and I'm the kind of love it hurts to look at, but once I was enough to make you try
now, I'm underneath the rubble, trying not to feel the trouble.
Most of his time has been spent by the river, distracting their daughter by carving the water into familiar shapes. Birds, wolves, felines. Sometimes he would curl the water like wings against her sides and tell her about the glass sisters with galaxies that spun beneath their skin and the brother who did not belong to him but was her brother all the same.
(He never faulted Desire for the son she brought home to them. Isakov was not his son, but Thomas loved him all the same because he belonged to Desire and that had been enough.)
He had told Amathea about Pangea’s champion, how the shadow creature had won the Alliance and brought the darkness along with him. This had piqued the child’s curiosity, but he had warned her against straying too far from the edge of the water. They were water creatures, he told her, the two of them and he explained that her mother was a woman of power now and someday perhaps she would be, too.
He does not like to let the porcelain child far from his view in this terrible darkness but there is some comfort in knowing there are so many dark magicians that call Pangea home. This seems to keep the monsters mostly at bay and ease his worries enough that he lets Amathea practice her water teleportation.
He is alone when Desire finds him and he smiles, his heart sighing as he lands eyes on her. His beloved. How completely he loves her, how wonderful it is to finally have settled here with her. To have a home, someplace for their family to grow, expand. Someplace she can always find him. There is no hesitation when she presses herself against him and he receives her so readily, glad for the weight and gravity of her. He turns his head to press a firm kiss to the slight swell of her galaxy-strewn chest.
“Desire,” he murmurs into the warmth of her skin before he lifts his head, a tremor stealing down the length of his spine at the feel of her touch. Will it ever stop thrilling him? He hopes never to tire of it.
“Thinking about you,” he answers without even a glimmer of self-consciousness. He looks at her plainly, honestly, “how much pressure you must be under. Hoping that you’d tell me if there was anything I could do to help.”
He reaches out to nudge her gently, distracted only slightly by the thrill of the pregnant swell of her barrel pressed against his. “Would you?” he asks gently.
THOMAS
— and you don't care for me enough to cry —
@[Desire]
@[The Monsters] please mess with his immortality!!