#Grammar is not a thing I know

[graysanatimony]

I swear to god these guys will just not give us a date for the release of šta bih ja and then just put it up without anything to say it’s out either like in the afternoon or middle of the night some random Thursday or something

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[potatosaresweet]

Feng Xin and Mu Qing

feng xin and mu qing who spent their teenage years together, in constant proximity, because they were both close to someone else

feng xin and mu qing watching their nation collapse, their home ruined, their kingdom dissapear

feng xin and mu qing losing their friend, first losing him emotionally by not being able to understand what's going on and then literally losing him as he vanished for 800 years

feng xin and mu qing both ascending to godhood, constantly seeing each other as they co-ruled(?) the same area

feng xin who never wanted to become a god, who didn't know what he was if he isn't a bodyguard to the royal family, who was abandoned by the woman he loved, never forgiving himself for leaving and losing xie lian

mu qing who always wanted to ascend, who knew he had the potential to but was constantly overshadowed and wanted to desperately to prove he was not a servant to be discarded, who still never forgave himself for leaving when his friends needed him. for coming back too late

and so they take it out on each other. 800 years of pent up frustration, guilt and misery and they take it out on each other because really, who else can they take it out on? who else knows xie lian? who else rememberes xianle and its' days of glory?

yes, they're constantly at each others throats. yes, they dislike each other.

no, they don't hate each other. how can they? they're all each other has and it's been that way for 800 years

can you really hate someone when he's the only contsant thing in your long immortal life as the world shifts around you? happy and unpleasant memories, they're the only ones who know. the only ones who remember

is this anything

[princessofwhiteshadows]

[lemongogo]

they should get to kill each other at least twice .i think

[traumawhomst]

The Songbird

Yandere Adoptive Fae King Dad & Child Reader

Part One

King Solaris was in a foul mood, today marked three years since his youngest daughter left to go study with the Northern Sea Witch and he missed her terribly. While three years is not much long to a fae, for a father it seemed an eternity. His court was as it always was, laughter and screams, dancing and bleeding, the same faces, the same smells and he was bored of it all.

“Father,” said his eldest son, watching his father’s tail lash back and forth as he sat on his throne, “might I suggest that you might go for a walk? How long has it been since you’ve been in the crossroads? Surely better to patrol them then stay to stew in your restlessness?”

The King sighed heavily, his flame orange cape draped over the left side of the throne. “Your sister hasn’t written yet,” he said, eyes still on the writhing mass of his court in front of him. His hand moved from propping up his chin to covering his heart, “I should go and see her.”

“Father,” said the eldest son, struggling not to implore the sky herself, “She has not missed a single day of letters, we both know that it will come. Stop sitting like a house cat and find something to take your mind off it until it comes.”

The King sighed even more loudly because he knew his son was right, with a flick of his wrist his cape turned into an emerald green hunter’s jacket standing up. He turned to face his son, seeing the crowd in the reflection of his eyes. His son was taller than him now and it brought a great pride to him. “I leave you to watch til I return my son,” he said with a slight head bow.

His son fully bowed his head, laurel green curls falling past sharp black horns, his hand over his heart, “Thank you for the honor father,” he said.

Solaris couldn’t stop a soft smile thinking of the same boy he brought home all those years ago. He reached out ruffling his sons hair, laughing at the slightly annoyed look his son gave as he stood up height again.

“See you soon father,” said Callan, a touch more dry than before. The King laughed again, turning and completely disappearing from the court.

It had been a while since he’d been in the cross-lands where human and fae territory overlapped. The human area changed from time to time, no one knew where the crossroads would be, and when that would change. When he reached the other side, he found it to be in he same place it had been about fifty years, he counted the years in a tree nearby. It was an early summer day where all the birds and insects were singing together but they knew well enough that the King was not in a fair mood and so went silent in respect.

The King stalked forward hands in his pockets as his mind wandered over the state of the forest, feeling how much closer the humans had settled nearby. He could smell them, even this far away and it irked him more with each passing second. It was odd for the boarder to stay for so long, usually half the time it had been here. He hadn’t cursed a town in quite a while. It might be a good way to bring back respect the humans seemed prone to do.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of a thin reedy but full hearted singing. He clicked his tongue out loud, listening closer to realize it was a human whelp that was singing.

A child should know better than to be loud when the forest is silent. Where is it’s guardian to keep it safe? Or do the humans think we so weak to not show our teeth?

It was an easy task, show himself and play with them a bit, see if they were smarter than their parents. Maybe he’d turn them to a songbird since they seemed to love their voice. A lesson to neglectful parents about teaching your child to walk around the forest alone, as if they owned it.

He did admit that the child did have a rather sweet voice, and he had thoughts of shaping them something into more than just a simple songbird, maybe one that could also speak and mimic. Something he could put in a glass birdcage and listen to when he was bored.

The child was bent over in the dirt, singing some old folk song, hair loosely back dirty and sweaty. Who knows when they last had a bath, the King scoffed internally. Their clothes not much better much too big, covered in a thick layer of dirt. It all only strengthened his resolve to turn them to a songbird they would be treated much better than they were currently.

He stepped into the forest clearing, the air around them both growing thick and wild, a smell of hot summer grass hung like a cloud. The King watched motionless with a smile as the hunched figure froze in place, smart child to know when they were outmatched, no grand heroics or disrespect. The child lifted their face, and the King was oddly pleased, it was cleaner than their hair and he could that the child had spent most of their life facing towards the sun. Their eyes looked the same as a fawn caught in the sight line of a wolf, but their mouth was turned into a hesitant smile.

The King cocked his head to the side at the child’s smile, before he could say a word the child spoke.

“Hello,” they said, their voice soft with a slight tremor but a distinct note of hope, “what’s your name?”

With those simple four words, the Solaris knew that this was to be his third child. A neglected songbird, but with a quick wit and curiosity that spoke of greater things than their tiny village. He wanted to scoop them up, and tell of all the great things they would see and do. But this was not his first time bringing a child of his own. So he smiled as he knelt to be closer to the eye-line. of the child.

“You, songbird, may call me, Solaris, may I know what you to call you songbird?”

When the child’s face brightened, any hesitation was gone, this child was his and he couldn’t wait to bring them home.

[sehrgefaelltmir]

an draoi gramadaí my most beloved <333

[its-your-mind]

HEY. HEY.

HEY @re-dracula WHAT GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO HAVE JONATHAN ACTUALLY READING THAT PASSAGE OUT LOUD BEHIND SEWARD DESCRIBING THE SCENE, HUH? WITH THE TEARS IN HIS VOICE AND THE PAUSING AND THE SHORT LITTLE INHALES AND THE VOICE CRACKS? WAS IT TRULY NECESSARY??? I WAS ALREADY CRYING. I DIDN'T NEED THIS TOO. WHAT THE FUCK.

[ittybittyremy]

imagine how dorian felt during that whole kerfuffle

Two days ago, his brother died and the Crown Keepers separated, all because of the Spider Queen.

A couple of hours ago, he and Orym reminisced about how Orym put a blade to his chest and told him not to put the crown on his head. Something that Dorian is clearly grateful for now. ("Otherwise, I wouldn't be here right now")

Now, he woke up to two of his friends fighting. Then, Laudna claims that the blade on Orym's back will corrupt him "just like it corrupted Otohan." He's still catching up on everything, but he knows that's the name of the person who killed Orym's husband and father. To put it simply, he just heard that Orym may become corrupt like his family's killer was because of a sword.

And here's the thing: He's seen a real cursed item before. He's felt the lure of one and has seen/experienced the consequences of holding onto one. His brother's death was one of those consequences 2 days ago! And now there's apparently another cursed item that's on his "very good friend's" back. The same "very good friend" who he just talked about the crown with. The same "very good friend" who put a blade to his chest so long ago.

Then later, it turns out that the item Laudna was so insistent on being cursed (to the point of injuring another party member [be it unintentional]) is actually not cursed.

Now he's listening to Laudna talk about how she wants to take the blade in energy while belittling Orym for taking it in hand. (Yes, I am aware that this is very simplified)

After all this, Dorian finally gives his opinion.

I think [Orym] should keep it. It's just a thing. I'm so tired of things having control over us. You two are friends. It was his to possess and you tried to steal it from him... It is just a thing. Its history doesn't shape us. Our actions do. [Laudna's] actions tell me that [she did] not have enough trust in [her] friends... What would it have mattered if [Otohon] cut him down with a handaxe or a stick from the street? It was not the thing that did the action. It was the person. It does not matter.

I believe that there are two routes to Dorian's mindset

Gilmore's Wisdom: When the Crown Keepers discuss the circlet with Gilmore, he says something very interesting. "The Spider Queen herself is dark, is evil, but the vestige is simply power, and it is whatever you make it into. Power simply is." (E1x03).

Orym's Threat: Orym confronted him when he saw that he could hold the circlet without issue. He put a sword to his chest and told him to put it down. Dorian did so, saying, "I care about you more than this" (E1x05).

Dorian's point is a combination of those two things. To put it simply, Dorian's point was that friends are more important than objects because objects are just things.

And before I see anyone else blabbering about how Dorian is a hypocrite because of how Cyrus died, Opal didn't kill him, and neither did the circlet itself. It was the Spider Queen that killed him.

During all this, he discovered that Orym, Fearne, Laudna, and Chetney had died due to the blade. He also discovered that Orym made a deal with Fearne's grandmother "to help [them] do the things that [they] have to do. Hopefully in the next episode, Dorian is able to fully process all that information

Side Note: In between those words, Dorian admits that he doesn't fully understand the situation ("You do not know what you speak." "I do not"). Apparently, this is a hot take, but I think that him being the outsider of the situation made him the most clear-headed of the group. He wasn't hurt by Ottahan like the rest of Bells Hells had been. So, he has the least biased view of the bunch (still biased but not as biased as the others).

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk!

[atopvisenyashill]

Bran The Time Traveling Toddler

Yes that IS a reference to the Tyrion the time traveling fetus theory. The thing about MY insane theories is that they actually make sense and I’m right. Follow me please down the worm hole!!

There’s very clearly Someone Influencing things when it comes to the Starklings and even the overreaching plot in general - there’s enough weird magic surrounding them, whispering in the wind, that it’s a no brainer they’re being watched over. The question is WHO and WHEN. For me, personally, I think it’s Bran, and I think it’s an older Bran from the future (whether it be Bran In TWOW and ADOS or Bran post canon) trying to lead his siblings to safety.

Now, like my Harrenhal meta, I don’t think I’m saying anything new so much as compiling what people have said scattered across the interwebs. There’s a lot of theories about whether Bran can time travel, time travel in general in the series, how george has dealt with time travel before, and about the three eyed crow’s identity and I agree with bits and pieces of what other people have said - preston jacobs is a more famous example of this theory for example. But I don't want to get caught up on things like time travel paradoxes because, like, i don’t care about that, and george has talked about how time travel is more fantasy than scifi bc it’s just not really scientifically possible. do you know what that means? it means there’s no weird physical paradoxes because it’s ✨magic✨ and Bran isn't literally going through space and time. It's as Jojen says-

With two eyes you see my face. With three you could see my heart. With two you can see that oak tree there. With three you could see the acorn the oak grew from and the stump that it will one day become. With two you see no farther than your walls. With three you would gaze south to the Summer Sea and north beyond the Wall

Through his greenseeing abilities, Bran can see the whole of a lifespan, from conception to burial, and can pop out at any point in that lifespan, because a span of 100, 1000, or 1,000,000 years is all the same to the weirwood. So I don't think it's in the realm of Crazy Ass Theories to say that Bran is capable of a more magic based form of time travel. That he can whisper in people's dreams, on the wind, taking on the voice of the old gods themselves and doing his best to nudge things the way he needs them to be in order to keep the people he loves safe.

I also don't think Bloodraven is Three Eyed Crow (though I do think he also uses this metaphor of "flying" wrt magic, and that's why Euron also has a comment about flying in his dreams - I just don't believe that metaphor originates with Brynden himself. Rather, I think he picked it up from somewhere else), but instead, it's Bran, using the weirwood network to get all the pieces on the board he needs where he needs them to be for the endgame. Notice that Brynden doesn't seem to know what Bran is talking about when he mentions the Three Eyed Crow-

"Are you the three-eyed crow?" Bran heard himself say. A three-eyed crow should have three eyes. He has only one, and that one red. Bran could feel the eye staring at him, shining like a pool of blood in the torchlight. Where his other eye should have been, a thin white root grew from an empty socket, down his cheek, and into his neck. "A … crow?" The pale lord's voice was dry. His lips moved slowly, as if they had forgotten how to form words. "Once, aye. Black of garb and black of blood." 

Brynden mentions the watch, but doesn't mention the three eyed crow. Everyone simply refers to Brynden as the greenseer, not the three eyed crow, except for Bran himself, who simply assumes Brynden is the three eyed crow (and we know magical assumptions in this series are generally wrong!).

What’s double interesting to me about this “bloodraven is the three eyed crow” assumption is brynden himself makes his “a thousand eyes and one” comment - but doesn’t mention a third eye. Meanwhile, Bran’s narrative is obviously filled with bird references and the opening of his third eye from Bran feeding the crows on the towers before he falls then longing to go back to the crows afterwards, of a crow sending Jojen to “the winged wolf,” of his dreams of living as a bird in maester luwin’s rookery with his siblings - Jon Snow even compares him to a bird in their final scene face to face when he thinks bran has “fingers like the bones of birds.”

And notable that though both Rickon and Bran have a greendream where they talk to Ned in the crypts of Winterfell just before Ned is executed, Rickon makes no mention of a three eyed crow, but Bran explicitly sees him-

The mention of dreams reminded him. "I dreamed about the crow again last night. The one with three eyes. He flew into my bedchamber and told me to come with him, so I did. We went down to the crypts. Father was there, and we talked. He was sad."

"Shaggy," a small voice called. When Bran looked up, his little brother was standing in the mouth of Father's tomb. With one final snap at Summer's face, Shaggydog broke off and bounded to Rickon's side. "You let my father be," Rickon warned Luwin. "You let him be." "Rickon," Bran said softly. "Father's not here." "Yes he is. I saw him." Tears glistened on Rickon's face. "I saw him last night."

What that says to me is that the Three Eyed Crow has the ability to speak directly to only Bran and can only otherwise appear in a more ephemeral way to others. With the established rules about not being able to communicate properly with the past, I think this makes sense - being able to use the weirwood hivemind/greenseeing powers to appear in a different form to yourself but unable to appear in a concrete form to anyone else.

I think it's even likely we'll see Bran doing some of this nudging and whispering on page in ADOS or maybe as early as TWOW, but it won't be the exact same sort of "Bran can literally reach out and touch someone in a weirwood dream" that they had in the show with the later scenes. It'll be more like that very first scene in the show where we see Bran influence the past slightly - you know, when he calls out "father!" and young Ned turns around, having heard a voice on the wind-

And there's a direct parallel to ADWD here, where Bran is certain Ned heard him speaking in the godswood but Brynden says it's not possible (not possible for Brynden perhaps!)-

Lord Eddard Stark sat upon a rock beside the deep black pool in the godswood, the pale roots of the heart tree twisting around him like an old man's gnarled arms. The greatsword Ice lay across Lord Eddard's lap, and he was cleaning the blade with an oilcloth. "Winterfell," Bran whispered. His father looked up. "Who's there?" he asked, turning … … and Bran, frightened, pulled away. His father and the black pool and the godswood faded and were gone and he was back in the cavern, the pale thick roots of his weirwood throne cradling his limbs as a mother does a child.

It's not quite time travel. It's like the acorn and stump metaphor - Bran can't appear in his physical body in the past but he can make a bit of noise, perhaps even be mistaken for one of the old gods.

As TWOW and ADOS go on, I think we'll see Bran's powers grow (likely in ways that frighten him and horrify the reader), and we'll see the very beginnings of him influencing the plot that happens during the previous books, showing up in scenes we've already experienced, similar to the Ned scene above. I think this because, well...he's already done it!

Now, as for What Time Traveling Bran Has Already Done - it’s tricky because we have a LOT of magic users waking and shaking. I’m not including every single instance of weird whispering or funny birds here, just the moments I think are more likely to be Bran than anyone else because I think Bran mostly deals with his siblings. I imagine they're easiest to reach out to magically because they already have the ability to access magic, and they're also the people he cares most about. The most obvious to me is in A Clash of Kings, when Jon hears a voice on the wind, very similar to the young Ned scene in the show-

Jon VII in A Clash of Kings

The call came from behind him, softer than a whisper, but strong too. Can a shout be silent? He turned his head, searching for his brother, for a glimpse of a lean grey shape moving beneath the trees, but there was nothing, only … A weirwood. It seemed to sprout from solid rock, its pale roots twisting up from a myriad of fissures and hairline cracks. The tree was slender compared to other weirwoods he had seen, no more than a sapling, yet it was growing as he watched, its limbs thickening as they reached for the sky. Wary, he circled the smooth white trunk until he came to the face. Red eyes looked at him. Fierce eyes they were, yet glad to see him. The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?

Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow. He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.

Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him.

This moment was when I really started paying attention to Weird Shit Bran Might Be Doing because of that line "not before the crow." Now, we know Bran mentions talking with Jon later on, in the very last chapter of the book, here-

 He could reach Summer whenever he wanted, and once he had even touched Ghost and talked to Jon. Though maybe he had only dreamed that.

But I think it's both Bran in the present and Bran in ADOS speaking here - brothers reaching out to each other in their fear, and future Bran piggybacking off that connection to send a warning (this is back in Jon VII, during the shared Jon-Bran dream as before)-

Then he realized he was looking at a river of ice several thousand feet high. Under that glittering cold cliff was a great lake, its deep cobalt waters reflecting the snowcapped peaks that ringed it. There were men down in the valley, he saw now; many men, thousands, a huge host. Some were tearing great holes in the half-frozen ground, while others trained for war...This is no army, no more than it is a town. This is a whole people come together.

Bran warns Jon of the wildling army headed their way because he needs the Night’s Watch to stop fighting the wildlings, get them safely out of the True North (so they can’t be reanimated as wights), and focus on the Long Night. When you read the passage, it seems as if Bran is trying to awaken Jon’s third eye - something present baby Bran isn’t concerned with, because he barely understands his own third eye awakening. But a Bran in ADOS or beyond would know exactly what to say and do to get Jon and himself to wake up! Not just because of the paradox, but because of his connection to his brother and his vast understanding of his own magic. Similar to the idea that “who would know how to motivate Bran better than Bran himself” who would know how to motivate Jon better than one of his beloved siblings?

Arya X in A Clash of Kings

In the godswood she found her broomstick sword where she had left it, and carried it to the heart tree. There she knelt. Red leaves rustled. Red eyes peered inside her. The eyes of the gods. "Tell me what to do, you gods," she prayed.

For a long moment there was no sound but the wind and the water and the creak of leaf and limb. And then, far far off, beyond the godswood and the haunted towers and the immense stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere out in the world, came the long lonely howl of a wolf. Gooseprickles rose on Arya's skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father's voice. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," he said.

“But there is no pack," she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. "I'm not even me now, I'm Nan."

"You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you."

"The wolf blood." Arya remembered now. "I'll be as strong as Robb. I said I would." She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth.

Once again, we have a voice - it seemed as if it was her father's voice - telling a Starkling to do something specific, reminding that Starkling of their ties to Winterfell, the north, and home. The voice she hears, speaking her true name, is the kick in the pants Arya needs to grab Gendry and Hot Pie and get out of Harrenhal. There's something interesting, engaging, heartbreaking, that when Arya is at one of her lowest points, lamenting the loss of her pack, and out comes the voice of one of her pack urging her to keep faith, and helping to inspire one of her best moments - I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth. Again, we have a voice trying to get the Starklings to wake up and face their reality!

Sansa in A Storm of Swords

That night Sansa scarcely slept at all, but tossed and turned just as she had aboard the Merling King. She dreamt of Joffrey dying, but as he clawed at his throat and the blood ran down across his fingers she saw with horror that it was her brother Robb. And she dreamed of her wedding night too, of Tyrion's eyes devouring her as she undressed. Only then he was bigger than Tyrion had any right to be, and when he climbed into the bed his face was scarred only on one side. "I'll have a song from you," he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. "I wish that you were Lady," she said.

To be clear I think there’s a large change this is nothing. BUT. Considering Bran seems to be reaching out to his siblings, I like the idea that Bran, and magic in general, is trying to talk to Sansa but she can’t quite hear it. Winterfell and it’s magic and it’s family is calling it’s daughter home, even torn from her magical guide as she is, still trying to reach out through her dreams and through the animals around her. I’m desperately hoping that at some point in Sansa’s early TWOW chapters, we’ll start to see birds acting and speaking funny around her as Bran tries harder to reach his lost sister.

Theon Greyjoy in A Dance With Dragons

BUT. I don't think it's just the Starklings that get these messages from Bran - it's everyone he cares about, everyone he loves or will love. One of the other more obvious examples of this is Theon Greyjoy, himself clearly capable of some degree of magic, just like the Starklings-

The night was windless, the snow drifting straight down out of a cold black sky, yet the leaves of the heart tree were rustling his name. “Theon,” they seemed to whisper, “Theon.” The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. “Please.” He fell to his knees. “A sword, that’s all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek.” Tears trickled down his cheeks, impossibly warm. “I was ironborn. A son … a son of Pyke, of the islands.” A leaf drifted down from above, brushed his brow, and landed in the pool. It floated on the water, red, five-fingered, like a bloody hand. “… Bran,” the tree murmured. They know. The gods know. They saw what I did. And for one strange moment it seemed as if it were Bran’s face carved into the pale trunk of the weirwood, staring down at him with eyes red and wise and sad. Bran’s ghost, he thought, but that was madness. Why should Bran want to haunt him? He had been fond of the boy, had never done him any harm. It was not Bran we killed. It was not Rickon. They were only miller’s sons, from the mill by the Acorn Water.

“he had been fond of the boy” please allow me this moment to contemplate killing myself thanks.

okay back on track but this is very self explanatory - we know Theon has some sort of capacity for magic because he had a vision of the Red Wedding in ACOK and unlike Jaime who just fell asleep on a weirweed tree, Theon was just up in bed. We see it again here, where Theon can hear a voice on the wind and then seems to see Bran’s own face in the face of the weirwood tree. Once again, the voice on the wind is trying to help a loved one of Bran’s find their way back to themselves, back to home. And Theon, for all the harm he has done, is still so so loved by Bran, and loves Bran in return.

Samwell Tarly III in A Storm of Swords

Sam made a whimpery sound. “It’s not fair …” “Fair.” The raven landed on his shoulder. “Fair, far, fear.” It flapped its wings, and screamed along with Gilly. The wights were almost on her. He heard the dark red leaves of the weirwood rustling, whispering to one another in a tongue he did not know. The starlight itself seemed to stir, and all around them the trees groaned and creaked. Sam Tarly turned the color of curdled milk, and his eyes went wide as plates. Ravens! They were in the weirwood, hundreds of them, thousands, perched on the bone-white branches, peering between the leaves. He saw their beaks open as they screamed, saw them spread their black wings. Shrieking, flapping, they descended on the wights in angry clouds. They swarmed round Chett’s face and pecked at his blue eyes, they covered the Sisterman like flies, they plucked gobbets from inside Hake’s shattered head. There were so many that when Sam looked up, he could not see the moon. “Go,” said the bird on his shoulder. “Go, go, go.”

Whoever this is - it's Bran!!!! - helps to save Sam and Gilly's lives, actively tells them to run for it, and just a little bit later, Sam is around to help save Bran in turn. I think there's also something to be said for the brotherhood connection here. They refer to each other as brothers in the book because of their connection to Jon; that connection to Jon, and therefore each other, means a lot to both Sam and Bran. There's a practical reason for saving Sam here in that he can help Bran in the "present" timeline, will likely help in the future, but more than that there's an emotional bond here and it seems to me that magic runs off emotions just as assuredly as it runs off of other important stuff like blood and and sacrifice and weirwoods.

Jon Snow XII in A Storm of Swords

With a raucous scream and a clap of wings, a huge raven burst out of the kettle. It flapped upward, seeking the rafters perhaps, or a window to make its escape, but there were no rafters in the vault, nor windows either. The raven was trapped. Cawing loudly, it circled the hall, once, twice, three times. And Jon heard Samwell Tarly shout, “I know that bird! That’s Lord Mormont’s raven!” The raven landed on the table nearest Jon. “Snow,” it cawed. It was an old bird, dirty and bedraggled. “Snow,” it said again, “Snow, snow, snow.” It walked to the end of the table, spread its wings again, and flew to Jon’s shoulder. Lord Janos Slynt sat down so heavily he made a thump, but Ser Alliser filled the vault with mocking laughter. “Ser Piggy thinks we’re all fools, brothers,” he said. “He’s taught the bird this little trick. They all say snow, go up to the rookery and hear for yourselves. Mormont’s bird had more words than that.” The raven cocked its head and looked at Jon. “Corn?” it said hopefully. When it got neither corn nor answer, it quorked and muttered, “Kettle? Kettle? Kettle?” The rest was arrowheads, a torrent of arrowheads, a flood of arrowheads, arrowheads enough to drown the last few stones and shells, and all the copper pennies too.

The Night's Watch seem to take this as some sort of divine sign, and Jon's friends take it as an excellent ploy from Samwell Tarly. But when Pyp confronts Sam over it a page later, Sam completely denies it -

“I had nothing to do with the bird,” Sam insisted. “When it flew out of the kettle I almost wet myself.”

Everyone has their theories about people warging Mormont's crow of course. I think what's interesting to me here is that Jon is really wrestling with the idea of leaving the Watch for Winterfell, in which case Janos Slynt was likely to take over command. Someone like Slynt being in charge when the Long Night is coming is a bad idea, and here, Mormont's bird directly contributes to Jon staying where he needs to be - watching over the wildlings and making sure they aren't turning into Wights.

(And this is getting into my other theories here, but IF Sansa as the Girl In Grey is true, I think this is a neat sort of timeline fixing - almost as if Bran is saying “no, not yet, the pieces aren’t aligned, Jon can’t leave yet, Brienne isn’t at the Vale to get Sansa, I haven’t trained enough, Jon still keeps slapping his hands over his third eye so he can’t see, I need to give myself more time here.”)

Bran II in A Game of Thrones

But...it's not just his family and friends that I think Bran is trying to help here, and of course, if he IS the Three-Eyed Crow, he isn’t YET. What I think is going to be a big climactic part of Bran's story is self sacrifice, giving up some of his own power, his own happiness, to save others. Yes, part of this is my absolute refusal to accept Borg Hivemind Fantasy Police State King Bran in that he will say NO to the hivemind, but I think there's something magical here as well!

I think in order to access great power you need to be willing to put your own body on the line.

Jojen mentions having gotten sick with "greywater fever" shortly before his greendreams started

Dany experiences a miscarriage then literally walks into fire in order to hatch her dragons

both Beric and Catelyn have to quite literally be gruesomely murdered in order for Thoros' fire magic to work to bring them back to life

Melisandre has to physically give birth in order for her shadow assassination to work

on and on it goes. In order to be capable of great power, you can’t just have a willingness to throw someone ELSE onto the pyre but yourself as well. But Bran is pushed out of the window instead of willingly jumping. Or...

The wolfling was smarter than any of the hounds in his father’s kennel and Bran would have sworn he understood every word that was said to him, but he showed very little interest in chasing sticks…Finally he got tired of the stick game and decided to go climbing….

The wolf did as he was told. Bran scratched him behind the ears, then turned away, jumped, grabbed a low branch, and pulled himself up. He was halfway up the tree, moving easily from limb to limb, when the wolf got to his feet and began to howl.

Bran looked back down. His wolf fell silent, staring up at him through slitted yellow eyes. A strange chill went through him. He began to climb again. Once more the wolf howled. “Quiet,” he yelled. “Sit down. Stay. You’re worse than Mother.” The howling chased him all the way up the tree, until finally he jumped off onto the armory roof and out of sight.

I think this is future Bran, finally becoming the Three Eyed Crow, inside Summer. Summer shows no interest in the game and it’s only then that Bran decides to go climbing. Future Bran is sacrificing himself for the greater good - but can’t stop his mournful cry of the fate that awaits his own young self.

[bugcatcherkit]

What are your thoughts on Reigen I'm so curious now

Ohhh where do i start with Contradictions Georg himself.... Masking Andy... (clenches teeth) I have to make a list so I don't rant about one particular thing only.

the thing that hits hardest for me about his character is his Existentialism man. it's terribly relatable. Indeed, he is a Very Small Guy in a Very Big World and it's difficult to be Seen because of that. But also he's littered with Fear of Being Perceived and Understood. So he deals with his Existentialism by reaching for something (he doesn't know what) that'll make him somebody (he doesn't know who, just that it can't be his genuine self). MAN!!!!!!

Second thing that hits hard about his character is his unfiltered insecurities and self-loathing. Every time someone goes "We have to talk" he goes over every mistake or possible mistake he's ever made. He's the type of guy to search up the meaning of a word before he uses it, even if he's used it a 100 times before. Because what if he's wrong this one specific time?? Also his insecurities frequently make him act worse (sometimes on purpose, sometimes not) rather than better (as opposed to Mob most of the time) and i appreciate that so much.

I appreciate his Just Some Guyness over his babygirlness (not that they can't coexist i guess). Sorry guys. This is also why i think i prefer manga Reigen over anime Reigen. Like i can appreciate anime Reigen's maxed-out eccentricities and stuff, but overall I like the more Reservedness (?) that manga Reigen has. Personally it makes his groundedness, bad actions, and self-improvement hit a little harder. It goes well with his struggle to display his emotions in a loose and genuine way.

but despite this he's still silly. and frequently outlandishly embarrassing. and these are super important to his character also. Alongside his very genuine concern and care for the lives of others at any given moment.

He's always talking about his interpersonal relationships in terms of the Respect the other party holds for him. and then Separation Arc comes in with a steel chair that says "you have to give respect back to make a relationship Good and Fair and Genuine, idiot."

the only relationship this doesn't hold true to is with Dimple. Neither of them have any respect for each other really. And it's awesome.

i love how he is always just some Mediocre guy. He slowly self-improves certain aspects of his life but at the end of the day he's still paying Grown Man Serizawa 300 yen an hour (last time I checked). So.

Him being Mob's foil also means he has a lot in common with other Mob antagonists. But he has so many Mogamisms that it drives me up the wall. Sometimes he'll say a Mogamism and in my mind Mob looks at him with such a sudden intensity that he gets Scared

I frequently think of the scene where he is at the bar during Separation Arc and he realizes the bar people aren't his friends. And he says "I'm not good at this" and leaves. I don't have much to expand here but just know that when I think of how he experiences interpersonal relationships I think about this line. Because he's so good at a lot of things but Not This (Relationships overall. But also probably solving their problems in the moment).

not a fan of Dad or Uncle Reigen. To anyone really. Sorryyy. No hate to those who are though.

uhhhhhhh umm this has gotten so long. Sorry this is so unorganized i think i do better with more direct questions because i suck at staying on topic/being concise when i have free reign. There's so many aspects of his character that I didn't get to here that I also love. But its so hard to think of them all. I hope this gives you an idea though?

[bicheetopuff]

Pretty much all of my friends thought Izu/Ocha was implied at the end because Hori made Izuku call Ochako his hero and they were shown together in the snow together walking. Idk man, I think Hori's done a mistake writing things like this in the story if he didnt mean Izu/Ocha to be seen as a pairing.

[justfriendsbestthings]

Simon’s Month Day 12: Music

@youngroyals-events

Tracklist under the cut for those of you who are curious :’)

Purple - Simon Eriksson (2024)

1. Revolution

2. Secrets

3. Right behind you

4. From tomorrow on

5. I don’t know

6. Purple

7. As long as I can see you

8. Absolutely not

9. Party Light

10. Frog in a Snow Globe

11. Strings attached

12. Your Perfume

13. Opinions

14. Pick me up

15. Bonus Track: A Love Song

[starrycassi]

Ambrosius's (indirect) champion.

Find part one here

"It's oficial. You've gone crazy"

Ambrosius, who feels thrilled with his idea, scoffs. In a quick move, he drags Ballister down to the bed, pulling him by the wrists, making the boy's head fall directly in his own chest. Had this been practice, he knows he probably would've gotten a punch to the ribs in retaliation. But they are in private, they are just teens, and Ballister allows his boyfriend to drag him down.

"Don't call me that, babe" Ambrosius whines, while Ballister tries to regain some of his dignity by lifting himself up with his arms to establish some sort of distance. "I'll cry"

"Ambrosius, this is not funny" finally managing to get on his hand and knees, Ballister stares down at his boyfriend, frowning. "This is incredibly concerning and serious"

Ambrosius pouts for a second, and giggles to himself after giving Ballister a quick kiss on the lips. He is scared, oh, so scared. He wants to cry and run and scream and punch and the best alternative he has right now is to be pretend to be charming with his boyfriend, but every good thing must come to an end, and he has to face reality.

They sit down, again, in the bed, face to face. Ambrosius's sudden burst of energy leaves as fast it came, leaving him with a dull sense of... confusion. Nothingness.

"You haven't heard my plan" he tries to grin at his boyfriend, hoping that his eyebags aren't nearly as big as he feels them be. "Come on. Let me tell you, and then you can say no"

They look at each other for some seconds, and Ballister gives in, the second Ambrosius brings out his best card on the whole deck: tears.

Crying on command is a pretty useful skill to have, Ambrosius's come to find out. He doesn't go all the way out with it, no this time, but he knows his eyes are watery and his nose is red. Ballister looks away, groaning.

"Fine!" He resigns, throwing his hands up to the heavens. "But if your plan is "something, something, we win" again, I'm out. I'm so out. You're going to have to ask Todd for help"

Ambrosius gasps, offended at the barbarity his boyfriend just said. How dares he? The old "fuck it, we ball" plan has never let them down, but this isn't the moment to bask in the glory of all of their past accomplishments.

"Okay, so..." he starts, taking in a big breath of air. This is going to be long, and troublesome. Sometimes he's sorry for Ballister, who has to learn all of this things as they go, unlike him, who's been memorizing the rules ever since he learned to read. "The duels, right. Not all noble families train their kids to be knigths. Not all knights are heirs, either. If you have an older sibling or just aren't the favor, then you're probably not a heir. Follow me?"

Ballister, who loves learning about new stuff, even if it's nobility rubbish, nods along, "Follow you"

"I am the sole heir of the family, so I have obligations. You already know this. One of those is to keep up alliances and all that stuff"

Nodding again, Ballister chuckles a bit. Of course he knows. He's been there to witness every single event that's happened ever since Ambrosius finally turned old enough to go to balls and shit as an actual member of the upper society, or whatever it is they call themselves.

"We have many allies made by old marriages, debts, whatever. If one of them asks something of me, then it usually really just falls on me to say no. Unless they put up conditions"

Ambrosius licks his lips, grabbing his boyfriend's hands and looking at him straight in the eyes. How wonderful they are, Ballister's eyes.

"Now is when it gets kinda hard, so bear with me. Mom's been saying no to everyone who wants to form an alliance by marriage. Don't make that face, Bal. It's not really a lovely affair as much as it is legal papers, for a lot of people. But if all of my allies get along and decide to put conditions on me, then we're obligated to answer"

"That's so, so bullshit"

"It really is. Specially because, since we have so many allies, they usually never get along for long enough to actually make and write a demand, but I guess I'm just that hot and everyone wants to bed me. Too bad I'm already in love with what my allies would probably qualify as a disgraceful street rat"

Ballister blushes, playfully shoving Ambrosius on the chest.

"They would get a heart attack, don't you think? If they knew about me and you"

"They would get a heart attack if they knew I'm gay. They would get a heart attack if they knew I'm a tube baby because my mom loathes my dad. They would get a heart attack if they knew I eat chocolate cake sometimes. Don't feel special" shrugging, Ambrosius continues, "So, they are threatening to call off a lot of agreements and stuff if I don't answer their demands, which, like, mature much? Not my fault all of their heirs look like horror creatures.

So, Mom, being Mom, decided to have me answer with a tournament, because apparently she believes I'm Hercules or something. I would traditionally have to fight with every single person who asked for my hand in a stupid sword duel and bla bla bla, but that would take forever, Bal. So, they came to an agreement. People fight each other, and whoever wins, figths with me"

"That sounds... extremely complicated" cringing a bit at the lengths people would go for a chance to figth with his boyfriend, Ballister grimaces. Bunch of weirdos.

"I'm not some easy harlot, Ballister. You offend me. Of course trying to marry me is complicated. But, wait, now's where it gets interesting"

"Now? Just now? This whole thing is nuts"

Ignoring him, Ambrosius takes two pillows and places one if front of the other. "There are people who can fight me and expect to win" he says, pointing to one of them. "And people who can't but want the marriage"

"So, a lot of families don't have knights. A lot of knigths aren't heirs. Even if a family has a heir that would marry me, they could just be a scholar or something. All knights are nobles..."

"Except me, clearly"

"Yeah, well. Most knigths are nobles, but a bunch of nobles aren't knigths. Like the Queen and such."

"And this is important because...?"

"Because families are going to choose champions, now. Wich means, they can just find a random good figther who's willing to commit to life to me and make them fight. Mom tried to make it so only noble heirs could enter, but they said no. You only have to represent a noble family, and there can only be one fighter per family. Wich means, you can simply sign up and beat everyone up!"

He throws his hands up in the air, a pinched smile on his face.

"You forget a very small but important detail, Amber" Ballister sighs, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. "I'm neither noble nor a heir, and no family is going to choose me as a champion. You might actually need help from Todd on this one"

Ambrosius suddenly comes to a stop, blinking.

"I would sooner kill myself than marry Todd Disgusting Sureblade. Never. Nuh-uh. Not even if we were the last two men left in the planet. You know how some girls swear they can switch gays guys to the other team? I'm throughly convinced that Todd actually has the power to do so. Leave me alone with him in a room and I come out both a killer and ready to settle down with a woman. Hell, we'll have kids, even. Don't ever joke about that, Ballister. I'm going to have nightmares, tonight"

Cackling, Ballister pretends to apologize, while his boyfriend rambles about how horrifying it would be, to be around Todd every day of his life, and how death would be mercy if anyone ever was to ever be on that situation.

Ambrosius finally stops, clearing his throat to stop Ballister from dying of asphyxiation, "With that settled, I would like to point out that my family can't choose you because I have to represent the Goldenloins. Not because I don't want. But there's still someone, Bal. Someone who's childless, a noble, and probably would love to help us out in this"

Ambrosius's next words convince Ballister of the fact that, yes, Captain Gloria surely drank too much whiskey while she was pregnant, because there's something deeply wrong with this man's brain.

"We're going to ask formal help from the Queen. And we're going to do it right now"

He should've stayed at that orphanage. Things would've been easier.

˗ˋ ♡  ˊ˗

Ballister fixes his shirt, and then does so again. Next to him, Ambrosius is doing a pretty good job at pretending to be calm, but his lips are going to start bleeding in any second if he keeps munching on them like that, and his hands shake ever so slightly.

"If the speech doesn't work out" he whispers to Ballister, while they walk down the marble corridors of the palace, "then you put on your best puppy eyes. Pout and all. I'm bringing out the waterworks. Ugly crying, if needed. Gloreth, I'll fake-faint if it comes to that"

Ballister's pretty sure that the speech they wrote and tried to memorize on the two hours it took to get here (asking for permissions at the institute, getting into a carriage, arriving at the palace, getting the secretary to make them the next meeting using Ambrosius's status) isn't nearly good enough to convince the Queen to get involved in this mess, so he tries to remember the saddest moments in his life. There's a lot. He definitely feels ready to cry and beg.

They reach the Queen's office (because, apparently, queen's do have offices) and are welcomed by two palace guards that open up the wood doors for them to come in.

The place is wonderful. Not rich-people wonderful, it's soul-crushing, life-changing beautiful, instead. Everything is so white and golden and blue and shiny and ethereal.

In the middle of it, the Queen is seated, smiling softly at them. They both kneel down, knigth training and actual admiration manifesting in the gesture.

"Gentlemen" she greets, placing her joined hands on her desk, and they stand up straight, standing still, waiting for orders, her orders, always ready to obey to her, "you may sit down"

They do so.

Ballister's bones are trying to crawl out of his skin, and his whole face itches with nerves.

"Thank you, for receiving us in such short notice, Your Majesty" says Ambrosius, voice full with feeling. He's better at the whole "being social" thing.

"It is refreshing to see young faces on the palace grounds every once in a while" she responds, in that weird way formal people talk when they're trying to say something without saying it. "And I am honored to have two of my best cadets in here today. I have to ask, though, as to what situation do I owe the pleasure of such a distinguished visit? Specially a dual one"

"The honor is all ours" adds Ballister, who doesn't want to feel useless in the conversation, even if he feels incredibly out of place in the dances the nobility follows when they talk, when they breath, when they live.

"We come here with a plead," explains Ambrosius, and he suddenly looks older. Serious, worried, solemn. His voice is deep, calm, "One that would benefit both of us, and for which we require your help."

The Queen hums softly, slightly rising an eyebrow. "What sort of plea my I aid you both in?"

"I don't want to get married" blurts out Ambrosius, straight to the point. Ballister asked him, on the carriage, to be honest with this. He knows how... creative the Goldenloins can get when they want something, and he feels like the Queen deserves the truth. Even if it's a slightly dramatized version of it. Plus, being bold will surely add to the element of surprise.

"Excuse me?" The Queen looks clearly put off at the words, loosing her elegant demeanor for a second, "Come again?"

Seeing her eyebrows frown and her vocabulary change so abruptly, Ambrosius clears his throat, hiding a smile. Their plan seems to be going well.

"I don't want to get married" he repeats, enunciating every word, "And I'm being forced to engage in an obligated tournament for those purposes, Your Majesty"

He gives her a second to understand the words, to take the information in. In those seconds, Ambrosius remembers that one time he thought Ballister hated him, back when they were twelve, and tries to pour all the sadness he felt on his voice.

"Of course, I presume Your Majesty is aware of how vicious and outdated some traditions are" quickly, he glances down at Ballister, who's also putting on his best kicked lost helpless puppy performance, "but I am still subjected to them, as a heir."

The Queen is the Queen, but even her can't change the rules that noble families uphold each other to. That's not what they want, anyway. She nods, looking worried. Bingo.

"That's why I want to help him" cutting in, Ballister stammers a bit, like Ambrosius instructed him to; for extra empathy points, he said, "We've come up with a plan. It's not perfect, but..."

"... it's the best we can do" Ambrosius finishes, following his cue.

Now, they both stare at her, identical sad smiles plastered on their faces. If Ambrosius is as good with people as he claims to be, then they already have her heart in the bag. They just need to get her brain on it.

"And how can I help?" She asks, and both knigths know they've kit the jackpot in the instant her voice comes out. She sounds so much like a preocuppied mother. Ballister feels slightly guilty, slightly wishful. "How may I aid you both, on this quest?"

"We need someone to sign me in" Puppy eyes. Puppy eyes. Think sad thoughts. "No one else but you can do it, Your Majesty. I am a commoner, and the families despise me"

They're not even lying. Most nobles do despise Ballister. They're just... putting some heart onto the delivery of the news.

"He's my last resource" Ambrosius is about to cry. Teary eyes, red cheeks, trembling words. Such an actor. "My mommy can't do it because she's my own family, and I am so scared, Your Majesty. Marriage is the least of my concerns..."

He leans in to her, even if it's only the three of them in the room.

"Just... just, you know, thinking about what someone with control over me could ask for, gives me chills," and, to spice some politics in, he whispers to her, "there's so many things my mom would give over for me. Money, land, jews... Gloreth, even alliances, or debts. There's a lot of power tied into the family, and if I'm allowed to be honest, I fear for what would happen if all that rested in the hand of someone evil. Some villain. Some monster.

It's a well known secret that the Goldenloins could match the royal family in influence, in power. They're probably a bit over them, if one were to actually measure the impact they have on the people, on the kingdom. Ambrosius couldn't care less about this knowledge, but the Queen should be able to recognize a threat when it's in front of her.

She blinks once, twice. Ballister makes a show of giving Ambrosius a handkerchief for his tears, and he takes it with an apology for his horrible demeanor.

"I see why you've come to me," she finally speaks up, eyes fixed on them, "and I am glad that you did. This is an urgent matter. I am deeply troubled to see you in this state, Goldenloin"

Ambrosius mutters a quick thank you, still "too emotional" to talk.

"And I am glad to learn that the bond between my star knights is as strong as the walls that protect this kingdom. You both are what keep my people safe, after all"

Ballister's never been so proud to be compared to a wall as he is right now. It's wonderful.

"To show you my gratitude for your hard work, I will agree. Ballister, you can fight in representation of the noble house of Elpis, as my champion. Any armor or other supplies needed will be provided, too"

Thank Gloreth and every single saint ever for Ambrosius's manipulative ass. He's so in love with this dramatic wreck of a man. Thank Gloreth and every single saint ever for Queen Valentin's tendency to go against tradition. He's so grateful to have been born under her regency.

They both thank her, deeply, multiple times, bowing their heads. Ambrosius even sheds some more tears and wipes them off with urgency.

Then, the Queen stands up, and they follow suit, ready to leave with their victory. Before they can go, however, she shoots them a question, one that they didn't come prepared for

"You both are aware, I pressume, of how the nature of your... bond, could affect this tournament?"

Stop. Pause. What did she say? Whatdidshesay?

They look at each other, completely out of track. This time, she is the one with the upper hand. And they're so fucked. Seeing as how their silence continues, she speaks, again

"Your romance" she clarifies, and Ambrosius's choke on his own saliva isn't fake. Ballister goes so red his face burns, and, out of instinct, he hits his boyfriend on the back to try and stop his death. He hits a little too hard, but it works.

"Excuse us?" Screeches Ambrosius, high pitched, "Our what?"

"You must be confused" says Ballister at the same time, feeling like a very dumb caged animal. They didn't plan this. He's got no idea what to do next. "Ambrosius and I don't-"

"We would never-"

"We couldn't even be together! I'm just some commoner and he is..."

"Don't talk about yourself like that"

"Amber, this is not the moment to-"

"I won't let you be mean to yourself in front of the Queen"

The woman in front of them chuckles, amazed at their idiocy. They both blush even more, if that's possible. They suck at this whole "pretending to be single" thing.

"You're adorable" she coos, and Ambrosius is ready to change his name and move towns, "You remind me so much of Derek and me, back when we were young"

She brings up dead husband, as if this isn't weird enough already.

"Surely, you know that if people take notice of this, and Ballister does end up winning — like I have faith he will — they could argue that the tournament has been rigged by the Goldenloins"

They look at each other, bewildered. They never even considered that possibility. The Queen chuckles some more.

"I trust you would come up with a way to deal with that problem, Mister Goldenloin. Your mother's always had her way with schemes and theatrical dramas, and I am fairly sure that I just witnessed one of your plans in action, didn't I? Was any of what you said true, cadets?"

Of course. Of course. Of curse that, The Actual Queen, who's probably been working alongside Captain Gloria her whole life, would notice. Perhaps they didn't plan this as neatly as they could've. But they had less than a day to come up with the whole thing, so.

"I really, really don't wanna get married or have to obey to someone" argues Ambrosius, pouting. "Specially to some older weirdo"

"And I really, really don't want him to marry or have to obey to someone" agrees Ballister, apologetic. "Specially some older weirdo"

After considering them for some seconds, she nods again, agreeing to keep her word. Seeing no point on subtlety, they hug each other quickly, to celebrate.

"We're going to give back every penny you spend on Bal in this whole thing, swear to Gloreth" promises Ambrosius, one hand drapped along his boyfriend's back, "when he wins, I'm throwing a party, and you are so invited", quickly, he adds, "uh, Your Majesty, ma'am"

She lets them go after discussing some minor details, and they beam all the way out of the palace.

"I told you my plan would work" Ambrosius puffs out his chest like a proud peacock once they're on the carriage back to the institute, texting Gloreth knows who on his phone, "We're irresistible"

"She only agreed because you asked her. No one says no to a Goldenloin, Amber"

Ballister stretches, already tired. This whole thing has been draining. He's so ready to go back to the institute and join classes again. If this carriages hurries up, they might get there in time for sword training before lunch, his favorite part of the day.

"Talking 'bout Goldenloins..." trails off Ambrosius, playful smile painted on his lips, playing with the phone on his hands, "what you say we go talk to my mom now?"

"Absolutely no way-"

"Too bad" he interrupts him, placing his hand over Ballister's lips, "already told her we're on our way. She asked to chefs to prepare us something tasty"

Fuck this kid and his lack of self control.

[spring-sage]

I was a couple hours into my shift; busy with all the usual duties required of me in my role as a nurse. All the important tasks of a typical morning routine were completed. Assessments were charted, old and new orders from various providers were acknowledged and recorded. As were notes and entries of care plans, lab results, and everything else in between.

I made sure to greet each of my patient’s with the usual smile I always do, and displayed the professionalism they’d expect from their nurse by providing them the opportunity to discuss their needs and goals for the day, assuring them their concerns matter.

Are you comfortable with the temperature of your room? Do you need a warmed blanket? Would you like some coffee? Is there anything else I can do for you?

All the typical questions I would ask.

From an observer’s viewpoint, I’m sure it appeared to be any normal day. Nothing unusual or odd stood out. Nothing that would cause anyone to suspect that my mind was flooded with the filthiest of thoughts.

Thoughts that echoed loudly as I smiled and nodded at doctors and fellow nurses and caretakers with whom I pretended to be engaged in conversation.

Thoughts that stirred my senses as I listened to lung sounds, heart sounds and bowel sounds through my stethoscope.

Thoughts that made my cunt drip and tingle; moistening my already moistened panties.

Thoughts that lingered from what happened hours earlier that morning, just before I had to leave for work.

Thoughts that just wouldn’t be ignored.

"How's my naughty nurse this morning?" His message flashed on the screen of my phone. I immediately felt my cheeks turn pink as though our secret had become transparent for everyone to see.

"...Currently corrupted by very naughty thoughts, thanks to you."

"Mmm. Good girl."

Such a simple response, but there was undoubtedly a devious smirk behind his short reply. He quickly reminded me of what he will be expecting when I returned home that evening; leading my mind to revisit all the details of what transpired just 3 hours before.

< >

I was in the laundry room ironing my scrubs for the day, wearing only my bra and panties when he greeted me with a fresh cup of coffee.

I gave him a sleepy smile and thanked him. He stood in the doorway, and looked me up and down as I ironed away at the creases of my uniform.

When I glanced over at him, I couldn’t help but notice his cock. It was hard and protruding up and out of the elastic band of his briefs, making it all too tempting for me to stop what I was doing to give it my full attention. But instead, I gave him a pouty face, and in a most pitiful tone I said, "I can’t….I'm already running behind on time."

Seemingly unfazed by that piece of knowledge, he continued his stare and pulled his cock out to stroke it slowly in front of me, and gave the smirk I know all too well.

"Oh, you are a cruel man..."

"Come here," he said. And then instructed me to stretch out my panties to show him.

"Just like that" he grunted, "Such a pretty little cunt." His breathing became heavier as he stroked faster.

I could tell he was on the edge of the inevitable, so I pulled my panties down a little more to reveal how wet they were.

"Cum in my panties." I said.

And at that moment, he steadied his cock and aimed it at the glistening layer of my cotton crotch; spraying his sticky seed all over them; soiling them with his morning lust.

Once every last drop was deposited, I gave him a big kiss and pulled my panties back up to finish ironing my uniform.

I gave him a big grin as he walked away, "Looks like you're coming to work with me today!" To which we both laughed.

And now, hours later, I was at work looking for every opportunity to sneak to the bathroom to look at my panties.

To see the stains. To take them off and hold them to my nose. To smell them. To deeply inhale him and breathe in his scent.

I wondered if anyone else got the occasional whiff of our lust from this morning. Or if it followed in my wake as I walked past them.

Throughout the entire shift I remained in a perpetual state of arousal; feeling like a dirty whore in my dirty panties.

When the shift finally came to an end, I hurried home, and was promptly greeted at the door with his arm extended and his palm out.

"Now hand them over to me." It was as though he had been thinking about it all day as well.

I slipped out of my scrub pants, and removed my panties, and handed them over.

He held them to his nose just as I did many times during my shift. I watched him breathe in the aroma as though it was his very first breath--or maybe as if it could be his last. And then he balled them up in his hand and put them in his pocket.

"And tomorrow, you will be coming to work with me."

[blobee]

I was literally kicked out of lesson because my microphone stopped working. And when I tried to use chat, my teacher asked me to complete the task and after 30 seconds she asked for an answer. Obviously, I could not determine whether "неопределённо" is written with "не" merged or separately. And honestly, like an idiot, I wrote separately, and she asked me to explain and I didn't know why. And then she just told me to leave the call. I didn't even listen to the rest of it. It's a shame, I can't remember these idiotic rules of this fucking grammar because there are fucking hundreds of dumbass quirks that have no logic. THEY JUST THERE BECAUSE WHY NOT