Andy the Lightning Mage
Back in February, when I was still trying to keep my head down and "just act normal" every time Andy and I interacted, convinced that my crush on him was absolutely one-sided, I posted some art of my OC Sören as a Fire mage. Andy dropped into the comments with, “What you need is a hot blond lightning mage.”
By then I had already seen and favorited a pile of his art of his alter ego Dark Passion—who, surprise surprise, wields lightning. By then I knew perfectly well Andy was blond, and, well, hot (I was quietly visiting one particular photo of him on the regular, as if it were some sacred icon of my daily crush devotion). But even with all that stacked up, it didn’t occur to me that he might be aiming that lightning bolt of a comment right at me, along with other flirting that kept going over my autistic head until days later when, as he put it, he practically had to skullfuck me to get me to realize he was into me.
And it still wasn’t until months later--months—that I finally put it together that the “hot blond lightning mage” comment had been him throwing out a flirt I completely missed in real time. I have a 190 IQ, and I'm still an oblivious dumbass about things like this 😂
And it still wasn’t until months later--months—that I finally put it together that the “hot blond lightning mage” comment had been him throwing out a flirt I completely missed in real time. I have a 190 IQ, and I'm still an oblivious dumbass about things like this 😂
And so, the “hot blond lightning mage” joke stuck. It became a shorthand, a kind of title, and eventually a whole metaphor for how I see him.
They call him the Lightning Lord, and he leans into the title. Stormlight clings to him like a second robe, violet sparks licking at his fingertips. When he raises his hand, the sky answers, crackling and alive. He can look like judgment walking, the kind of force that makes even the oldest trees stand straighter and the bravest fool reconsider their next step. You don’t cross him. You don’t threaten what’s his. To see him with the storm burning in his eyes is to understand power.
And yet.
The same hands that summon lightning also linger to stroke the sleek fur of his familiar, Midnight, as though the little cat were the most precious relic in the world. The same voice that can boom like thunder softens to a near-whisper when he coaxes a shy creature out from the underbrush. He is a man who will split the sky open if he has to, but who also stoops to scatter grain for deer, to mend a broken branch, to hum quietly to bats circling overhead. His lightning is wrath when it needs to be—but it is also light, warmth, and healing.
The paradox is what makes him so dangerous and so beloved. He looks every bit the warlord, yet he is, in truth, a guardian. He is shelter against the storm he embodies. The forest knows him both as terror and as tenderness, the one who clears out rot and keeps the paths safe. And those who know him best know that beneath the fearsome aura is a total sap, the kind of man who dotes shamelessly on his creatures, who will fight like a god for those he loves and then turn around and nuzzle a cat like it’s the only thing that matters.
That’s the real magic of the Lightning Lord: not just the thunder in his veins, but the way he chooses to wield it—with ferocity when needed, but always with devotion at the core.
You arrived in sparks,
a voice like thunder rolling low,
fingers trailing violet fire through the dark.
I should have feared you--
instead, my heart leaned toward the storm.
I call you my storm-keeper,
my force to be reckoned with,
my laughing rival,
my gentle undoing.
Even silence between us hums with current.
When you hold me,
I am heat answering light,
our elements inseparable, burning as one.
So take me into your tempest,
my lightning lord, my love.
Strike and I will blaze;
I blaze and you will strike.
Together, we make the night glow.
a voice like thunder rolling low,
fingers trailing violet fire through the dark.
I should have feared you--
instead, my heart leaned toward the storm.
I call you my storm-keeper,
my force to be reckoned with,
my laughing rival,
my gentle undoing.
Even silence between us hums with current.
When you hold me,
I am heat answering light,
our elements inseparable, burning as one.
So take me into your tempest,
my lightning lord, my love.
Strike and I will blaze;
I blaze and you will strike.
Together, we make the night glow.
