In the changeling au, what does “keeping” mean? I know there’s the whole thing about faeries tricking people into “giving” them their names, but what actually happens in this au? Like what would the actual consequences be in a practical sense?
(And I assume nothing happens if Adrien just learns the names through other means bc they have to “give” it to him?)
it means that people who's names he has are susceptible to his illusions and persuasions, even if neither party knows it
they can't perceive what he doesn't want them to, and they're more likely to agree with what he asks, even if its wildly out of character for them. he doesn't know he has this power, he just thinks his friends are really nice to him
and yeah, if he learns someone's name secondhand, it doesn't count. it has to be a direct interaction, and it has to be comprehensible
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“i could fix him”, “i could make him worse”. yeah, well,
I could meet him at the genesis of the universe, where the spaces between matter first gain sentience, and spark and spit their way into being—where the cradle of stars first take on a definitive kind of gravity and heat. I could be the engineer of creation.
I could ask a question.
I could stand across from him on a battlefield, trembling and reeking of ichor. I could hit the ground retching, all the bones in my body turning brackish and oil-slicked. I could lurch my way into a new world, a recalibration of reality in which I only know kindness as a set of snapping jaws, as a thing to flinch away from.
I could meet him in the garden, then, when the air's all hyacinth and dripping gold. And I could ache. Oh, how I could ache.
I could follow him through every wretched moment of history. I could trail after him like a hollow-eyed dog. I could hide my irises, could hide the brutal bloodiness of an all-too-human heart. I could hold the gun as I pretend not to pray, as I taste bile and will my hands to steadiness. I could trust him. And I could ache.
I could bite my tongue, cypher the words in my mouth, gnash them between jagged teeth. I could swallow my heart. I could go slower.
I could meet him at the end of the world, when hope claws its way up my throat, hungry and keening like a treacherous thing.
I could kiss him with six thousand years of want lodged and breaking in the mausoleum of my chest. I could hand him the blade; I could let him twist the knife.
I could be forgiven.
And still I could ache.
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My brain does weird things. Anyways, I think Love would steal Liebling’s seed (assuming she didn’t throw it out) and plant it for her. That just seems like a very Love thing to do.
This is really dubiously canon... Love had sticky fingers and her luck finally runs out, or does it?
You stare at the sprout pushing its way out of the dirt in your little terracotta pot. You spritz it with water, and watch the leaves curl happily. Like fingers.
"Hey Si?" You call over your shoulder. You've made some... well you hesitate to call them bad, but questionable decisions in your life. Usually your luck carries you through, but you think it may be running out on this particular gamble.
Simon hums from the couch, half listening as he sketches the monarch wing you'd found into your journal. You don't know if this is really worth his attention. You don't really know what it is. You sort of... stole it.
"Is it stealing if it was technically trash?" You ask, without really thinking. Simon's sketching stops, and he turns to look over the back of the couch.
"What did you steal?"
"Weird seed the bestie didn't want." You poke one of the leaves, letting it wrap around your finger. That gets Simon's attention. He's quick to get off the couch and over to you, pulling your finger out of the plant's grip.
"Christ Love, is that what you've been nursing all week?" Simon looks over your hand with concern, you nod until he kisses your palm giving it the all clear.
"What is it?" You poke Simon's cheek to get your hand back. He lets you go to pick up the pot and inspect the new growth.
"No clue," he tells you, "did, uh- shit-"
"Lieb."
"Works well enough," Simon pokes at the plant, watching the leaves move, "Did she tell you want it was?" You shake your head. He pinches a leaf between his fingers, inspecting it. "Doesn't look dangerous."
"Then I'll keep watering it." Simon shakes his head but settled the pot back on the windowsill.
"We'll keep an eye on it."
"We?" Simon flashes you half a smile, you return it in full force, "I love when we do stupid stuff together."
-
You don't know how long it's supposed to take flowers to grow, or even how they're supposed to grow, but it feels like this is going really weird.
You stare at the giant flower bud that's blossomed in your little terracotta pot. It sort of reminds you of a cabbage. It feels like a rose when you pet it, the petals under your fingers silky and soft. You don't know quite what to do with it. Simon sets a cup of tea next to your head where you're resting it against the windowsill.
"Looking good Love," You hum at the kiss he presses against the top of your head, "How's the cabbage?"
"She's fine, still overgrown and weird." You sit up, grabbing your mug and letting Simon take over the daily plant inspection.
"Doesn't look deadly yet."
"Yet."
"Yet," he agrees. You both sip your morning cup and stare at your poor decision making skills.
"You haven't put any magic in it to make it big." You confirm for the thousandth time.
"Not a drop, gardener must've dreamt this up." He reminds you, also for the thousandth time.
"Maybe we can enter it in a gardening fair or-"
Simon yanks you away from the bud as the petals quiver and bloom. You're very quickly put behind your very tense partner, forced to look around him at whatever is going on. You've never seen a flower open up that fast, but you think gravity must be doing the lions share of work. The actual rose is huge, far bigger than the bud would've suggested, and heavy enough to finally break the little pot it had been growing in.
Simon is faster than you, grabbing the flower as it's weight causes it to tumble off the windowsill. You tense, your breath caught as you wait for him to do anything, move any muscle.
"What? What is it?" You whisper after too long a moment without a breath.
"I don't-" He mumbles, catching the end of his sentence behind his teeth so he can curse, "Shit."
You peak over his shoulder, hoping you won't see your weird plant smashed to bits. Instead you stare down at a baby. The smallest thing you've ever seen cradled gently in Simon's arms, blinking big brown eyes and white lashes up at both of you. Your heart swells.
"Holy shit," you breath, watching it yawn and wiggle in its rose petal wrap. It's perfect little nose scrunches with the motion and you need a second to adjust to how cute that is. "Did we do that?" You press closer against Simon's back, and reach to stroke your fingers over the downy hair on the baby's head, "I mean she's got your eyes, it's gotta be-"
"I don't know," Simon mumbles.
"Well what are we supposed to-"
"I don't know!" He snaps, and you finally look at him. At the absolutely confusion and concern dripping from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. You've never seen him cry before, well not like this at least.
"Give her to me," You tell him, sitting back and holding your arms out, he looks unsure. "Please Simon," you soften the ask, pulling a tether so he knows you're sure. He's so careful, if a little clumsy. You have to adjust his hold as he's passing the infant to you and it seems like he's watching the way you shift her in your arms for his own reference later. You hold the baby close against your chest, feeling that strange comfortable purr rise in your throat as she blinks her big eyes closed.
"What the fuck do we do?" Simon whisper yells at you.
"Call Soap right the fuck now and text Lieb that I'm gonna fucking kill her," you coo at the dozing baby in your arms. Simon nod and scrambles to find both your phones.
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