#I simply cannot stop myself from contemplating it

[birdhaslostit]

(tune of Sound of da Police) WOOP WOOP THATS DA SOUND OF THE

[text to speech generator] white boy of the month.

WOOP WOOP THATS THE SOUND OF DA BEAST

[littlesparklight]

Hi, I have a Question about Odysseus and Circe:

Does Odysseus really need the Moly herb? Why does Odysseus need to drink Circe's potion? Is Odysseus not allowed to simply walk up to Circe, refuse any drink and threaten her at sword point to turn his men back from being pigs? Or is there something I'm not getting...

Without the moly he's susceptible to magic!

Unless I'm wrong from how I'm reading the text, neither the men nor Odysseus need to drink/consume anything Kirke has drugged to be affected by her magic. The drugs and the magic are two different things; the drugged drink she serves the men makes them forget their homes/past, whatever the point is to that, but seems to have no further connection to her touching them with her wand to transform them.

And I mean... allowed and allowed. Sure he could, literally nothing is stopping him, but it'd be a bad idea.

Kirke isn't mortal. Isn't a mortal woman to whom a sword is that dangerous. Isn't your regular nymph. She's a goddess-nymph at the least, or a minor goddess - her magic isn't the only power she has.

Now, yes, Hermes says "she will be frightened" after Odysseus proves impervious to her magic, and the narrative repeats that when Odysseus confronts her.

However.

"She will then be frightened and will desire you to go to bed with her; on this you must not point blank refuse her, for you want her to set your companions free, and to take good care also of yourself, but you make her swear solemnly by all the blessed that she will plot no further mischief against you, or else when she has got you naked she will unman you and make you fit for nothing.’" (Samuel Butler's translation)

Whether we're taking Odysseus at his word - twice - that he's retelling this bit exactly as it happened/the emotions of Kirke sincerely represented or not, Hermes makes it very clear. Kirke is not harmless or really under Odysseus' power even if she's "frightened" by him holding her at swordpoint after he's proven impervious to her magic.

Note the oath as well. Even if Odysseus is honestly a credible threat to her while he's holding the sword at her and in possession of the moly herb, he cannot do so indefinitely. Kirke and her power(s) aren't so easily neutralized.

I can imagine her retaliation after being threatened this way, even if it's not a true threat to her, would be quite spectacular if she hadn't been maneuvered into the oath. Gods aren't very forgiving when they've been humiliated, after all. Kirke seems to have gotten fond of him, however, so it's probably that more than his ability to keep her under control (which he can't) that keeps him (and his men, after) safe.

(Now, I've seen posts here and there noting that Odysseus tells the most fantastic parts of the Odyssey himself and he's a noted liar. And sure, you can contemplate if he's being truthful, and how much he is so, exactly because of this. If I was going to take a stab at it myself, I'd say everything basically happened exactly as he said it did, but he might have done some authorial editing - Kirke being afraid could be one of those little touches of change.)

[icanttalkimhavingacrisis]

aaaaanddd THE LAST CHAPTER GUYS!!

Dearest William,

It has come to my attention that you deserve an apology. And so, I write this letter to you, with hopes that you might, one day, understand. To start, I believe I owe you a story, yes? A proper one. So, here is  the story of Emily Azuro. 

Emily Azuro was born to a cruel man, and a sad woman. She led a cruel life, and her father beat her – with a belt, with a cane, with a chain – and hurt her, and loved her, and her young brain fractured under the pressure of the paradoxical nature of it all. One day, when she was still a little girl, a second Azuro was born, her younger sister, Michelle. And Emily was terrified, because she knew what their monster of a father was capable of, and she felt she might just die if something happened to her little sister.

So, she took care of her. She told her stories of princesses, called her little Ruby-Red, the Ruby-Red to her Snow-White, and she told her to keep heed of the monster – but Michelle Azuro was a bold thing, unafraid to stand up to the man who would beat them. And yet, she only ever got the belt. It was silly of Emily, really, to be jealous of her younger sister. But she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t. So slowly, as Michelle grew older, Emily pushed her away, and focused primarily on her own survival. 

And Michelle died, one day. She died, and it was Emily’s fault, that’s what her father told her, as he held a knife to her throat and contemplated killing her there and then, and he told her that it should have been her, and it should have been her, and she knew that. And it was her that died that night, and she brought Michelle back, and she let Emily die.

William, darling – I am Emily. I let myself forget that, but it remains the truth. I am everything I could’ve been, and everything I shouldn’t have had to. Alas, that is my ghost that I carry – as you carry Jonathan V. Wilson, and Jake Collins carries Christopher, and Lilith carries that entity in the forest. Don’t you see it now? Is it not as clear for you as it is for me? East Brunswick is not cursed – we are. East Brunswick is simply ALIVE. IT IS ALIVE AND IT WANTS US TO FEED IT WITH OUR GHOSTS. It brings our shadows to life, and it replaces us with them. 

You, my friend, will live here forever, because your ghost was another living being. You will live forever, because East Brunswick decided so, taking Jonathan V. Wilson from you. But I will not – and neither will Jake, nor Christopher, nor Lilith, or Jane. We will all die, William. Even me, despite being God.

For I am God, as the world creates itself in my wake, and everything that can happen will happen, to me, to us, to East Brunswick.

As you read this letter, I am already gone. I am a bad person – though you would argue that bad people do not exist, only good people that do bad things, but you are not right – and so I deserve what came for me, William. As I write it, I prepare, and become resigned to my fate. I should’ve died years ago, you see. I should’ve died when Michelle did. Instead I live, not fully Michelle, not fully myself. Not quite here, not quite gone. So I will die, William. You told me to stop the Lady in Red, but there is no way to stop the madness Ophelia brings. Well, one way – this way.

To those of you reading this journal, I apologise. You see, East Brunswick does not exist – and yet you know of it. That means you are already cursed. Best not to fight it. Take a train bound to Scotland, and get out in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. When a black cab pulls up to the train station, get in. And take the cab to that strange little town, 20 minutes north from Newcastle and 20 minutes to the sea. Don’t fight it, dear. You cannot.

And to you, my dear William – I hope this journal, the one you gave me on my second day in East Brunswick, will give you some kind of closure. So many are dead – I know. I killed them. And no-one will come to their funerals, for they will forget them the moment that I disappear. I know this. And I do truly apologise. But I hope you can forgive me someday.

You thought you were doing me a mercy telling me of the curse – you thought we could fight it together. You were a fool, dear. You only condemned the both of us.

The only way to survive East Brunswick is to play by the rules, you see. The only way to win is to forget.

Goodbye, my love. If the Devil ever comes calling for you, you know where to find me.

Yours,

Michelle Azuro.

[psychiatry-and-poetry]

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 9 - Nesta | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 693

My darling Eris,

Reading your letters strewn about your study like the pieces of your heart has truly been an experience. I had not known how much love you harboured for me until I read through your confessions, and it was then my tears began to flow so freely they could not be stopped. You must forgive me if any stain this piece of parchment as I write to you. 

My Eris, how pure your heart is. You cannot know how much I adore you; it is impossible. Not only for what it would mean for our tentative relationship, but also for the opinion of your father, and of the people. If you were here right now, I know exactly what you’d say: Nesta, his opinion does not matter. It is yours I care about. But Eris, how can I not listen to him, to the voices in my head that do not allow me a moment’s reprieve, a minute’s rest? Waking or asleep, they plague me, as do the thoughts of my undying love for you.

I do not know which ones I should listen to, if any at all. The urge to run away and flee from the horrors of the Forest House runs through my mind every day. Imagine how beautiful it would be, to not worry about the inner rulings of this court and instead focus on being happy, living in a quaint little cottage where no one would recognise me or know my name. Where the cursed name of Lady Death would not be whispered like a curse or damnation, as if the powers I fought for and stole were my punishment and burden to carry. I truly think I would be happy then. 

Happiness. What a foreign concept. I had heard of it, yes, had heard of people experiencing it and finding such immeasurable and immense joy in their lives that anything I had ever felt paled so drastically in comparison it made me sick to the stomach to even contemplate. 

I was raised as a Lady, poised to seduce a wealthy Duke or Lord and get married off as soon as my parents found one suitable enough. It did not matter who he was, so long as he had enough money to waste on the most useless of trinkets. I do not believe my witch of a mother gave me the opportunity to truly experience joy for myself. I was her puppet, her mannequin, her doll, who would do her bidding obediently without any resistance.

But a little girl is not like that. She must experience, and play, and live, before the expectations begin to suffocate her carefully cultivated spirit. But what spirit is there to crush if the child has had no chance to develop one? My mother truly believed that, and so I did, too. 

Much like your father, my mother, too, relished in my woe. Some nights, I wonder if she truly required any food at all, or if she simply fed off our misery like a vampire. I would not be surprised if that was the case. 

But the environment one finds themselves in truly does play a role. Being in Autumn, simply residing here, has given me all I need and more to heal. You, Heir of Autumn, are all I need to heal.

We are a match made in hell, my love, and we shall rain nothing but hellfire upon every being who has wronged us, as we stand and rise to protect the fallen, wielding crimson and amber flames that glow with our wrath, that same rage reflected in every aspect of our lives. We have been wronged by the very people whose only duty was to love us unconditionally. Were we so unlovable that our own parents could not muster up the smallest inkling of care, of compassion for their oldest child?

As I sit here contemplating this truly sorry thought, a tear wells in my eye, thinking of how far away across Prythian you are, and how it shall feel like an eternity before I glimpse your face again. 

De tout mon coeur et plus encore,

Nesta

Part 10 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

[backroomsbaddie555]

i thought i’d start doing little like journal entries that are really intricate and detailed and oversharey because i like the idea of knowing intricately about someone’s day despite not knowing them personally. anyway here goes

Wednesday in April

my day started off like many others do, with my alarm jolting me out of my sleep (very rudely might i add) and scaring me so much i simply cannot get back to sleep even if i wanted to and could. But this only counts if the alarm is set for anytime after 6am because i will not wake up at such times unless i am excited for something in the day ahead. if there is any other day a 6am alarm rings when there isn’t a need for it it’s usually to let me know that i a) have one more hour left to sleep or b) i forgot to turn it off. anyways, i took a moment this morning after scrolling on here to check how my body was feeling and my legs felt rough as balls so this then kickstarted the 10 minute back and forth i have in my mind about wether i should actually do today or not, but the sun was shining and i needed to write so i got out of bed anyway in hopes of being so busy i didnt have a minute to think or feel. i showered and picked out a cute outfit and made my way down to starbies to try and work on my essay in there but as i walked i peered into the window to see if my ex situationship’s best friend was working and he was. devastation. i felt awkward so i shuffled over quite sheepishly to the store across the road praying he hadn’t seen me too. I pretended to look for things for about 5 minutes and then shook my head like they didn’t have whatever i wanted and then left and made a beeline for the bus stop. i noticed an old bag who seemed very snotty and judgmental eyeing people up and down as i waited for the bus to arrive and i thought hmmm wonder why she’s so fucking bitter, but it was probably just the fact she was still alive. honestly living to very old age would piss me off too. then i got to my uni and i was the only person there, and i really only go to socialise seeing as i normally get more work done if i stay home. i was there now though so there i sat. every word felt like lifting a very large rock, honestly writing today felt a little like pulling teeth out without anaesthetic. just as i was wondering how i was going to kill this time i was offered to do a simulation experiment that was 45 mins long so obviously i did it… im pretty indifferent about it because if im honest there’s nothing impressive about my uni whatsoever so i expected a sub par experience. I did attempt to write more but it just got harder so i walked to the store across from my uni and browsed for lunch, i left with a salad as per usual. then i stood waiting for the bus home in the sun watching the cars go by and the wind flow through my hair as i listened to american teenager on repeat. i got home around 2pm ish. i ate my lunch and began watching a true crime doc but started to feel incredibly tired so i found a sunny spot on my bedroom floor and i slept in it for around 20 mins. i woke up feeling even more tired and scornful so i told myself i would do nothing but sleep and watch documentaries on my laptop in bed for the rest of the day and just as i had showered and changed my sister said she wanted me to come over. she’s been ill lately so i thought i’ll go over seeing as she’s a ten minute walk away. i go over and we talk about our lives and show each other clothes and giggle at the tv and order food until it started getting dark and i decided to walk back before it became pitch black because i had spooked myself by watching that true crime documentary earlier. i told myself when i got home i would do more work but ive not done any at all. in truth i got home, scrolled and scrolled and took some laundry off of the drying rack, filled my knock off stanley and took my tired ass to bed. currently i am contemplating taking a full rest day alone just for me tomorrow but also wondering wether my mental health would spiral if i were to do that. i’m not sure. i feel like i always have to be busy or asleep or with someone and i don’t know where that comes from.

goodnight :)

[oneofafew]

Okay, I have a weird request. What if F!MC tries to confess her feelings to Ominis, but he completely rejects her. Like, full stop. Gently, of course, he is a gentleman, but he tells her that he simply cannot return her feelings.

Oh my heart hurts already! The angst x

This took a turn. It’s still the outline but I figured he needed a good reason to turn her down. My stubborn boi.

And when I say short it’s SHORT but I love the concept and may expand on it later x

“Ominis can we talk?”

She’d found him sitting alone in the common room, it was late and everyone else had long gone to sleep it wasn’t unusual to find the blind boy awake during the late hours, he relished in the silence and tranquility the night brought

Ominis raised his head turning in the direction of her voice a small smile tugging at his lips, he nodded “Of course” he replied shifting over on the sofa for her to sit beside him “what’s on your mind?” He asked once she’d sat down, he could feel the nervous energy radiating off of her

Silence. He could practically hear the gears turning in her brain as she formulated her next words, he waited ever the embodiment of patience and grace

“I … I think I’m falling for you” she said her voice barley a whisper, her gaze firmly planted on her hands in her lap, the longer the silence grew the larger the lump in her throat became, the butterflies in her stomach seemed to multiply with each passing second

His brow furrowed for a moment as he contemplated her words, he looked almost pained as he rested a hand on her knee sending the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy once again, he let out a sigh and spoke his voice wavering slightly

“I’m sorry … I can’t … I can’t reciprocate your feelings”

Her head spun as she felt the proverbial rug tugged roughly from under her she shifted in her seat her eyes raking over his now stoic face searching for answers, for any further explanation she opened her mouth to respond but he seemed to sense it and spoke first

“It’s not you, you’re wonderful, you’re truly something special…it’s my family … it’s complicated”

She stared at him for a moment the tears that welled in her eyes threatening to break free any moment, his voice so gentle and calm only served to highten the blow of his rejection

“I don’t care about them! I can look after myself Ominis!”

Ominis shook his head withdrawing his hand from her knee this time swallowing before he rose to his feet she found herself swiftly following her hand reaching for his

“Please Ominis”

He froze for a moment before turning back in her direction, she was momentarily glad he couldn’t see the tears rolling down her cheeks and started when he raised his hand from her grip and brushed a tear from her cheek in an all too gentle caress that make her nauseas for all the wrong reasons

“I made a Promise to myself and I’ve got to keep it - I will never take a lover, I’ll never marry and I certainly won’t ever have children, my family line will die with me and I refuse drag anyone else into it” his voice was clipped as though he’d rehearsed the line many times over and still it pained him to say it out loud

“I would be a fool to lead you along just to spare your feelings now, when I see no future for us, I won’t destroy our friendship for something that can never be”

They stood in silence for a moment as his words washed over her, she wasn’t sure why but she could feel heat rising in her cheeks a subtle anger or frustration bubbling beneath the surface she bit back a retort her fists clenching at her sides

“I’m not asking -“ she started but Ominis held up his hand silencing her almost instantly, before she could truly work herself up

“No you’re not listening to me, I will not engage in this discussion further, I’m sorry. ”

With that he turned and she stood frozen to the spot as she watched the boy she loved walk away from her his figure blurred through her tears her stomach twisting and legs threatening to turn to jelly right under her as she collapsed back onto the sofa wiping furiously at her eyes.

Ominis lay awake in his bed the curtains drawn around him his heart hammering in his chest so furiously he thought it would break free of his rib cage as he thought of the possibilities.

No.

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

She deserved so much more.

[ivoryminitower]

FFXIV Write 2024 prompt 1: Steer

I do not think my husband understands what hunting is.

He called what we did last night hunting, though what we were hunting was cows.  He did not want to wake the farmers who owned the cows, and thought the cows would make too much noise if we scared them, so we equipped as Dancers and threw our rings.

It was typical of all the hunting we have done in this place he calls Oklahoma.  There are no fates here, no truly large beasts, nothing that with our skill and our strength and our weapons we cannot kill with a single hit.  What Husband calls hunting I might instead call gathering.

There are different things I miss of Eorzea at different times.  What I missed last night was La Noscean buffalo.

But we needed beef for the meat pies we sell, and since the stores do not take gil and we do not yet have many dollars, we get our beef from hunting these tame beasts on farms.  Husband says it is not stealing since our kills respawn.  But that makes it all the more like gathering.

After killing cows over and over we had enough beef to work with, along with animal hide and milk.  But it left me restless.  I needed something more to do, to feel that I did something worthy of myself with my evening.

"Can I not actually fight one cow, Husband?"

"They're too clustered and close to the house, my love.  We don't want to raise the alarm."

"What about that one?"  I pointed to a cow that was standing apart from the others.  Unlike most of them, that one at least had horns.

"That's a bull.  Might be quieter than the others if it's charging you."  He glanced across the field.  "But try to kite it away from the house a bit, just to be safe."

It was bigger than the others, and it had horns, but it would still be an Earth animal, and not as strong as me.  So I changed to what Husband calls my "Earth-normal" gear, simple low-level hempen clothing and leather Pugilist gloves.  Perhaps, I thought, it would give the bull a chance, and me a challenge.

I walked around the cows, away from the house, then slowly approached the bull.  It noticed me.  It stared at me.  It made a snorting sound.  Then it started to run.  A slow trot, at first, then it picked up speed.

I stood in its path.  When it got close enough I grabbed its horns.  It tried to keep on charging at me, but I kept my distance from it.  It tried to shake its head to fling me away, but I held my grip.

It was more work than any other Earth kills had been, but I still did not feel challenged.  I could probably have killed it with a single Bootshine.  Simply to see what would happen, I suddenly released its horns and slapped it across its face.

To my complete surprise, it stopped.  It grew quiet and stared at me.

Husband approached as the bull and I faced each other.  He looked the beast over.  "Huh.  My mistake.  This is a steer."

"What is the difference?"

"A steer is a bull without the bull parts.  He can't breed.  Takes some of the aggression out of him."

"You are saying I picked to fight a cow that cannot fight?"

"Pretty much, yeah.  But I hear they're good for steaks."

I switched to my Cryptlurker Monk gear.  I contemplated the sorry bull, then punched it in the head.  As its body faded, I said, "You had best know how to cook a good steak, Husband."

(Based on Echoes of Home, hosted on Wattpad.)

[mountain-lion-gremlin]

so after some contemplation (and a nice, very warm shower - along with decompressing by watching some Laat Week Tonight lol) I've decided that it's probably best for me to stop overthinking and letting myself fall into a mental spiral from the whole situation.

Because I was.... heavily unregulated and sort of unreasonable over the whole thing. I have incredibly bad anxiety, and it got to the point where I was imagining that he was forced to do things (such as change his discord settings and stop talking to me) when in truth that is highly unlikely.

I cannot put it aby better than I was spiraling, and needed to find stability.

Like how the hell am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to know what's happening? It doesn't help me to be so attached and so incredibly worked up from everything I notice and see. I felt like I was being almost downright creepy. I was driving myself into a very bad mental state, and i need to step back.

Stop being so incredibly attached to something I simply do not have control over.

So, obviously i will continue to be here and wait for when he returns. But I need to detach from this idea that i actually know him and his whole life, down to everything happening in his everyday life and that this is incredibly "abnormal". I simply need a break from this, it's too much mental strain on me and probably even him.

I sent a message asking if he was okay, and that's all i can do. Spiraling out of control won't help me or him at all.

[doodleoogles]

Dec 1st

"Don't say anything else." She stopped me mid-sentence, as she pull a cigarette from her purse. "That's not going to work" was all she could say before lighting the cancer stick.

I stared at the half empty bottle of beer I was holding. She knows me too well. Years of friendship meant countless stories about life, love and everything in between. She knew some of my exes, was there during certain downfalls and cheered on the blissful moments when we were still working together. I lost count of how many drinks we had when we celebrated the fun times and even more when things go haywire. We were both survivors in different areas of our lives. I guess that meant if there's one person who can tell what will really work for me when it comes to the guys I choose, it's her.

Of course it doesn't mean I couldn't decide for myself, matter of fact, I've made waaaay too many decisions on my own - some of those resulted in shattering lives of others, worse was my own. This time I wanted so bad to hear it from someone. Despite hearing the answers from other close friends, it's still slightly different when someone says it out loud - straight to my face and with such genuine stare.

"Definitely he could be on the road to changing himself and becoming a man that is long overdue for someone his age." She shrugged, "but then again, men knows no age. They can be over 40 and still think differently".

"True. Couldn't blame the family for being too supportive. That's a really healthy environment to grow up in." I said as I watch at the smoke from her cigarette billowing above our heads. "I told him he could've done something early on to try and give back to them. Not that it's mandatory"

"Or simply put, have some shame." her tone was firm. As a mother of four wonderful girls, I know she understood. "And surviving is not the kind of life to dream about. We should be living everyday. At this day and age, you simply couldn't be living without a stable source of income know what I mean?? Like an actual goddamn job. The reason he's taking all the time he needs is because there's a fallback, there's a support system just waiting to carry him back up if he fails. You'll never truly fight for a good life, if it is being spoonfed but for how long? Can you wait that long?"

I cannot. I felt my head ache for a bit. There is really no love anymore. That's not the person I fell for years ago. I never knew this side of him when we were close friends. If I'd known it, I never would've pursued him and risk ruining everything between us and our circle of friends. It was a mistake to try but how else can I find out what he's really like? I hate to break another good thing going on but then I think about what is actually making me happy in this relationship is not really him. It's the friends we have around us. As much as I want for things to stay the same, I have to admit the fact that they will not be. These people don't need to take sides but there will definitely be changes before everybody moves on.

It's the first night of December. The lights are bright from the Christmas decorations all around us. Christmas songs are playing in the background everywhere you turn. Almost everyone has this irritating lustrous look in their eyes. It's the season of long holidays, family get togethers, forgiveness, celebrations and here I am contemplating on how to break a heart with minimal casualties. I have always been selfish, needy, chaotic ball of a person. Even when my intentions are good, they always come out wrong.

I thought this time would be different but life, as always, have other plans....

[writethiswaywithme]

A Voyage Within

I might share with you that getting to know Him was not as easy as I initially thought. Why? Because I believe my trust was as strong as the stone I had before. Yet, I was wrong.

I talk to Him, yet my heart can't speak as deeply for I am like a shallow ocean having a little depth. And I cannot deny that this is how I previously made known with Him.

In my very first week, I questioned Him about the reason behind this incident befalling me. There isn't a single day when I don't contemplate Him, as I harbored doubts about His presence.

Yet, a scripture once said to me, "The Lord is my shepherd; I have everything I need." It was the very first scripture I encountered and it bestowed upon me profound wisdom.

Since then, I have drawn closer to Him every day. He has consistently given me answers because I did not stop talking to Him. It's as if I am drawn to everything that comes from Him.

On a daily basis, He serves as a constant reminder for me to remain calm and not to be burdened, assuring that He will grant me rest. He expressed the importance of trusting Him and letting all the worries and concerns go.

I did. It's like taking a medicine every day to make me calm. By simply reaching out to Him, He readily provides what I need. Just imagine the immense power He possesses, the unwavering consistency He exhibits, and how faithfully He fulfills His promises.

I felt like I was wrong for allowing weariness to overcome me due to my lack of faith in Him. But He understood me and He continues to keep me strong unlike before, when I was lost.

Nevertheless, in this chaotic season I find myself in, perhaps it is a blessing in disguise for me to stand firm by myself and unraveling the mysteries along the way.

Instead, this season should have been lean, as it will bring brighter outcomes at the end of the day. There hasn't been a single day when I haven't been learning, as each day unfolds as a new voyage of discovery.

Therefore, I must say to you, and to anyone who reads these messages, the importance of gratitude for whatever circumstances befall you. Simply reach out to Him, for He patiently awaits your presence by His side.

[notmuchtoconceal]

Joey was stupid. Jacek could look at him.

He was stupider than Jacek. Much stupider.

Smug. Such unwarranted pomposity as only an egghead beckoning a crack of his high and marbled Teutonic brow against the black rim of a cast-iron shitter rusted verdigris with horse piss.

Watch the yolk shlorp out and stain the yoke. My hands balled into fists. Splayed to webbings with how my joints bludgeon their edges. Precision enters me as I carve, and of all the air I cleave, for I hate, for I hate -- what stillness comes upon you in your idle contemplations, dreary to the obvious as alike as the oblivious, glimpsing things unseen while we stand here right before your face, and beg you forget us not, remembering a present unwrapped you let sit in some corner of the room for months-- our eyes tracing like fingers the curvature of your jaw, subdued behind your ear when you are thick with beard and stony as the prairie brush I long to scrape. Insufferable for how the blue of your eyes bulge as oceans of innocence in northward bound breezes rising always warm from the south, for what rivers and lakes sparkle there beneath those temperate skies so much more cerulean than sapphire, wine-sodden as ruby red grape and how you made me long for blood when I saw you -- flushed, stumbling, slurring, so unwarranted in forwardness underearned and overpresumed as you laid your hands on me and took me by the hair and I was so pale, so deathly white beside you who the bronzed Attis -- that bull of Minos, labyrinth builder, beast at heart and wild at rule, deceiver and leader by sword and thread stirring up Damocles of Democracies, whom you and I wish once more to lie inside his innards :-- brass oven baked alive where, mutually seared and inflamed breathing of one another's vapor, I know the deathless death that my life is what I lie awake and all which haunts me in sleep some echo which less ripples than belches and busts inducing propulsion, twin engine whose tar I licked scalt with tongue between grooves of paint stripped corrugations of twisting vents and exhausts -- so deathly white beside even you my brother, who that copper beast who is our sire calls in linotype his albino who remains warm in his pouch as I am driven starved into the cold and beaten with sticks -- eating scraps as you eat yourself, having no need of sustenance, being all sustaining, starved only of what lack to which you would give it all willingly, I immersed in a constant moment which is no future, to which I have no past, as you are as he, always somewhere else, spiraling back for always we are moving on rapid and onward compulsion towards that same pre-determined point, ready to make another lap like the good lil doggos we are at the tracks, chasing always rabbits turning on themselves, seeing less as foxes hang themselves by vines in their groves.

I weep for you, Broey. Loveless creature sired of death. Your polluted wellsprings, defiled by me, have seen themselves cleansed.

As I am, I am like the oil whose shade is as pitch in my mane, yet whose shine I apply myself by route and continued pressure and friction. I am changed by daily application. I am applied, and I am what to which I am applied. I cannot will not. To be, I must simply be. What being I am doing must be mandated by my mandates, for to deny me will be to deny yourself.

I will take back so much more than what little I need when you strip from me what little voice I have at those moments I am most desperate to more and less than speak. You induce me to violence, in the ignorance of your route mechanizations I violate willingly, for you are a machine and if I am to you be your boy, your worm, you must be first man to be God, my brother who is my fool.

Call me clownboy again, faggot. Fucking think you're the funny one, bro. Not even fuckin haha funny. Kinda funny that makes ya fuckin cry. Cry so hard, it makes ya never wanna stop. Kinda funny which reveals the fundamental absurdity of existence and makes you weep with a shriek of hopelessness which begs rapid onset revelatory suicide in tandem with a ruthless interrogation of the foundational assumptions which underly one's reality. God, you're a joke that takes way too fuckin long to explain, then makes people kill themselves. My fuckin brother. God, I love this dipshit. Reminds me a lotta Fundip cause he's always apropos. God, he's like this totally perfectly brittle lil carbon-neutrally flavored candy you can just dip into a bunch of fairy sparkles and suck on. Holy fuck, I am such a fuckin retard for desperately needing gay autistic German dick this bad.

Fuck you. They weren't gonna put me in special education. Jacek fuckin don't need anymore signs on his back or logos on this chest. Maybe a letter on his sleeve. That'd be hot. He needs to put a Kick Me sign on Laika's back next time he sees him. If Laika's corpse floats downstream, they'll stick a Kick Me sign to his corpse, prop him up at the edge of town by the wayside, let pilgrims kick his shins for shillings. He would have wanted it that way. Gentle soul. Always doin the Lord's work. Fuck, Laika had a pretty mouth. Can't fuckin believe Broey had 27/8 accesses to Laika's pretty mouth and weren't constantly shaftin it like a fence poster waitin to picket.

That boy needs to get his priorities straight. By fuckin other dudes. Way more than he already does. 'Specially when they're breathin down this neck beggin to be rutted like bitches.

God damn. I am a master prose stylist. I am earthy and organic. It would be a fuckin honor for you to overpay for me at the produce aisle. Broey fuckin takes himself way too seriously. He don't even realize half the nonsense words he read in old books are just jokes he don't fuckin get. If he wrote contemporaneously the magic would happen on its own. Let time make anarchisms of what detritus they may, my brother. You are writing for today, tomorrow and yesterday, for the Truth is constant in all times. The education you have received has helped you formal the I'ses, now you needta offer solutions to dilemmas others don't even get they got, usin to them what they have available and in reach, as in word as alike as in deed. Taskmasker. Assigner. Murderer. Scourge. Occupier. Enslaver. Foreign invader. Make me eat my words. Hearty ruffage, from bridle to salad. Make me mulch of my own wild oats in the feedbag you have affixed to me, as you have made me your decal.

Joey was totally in denial ~

about all the ways he was a dumb jock.

He thought for sport as men hunted for game, and as such all suppositions became as assertions to be disproven, less he erect invisible orthodoxies in cathedral-lined squares sprawling thought prisons he delighted to torture himself, and made of his every recitation another ritual self-flagellation, as all floors his cells -- thus every speech, smile, cordial gesture, breadth of warmth, or gentle admittance became an invitation through a series of doors behind which the slamming of the bars would echo far, and you would became like he, half-petrified and bleached, needing be stoned to endure the eternal weathering of his gaze, white hot in stifled blood.

This tendency -- covert or otherwise -- for his thinking to be a form of domination, serving some invisible power of which he was merely a representative, inclined him towards the insular and reductive, inevitably tending himself further to restriction, of which Joey was well-aware :-- reduction serving the necessary process of simplification to both categorize his thoughts to himself, relay those thoughts to others (his explanations always needing some external post onto which the interior chaos of his mind became less calligraphed than scrawled, less projected onto a board as crystallized around a core) inevitably inducing blind spots, for the categories he concocted spoke to his own invisible presuppositions, as the categories he borrowed spoke to the still more invisible presuppositions of others, for words tended to treatment as absolutes, yet in day to day life communicated best trivial fancies and ephemeral diatribes, be they interpersonal or environmental.

For to Broey, the lived experiences of others served as simply more data to tabulate with ever more certainty some still never-wholly revealed probability, as if finding in what deductions he drew, what systems he made of his schematizations, a million variations on a question he could never ask, and to which he already knew well the answer, and that answer was to him a restlessness, which was to you a hunger, which to Laika was the despair without name beyond words to mutilate beautiful and tender things he treasured most for they were beautiful and tender and his. This answer which had no question likewise motivated every act of un-action -- be they three, five, four or six -- of Cpt. Haruspex's speech, for Brux was aways asking, always asking, in screams to the void he made of polite clarifications of topics already adequately explained, read off fine print clearly visible in manuals thrice lead aloud whilst staring down probability mutely unafflicted. Knowing men like Brux, Jacek could understand why men like Joey formed the attitudes they did. Men like Joey could never know men like Brux, even if men like Brux talked at them nonstop every day for a thousand years.

To Jacek, men like Brux were no mystery. Unfortunately for Broey, to men like Jacek, men like Brux weren't much worth considering, let alone talking about. By this, Jacek did not serve his proud proletarian duty of enriching life by contributing to the data collection bank.

This, of course, meant that when men like Brux mesmerized men like Jacek with stupidly easy to decipher sleight of hand, which can result in months and months of single-minded emotional resource harvesting ... then men like Joey can't give men like Jacek the very simple slaps upside the head they need to get working again.

Being spiteful.

Is always worth it, and lots of fun.

Especially.

When you are a lunky Polish idiot. With a bad temper, zero impulse control and tendency to chug hard liquor like unleaded tap water.

You proved to Broey. That he could be proven wrong.

Even when he was 99% right.

That 1% was worth it. That 1% mattered.

When his book-learned brother was Always Right.

Jacek would go to war. For that 1%.

Jacek meant something to somebody.

He Was Special.

Jacek would peel the skin from the rippling bands of his brawny beetle-hard cattle hide as strands of string cheese wrapped in slice meats as he screamed hot floral teas of steamy blood out his open throat and bashed the melon of his skull against a slab dislodging the ripening grape vines of his own eye stalks into a juice explosion to prove that 1% right and Show Broey He Meant Business.

Joey was gonna fuckin accept ~

that he was a dumber jock than Jacek.

Broey was such a dumb jock.

Broey beat the shit outta him and shoved him in a locker for almost bein in special ed. Broey weren't gonna have no fuckin rubber roomer for a brother. Broey would not be fuckin embarasssed by Jacek in public again. Broey gave him a wedgie for barely squeakin by without flunkin out. Fuckin Jacek's a straight D student, Broey's always fuckin beatin him into gettin C's, then still don't don't act like it's good enough cause Jacek ain't B'in while he's out A'in.

Joey's so fuckin stupid. A big mute German idiot like his big bro, but fuckin gold. He looks like a fuckin monster, he's so inhumanely fuckin huge and sloping half the time where he's yoked and gimp legged. Fuckin hate how he goes big and tall one day, then deflates like a fuckin circus tent. Fuckin cripple. Fuckin knock you down, hump you dry lil bitch. Bust a nut all over your gut you lay there all gimped leg again. Can always run just can't fuckin stand up straight with both fuckin feet on the ground, don't even notice how you bend.

Weirdie. Weirdie. Yellow Yeti. Fuckin weirdie. You don't make sense to me, Broey. You don't make sense to anyone. Fuckin let me dick you, dick me back, Bro. Why the fuck you so fuckin weird, bro.

Fuckin does shit bro. Knowin I'm a stud, but I keep losin my wrestlin match to a cripple. Wanna be your slave, Broey. Put you in a wheelchair. Build you a ramp make you strap me in a harness.

[siravalondulac]

xxi. and so the devil returns whence he came from

a heart so golden, a sun so bright

asoiaf ff | fem!oc centric

summary: elle is faced with what words can do word count: 4123 warnings: detailed descriptions of wounds and death, mentioned and attempted rape

masterlist

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The day had been uneventful. The week had been uneventful. Hopping from town to town, from inn to inn. The only constant in her life was Starlight at this point.

(She did not know how the horse always found its way back to her, but she was glad for it.)

One of the inn's other guests, Lucas, had situated himself at her table and had struck up a conversation. He was… nice, she supposed, but she had barely any energy to entertain him.

Pulling at the chain of her necklace, she was about to excuse herself, when a hooded figure appeared beside their table. Looking up into his face, her breath hitched.

“Hey, Lucas? Could you leave me alone with my friend here?”

The other guest looked up in confusion at the hooded figure, but eventually slipped out from the bench, and gave way for him to sit down across from her.

Benjiamin had not changed since the last time she had seen him. A scar ran across his right eye - his beautiful, deep brown eye with that golden spot in it.

“Elle-”

“What are you doing here?” she whispered angrily. “If anyone recognises you, you're dead.”

“I had to come see you.”

“How did you find me, anyways?”

He hesitated. “I never lost you.”

She furrowed her brows. There was no way he had known where she was when she did not even know.

“Elle, look - you’re in danger.”

“I am the Golden Paladin, when am I ever not-”

“No, it’s more serious than that,” he threw in. “I received a letter from Lord Tywin. He told me to move my troops towards the Twins, and to prepare to catch stray wolves, whatever that means. He said that we will soon be rid of every opposition in the Riverlands.”

Every opposition. Her grandfather must not know what had gone down between her and Benjiamin, or he would not have shared such important information with him.

And- The Stark troops were marching northbound, that one was widely known. But she had also been moving in the same direction through those past few weeks. What if her grandfather had found out?

Tywin Lannister, the mastermind behind the Rains of Castamere. Whatever he had planned, it couldn't be pretty.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

Without hesitation, he pulled a scroll out of his pocket and laid it down before her. Reading through it, the words stated exactly what Benjiamin had said. She prodded at the red wax sigil.

“Thank you for letting me know, I suppose,” she said carefully. “But why?”

His lip trembled, and he seemingly had to collect himself before answering.

“I- I want you to come with me.”

“So you can take me straight to-”

“No! Please, just listen to me.” He shifted in his seat. “I want you to come back with me to High Anura. I can protect you there, just- Just until this whole thing is settled. Lord Tywin, King Joffrey, none of them will be able to touch you there.”

“I can protect myself quite well.”

“For now, but Lord Tywin's words worry me. Everyone knows what he is capable of, and I cannot bear to see you harmed.”

“Why do you care so much,” she hissed, “what happens to me?”

She almost expected him to scream it back at her - words she had never expected to hear, least of all from him. But he simply played around with the golden ring on his finger.

“I-” he began, before stopping and taking a deep breath. “I have been thinking, these past few weeks, about the last time I saw you.” His eyes met hers. “You had the chance to kill me, and yet you did not. Why?”

Why had she not killed him?

It was a question she herself had been contemplating. It should have an easy answer, and yet, for some reason, she had been struggling with the situation.

This was not a sept, she reminded herself. Not a sept.

“I do not kill,” she finally said. “I never have, and I do not intend to start now.”

“But I am your enemy.” He leaned forward, arms pressing into the table. “You have suffered so much from my actions. I am sure the gods would allow it.”

“Well, Benjiamin, some people have principles they stick to, no matter the resistance. You might learn something from that.”

“I've been thinking about that…”

“My principles?”

“Yes.” He leaned back again. “You are so stead-fast in everything you believe in. Nothing shakes you, nothing can divert you from your path. I respect that, and I- I wish I could be like that.”

She chuckled. “You’d be surprised. The demons battling inside me have yet to find their equal.”

“And you're still here.” She had rarely seen Benjiamin so… She could not even think of a word. “You stay strong, even with everything going on. This is a strength I could only dream of.”

“What are you trying to tell me here?”

“I- I want you- I want you to teach me. How to… be strong.” He let a breath loose.

“So that you can kill people without remorse from now on?”

“No, I-”

“What do you want, Ben?”

He looked scared. “I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.”

She leaned forward, meeting him half-way. “Then you need to figure that out on your own. Find me again when you have an answer.”

They were too close again. She did not want a repeat of their interactions in his tent, in any shape or form. Quickly, she averted her gaze to scan the room.

People were watching them. Some of them in pure interest, some of them with their hands on their swords.

“You should leave,” she whispered. “Stark forces are near. Best get out while you still can.”

“Elle-”

“Go home, Ben.”

He took a deep breath. Then he pulled something else from his pocket and laid it before her on the table.

Her dagger. Much cleaner than she remembered, but her dagger still.

She stared at him with wide eyes.

“Thought you might want it back. I don't have much use for it anyways.”

He stood up, and disappeared through the door.

She left shortly after him, saddled Starlight and rode off through the narrow forest paths.

Her dagger was nestled firmly against her arm once more. She had never expected to see it again after her flight, mourning it and the memories it carried despite whom she had gotten it from. Or perhaps because of whom she had gotten it from.

But now, with the lion above her heart and the snake on her wrist, she felt secure again. Like her parents were looking over her, even from afar.

She wondered where she should head to. Honour would dictate she turn north and find the Stark forces to warn them of what was coming. She had the letter Benjiamin had forgotten in the inn in her pocket - perhaps if they read it they would believe her.

Or not. It was, after all, a missive written by one enemy, sent to another, and found by a person none of them had ever met. It was not unlikely they'd rather imprison her than listen to her.

Her quiet speculations were interrupted when Starlight suddenly stopped. The mare rightened her head as her ears pointed up. Elle cocked her head, trying to listen to what had made her horse react like that-

She let out an exasperated sigh.

“I know you're there, Benjiamin. You can come out.”

Nothing happened for a few moments, then trees rustled and Benjiamin emerged, sitting upon a black stallion, the hood of his cloak removed and revealing his dark, messy hair. A bow was fastened to his saddle, the quiver hanging around his waist.

“I suppose I was not as discreet as I had wanted.”

She laughed incredulously. “Have you been following me?”

“And what if I have, little Paladin?”

She cursed that wicked smile of his, not knowing if she wanted to punch or kiss it off his face.

“Where are you headed?” she asked.

“Wherever you go.”

“And if I go to Robb Stark?”

“I know you would never intentionally endanger someone. Even your worst enemy.”

She took a breath to calm herself (her nerves, her mind, her heart), before she urged Starlight to continue down the path.

Benjiamin and his steed fell into step beside them, the path thankfully wide enough to allow her to keep her distance.

“I-” she started. Should she even talk to him? “I thank you for returning my dagger to me. It means a great deal to me.”

“You're welcome. Though I still do not know how such a beautiful object came into your possession.”

“My father gave it to me.”

He chuckled. “The only thing my father ever gave me was this ring.” He raised his left hand, on which the golden sigil ring she had noticed before was located.

It was the first time he had mentioned his father, and she longed to ask him more about the man. His mother had not been a good influence on him, but what about his father? Where was he? What did he think about the man his son had become? She wondered if he was even still alive.

But she did not ask. Because she did not care. Not at all. The less she knew about the man that had haunted her sleep for moons, the better.

They rode in silence for a while, then. She refused to look over at him, not even allowing herself to steal side-ways glances.

“Elle, I have to tell you something.”

He sounded serious - too serious.

“What is it?” She tried to hide the concern in her voice.

“I-”

The pounding of hooves sounded from behind, accompanied by shouts.

“Shit, how did they find me?” he said frantically.

“How did who find you?”

“Stark soldiers. They have been after me for a day now, but I thought I had shaken them off.”

One of the soldiers came hurtling around the bend, and without sharing another word, they both had set off.

She had known, deep down, that being around him would throw her into one of these situations sooner or later. Despite their… truce, he was still the feared and hated Butcher of Sallydance to all around them, no matter what positive feelings she might start to develop for him. She had merely hoped-

“You have to leave me,” he screamed over the winds, his black cloak billowing behind him, as his bow string snapped forward. “If they see you with me-”

“They already have!” An arrow whirled past her own head. She only barely suppressed the urge to scream. “There, into the forest.”

She made a hard turn to the right, Benjiamin directly behind her.

The woods were her friend, she had never once been betrayed by them. They both would be safe there, would manage to escape the soldiers, and then talk about what to do next.

An arrow landed in the tree beside her with a loud thump. Benjiamin answered with one of his own.

The land to her right dropped off sharply. She steered Starlight further to the left, careful not to endanger them both.

She wondered if she should simply surrender to the Stark soldiers, and try to convince them to spare Benjiamin. It was unlikely, but if she leveraged her identity as the Golden Paladin - and as a knight! - it might work. Could tell them Arya Stark was alive, as well.

Her mare could only run so fast through the trees and roots and bushes. Perhaps she should dismount and continue on-

Something hard slammed into her side and threw her off her horse. All the air was knocked out of her lungs as she hit the ground and immediately started hurtling down an incline. Things scratched at her skin and pulled at her hair as she fell further and further and further.

Finally, after what had felt like forever, she slowed and came to a stand-still. Looking up, she saw another body laying in the leaves on the ground.

“What was that for?” she said angrily.

Benjiamin groaned as he turned his head to her. “The arrow would have otherwise hit you.”

“And there was no other idea in that smart brain of yours?”

“I'm- I'm sorry.”

There was no time to be angry now, she told herself. She could always scream at and punch him later, when they were not in mortal danger.

“Come, this way.” She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain in her body.

Benjiamin righted himself slower than her, yet still followed her on uneasy feet.

The trees around them grew sparser yet taller; foliage covered the entire ground, and the half-gone forest canopy let in the warm autumn sun. If she had had the time, she would have stayed and stared at it.

“We must move faster,” she told Benjiamin. “Otherwise they will catch up with us.”

Why was he so slow? Was he not realising how dire their situation was?

“Yeah, yeah, just- I just need a- a minute.”

He sounded out of breath, and when she turned around, fully intent on grabbing his arm to pull him after her, she saw him stumbling. And clutching his left side.

“Ben, what- What is it?”

“Nothing, I just-” He braced himself against a tree, before he slid down against it. “I just need a moment to rest. Then we can continue.”

She knelt down beside him, having an inkling of an idea what happened, but not wanting to believe it. Until she was forced to when he removed his bloody hand from his tunica.

The arrow.

“No, Ben-”

She quickly pulled the sticky fabric up. The skin and flesh was ripped apart, blood oozing out of the wound. Her hands were dripping in the red substance simply by being too close to it.

“You need a healer, Ben, and quickly. If we can get you on a horse-”

“I like when you call me that.”

“What?”

“Ben. No one's ever called me that.” He smiled.

“This is really not the time-”

“It is. I have to-” He tried sitting up straighter, yet only winced in pain.

“What you have to is see a healer. Or even better, a maester.”

She tried her hardest not to let it show, to keep her composure for herself and Ben, but she was slowly becoming distressed. Frantic, even. And she shouldn't be - this was her enemy, the one person she had grown to hate like no other. She did not understand why she was feeling this way.

“No, please,” he tried once again. His hands shifted, and he quickly slid a piece of metal over one of her fingers. Looking down, she instantly recognised his golden ring. Before she could question him over this, he had already closed his hand around hers.

“Return this ring to my father.” His voice shook, almost from exertion. “Please. I beg you. Tell him I’m sorry.”

“You tell him that yourself, Ben.”

She tried to remove the ring, to not accept what he was implying, but his bloodied fingers held hers in a tight grip.

“There is something else.” He was trying to distract her. “When you were- At my tent, you talked about every title you have gathered. Every thing that you are. Knight, criminal, lady, witch - I would like to exchange lady for princess.”

Her mouth dropped open, the tear on her cheek forgotten.

He tried to chuckle, but was quickly forced to stop by yet another wince. “Yeah, I figured out your little riddle. The lion kind of gave it away.”

She tried to overplay her sob with a chuckle. “It was a bit easy, I suppose.”

“Have to make it more difficult next time.”

Yes. Next time. There would be a next time.

“But… You have not told anyone.”

Because if he had, she would certainly have been dragged away by Lannister soldiers long ago.

“I just thought-” He coughed- “that perhaps there was a reason you kept yourself hidden, Cerelle.”

A strange feeling spread inside her stomach at the mention of her name. She had felt it before, when Jon had said it at their parting. How it came to be or what it meant she did not know.

He laid a hand on her cheek. Something laid in his eyes, a look she could not quite place. Yet before she could ask about it (or enjoy the feeling of his skin on hers) the pounding of hooves sounded across the forest floor.

She ripped around, attempting to stand up and place herself before Ben to protect him, but before she could do anything, a soldier had already grabbed her arm and dragged her towards him.

“Now, who do we have here?”

He pressed his face close to hers, closer than any sane person would. She punched him in the throat with her free hand without much thought, making him lose his grip on her and dropping her to the floor.

She readied herself to jump up and run back to Ben, when a male voice said, “Restrain her,” and two pairs of hands wrapped themselves around her arms, forcing her to kneel amongst the leaves on the ground.

“Let me go!”

A man stepped into her field of vision. He was tall, with a prominent beard and dark hair looking out from under his helmet.

“To think I'd ever find you, Butcher,” he said, drawing his sword. 

“Please,” she screamed out. “Don't harm him.”

The man turned around to her. “I see you've found yourself a friend. Or perhaps an accomplice?”

She wanted to glare at him, to tell him who it was he was talking to, but her gaze wandered further. To Ben, cowering on the ground.

Something strange laid in his eyes. Fear. Pain. Conviction. And two words.

Forgive me.

“Whore's more like it. She's pretty, don't you think?”

His whole expression had changed, to a version of him she had never thought she'd see again. Had hoped to never see again.

The man laughed. “On that we agree.”

“She was far too easy to catch. Women are simple creatures - make them think you've changed, that you're good, and they follow every word you say.”

“Ben, what are you-”

“She didn't even know who I was. Had a real good scare when she saw me kill a whole family in front of her. I doubt she will forget it or the fucking I gave her afterwards any time soon.”

He was lying. He had to be. She would remember such a thing. All their encounters were burned into her memory, doomed to haunt her until her dying day. She would remember if… If she had not suppressed it. If- If having sex- If having been raped by him had not been so traumatic her own mind had fabricated a lie to indicate she had been in control. That whatever had happened had actually been enjoyable, the way it had done with-

The man stepped closer and looked down at her, terrifying her with his smile.

“She doesn't look like any whore I've seen.”

“You should have seen her before me - most virtuous and pious maiden to ever grace this land. I had so much fun ruining her.”

The soldier grabbed her face. “You do seem like I'd be enjoying myself with you.”

“She's free to use. Just don't damage her face - I far too enjoy looking at it.”

Free to use. She had never told him about her past desire to wait until marriage, nor how it killed her inside on some days that she was no longer a maiden, no matter how consensual it had been. He couldn’t know, couldn’t even suspect-

The man finally let go of her, slashing his blade through the air as he turned towards Ben. “You are in no place to make demands, Butcher. Not after you’ve just killed two more of us.”

He tried to stand up, to draw his sword, yet he quickly fell to his knees again. The soldier laughed as he threw him over, Ben hitting the earth with a soft thump and a loud groan. Blood soaked his clothes, his hands, and the ground beneath. She thrashed in the arms holding her down, trying to run over to him and protect him, no matter what he had said previously.

“Looks like the great Butcher is wounded.” The man seemed almost giddy. “Shall we release him from his suffering?”

“You will regret ever crossing me once my men arrive,” Ben growled.

The man kicked him in the stomach, laughing. “What men? You’re alone.” He raised his sword.

“Don’t touch him,” she sobbed.

Bewildered, the man looked over to her. “So loyal, even after everything you have said about her.” His gaze focused on Ben again. “I think I will quite enjoy making her mine. Fucking her until she has completely forgotten you’ve ever existed.”

Ben laughed, yet it sounded false. “Do it, I do not care. She knows nothing about my plans, she’s useless to me.”

The man laughed. “Too bad I won't make you feel the same pain you have inflicted on me.” He kicked him in the stomach, directly onto the wound. “You're already too far gone. So we'll make this short.” And with that, he buried his sword in Ben's chest.

She screamed.

His body became limp, head rolling to the side, its wide eyes looking at her as the life faded from them.

“Silence her.”

A fist slammed into the side of her face. The hands around her arms let go of her as she fell forward to the ground.

Distantly, she heard the men laughing, might have even seen two more joining in the mockery had she not continued staring at the body. Unable to look away. Thinking of how the blood had felt on her hands. Weeping at the pull around her heart.

She had failed yet again. Someone had died because of her yet again. And she did not even know why he had betrayed her. He couldn't- He couldn't have meant what he said. Then why-

Someone grabbed his lifeless body and threw it into a ditch a few metres ahead. The water splashed on the impact as a hand wrapped itself around her neck, pulling her up.

The man holding her shifted his grip to her throat, pressing down on it shortly to see its effect, and grinned at the desperate look in her eyes.

“Now let's get to you, whore.”

Her tunica had likely already ripped from how desperately she wanted to get out of the hold the soldiers had on her, and she wouldn't be surprised if her voice would soon become sore as well.

“No, please! He lied, I'm not a-” She took a shaky breath. “A whore.”

She clawed at his hand, yet it remained steadfast. It pressed down on where her scar had been, threatening to restrict her airflow, throwing her back to Braavos, to that empty warehouse-

“Of course you’d think that.” He started petting her hair. “Poor girl, Imma treat you well.”

“Don’t touch me,” she screamed, ripping herself out of his grasp.

The man quickly grabbed her hair before she could fall back, tilting her head backwards to force her to look into his eyes. “You should be glad someone wants you after your dalliance with…”

He trailed off, his gaze dropping to her chest. One of his hands came up and grabbed her necklace, inspecting-

Her necklace.

The tumble down the hill must have dislodged it from its hiding place underneath her tunica, laying it bare for all the world to see.

“A Lannister,” he spat.

If she had not been panicking before, she was now. The man had hunted Ben for an entire day and mocked him as he had killed him. There was no telling what he would do to her - a woman he saw as a whore.

He threw her to the ground, immediately laying his sword on her throat, every sign of a smile wiped off his face.

“Wait,” another man said. “Perhaps we should bring her to the king. He'll already be furious that the Butcher is dead, maybe she will soften the blow.”

“He already said she knows nothing.”

Something warm trickled down her neck.

“Maybe she is important,” another man said. “If the Butcher was interested in her, the Old Lion might be as well.”

The man seemed to fight with himself, before grunting and removing the blade. She took a deep breath.

“Tie her up. She's riding with me.”

previous | next

author's note: hope you had fun, here's this chapter from ben's pov

also can't wait for tomorrow, we're meeting someone very familiar

[the-nameless-juan]

CORE - THE SUMMER LADY

WOE - REVERSE 9 OF WANDS

WEAL - The Hanged Man

WITHIN - Reverse The Lovers VI

WITHOUT - The World

YOU ARE AN INFLUENCER [COMPLIMENTARY]

DONT DIE ON THIS HILL

STOP CONTEMPLATE RECONSIDER

JUST TALK

OUR WITHIN AS SEEN WITHOUT

What is the nature of influence, of inspiration, ask yourself, am I something a younger more naive version of myself would like to aspire to? Contemplate this as you plan your next moves and goals. Life isn’t fair many say, but rarely do people stop and think that they should do something to change that. If you want change, it’s best to start with yourself, and work outwards from there. Don’t try and impose it on others, but do talk if they ask, you would be surprised what can be accomplished by just talking. But remember, some will simply not listen, and take your improvement as an attack on themselves. You cannot force improvement on others, just as other an not force regression upon you. Take stock of influences and influenced, and choose your next steps.

[casspurrjoybell-23]

The Raven - Chapter 27

*Warning Adult Content*

By the time Henry finally visits the tower, it is well past sundown and his heart is weighed down with immense guilt.

He cannot stop wondering whether that strange noise outside his room earlier had been his precious Caleb.

The sheer idea that his ruby-eyed boy had been distraught enough to make such a heart-shattering sound has a bottomless pit growing within the prince's belly.

Had Caleb come looking for him, only to find him entertaining the princess in his bedroom?

Henry needs to be more careful and considerate of his raven's feelings from here on out, he does not believe he could survive losing him to such a misunderstanding.

Prince Henry holds his breath as he lightly knocks on the door at the top of the tower, hoping his sweet Caleb is not upset with him.

Henry slowly opens the barrier between them when his love's voice is heard in his head.

The breath rushes out of him as his gaze lands upon the sight of the beautiful midnight-colored raven sitting on the windowsill, those mesmerizing scarlet orbs staring out at the garden in typical Caleb fashion.

"Caleb?" Henry calls, his voice revealing precisely how unsteady and unsure he is at this exact moment. "Are you alright, love?" he asks carefully, his heart hammering loudly as he awaits a response.

Unsure how to answer the question truthfully, the raven replies with a short nod, his gaze still transfixed by the flowers below.

Both boys remain silent for several moments, contemplating how best to relieve the palpable tension so unbearably pulsating between them.

Deciding to simply be straightforward and honest, the raven tells his prince...

I am experiencing emotions that I am not aware of how to process at this moment.

"Will you tell me about them?" asks Henry, a small wave of relief crashing into him at the sound of his little bird's voice in his mind.

The fact that Caleb is speaking to him could only be considered a good sign, right?

Perhaps there is still a chance to save whatever this is between them.

Henry steps further into the room, closing the door behind him and eliminating much of the space between himself and the raven.

He wishes to be as close as possible, yet he would not want to make his ruby-eyed boy feel uncomfortable with the close proximity, given the strain between them at this time.

The raven nods once again, a light sigh echoing in Henry's thoughts as the raven jumps directly into conversation, baring his soul to the prince all at once.

I was at your room earlier and heard you laughing with a female. Although I want to trust you, I am having difficulty understanding my emotions, he says as truthfully as possible. I have never experienced this before and I do not know what to do about it, I do not think I like feeling this way, Caleb admits quietly.

Caleb was outside his room when the princess was there.

It must have looked far worse than it really was, the prince already realizes how this discrepancy could cause unwarranted heartache.

Henry can only imagine the unfamiliar thoughts and feelings overwhelming his little bird right now.

Hoping to offer Caleb some comfort, he says...

"If you will shift into your human form, I would love to hold you while I explain myself."

As the raven immediately shifts, the blond scoops him into his arms, holding him impossibly close.

Wrapped around each other in a reassuring grasp, both boys sigh in relief, the fear of their relationship ending suddenly soothed.

Caleb presses his face into Henry's shoulder, seeking more contact and comfort from his prince.

Henry seats himself upon Caleb's bed, pulling the other boy into his lap without untangling their limbs from each other.

"My mother insisted I spend time with Princess Elaina," he explains, gently running his fingers through the long black hair he adores so much.

"The princess was overly clingy while we toured the castle, her incessant need to touch me making my skin crawl. So I excused myself to my room for a few minutes alone, hoping that creating some physical distance between us would calm the obsession so obviously possessing her. Unfortunately, the princess followed me to my bedroom. Because I had not closed the door properly, she invited herself in without bothering to ask my permission."

Henry's brows furrow, the disdain for his previous interactions with the princess evidently displayed on his handsome features. He continues...

"I believe that my mother instructed Princess Elaina to do so, as, for a while, my mother hovered outside my bedroom door. I engaged the princess with small talk to not upset my mother so early on in Princess Elaina's stay."

Caleb nods slowly, his expression scrunching as he thinks over Henry's words.

"So, my feelings are... unjustified?" he asks, the simple thought that he had overreacted soothing him immensely.

He really should have more faith in his prince, however, he has never before been in such a situation.

And if he has learned anything about emotions, it is that they cannot be controlled, it is best to allow them to be felt to their extent in order to save oneself the damage it may cause to keep them contained.

"Caleb," Henry says, tenderly tipping the other boy's chin upward to meet his eyes. "Your feelings are valid. Whatever you feel is okay, please know that. There had simply been a misunderstanding in this case and I thank you for allowing me to explain myself."

"To clarify, you still do not want to marry the princess?" asks the black-haired beauty after soaking in the new information.

Finally, his overworking mind can rest.

"Never, love," the prince replies, smoothing back Caleb's hair. "She is still a female, which is definitely not my cup of tea. And most importantly, she is not you."

Henry places a soft kiss on the other boy's forehead, followed by one on his nose.

Soon, Caleb's entire face is being littered with kisses, much to his delight.

"Do you forgive me?" Henry whispers, his lips still brushing against the pale skin of the boy seated in his lap.

Looking deeply into those crystal blue eyes, the raven responds...

"There is nothing to forgive," before meeting Henry's lips with his own.

Their kisses grow more passionate as their hunger for each other builds, their hands wandering over untouched territory for the first time.

The prince's hand slips beneath Caleb's shirt, his fingers tenderly caressing the soft skin.

A noise of approval escapes Caleb's mouth as Henry's lips make contact with his neck.

"Let me make it up to you," the blond whispers against his lover's ear.

He waits silently for a nod of confirmation before removing the raven's shirt as he gently lays him back against the mattress, his lips and hands roaming freely down his chest.

The little noises coming from Caleb are like music to his ears, spurring him on.

When Henry has removed the remainder of Caleb's clothes, he takes a moment to admire the boy's beautiful body before descending once again, his mouth greedily moving lower on the now exposed pale skin.

Though wholly inexperienced, the way that Caleb's hands tightly grasp the bedsheets and the pleasured gasps and moans filling the air prove that he cannot be entirely terrible at it.

"Henry," Caleb cries out in profound pleasure, losing himself to the feelings consuming him as Henry continues to draw him closer to a release he has never known before.

Caleb definitely is not upset with him anymore.

[lastoneout]

How my fiance prefers to shop:

Efficiency above all else, our priority is getting in and out as fast as possible. (Doesn't matter who's with him or if he's alone, it's the same.)

Only go into areas or aisles where you need something. Make sure the path you take is efficient as well, walking down aisles you don't need anything in is to be avoided at all costs.

Beeline to those needed things, grab them, only contemplate items/scan coupons if absolutely necessary .

Immediately go to the self check-out. Try to get the one that is quieter than the others and doesn't yell when you move things around in the bagging area(we actually shop at a specific store because it's the only one near us where the self check-out is quiet and lax about moving things, for my fiance this is the most important thing to keep in mind when deciding where to shop).

Leave.

How I prefer to shop:

Alone. I struggle to do things, anything, when someone is watching. I don't know why but I simply stop being able to perform tasks if someone is watching me.

I am extremely forgetful, so my System involves writing a list, but also going through almost every area/aisle and looking at things so I give myself the highest chance of remembering anything I may have forgotten. Also going up and down every aisle is soothing?? Idk it just is.

I go through them in a specific order, produce first, then up and down each aisle like a snake, and then we hit dairy and meat(which is usually in a weird place) and then go to the check out.

Meandering is intentional, again I need time to remember things. I will stand there and consider if I need/want things or if I don't for several minutes if needed.

Take time to laugh at any weird products you see. (I'm a whimsical bitch.)

Take time to scan coupons.

Take breaks to think through each recipe I plan on making so I don't forget anything because, I cannot stress enough, I will forget why I'm even there if I don't build in as much time for remembering as possible into my System.

Check out with a person. I'll go for the self check-out if I need to, but I don't really enjoy them because there's not enough space in the bagging area for all my groceries + and I'm bad at bagging things + the loud noises + high concentration of people + not a lot of space especially if you have a cart + feeling that I'm going to do something wrong + PRESSURE TO GET OUT OF EVERYONE'S WAY is distressing.

Leave.

How I shop when I am following my fiance's system:

Awkwardly follow him around despite the fact that I'm the one with the shopping list and he doesn't like people walking behind him.

Second guess everything, feel bad about frivolous purchases, get stressed out. (<- He doesn't make me feel bad for spending money, I grew up poor and with abusive caregivers and am struggling to not feel awful about buying things I want and/or potentially doing things Wrong somehow and getting in trouble. The rest is just the whole "I don't like being watched while I do things" issue.)

Feel pretty bad about wasting time and walking inefficiently, almost run in to people because for some reason this style of shopping makes me lose my spatial awareness.

Have to double back a lot and still end up forgetting half the things I came to get.

Go directly home after because not shopping how I want to is, for some reason, extremely exhausting.

Not complain because while I'm a neurodivergent introvert my fiance is even more of a neurodivergent introvert and also that people are weirdly hostile to him in public because they don't like the way he looks?? So I know he's going to crash harder than I do when we get home from dealing with lights and sounds and strangers glaring at him and/or giving him shit for wearing an N95 which happens constantly when I'm not standing directly beside him(me being a short girl-adjacent creature with a buzz cut who uses mobility aids tends to make people think I'm recovering from cancer and leave us alone).

So yeah we just have competing access needs re: shopping that clash in a weird way, and the world would probably be a better place if neither of us ever had to go to the grocery store. (He also apologized when I explained why I act weird at the store, and we're gonna work something out to try to minimize Shopping Stress for BOTH of us.)

there's getting diagnosed for real and then there's having your fiance show you youtube shorts by autistic people talking about their habits and going "YOU!! YOU DO THIS!!!!!!"

[geeoharee]

More of my 'Sherlock Holmes through the lens of Discworld' thoughts, because why have one fixation when two will do

This week Holmes solved the case of The Blue Carbuncle, i.e. 'I stole a gem and hid it somewhere very stupid and now I cannot retrieve it from that place, oh no, this has all gone wrong, I am dumb'. The thief in question is James Ryder, a servant for the gem's owner who is framing John Horner, a plumber he called round to fix something in the house.

Anyway, not very important except to say Ryder does not get away with the crime even a LITTLE bit - he loses track of the gem immediately and it ends up in Holmes's living room and so does he. Horner meanwhile is sitting in a cell with the police not believing that he has no idea what they're on about.

When Holmes tells Ryder that he knows he stole it, Ryder collapses completely. He was already sitting down in a chair and somehow manages to fall on the floor, they have to give him brandy, then he begs pathetically:

Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my companion's knees. "For God's sake, have mercy!" he shrieked. "Think of my father! Of my mother! It would break their hearts. I never went wrong before! I never will again. I swear it. I'll swear it on a Bible. Oh, don't bring it into court! For Christ's sake, don't!"

He does the obligatory First Person Narration Of The Whole Story that Watson always puts in here, and concludes:

"My sister thinks that I am going mad. Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now—and now I am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God help me!" He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.

He is a horrible little man and he would have sent Horner to prison with no remorse whatsoever if he hadn't lost the gem, but honestly you can't help but feel a bit sorry for him anyway. Holmes certainly does, chucking him out of the house on the basis that he probably won't do it again, Horner will go free anyway if Ryder doesn't testify and "it is the season of forgiveness" - as well as the famous line "I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies." He's not a cop. He can do things like this, if he feels like it.

The Discworld connection is to the Hedge Argument Murder. (Incidentally, if you google that, the FIRST result is that there have been several of these in real life, before and after the book came out. Hedges are serious business.) Sam contemplates copper-ness in Night Watch...

Keep the peace. That was the thing. People often failed to understand what that meant. You'd go to some life-threatening disturbance like a couple of neighbours scrapping in the street over who owned the hedge between their properties, and they'd both be bursting with aggrieved self-righteousness, both yelling, their wives would either be having a private scrap on the side or would have adjourned to the kitchen for a shared pot of tea and a chat, and they expected you to sort it out.

And they could never understand that it wasn't your job. Sorting it out was a job for a good surveyor and a couple of lawyers, maybe. Your job was to quell the impulse to bang their stupid fat heads together, to ignore the affronted speeches of dodgy self-justification, to get them to stop shouting and to get them off the street. Once that had been achieved, your job was over. You weren't some walking god, dispensing finely-tuned natural justice. Your job was to simply bring back the peace.

Of course, if your few strict words didn't work and Mr Smith subsequently clambered over the disputed hedge and stabbed Mr Jones to death with a pair of gardening shears, then you had a different job, sorting out the notorious Hedge Argument Murder. But at least it was one you were trained to do.

People expected all kinds of things from coppers, but there was one thing that sooner or later they all wanted: make this not be happening.

In this lovely Christmas story, Holmes sees a man who wants more than anything in the world for this not to be happening - to just be able to take it all back - to be forgiven. Even though he's not particularly deserving. And because he's not a cop, he can give it to him.