioned and rarely even seen throughout the game. Red

Red seems to represent anger and aggression. And it is well noted that Eden has gone beyond corruption. It is swarming with dangers, including red crystals that suck up your light and the red beams of the Krill or Dragons that eat your light.

The king (Once Prince) Became furious, angry. Why? Well, remember those trials last season? And remember Anubis? And remember how I mentioned that if you died before your time, it was pretty much final? 

Anyone who has gone through the trials knows the mural. They know the mural and the prince featured at the end, but they must also remember this:

(Credit here X) Notice the blue bodies, the ones not moving? Remember how Anubis is the god of burial? What if the prince went through the trials and several of his friends and instead of coming out with them, he came out... alone. Coming out of the trials he is crowned the soul king of Eden, and the corruption begins.

As mentioned in the timeline, the Dark Stones Corrupt. The prince wearing the dark stones as a child is more easily corrupted. The colors are a huge signifier of what side the people are on, which is mentioned in the concept art as well.

The prince, realizing that death is final, facing unspeakable dangers is broken. His innocents shattered and making him even more susceptible to the dark stone. The trials are nothing more than a haunting nightmare. One he can't rid himself.

Infuriated, and broken hearted he goes to find answers, traveling to the realms, angrily destroying that which keeps the elders alive as each of them refuses his wishes. They selfishly hoard their immortality while realizing that the children would die in horrific ways. For what?  Finally, reaching the priest in the Vaults. 

It is mentioned to be a place of hope of wisdom and, of course, kept secrets. He fights with her, trying to find a way to bring back his friends, but she refused to delve into the secret. Perhaps knowing that if he does, it could tip the balance further, destroy her, destroy the elders, who are already suffering due to their broken dark stones. He doesn't accept her answer or forced calm. Instead taking the information by force. Eden is his realm, and soon after leaving the vault, it becomes as corrupted and as inhospitable as him. 

He is trying to bring back his friends; he will get them. But in the process, he tips it too far. Destroying Eden and all the people who are there. Killing all current life and plunging the promised land and the world into silence except for the monsters corrupted and stirring.

Megabird was horrified by this and his attempt. The prince has destroyed the cycle of life and death, leaving an empty world with its most loved creatures gone. Yes, the prince gets his wish, his friends returned to life... in their own way.

As memoryless, motionless, winged lights.

The Megabird then creates a new creature, with the cycle broken and the world in chaos. The only way to bring balance is to create creatures who can collect and remind their past spirits and send them home. The curse of the winged lights is now used to fuel the new creation of their world. While the Elders, including the prince himself, are cursed to relive the last moments of their mistakes over and over again. An echo, a mere shadow of their former grandeur. The prince is trapped within the eye of his anger and corruption, afraid, lost, and eternal.

This leads to the final section of the game, the area where you embrace the light. Huddling and alone in the dark, hesitant at your offer to accept them. And yet another winged light. Giving his light to you and all who visit as eternal retribution for his mistake.

And Cut!

halam'shivanas: the sweet sacrifice of duty

It implies the loss of something personal for duty’s sake

===

How tragically ironic would it be if Solas, the rebel god and breaker of slave chains, is in fact bound to Mythal’s will, much like Abelas or the drinker of the well of sorrows is?

We can assume his duty was to advise/protect Mythal, as based on the imagery and statues that depict him. Mythal’s murder would have meant he completely failed at his duty, meaning he is still bound to her even after banishing the false gods and creating the veil.

This is why he cannot be swayed on his path. He walks the dinan’shiral because he is bound by his duty to the people, and to Mythal. He can’t just walk away like Abelas can at the well. He can’t even tell the Inquisitor the truth even if he wants to because his duty to Mythal always comes first.

We all know Bioware love their tragic characters and this would just be the icing on the already delicious cake that is Thedas lore.

Note: Assumptions and theories ahead are based on speculation and theorising only- this is simply a potential take on Solas’ motivations. 

===

Firstly, why would Solas even agree to serve Mythal?

Fen’Harel statues are often seen as a symbol of guardianship. In the Temple of Mythal he is depicted as a guard dog. Guard dogs infer protection and servitude to its owner. That’s the impression I get from his statues - that he guarded Mythal willingly and with great pride.

The only reason he came to be remembered as a god at all is because he takes the form of a powerful wolf beast, and walks amongst all factions freely as a rebel leader against slavery.

If Mythal is “the best” of the evanuris (and remember, the evanuris are self proclaimed gods who all owned slaves in some sense), how could Solas lead a slave rebellion while he was still on good terms with Mythal? 

It can be assumed from clues throughout the game that Solas used to be a pure spirit in some sense before manifesting as a material elf. He refers to a person’s essence through their “spirit”, and it seems like he very much misses being a pure spirit himself.

Cole: You don't need to envy me, Solas. You can find happiness in your own way. Solas: I apologize for disturbing you, Cole. I am not a spirit, and sometimes it is hard to remember such simple truths. Cole: They are not gone so long as you remember them. Solas: I know. Cole: But you could let them go. Solas: I know that as well. Cole: You didn't do it to be right. You did it to save them. Inquisitor: Solas, what is Cole talking about? Solas: A mistake. One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything. Cole: You weren't wrong, though. Solas: Thank you, Cole.

(if Cole becomes more human)

Solas: How do you feel, Cole, now that you dealt with the Templar? Cole: I don't know. He hurt me... hurt the real Cole. I'm angry at him. Cole: I can't let that go. I have to become more, let it make me real. Solas: You may well become fully human, after all. I never thought to see it. Cole: When did you see it before? Solas: I did not say that I had. Cole: No, you didn't. It's harder to hear, sometimes. Sorry. Solas: Good luck, Cole. You have taken a difficult road.

Could Solas have been a pure spirit of wisdom before he took on a physical form to be at Mythal’s side? Did the ancient elves use spirits to do their bidding, and those with greater power used physical bodies to transcend singular character traits to gain the full complexity and spectrum of emotions and actions? Perhaps that seemed appealing to Solas at the time - to become more than he currently was?

To gain wisdom you have to actively seek it. That means travelling and learning, a trait that Solas embodies. He elaborates on more of his travels if you ask him at Haven.

“The Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I travelled I would never find anything new.”

“The Fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations. To find interesting areas, one must be interesting.”

I have explored the Fade more than anyone alive, but even I can only visit in dreams. 

Then in Trespasser, Cole cryptically reveals more snippets of his past (presumed). 

Cole: He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face.

Cole: He wants to give wisdom, not orders.

So, why would Solas willingly serve Mythal if he is so against slavery and servitude? 

I presume it is because he actively sought more wisdom and inadvertently fell into Mythal’s will to attain more knowledge. Whether or not he deliberately became Mythal’s servant/advisor is up for debate. His circumstances could mirror his personal quest in DAI, where Mythal summoned him as a spirit to be her advisor, turning him from wisdom to pride. Or, this could just be a red herring.

Abelas sheds a bit of light on what serving Mythal actually entails:

“Brave it if you must. But know you this, you shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal....Bound as we are bound. The choice is yours.”

I personally think Solas could very well have chosen to attain more wisdom at the cost of serving Mythal- becoming her personal guard dog if you will. He was after all, cocky and thought he knew everything. 

In any case, in forming a physical self, he inadvertently came into great power, becoming Fen’Harel, deified in his own right. 

And once you have power, you always want more. It’s what forms a part of being human- he touches on this a lot in banter and dialogue throughout the game. To a wisdom spirit who simply sought more wisdom in the world, it makes sense he would always want to learn more and know more and be more. 

To gain more wisdom, he had to constantly seek out greater things, and being in a position of great power as Mythal’s right hand man allowed him to collect this wisdom he so desired. 

Solas traded wisdom for a physical body, thus he lost his spirit form permanently. He traded the simplicity of being a spirit of wisdom, for the complexity of being a mortal elf with all the emotions tied to it. He traded the very essence of his being to become one of Mythal’s own trusted advisors.

That was the cost of him gaining more knowledge through Mythal’s position of power- without this sacrifice of self, he would never have seen more, or known more, or been more than the singular trait of wisdom.

This is perhaps why he feels so lonely and betrayed and like he can’t trust anyone- because as a spirit, life was simple, he simply collected knowledge and passed it on. As a physical being, he learnt the brutality of war and the cost of betrayal. These events define his overall perception of physical beings, which is why he doesn’t view people as people. He simply views them as pawns to be used, like a game of chess. “He wants to give wisdom, not orders.“

It could also explain why he disdains physicality and envies Cole - he simply wishes everything were that simple, but it can’t because he is now a material being. When he realises his love for the Inquisitor is real, and that the companions in the Inquisition are real, it shakes the entirety of his core beliefs about what makes people, people. He only falls back to his sense of duty because he has to. He failed Mythal when she was killed, and she wants revenge. To achieve vengeance, she needs her guard dog to do her bidding.

===

Solas’ purpose changed 

As the ancient elves warred between themselves, Mythal would have needed advisors and trusted friends. She would have relied on Solas heavily, because he was a willing servant full of wisdom and advice, and his wisdom would be invaluable during a civil war. What Solas was to the Inquisition, he was probably even more so to Mythal.

This may be the reason why Mythal actually uplifted Solas as the dread wolf, helping him shape the image of fear and rebellion. She allowed him to be free of his vallaslin and create his rebellion- it was all subterfuge and part of her master plan to create chaos amongst her rivals and their slaves.

The side benefit was Solas took the fall for her in almost every respect- she came to be remembered as Mythal, the patron of motherhood and justice, while Solas came to be remembered as the trickster “god”, the dread wolf who sabotaged Mythal’s enemies while freeing slaves at the same time.

It was a symbiotic relationship for both of them as their actions aligned with each other’s motivations. It wasn’t out of love that Solas served Mythal, but his bonds of duty, personal desire for wisdom, and eventually his personal quest to end cruelty and slavery. He says himself he did not lead a rebellion without getting his hands bloody. Solas is not a saint and it’s easy to forget that- he was part of the institution as well.

===

Solas’ is a mortal mage whose weakness is pride

Solas isn’t infallible and he knows this. He makes so many mistakes out of arrogance it would be funny if it wasn’t sad. I mean, he gave his orb to Corypheus...what possessed him to think that was a good idea?

His pride is his weakness and he severely underestimates the complexity of human emotions and motivations. Where once he simply desired more wisdom, now, he thinks he knows better than anyone else because of his pride. He thinks modern Thedas is full of “tranquil” because he is so arrogant to believe that his past was better than the future he helped create, even though ancient elvhenan was chock full of slavery and cruelty. 

In fact, his position of power was enabled through the evanuris, and Mythal herself, who was at the top of the pecking order. 

Somewhere along the way, Mythal used him as a general or commander in the war. That is when I think Solas changed from an advisor to one that embodied pride. In doing so he took on the form of a reptilian wolf / dragon hybrid. “I would not have you see what I become...”

If you drink from the well, and have high approval with him, he will be very upset after the fact:

“You gave yourself into the service of an ancient elven god!...You are Mythal’s creature now. Everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her. You have given up a part of yourself.”

Solas knows what the Inquisitor has given up because perhaps he also gave up a part of himself for her.

===

Solas vs. Mythal

At the end of DAI, Flemeth specifically says to Solas “I knew you would come”

When he says “I am so sorry” to Flemeth, she responds in kind. “I am sorry as well...old friend”. 

It’s not a “I’m sorry you failed” sorry. It’s a “I’m sorry for what I’m about to get you to do” sorry. It’s hard to be certain at this point exactly what power Mythal bestows upon Solas, but I think the fact remains, Solas isn’t simply Solas anymore. Through his bonds of duty to Mythal, his actions will be for her whether or not he knows it. 

With the essence of Mythal’s power, the things he will do in the name of saving the elven people will likely also form a part of her master plan for vengeance against the other evanuris.

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 3

.

Summary:  Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

.

Rating: M

.

Prologue; Chapter 1, Chapter 2

AO3

.

.

A/N: Thank you @thisonesatellite​ for being the fastest and best beta reader I could ever ask for. And thank to all of you who are reading this.

.

.

Chapter 3 . . It takes more courage to 

dig deep in the dark corners 

of your own soul and 

the back alleys of your society 

than it does for a soldier

to fight on the battlefield.

(W. B. Yeats)

.

.

Many, many years ago, 

in another solar system.

.

.

Arcadia was Killian’s place. His home. Not a happy one, but the only one he had ever known. Growing up as a mechanic slave of a greedy merchant was not the best childhood one could hope for, but at least he wasn’t alone, his older brother Liam had always been by his side. 

An unexpected explosion in the factory where they used to work put an end to the merchant's life when Killian was only a teenager.

The brothers were finally free. 

Liam worked as hard as he could to ensure his brother had a decent life. Killian wasn't as disciplined as his older sibling; he was more of a hothead who often had to be rescued from a whirlpool of rum and games, if not fights. But Liam never gave up, he was always there to remind his younger brother of what was important and to keep him on the right path. 

When they both came of age Liam managed to enroll them in the Royal Army. A few quiet and happy years followed. The boys worked and studied hard and they soon reached high ranks. Liam was nominated captain of The Jewel of the Crown, the fastest spaceship on the planet, and Killian was his lieutenant. 

Everything seemed to run smoothly.

Until one day their corrupted King put them in charge of a suicide mission, just for his need for power. Killian was skeptical about it, but Liam was stubborn and loyal in his duties and he accepted the mission.

On the way back home Liam died in his brother’s arms, and Killian swore to himself to not to obey another order for as long as he lived.

He took the heart of his beloved brother and fixed it on the inner part of the ship system: connected by electrodes Killian managed to keep at least his brother’s conscience alive and speaking. A poor substitute for what Liam was, but a constant reminder of how much he lost. 

Killian then kept the ship and renamed it The Jolly Roger, and flew away from his planet in search of adventures, living every day as his last, and never giving a damn about anything else but his own survival.

In the beginning, Liam was the voice of wisdom and rationalism; he tried to talk his younger brother into not throwing away his life, but Killian didn't want to listen. It was too painful. So he started a life of selfish revelry, while not wallowing in self-pity and drowning his sorrows in every local tavern. As time passed Liam went quieter and quieter, until the day he stopped talking to his brother.

One day, on a strange armored planet Killian had landed, he met a beautiful and strong woman, Milah, and he fell in love with her almost at first sight. She was already married, but she wanted to leave her husband, and she chose to live a life of adventures with Killian. But her husband was jealous and resentful, and unfortunately, he was also a very rich and powerful business owner.

Killian took Milah back to Arcadia, to show her the places where he grew up. It was an unpleasant surprise to find out that his planet had been absorbed by the Lepka Industry, a company that, for its benefit, had depleted all the planet’s resources until it was no more able to produce anything useful, and left the planet inert. 

Mr. Gold, leader of the Lepka Industry and also Milah’s husband, had found out where Killian was from and had started to enact his revenge: slowly but successfully. First Killian’s origins, then his love.

Gold showed up one day when the two lovebirds were having a night walk together, and he started a fight with Killian that ended with the latter one losing a hand and with Milah's death in front of Killian’s eyes.

While his destroyed planet was disappearing in the distance from his rear-view screen, tears were running down Killian’s face. Tears of sadness for everything that could have been and wasn’t; tears of rage and frustration for being powerless in front of such an evil creature; tears of longing... “I miss you, Liam.” He whispered to the silence of his spaceship cabin.

The red LED started blinking again and the cold metallic voice spoke: I'm right here little brother. I will never abandon you.

Tears ran even harder down Killian's cheeks.

.

.

 ~·~·~·~

.

.

Present time.

.

.

The rest of the day passed quietly, well almost. Henry was eager to discover everything he could about the spaceship, and he made Killian answer a lot of questions about the control system, the mechanical parts of the engine, and more specific stuff. He learned how to read the radar and that you need an extra tank of fuel, in case the planet you want to go to delays your permission to land.

Dinner was a pleasant relaxing moment for the three of them. The meal was simple. Given that not every kind of food was going to survive an intergalactic trip, they had had to limit their choices between some dehydrated vegetables and frozen spicy cream, but Killian soon found out that it was one of Henry’s favorite desserts.

“Can I have some more, please?” Henry asked after emptying his second bowl. 

“You’re going to explode.” His mother pointed out.

“Oh, but I’ll die happy, mom.” He answered with a big grin.

Killian smiled and gave a mischievous look to Emma “The lad is growing up.” 

“Killian, don’t.” She admonished him. But he ignored her and handed another full bowl of cream to Henry with a wink. “What…?” She started, but then: “Do you ever follow an order?”

“Only mine,” Killian answered matter-of-factly.

Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head, while Henry and Killian were sharing a laugh.

“I'm not sure I enjoy the idea of you two as best buddies,” Emma stated.

“He’s my father, of course we’re going to be best buddies!” Henry exclaimed.

.

.

~·~·~·~

.

.

The morning after Killian woke up early, as usual. They weren’t supposed to land before another four or five days at least, but he was used to long driving journeys. He had slept only a few hours, while he could use the help of the autopilot, resting on a hammock he had previously hooked behind the two leather seats that stood opposite the dashboard so that he could easily take control of the ship in case of emergency. But he didn’t feel tired, quite the opposite, he was feeling excited and curious towards what the day with his guests was going to offer him. He distracted himself preparing breakfast, and soon after the table was ready for the three of them, Emma appeared from her cabin, followed by a suspiciously silent Henry.

The boy sat on his chair and devoured his meal with his eyes fixed on his bowl. No word came from him and as soon as he finished, he stood up and went back to his cabin, closing the door behind him. Killian had the impression that if the door wasn’t automatic he would have probably slammed it.

Emma was still savoring her tea and she seemed quite concentrated on the liquid in her cup.

Killian sat back on his chair and crossed his arms; he tilted his head and kept looking at her for a few minutes, but when he understood she had no intention of having a conversation, he cleared his throat and asked: “Have I done something wrong?”

“It’s not your fault.” She stated and then finally looked at him. “Yesterday, before Henry went to sleep, I told him the truth. Or at least part of it. He now knows that you’re not his father. But he’s not upset with you.” And after a pause, she added: “He’s angry with me, for lying to him for so long.” 

“Plausible.” Killian nodded. “Henry seems a perceptive boy, give him some time to let it all soak in.”

The rest of the day was much more boring than Killian expected. Neither Emma nor her son were very talkative, and after dinner, Killian wasn't sure if he was more upset by the long hours flying or the tense atmosphere in his ship.

Emma and Henry were sitting at the table, each one immersed in their own electronic screens, reading… whatever damn things they were reading. 

Killian snorted, he put the autopilot on and stood up from his seat.

“If you would excuse me, I have a part of the turbocharger to check.” But as soon as two pairs of worried eyes looked at him, he hurried to explain: “Oh, it’s nothing serious, but better not to leave loose ends, right?”

Killian started his way down the stairs that led to the engine room, but after just a couple of steps, he stopped and looked back. “Henry, would you like to come with me? I may need a hand.”

Henry nodded and ran past him down the stairs. Killian smiled to the ever characteristic enthusiasm of the boy, and before resuming his descent he gave a side look to Emma and winked. She furrowed her brows in question. 

Down in the storage room, Killian found Henry waiting for him. The lad was probably wondering why they hadn't entered the engine zone yet. But Killian ignored his silent question and went directly to a locker from where he retrieved a little box and something that looked like a toy sand mill with a switch on the upper right side and a glass flask at the bottom; he deposited everything on the small table in the center of the room.

“Wanna hold a bright star?” He asked the boy.

“That's impossible.” Henry was skeptical.

Killian hummed. “I wouldn’t say that. Given the many places I’ve visited and everything I’ve seen in my life, I’d say that there are just a few things that are not possible.” 

He lifted the upper lid of the mill while saying: “We need to generate enough energy for the turbocharger.”

Then he opened the box and took a plastic bag with some grey powder in it. “You see this? This is stardust.” He said and immediately knew he had the boy’s attention.

“Did you collect it?” Henry asked.

“I like adventures, but I’m no fool. It's extremely dangerous to go near a star, especially one which is going to implode soon.  You would not come back to tell the story.” Killian shook his head. “I bought it some time ago in an exotic market. Now, all you have to do is to pour some of the contents inside the grinder. But be careful, it's a rare item, don't spill it.”

Henry took the bag with reverential care and started to put some dust into the mill. “Like this?”

“You're doing great. That should be enough. Now switch it on.”

Henry closed the upper lid and turned it on. The sand started to swirl faster and faster until it began to shine so intensely that the mill could hardly be seen through the amount of light.

“This is awesome! It totally seems like a shining star.” The boy was staring in awe with wide-open eyes.

“Aye. I thought you would like it.” And after a pause, Killian added: “You can keep it if you want.”

“But what about the turbocharger? You will have to make another one.” But just after Henry said the words, he clearly understood the truth behind it. “Oh... you don't need stardust energy. You didn't even need my help, did you?”

Killian nodded. “You're a clever boy.”

Right at that moment Emma entered the room. “It’s time for you to go to sleep, kid.”

But Henry ignored her. He switched the mill off and the light softly disappeared. Without averting his eyes from it, he whispered: “It would have been cool if you were my real dad.”

Killian swallowed hard, a strange lump was forming in his throat, but that wasn't the right time to analyze it. 

“You already have an amazing mother, as far as I know.” Killian briefly looked up at Emma, who smiled slightly at his poor attempt to mediate.

Henry shrugged.

“Just because someone helped in…” Killian searched for the best word to describe it, “creating you, it doesn't mean he's your father.” 

“What about your dad?” The boy asked. 

“Not the best example. My mother died when I was still a wee lad and my father, well, he did the best he could to raise my brother and me. At least he tried for some time. But he was addicted to games and he liked to bet more than he could afford. One night, surrounded by his creditors, he ran away. Never knew anything about him after that. My brother and I... uh... we were the ransom for his misdeeds. He sold us to a merchant.”

“Sold? You mean you were a slave?” The astonishment in the boy's voice was visible.

“Aye.” Killian sighed.

Henry wrinkled his nose in repugnance: “That's awful!” 

“Aye. But I had my older brother with me. He was probably a much better father figure to me than my real papa. He taught me everything I know.” 

Henry thought about it for a few seconds then he nodded. He took the mill in his hands: “Thank you, Killian.” 

“No need. Now, be a good son and go to rest as your mother said.”

The boy turned around towards the stairs. Emma waited until he was almost upstairs then she looked at Killian and mimicked a voiceless thank you before following her son.

.

.

~·~·~·~

.

.

Later that night, Killian was concentrating on flying when he heard the sound of the sliding door behind him opening and closing. Emma soon appeared in his peripheral view. She slumped down on the seat next to him.

“Henry is finally asleep.” She let him know. 

“You should rest as well, Swan.” He had happened to address her using her surname lately. He liked the way it sounded, and he thought it suited her. Swans were quite rare on any planet he had been, and they were known for their purity and beauty, but also their fierce temperament, especially when protecting their offspring. 

“What about you? Shouldn’t you get some sleep too?”

“I usually don’t sleep much.” Was his evasive answer.

“Are you going to be at the helm all night?” She asked, a bit concerned.

“As soon as we are out of this group of meteorites I’ll put the autopilot. No need to worry. If there’s any problem, my ship will wake me up.” He reassured her.

But she didn’t move from her seat. She stared at the sidereal starscape; her gaze appeared to be lost somewhere far away. “It’s more than an automatic voice. Isn’t it?”

Killian fixed his sight to the horizon, as well. Emma thought that she may have trespassed some unspoken boundary, that the question she did was probably far too intimate to receive a proper answer. But after a few minutes of silence, he sighed “Aye. It’s my brother Liam.”

“How...?” She started to ask, and he could hear the wonderment in her voice, but then she changed the question: “What happened?”

“We were serving in the Royal Army, back on our planet. Liam was the captain of this spaceship. I was his lieutenant. Our King entrusted a perilous mission to us; I knew it was a suicide mission, but Liam was stubborn and very strict when it came to following orders. He didn’t make it. He died in my arms. I…” Killian breathed deeply. “I put his heart in the innermost part of this ship’s system. Powered by strong hydrogen electrodes I somehow manage to preserve his… soul? Being? I don’t even know what it is, but at least I still hear his voice.”

She didn’t react immediately to his story. She was probably assimilating the new pieces of information about him. Killian internally cursed because he couldn’t stop concentrating on the outer path, while he would have liked to have given her his full attention, to understand what was brewing in that beautiful head of hers.

When she kept silent for longer than he could bear, he couldn’t help avert his eyes from the meteorites just enough time to see her smiling at him. That was unexpected. 

“I’m sorry for your brother, but now I understand your rejection of royalty.” She chuckled softly: “and your troubles in following orders.”

Killian found himself smiling too.

It was nice to spend a few moments with her sitting next to him, it reminded him of when he used to sit exactly where she was now, just to keep his older brother company during the night travels. A feeling of long-forgotten joy at the domestic situation warmed his heart. 

They managed to pass the group of meteorites without any major consequences, and now there were only stars and distant planets in their sight. “This is beautiful,” Emma stated.

“Aye. It is.” Killian agreed, then he pushed a couple of buttons and lifted a lever in front of him activating the autopilot. “And now, I can finally stretch my bones on that hammock.” 

“How can you sleep on that thing?” 

“You wouldn’t say it, Swan, but it’s quite comfortable.” Then, wagging his eyebrows, he added: “I could show you how to relax on it?”

What was he doing? Was he flirting with her? But the shared moments before had left them in a bubble of closeness, and he was feeling audacious.

His attempt gained him a roll of eyes from her. “Thank you for the offer, but not tonight.” She stood up and Killian expected a strategic retreat from her. But she went closer to him and bending down she whispered in his ear: “Maybe another time.”

Killian’s jaw dropped open. Was she flirting back? While the door of his cabin was sliding close he could only mutter “Bloody Hell!”

.

Hey four can I get some of that sweet sweet soulmate au with solomon perhaps 👀

A/N: No, solely because you asked ヽ(｀⌒´メ)ノ im joking im joking........ unless???? Nah im kidding here you go shelby uwu (if anyone is curious and isnt familiar with tarot, the Tower card, in this story, is in the upright position with the idea of “massive change/chaos/destruction”)

Amare. {Solomon x Reader/MC}

The night was warm. Summer Solstice. The moon was full; rare, beautiful, powerful. The trees around them held centuries of wisdom and the magic in the air was genuine and electric; the leaves slightly danced above their heads as the wind spirit herself whispered words of love to the faeries that danced among the branches. Magic roamed the Earth, free, happy, and within all that graced it.

He could see nothing but them. The way the light caressed their skin and illuminated their eyes, the way their smile was just as airy as the spirits that pranced around them, how the gentlest of flowers they held in their hand seemed to intermingle with their own skin. Summer Solstice is a time to slow down; the day is meant for self-reflection and charging of magic. For doing less and being more.  

Solomon had always been less so that he may give his love more.  

Summer Solstice is the longest day of the year, a day charged with playful magic to taunt those who don’t fully appreciate the sentimental features of the day. Solomon spent it with the first love of his life; young and restless, their souls just recently finding their place on this plane. He was happy, strong, in love. He knew nothing of sorrow or fear, for the spirits, the magic, the runes and the cards never warned him as such. His soul was free to love theirs, roam the Earth together, to exist simply among the magic that coursed through his veins and pumped through the very heart that only had a beat for the love who stood in front of him now. No fear. No pain.

The night was perfect, and so were they. With forest creatures as their witnesses, they spoke of love and marriage, the idea of being together for all of eternity. Their skin was soft as he held their face in his hands, his knees straining to keep themselves up as the look in their eyes knocked the wind out of him.  

They both leaned in, hoping to tie their bodies together as they have their spirits. Closer, closer, their breath fanning across one another’s face, smiles just barely grazing against each other.

Solomon had pulled the Tower card.

It was cold this time. Solomon opened his eyes when he felt the warmth of another stand beside him. It was a familiar presence, and laying his eyes on them caused the wave of realization to wrap him in warmth as though he were bundled in a blanket. He held out a hand, asking if they’d like to join him; their eyes remembered him as well, their souls both still in their youth and mighty playful.  

They danced among the snow-covered ground, the wet soaking into their poor, thin shoes. Their laughter was warm, his smile was bright; neither of them paid any mind to Jack Frost’s painful bite. Winter Solstice. The longest night of the year. Yule is a time to welcome back the return of the sun—where life begins once more. Here, in front of him now as several years have passed, he’s able to welcome his sun back home, in his soul, where they were meant to be.

Watching their step and prancing around to keep their bodies warm, they roamed what used to be a thriving village that fell at the hands of Pestilence as neither of their magic could save those who suffered. Broken homes, unfortunate souls who couldn’t seem to understand what had happened, and piles of those lost to the clammy hands of The Black Death. The spirits of those who lingered decided to play in their game of tag and brought along the bitter wind that caused them to shiver; Solomon held them close.

Standing there, simply allowing themselves to mend the broken bridge between their souls as their bodies had become strangers. They looked up and stuck their tongue out, smiling as a snowflake just as uniquely beautiful landed on their tongue—Solomon wished he could commit such an intricate shape to his memory. He looked down at them as they looked up, smile begging for him to lean down and share in his warmth.

Faces close, breath warm between them so that the winter’s frozen fractals could no longer show themselves, they leaned further and further, electricity between one another’s magic jolting through every inch of their skin--

Solomon had seen a crumbling Tower in the distance.

He gasped as he came back to Earth from travelling through the clouds.

Metal upon metal clanked loudly around him; he could hardly think. Screams of pain, of anger, of fear rattled through his ears and echoed throughout the headgear he had donned on his head. Shiny, heavy, the light off of those who wore things similar blinded him whenever he got a solid chance to see around him. The aura was dark, angry, nasty; it blanketed his heart and made his soul feel so lonely.

Violence was futile. He didn’t want this—weapons were useless and senseless killing hurt his empathy. Where had the love of magic gone? Where had love gone?

Through the crumbled tower his footsteps caused the rock beneath them fall away. It was dangerous, he was aware, but he wanted to hide away regardless. At the top of the stairwell, he found a struggle as both of them toppled over one another in an attempt to keep dominance, and their life. On his back, attempting to push himself up, the tip of a sword tapped against the dip between his collarbones and warned him to stop. With a fluid motion, his helmet had been knocked off of his head and he held his breath, waiting for the moment where it all went cold.

His dark eyes opened to meet those wet with tears, oh so familiar. Their weapon had been tossed aside and they carefully, cautiously, knelt down to become level with him. A face full of confusion and soul burning with recognition, they gently reached out for him; as the cold metal caressed his face, all other senses grew dull to the chaos around the two of them. As Set rose in the distance, Solomon could only focus on the curve of their face in front of him, the width of their smile, the darkness those beautiful eyes have seen this lifetime.

Without so much as a whisper or ghost of a word, the two leaned in, ready for whatever the fate of knights had to bear so long as their souls suffered it together.  

With the ghost of a kiss just before his lips, he felt the Tower beneath him crumble to pieces.

Startled, he woke up with a start. He found himself beneath a tree whose leaves had been freshly turned green and the soft petals had only recently welcomed the suns warmth. It was quiet here, peaceful, welcoming to the changes. The book in his lap was heavy—a grimoire or spell book of sorts—Solomon couldn’t remember which one he had picked up. It hadn’t mattered, anyway, as he idly flipped through the pages to keep himself busy. Young love blossomed like the flowers, and Solomon had been waiting for his turn.

A pair of hands covered his eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile. Guessing wrong a few times just to get a laugh from them before he was able to pull them into his lap, his book now discarded. They were pink, like the flowers they loved to go see in the forest, a hue that always graced his eyes. They sat together, against the tree that felt like home to one another, and simply existed. They ushered in a new beginning, beautiful change, something happy within the dark times the world played around them.  

Their souls were at peace once more, the magic in between them fading only for a moment to allow them to realize just how important the feeling was. They were together, they were happy. They were spring and sweet and Solomon couldn’t help but find himself sleepy as he held them in his arms, as their warmth and feel of home made him feel the safest he’d been in centuries.  

He closed his eyes, feeling the darkness that accompanied sleep welcome him with a hug as hands cupped his face once more, a different feeling closing in near his face that he couldn’t help but smile at as lips brushed against his own. He smiled, half asleep, his physical begging them for their lips to fully meet his own, but his unconscious dragging him down the abyss.  

Solomon dreamt of falling from a tower.

He fell for so long, and awoke bound—he didn’t like that. His feet no longer touched the ground; he could feel the magic within his heart grow angry, dark, full of absolute hatred far before he opened his eyes.  

Tied to a stake as crowds around him screamed of the Devil’s Magic, cried of demons and evil, when they were the ones whose hearts had been dipped in darkness. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. How could he end up in a place like this when the magic he used had never been for ill intent?  

Eyes darting around, he looked. His soul knew what he had been looking for—would he not find it this time? His mind did not know, but the core of him did. His eyes found nothing.  

Desperately, secretly, he felt another pair of hands brush against the pair tied behind him. On impact, they made every inch of his body tinkle; warmth. Familiarity. Home. He turned his head, desperate to lay his eyes on them when in the softest of voices, they asked him not to look. They didn’t want his soul to suffer any more than it had been. As much as possible, they intertwined their fingers with his, allowing what little time they had left to connect their souls once more. He didn’t want to leave yet—he asked them their name this time, smiling when he mentioned it suited them.  

They were scared, he could feel it. He didn’t wish to let them know he was too. Silently, his eyes started to tear up, and he let himself cry as flames started to tickle at both of their feet. He smiled when they sent him off with a goodbye, their fingers never letting go until the very end.  

It all grew dark and far too warm for his liking. Solomon had been too warm for too long.

He sighed and opened his eyes—why was the café he found himself in so damn hot? The leaves outside had changed to such gorgeous hues and the cold breeze was starting to chase those who ventured outdoors. Perhaps it was only so warm because he had come in from such weather? He sat at a small table in the corner and flipped through another book.  

People came and went, chatter hit highs and lows and the bell above the door started to have a sweet sound to it. Someone had come by to ask if he needed anything, and he could hardly remember what he ordered. A different voice greeted him this time, gifting him with a warm drink and a complimentary sweet that he could immediately smell the cinnamon baked into.

Solomon put his book down and smiled, thanking them and accepting the drink with obvious gratitude. All it took was a brush of the hand once again to cause his eyes to widen and meet theirs as though it were a mirror. The bustle of the small place melted away in an instant, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time shooting through his body as several things he thought had been lost awakened within him. He could see them awaken too, though they had been much more confused than he was.

He cupped their face not as gently as he would have liked as he was desperate; desperate to hold, to kiss, to love them once more as his simple life found what it had been missing once again. Their eyes grew misty, and a smile graced their features as he pulled their face down to his quickly, passionately, like the movies they’d been playing about love the past handful of years. Something cliché, but lovely, as their lips grew ever closer to his.

The radio station playing softly on the speakers played a song by some niche band called Tower.

He felt tapping on his nose and begrudgingly opened his eyes. The angelic blue eyes in front of him taunted him, he pushed his friend’s hand away.  

Solomon had fallen asleep—it wasn’t normal for him to sleep in class—much less in a school such as this one. Being among one of the new students was odd, but it wasn’t as if a place like this wasn’t... familiar to him. He’d been around people, creatures, beings like this before—long ago—he’d lie if he said it didn’t remind him of a home he could no longer remember.  

Magic here was strong—he was strong—and he liked that. It never seemed to fix this deep gash inside of him that never seemed to want to heal, but it was a nice change of pace. Or, so he thought. He wasn’t sure what it was a change from—but the cards constantly told him it was a good one. What secrets were the cards hiding from him this time?  

Another one was supposed to join the class today—another human, they said—making them a pair in a demon-dominating population. He wondered what they’d be like, after all, talk had already gotten around with everyone’s assumptions. His feet were heavy as he walked through the hallway—he just hoped they’d be able to survive.  

Footsteps came up the empty stairs, and he watched for whoever owned them. An audible gasp passed by his lips as the light from the window above shone onto their hair and illuminated the pair of eyes that locked with his.

Old, familiar, home, love. Such deep emotions hit Solomon all at once, to the point he couldn’t help but let his eyes start to tear up. A smile curved onto their lips, and one donned on his own as he moved closer to them, reaching out to touch them once again; such a beautiful smile spoke such rich words.

“You must be Solomon.”

stygian dagger

a sneak peek Like clamouring thunder intimidating a planet during a hot summer day, a small group of highly trained Tavali, the renowned pirates and travellers of the Universe, quickly dissolved themselves in the crowd as if each individual had always belonged to the scene. Bursting at the seams, the makeshift arena placated the savage desires of the rowdy public through violent, gruesome fighting. Their bellows demanded blood and guts from the unwilling practitioners of cage fighting, sold to this business for the purpose of serving the sick pleasures of the rich. Filling the pockets of greedy masters with abusive hands. Though illegal, the fights were wildly known throughout the Nine Worlds, beckoning hefty wallets with the promise of a night of indulgence. The three Tavali, fearless and unrelenting and heavily armed, approached the round stage, a fenced cage that had been electrified to discourage any contestant from trying an escape. Ushara, Davel and Trajen slowly descended the rows of stairs with a single purpose in mind. Rescuing Jullien eton Anatole. The bastard of the Ichidian Universe. “How do you want to do this?” Davel, Ushara’s older brother turned to her. Ushara Altaan, Vice Admiral for the Gorturnum nation (one of the four nations of Tavali) and the bastard’s best friend, thirsted for vengeance the moment she learned of Jules captivity. But despite the spiralling emotions, she led the rescue operation with military expertise. The Fyreblood in her was built for war, after all. Her breed of Andarions possessed the talent of pyrokinetics with their fiery breath that put them at great advantage in battle. “We have to find where they’re keeping the fighters. We grab Jules and get the hell out of here before I burn this shithole to the ground and cause Trajen here even more trouble.” The glance she threw at her boss and friend catapulted them both to a few months prior when she flew without proper papers and authorisation into Steradore to rescue her son and executed ruthlessly her son’s kidnappers. That was also when Jules crashed into her life. “Let’s start by looking for cells underground. I bet my money that’s where we will find him.” Trajen added quickly, the air of ancient wisdom surrounding him like royal robes as his eyes held a faraway look. Returning to the task at hand, the group proceeded through the darkened corridors, merging into the shadows like fading mist. Away from the main event and prying eyes, the three of them advanced into the house of horrors’ lowest pits where its security relied mostly on a few guards, now lying unmoving after quickly being neutralised, and the highest technology one could acquire in the black market. The collective tension thickened the atmosphere with Trajen’s warning. “I don’t know how long I can keep the interfering with the system’s security.” Visibly concerned for her boss, Ushara, who marched at front, turned back and gave him a look that silently asked him if he was alright. Though his expression had now been contorted into one of extreme suffering, Trajen nodded with a dismissive shrug. “Let’s keep looking.” Expecting the alarms to go off any second, inevitable frustration was slowly mounting between them as their options to find him grew scarce with the nearing of the end of the row of cells. “Where is he? Titana ræl. He has to be here somewhere.” Trajen’s curse surprised the others. Their Admiral was nothing but an infinite well of wise ponderation and heedful shrewdness. But this restless, almost sloppy version of him gave the others a marginal idea of the potency of the bond he shared with Jules. And where his loyalties lied. His purpose was clear. Despite Trajen’s many efforts to remain isolated from those under his protection, Jullien eton Anatole quickly wormed his way into their secluded leader’s heart with his wits and scars. In him, he found a brother, a kindred spirit. Both, a product of the brutality of their pasts. Drenched in darkness, Ushara refused to let old fears roar back to life as she searched each cell thoroughly. Those demons poked their incessant torment on her mind but she wouldn’t give way. No way in Tophet. “Jules! Jules! Dammit, dark heart. Where are you?” Her desperate bellow echoed through the hall. “Ah, shit.” Followed by a string of mouthful expletives, Davel run both hands through his tousled hair in evident denial. “What have they done to you, drey?” Terrified by her brother’s words alone, Ushara moved slowly toward Davel. Suddenly her legs weighed a ton, and all her instincts screamed at her. She wasn’t ready for what she was about to see. Her gasp of horror came without warning. Lying on the filthy floor of the smallest cubicle of that hellhole, he was in fetal position, back curved and head bowed to make himself smaller. His eyes resolutely shut, Jullien remained eerily motionless. Almost as if… “Jules..?” Low and soothing, her voice wrapped itself around him. “Please.” She begged. No reaction still. Lost to her panic and petrified by the shock of her best friend’s predicament, Ushara’s angry tears fell like an unexpected hurricane. This entire nightmare began when one of her cousins and his crew sold him as punishment for something he played no role at. Hate is an ugly creature whose talons infect the soul upon their impaling. And there is no recognition between right or wrong. There is just the ugly need for vengeance, the hunt for a twisted form of justice that’s justifiable through past suffering and grievances. Davel’s strained grunts catapulted her back into reality. For the time being and Jules’ sake, she vowed to abandon her thirst for retribution against those who sought to harm her best friend. Both her brother and Trajen joined their efforts to break him out. Between mighty brawn and refined brain, the electrified door of his dungeon held no chance against them. At the first opportunity, Ushara crawled toward the entrance on hands and knees. She outstretched her hand toward Jules. “Jules?” She tried once again. Only then did he shift his position, daring a tentative look at her as if afraid she might be only a mirage. “It’s me. Shara.” Her body ached from the awkward angle of it. “Come on, let’s go home.” When a single tear rolled down his face, her entire world shattered along with her heart. The agony and misery reflected upon those beautifully hybrid eyes, a mix of human and Andarion, clutched her insides before twisting them until she felt what she could describe as a poor replica of the same pain. Yet bravely, he offered her his bloodied fingers, silently accepting her strength to escape this house of horrors. As he dragged himself along the ground, Ushara confirmed all her fears. After the years of unthinkable abuse Jullien had fallen victim to, she feared he would resort to shutting everybody out to deal with yet another trial in his lonesome road of redemption, one he endured after she had promised him he was safe with the Tavali. She failed him. And she hated herself for that failure. Stoically, his face an unreadable mask of indifference, he stood awkwardly as Ushara embraced him in relief despite her reservations regarding his mental stability. “We better get going, guys.” Davel interrupted their reencounter with good motive. It wouldn’t be long until the alarms went off. “I sense trouble incoming, too.” Trajen added with a distant look. His impressive powers at work. As if on cue, the blaring sound of sirens threatened to awaken even the dead. “Let’s get out of here!” Ushara’s hand sought Jules’, tugging him behind her as the others hurried before them. Without uttering a word still, he followed after her. They were halfway down the hall when he broke contact with her fingers, turning toward a group of inmates, all female, as his fingers curled ferociously around the metal bars of the cell. His knuckles white, Jules tugged at the bars with a frightening growl. Eyes now full of untamed fury, he kept yanking and yanking. Unable to understand the source of Jullien’s outrage, Ushara spared a glance at her brother and Trajen before joining her best friend. He was clearly set on opening this specific cell. Mildly confused, she helped him by unleashing her fiery breath over the unyielding lock. It took some work as the ancient metal resisted more than first predicted but once it fell apart, he was quick to get pull the door open and venture into the room’s darkness. Tempted to go after him, she bit her lip. She shouldn’t. Right? Jules knew what he was doing. He had to. Right..? Praying for her friend’s mindfulness, she raked her fingers through her white hair while readying herself for the swarm of hostiles. “Shit.” Unholstering both blasters, Ushara aimed them ahead, patiently waiting to feed her need for violence. To sate her hunger to spill enemy blood. Surely enough, the first party showed up next. An eerie smile descended upon her lips. “Come get some, bitches.” She murmured dangerously, mostly to herself. Her blood singing in delirium for a chance of revenge. It was then Jules emerged from the shadows of the dungeon with a female stranger leaning heavily against him. Vulnerability surrounded this woman, obviously injured during her captivity. She was a vision, absolutely breathtaking. And totally human, it seemed. Golden skinned and green eyed, she beckoned every gaze in the room like a siren singing to her sailors. Finally, all hell broke loose. Ushara’s first two shots came as warning. After that, she was all business, no play. She went ahead of Jules and his companion, assuming her offensive stance before engaging in further confrontation. With envying expertise, she blocked every attack while ensuring their inevitable escape from this shithole by counter attacking tirelessly. She was an animal in the game of warfare. When every opponent lied lifelessly on the ground, Ushara released a breath of relief before holstering her blasters again. The barrels still singed her flesh if she were to touch them directly. Her babies were well used today. Collecting their breaths, the five of them exited the house of horrors without so much as a backward glance. Only Jullien hesitated briefly to bend his upper body forward so he could pick the woman up and carry her in his arms, regardless of her protests that claimed she could walk on her own. Once safely inside her ship, Ushara urged Davel to initiate the flight commands to get them all back home and far, far away from there. Trajen, the silent watcher, joined her while the both of them observed from afar the exchange between Jullien and the woman he refused to leave behind. “Is she trustworthy?” She whispered her concerns to her boss, hoping he could give her some sort of endorsement. Instead, he shrugged. “Time will tell.” Helpful. She grumbled quietly on her way to the pair. Despite Jules current inability to interact with the world outside of his well of misery, he still managed to put the human’s needs before his. A feat she probably can’t even begin to appreciate but Ushara’s version of a very malicious green monster was quickly suffocated by her immediate thought to not throw judgements before gathering proper insight. “Hi there. I’m Ushara.” The female warrior extended her hand toward the other female before pointing at Trajen. “That’s Trajen, and the mountain of a man at the front of the helm is my brother, Davel.” She finished with a sincere smile. “I—I’m Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett.” She cleared her throat to mitigate the hoarseness in her voice. “It’s nice to meet you all.” As she took Ushara’s hand in hers, she couldn’t help but noticing Jullien’s retreating form as he sought solitude to quiet his roaring demons.

Four portraits of Astoria were placed across the manor.

Each was beautiful in its own regard – the tall, slender woman being surrounded by peach blossoms, sunflowers, chrysanthemums, and winterberries, respectively. Draco Malfoy had commissioned each portrait of his late wife symbolising a season after she had passed far too young, leaving her grieving husband and distraught son. Draco had wanted to make sure that she would be remembered in every corner of the haunting, old mansion and be a part of their family around the year without seeming eerily misplaced. He had also hoped for a symbolism of eternity – an endless circle of the four seasons, although this notion now struck him as a bit melodramatic.

Astoria had been Draco’s ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak youth. She was caring, smart, empathetic, and funny. Astoria’s heart was open for anyone and she treated all people and creatures equally respectful. Astoria would listen patiently and give thorough advice even at a young age. Astoria was missed by her family and friends alike, none of which could believe they had lost her so early in life. Her portraits seemed so much more alive, so much more present than other portraits of deceased persons.

So when Hermione Granger, née Granger but ex-Weasley (not by name but by statute), mother of two brilliant children, former minister for magic (the youngest on record even by the time she stepped down on her own accord), acclaimed author, and Draco Malfoy’s new partner in life, first passed one (the spring version) of the portraits she had heard so much about before she first visited the manor (aside from that fateful night over twenty years prior, let’s not discuss it, thank you very much), she was irritated to find that Astoria’s beautiful face (and Hermione was positive that this was not an embellished version of the late Malfoy (junior-)matriarch, this had been her actual face) in a bored but irritable expression.

Hermione passed her quickly then, thinking about mentioning the mood to Draco but quickly deciding otherwise. Astoria had been perfect on every account and Hermione, distinguished former minister of magic and all, had felt quite small every time Draco spoke of his late wife. It was difficult not to believe that Astoria’s grimace had been due to Hermione’s presence in the manor.

Such thoughts plagued Hermione ‘the original overthinker’ Granger until she and Draco had an ‘official’ meeting with Astoria (her summery version) where Draco’s late wife proved to be everything he had made her to be. She was interested in Hermione’s career, but more so her well-being, she was witty and snorted at the right names when Hermione told stories straight out of the Wizengamot. Even her snort was charming. Glancing at Draco during their conversation, Hermione spotted a wistful look in his eyes and she had to admit then that even without knowing her much, she missed Astoria herself.

Hermione was all the more surprised – and irritated, if she was being honest with herself – when she walked past chrysanthemum-Astoria sometime later only to find the other woman rather irritable and tight-lipped again. In this moment, Hermione did not know how to react (or act – situation far from clear: Astoria had barely returned her own greeting) and so she stomped on, inwardly fuming. Was she mad at Astoria for putting on an act when Draco was around? Was Draco part of this scheme and did he care how this made her feel at all?

She was able hold back during dinner and focused instead on Draco’s recital of his new publication on the side effects of pepper-up potion. However, later, she couldn’t get herself to respond to his hands or mouth, made a half-hearted excuse and so they went to bed rather irritated on both sides. Hermione had a hard time feeling bad, even when Draco’s last words before finally falling asleep were “I don’t care if we have sex once a day or once a month, I’d just wish you’d be honest with me”.

When sleep wouldn’t come, Hermione finally made a decision. She slipped out from under the heavy blanket, made sure Draco was still fully covered and tip-toed out of the room.

Astoria looked ethereal in her white dress, sitting on a stone bench, surrounded by masses of snow and framed by little red specks – winterberries. This time, she full acknowledged Hermione but did not speak once again.

I must not be jealous of a dead woman, Hermione had told herself all over all evening and yet here she was, feeling both jealous and nervous in front of a painting.

“Good evening, Astoria.”

“Hello, Hermione. What brings you here?”

Astoria’s tone was levelled and Hermione was even more jealous that the woman in front of her seemed so capable of perfect containment when necessary. During her time in office, she had frequently been criticised for being too emotional. (Too emotional – hah. Hermione usually had gotten angry, linking this label to her femininity and lecturing an overwhelmed Ron about the relationship between emotions and gender. He had trouble understanding. Draco had been with her from the first second – he was now avidly reading de Beauvoir).

“I uhm–“, Hermione began, scolding herself for thinking about jealousy when walking to the portrait instead of coming up with a sensitive question.

“Do you want to know how to please Draco best? I have a few–“

“What? No!”

Hermione had been shouting and now listened carefully for Draco down the hallway, cursing herself mentally for being so clumsy. Nothing happened. Relieved, she looked back up at Astoria who now seemed rather amused.

“I … I’m sorry, this might come across as incredibly rude, but”, Hermione took a deep breath, “are you, by any chance, really unhappy that Draco is with me?”

Astoria’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“It’s just…”, again, Hermione had to breathe awkwardly before continuing, “I couldn’t help but notice that you were so lovely when we spoke with Draco, but every time I’m walking past you by myself, you seem … sulking?”

Hermione rolled her eyes inwardly at her own unelaborate phrasing. But before she could correct herself, Astoria had jumped up from her bench (did it look Ancient Greek?) and took a step towards Hermione.

“Hermione, what? I’m so sorry I came across this rude!”

What?

This was surely not what Hermione had expected.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, truly. I should not have jumped to conclusions.”

Come again?

Hermione’s face must have mirrored her confusion because Astoria now awkwardly shuffled strands of long, dark, straight hair out of her face hectically.

“It’s just that –”

Astoria now seemed lost for words as she helplessly flapped her arms and looked around.

“You see”, she began cautiously, “I was never the biggest fan of flowers.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Of course, they’re beautiful et cetera, but I had a ridiculous hay fever that could barely be treated with potions and my green thumb was non-existent. My relationship to flowers is rocky at best. You’re right, I’m sulking. I know Draco loved me dearly and he wanted the best for me, Scorpius, and himself after I passed. Of course, he wanted to have me portrayed as memorable as possible. But all this”, again, she helplessly moved her arms and Hermione now realised that she meant all four versions of herself, all the flowery beauty, the references to goddesses and eternal beauty and wisdom, “that is not the essence of who I was.”

Hermione had felt foolish already, but Astoria’s final statement was too much. “I’m a family person. I would have pictured myself with them, I guess. And I love Draco. I always will and this is why I will never complain to him. When he told me you were with him now, I was unbelievably happy for him. You do him justice, Hermione. You understand him – maybe even better than I ever did. And I let my guard down because I felt this was possible around you. You seemed to be the person I could trust with my exasperation. I just never mentioned it to you, which was very stupid on my part.”

Astoria now shook her head. Hermione was stunned.

“Flower girl, can you believe it?”

Astoria’s bone-dry tone drove Hermione over the edge. She started giggling. Astoria’s initial silence turned into a hearty laugh after a few moments as well and – to Hermione’s surprise and delight – Astoria let out tiny snorts.

“In all honesty though”, Hermione said when they had calmed down, holding her ribs from laughter. “I do see it. The melodrama and all.”

They kept laughing.

“Feel free to sulk”, Hermione added after a few seconds, luring a few snorts from Astoria.

Draco rolled his eyes and closed the door to his bedroom, going back to bed before Hermione realised his feet were cold when she eventually came back. He should have known these two women were a lethal combination.

*

Authors notes:

Hi again!

This one was a lot of fun to write, despite containing very little Draco. It’s been a headcanon of mine for a while that he would glorify Astoria after her death (in a universe where their marriage took place and all, that is) and that Astoria herself would feel some kind of way about it, bonding over it with Hermione. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

Also, the initial premise of this blog was once that I would also happilypublish drabbles written by other authors and that I would take prompts. Just so you know. :)

Finally: HELLO to all my new followers! This almost vacant account (revived after six years!) grew by ca. 25% after only one post last week (and this post also became the most successful one to date). Thank you all so much and what a pleasure to have you. I also have a multifandom-blog where I usually am which you can find under @ahoidraco if you’re interested. 

Until next time!

White Butterflies, pt v || Hvitserk Lothbrok x Reader

Words: 1374

Warnings: Mentions of suicide and death

Summary: Seers have a higher knowledge

 A/N: sorry this took a whileee

i | ii | iii | iv | v

This story doesn’t follow the plot, so you don’t have to know the story to understand it.

The gull soared over the sea, fighting the strong winds, the bird journeying towards the dots on the horizon. The sea, the waves, meters high, the clouds and lightning trying to dishearten the creature, but it fought on. Within minutes, the sails and shields of the longboats were clear, and battered by the storm. The sails were being pulled down to form tents, Hvitserk and his brother visible on the leading boat. Ivar swore, turning to his brother, “Your wife was right.” he roared, his voice contending with the storm, “We’re scattered, and we’ve lost ships.”

Hvitserk, swinging off a rope, leaned out of the boat, staring at the bird. His stare softened, and turned back. “You heard yourself, she had Njord’s favour,” he kept his eyes on the bird, “We will survive this storm, and we will gather our ships again.”

“Brother,” Ubbe came out from the half-formed tent, “I hope you are right. Come on.” he pulled Hvitserk back, and they retreated to the shelter of the tent.”

When your eyes opened, you could feel yourself sick with worry. You’d been sick with worry for days now, and your suspicions had been confirmed. You sat up, looking around your room, and saw that all of the candles in your room had blown out even though the wax wasn't even half melted. Uneasily, you rolled out of bed and dressed, letting Solveig braid your hair, the pair of you chatting idly. You mentioned the candles blowing out and your dream, making worry obvious across her face.

“Solveig,” you frowned, “what’s wrong?”

She looked to the floor, “Have you been to the Seer?” she questioned, and you shook your head. “My Princess, if I was in your position, I’d go to see him, he holds a wisdom beyond us.”

You nodded, and smiled at her, “Go with me?”

“Of course, as your thrall.” She confirmed.

“No, as my friend.” you assured her, “Now, we shall go after we eat, yes?”

*

The hut thinly walled, decorated with ornaments and symbols strung up, and candles arranged in the corners and sides of the room. The Seer himself sat before you, skin marred over his eyes and lips black, looking unnatural and unsettling. “I have waited for your visit for months now, Y/N Lothbrok, Christian turned to Heathen.” He had greeted you, and you had frowned, but no said anything.

“You want to ask me about your husband.” The Seer stated, and you agreed.

“Will he come back unharmed?” You asked.

“His fate lies here, and any harm to become him will be in an emotional mutiny. He would survive being dropped from the skies, but only suffer in his soul, not his body.” the Seer riddled, and you nodded. 

“Will I give him children?”

“Twice,” he sighed, “They will form a legacy in your name, and in the name of justice.”

You nodded again.

“Your mind…” he rasped, “Is plagued with questions.”

“How are my brothers?” you asked, thinking of Theo.

“Two prosper, but will fall for their fury, one dies slowly, unrealised for now, by no one’s hand but his Christian God’s.”

“He is ill?” you frowned, “Which brother, tell me which of my brothers is dying?”

“You ask too many questions.” the Seer croaked, “You thirst for knowledge the Gods wish to hide… it is futile, the Gods’ will is iron.

You felt angry, you knew he knew, and what if it was Theo? Arthur or Geoffrey, you could live with. But Theo? A tear slipped down your cheek. “Is it Theo?” you asked, your voice wavering.

The Seer looked at you, or turned its head to you, seeing without eyes, “Your instinct is strong, and trustworthy. Do not doubt it, do not doubt yourself, and do not doubt another.”

He presented his hand to you, and you glanced at Solveig, who nodded at you, miming licking her hand. You took the Seer’s hand and licked it, as she had directed you, before standing and walking out of the hut.

“Solveig.” you turned to her as she followed you out. “Can I trust you?” she nodded. “I know servants talk. But please, don’t repeat what you heard there to anyone. No servants, no visitors, and especially not the Ragnarssons upon their return. Okay?”

“Of course,” she nodded. You held your head up high, looking over her shoulder.

“If you do, I’ll know. And I would hate the consequences.” you sighed, looking back to her. “I am not betraying your King, but I don’t want things to escalate.”

She nodded, and you smiled, the pair of you heading back to the town.

*

The sun hung low in the sky, streaks of scarlet and peach painting the sky, the last lights beaming through the gaps in the trees. The yew tree stood tall over you, as you prayed. You asked for Njord to carry your husband’s longboats to your country safely, and for the raids to go well. You prayed that they would spare your younger brother, and you prayed that the fate the seer bestowed on him was not painful. 

You wondered if this fate was an illness, or self-inflicted. There was a woman at your old court, who had gone crazy, preaching that God had spoken to her in the night about her descent to Hell, and two days later had been found hanging from a rope in the stables. You’d been friends with the stable boy who found her, and he had insisted on telling you the gruesome details of her corpse. You were ten at the time and to this day didn’t know which details you believed.  And there was a boy, a young boy, only twelve or so, who had died of internal injuries after falling from his horse. Arthur had taken great delight in telling you about how he had died in great agony, screaming and crying as his insides had ripped and his body began to falter and die. It was one of the hunting trip, when you were seventeen and your mother had finally stopped you from going. 

Dinner was solemn, everyone had been dressed in black, with you and Mother wearing veils as well. The Lord’s son, who had fallen, was buried, and his family would be leaving to travel back to their own lands the following morning. You watched as people told Arthur how sorry they were after having to witness such a thing, and you saw how he played up to it, always such a good actor. He was the only one there, and he was angry at the Lord for trying to gain more lands off of Father. He was horrible, but he was always acting for the family, wanting more power, more money, more fame. Father supported it, knowing Arthur would be the driver when Geoffrey became king, so incidents like this would happen, and everyone would pretend they didn’t know it was him. You stood with Theo as your mother made a speech about the boy’s memory, and Arthur stood by her, pretending to be upset. As the court clapped, Theo nudged you, pointing at Arthur. He smirked at the pair of you, and you felt sick. “Oh, Theo,” you sighed, “Why are we cursed with him for a brother?”

He’d laughed, “Oh Y/N,” He’d sighed, mocking you, “We just all missed out on father’s talent for always wanting more power.” 

“I’m not sure I’d call it missing out.” You murmured, as you looped your arm in his, “Now we need to escape Mother, she’s determinedly walking towards us and I don’t want another lecture, I’ve already had two today.”

You thought of how you and Theo had spent the evening evading your parents and getting drunk. You missed him, and how it felt to have a brother who truly cared. You knew the Ragnarssons cared for you, but you wouldn’t let yourself be drunk like that in front of any of them, and you doubted any of them, other than Hvitserk, would be willing to look after you when you were drunk or would gossip with you about whatever drama was going on in the court. You sighed, and prayed once more, this time, for a real family.

tags: @soleil-dor​ @siliethkaijuy​

Black Cats

Before the story starts I feel the need to remind people that I am an atheist and I use Christian mythology the way I’d use Greek or Gaelic, ie, as fiction. But, if you’re Christian and you feel that this story reads like a genuine Christian fiction, then great! Mainly I just want to help to protect black cats.

***

In the Garden, there were no black cats.

Back then, before the fall, cats were brown, or grey, or white, or orange, or some combination. Like the dog, the cat had been charged with being a friend to humanity, their job to chase and eat little creeping vermin who might befoul food. Adam and Eve didn’t truly need such an animal; within the Garden, food was plentiful and grew everywhere, and when they wanted to hunt, the dog was there to help them with the chase and then with disposing of the carcass. So the dog stayed by their side, all the time, while the cat remained aloof, coming by occasionally for a pet before running off to their own hunt.

To be aloof, however, does not mean to be wholly uninterested in. There was a calico cat who loved Adam and Eve for petting her, and for being warm – for even though Eden was warm enough that Adam and Eve slept naked under the stars, everyone knows cats prefer even more warmth than that. The calico cat would lie with them when they were sleeping, her furry body warming the human she slept on and taking warmth from them, purring until she fell asleep.

Humans have free will, but God, who sits outside time and knows all, knows what they will do before they have done it. God surely knew the Fall was coming, and that humanity would need the cat.

One day the calico cat tried to catch a serpent for her meal, but failed. And because food was plentiful, the cat didn’t pursue. There were easier targets. The cat, of course, did not know that the serpent was a demon sent to tempt humanity.

After Adam and Eve ate the apple and were driven from Eden, cats and dogs went with them, among them the calico cat and her grey tabby mate. The cat did not show it, for she had her pride, but she was humiliated and ashamed at her failure.  If only she had caught that serpent, her human friends would never have been driven from Paradise.

So she called on God, who in those days was more willing to come when called upon, and said, “I must atone for my failure. God, can you give me the power to hunt demons like the one that tempted my friends?”

“Your job is to hunt the rats and mice that will plague humanity,” God replied. “Now that they have been driven from Eden, they must grow food in the field, and the small vermin I have created will eat that food and despoil it with their droppings. You must chase and devour those small creatures to keep humanity’s food safe.”

“I understand,” the calico cat said. “But I want to do more, and my mate as well. I let the serpent be because I didn’t know what it was. Give me sight to see demons, Lord, and I will hunt them and harry them away from my humans as well. And give it to my mate, so that our kittens can do the same.”

“I will do more than that,” God said, and reached down and touched the cat on her nose. The white fur on the cat darkened to black. Her orange patches remained, but grown through with black fur, they were more like autumn leaves scattered on a bed of earth than a patch of orange flowers cut and laid out on white stone.  The cat’s mate came to see what God was doing, and God transformed him as well, so instead of a grey tabby, he was now all black.

“You are my black cats,” God said. “For demons come from the caves of Hell, where very often it is dark, and they love to come out in the night. You have the power to see those demons for what they are, and you can hunt and kill them and drive them back to Hell. Any cat who is your descendant and has some of your black fur will have the power you do.”

And so for many generations, the black cats harried demons away from humanity the way that all the cats harried the mice and rats and shrews who would eat their grain, and the birds who would steal fruits from bushes on the ground. (What grows on the tops of trees is given by God to birds, as well as to humans, who have a power few animals do: the power to climb trees, and to climb back down. Sometimes, cats, arrogant with their power over the hunt, forget this and climb a tree to chase a bird.  Many of those cats must be rescued by humans. The tops of trees were never given by God to the housecat.)

But Satan saw this and was angry. How could his demons reach humanity and continue to corrupt them and lead them to Hell?

Satan had a plan. What he knew, and what humanity forgot, is that a man who dedicates his life to God is still a man, prone to all of humanity’s temptations… including that of Pride. Men of God, believing themselves without sin because of their power to absolve the sins of others, were vulnerable to the whispers of Satan in their ear, just like any other man. And being proud, arrogant men who expected all to bend to their will… they did not like cats. For a cat has never been a human’s loyal servant, like a dog; cats do the work they choose, in their own time. They help humanity because it is the task God charged them with, not because they wish to please a human master.  The dog sees his human master as God, but the cat has spoken with God, and knows the difference between God and man. Any man.

Men of overweening pride and authority do not like how the cat will not submit to them. It was the easiest thing for Satan to whisper to them, “Black cats serve the devil,” and for them to believe it, without proof. For why would a creature be coal black like a demon from Hell, and yet not be a demon from Hell?

These men were men of God, not hunters, or they would know how the hunter clothes himself in the colors of the deer in order to hunt the deer.  And they were too certain of their own wisdom to consult anyone else.

By their decree, black cats were slaughtered, and other cats as well, and Satan laughed. And then he launched his greatest offensive against humanity since he sent the serpent. He sent demons to carry diseases and put them inside the bodies of rats. Too many cats had been killed; they could neither harry the demons away, nor kill the rats. And thus one third of all the humans who had heard and believed in the word of Jesus Christ died.

Eventually the plague ended, and humanity rebuilt, but there is no way to know how many stories, how many inventions, how many works of art, how many great scientists, how many people who bring kindness to all they touch… how many of them we lost, the people who were never born because their ancestors died of plague, all because men of God too easily trust the voice of Satan, and people with faith in God too easily trust men rather than the voice of God in their own hearts.  All those souls lost, whether in the end they went to Heaven or Hell, are humanity’s loss, and a victory for Satan.

When lies are set among the people by those they trust, those lies never come to an end, no matter how often they’re proven untrue. Even today, there are people who believe they serve God, who serve the devil by harming God’s black cats, believing that the cats are evil, and not that the falsehoods they were told about the cats were.

But the cats remain loyal to the task they accepted from God. Black cats, tortoiseshells, cats with white bibs, cats with white socks… any cat with black in her fur can see demons, and chase them away from your home. All cats protect humanity from vermin, but it was the black cats who were made black by God so they can better stalk demons.