#Irish Hand and Half Sword

[kultofathena]

🗡️ Two New Swords From Legacy Arms 🗡️

The Irish Hand and Half Sword

The Roman Gladius Sword

[hazyange1s]

𓉘❦ 𝑹𝒂𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒔 ❦𓉝 *currently editing*

𝕭𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖘

Full name: Raegan Caítríona DesRosiers

Nicknames: Rae, Rae Rae, Reggie (don’t call her that she’ll hex you)

Gender: female

Species: witch

Date of birth: November 27, 1874

Nationality: French and Irish

Blood status: half-blood

Sexuality: bisexual

⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆

𝕬𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊

Hair color: dark ginger

Hair style: often worn pulled back in a loose braid or bun, though she starts wearing it down in her natural messy waves after fifth year. seventh year brings on the trauma haircut. 💀

Eye color: amber/gold/red (when using ancient magic)

Skin tone: fair, often has a light tan

Height: 5’5”

Body type: curvy and toned from Quidditch/dueling

Clothing style: dark and warm colors (black, red, brown), likes heavy fabrics such as wool, velvet, and leather, prefers to dress casual in battle-ready clothes but also enjoys dressing up

Accessories:

likes to use her wand to keep her hair up

often wears dragon hide gloves

ring made of goblin metal (given to her in sixth year)

Other distinguishing features:

two old scars through her left eyebrow (no memory of getting them) and a longer scar over the same eye (cut by a sword during the final repository battle)

Unbreakable Vow and Dara knot tattoos

LOTS of freckles

𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

Positive traits: confident, persuasive, energetic, brave, passionate, clever, protective, good sense of humor

Neutral traits: rebellious, stubborn, domineering, competitive, flirtatious, sarcastic

Negative traits: hotheaded, proud, defensive, ruthless, slow to trust, can be manipulative, vengeful

Likes: summer, history, flying, parties, freedom, traveling, independence

Dislikes: authority, swimming/the rain, silence, wet blankets, seafood

Hobbies: dueling, Quidditch, historical research, dancing, weapon-making/collecting

Fears: drowning, being forgotten/insignificant, losing control

MBTI: ESTP-T

Enneagram: 8w7 (873) sx/sp

Zodiac: Sagittarius sun, scorpio moon, leo rising

Temperament: choleric

Archetype: The Rebel

Similar characters: Aelin Galthynius, Ginny Weasley, Damon Salvatore, Bellamy Blake, Jude Duarte, Faith Lehane

𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈

Boggart: her father…until her guilt over the loss of Professor Fig leads him to be her new one

Patronus: tigress

Polyjuice: turns amber and tastes like honey mead

Amortentia: cinnamon, clove, smoke, and sandalwood

Special abilities:

Ancient magic —

bubbling in your veins until your blood heats and your skin flushes. eyes glowing red — then gold, and red again. it writhes around your bones, climbs up your throat, fills your lungs with smoke until you have no choice but to let it out. it burns, first orange and yellow and then white hot, exploding from trembling hands and spreading like a forest fire.

Dark Arts (wielded “when necessary” which is really just…whenever her instincts say)

Pyromancy - Raegan is an Igneus; a species of witch that is immune to and can conjure fire at will, the trait being passed through her mother’s bloodline

𝕽𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕𝖘

Father: Marcel DesRosiers

As a French ambassador, Marcel is charismatic, cunning, and — though he hides it well — manipulative. His wealthy status and rumored descendance to the old French monarchy contribute to his massive ego, and growing up as a Catholic Muggle, he despised any mention of spirituality or “magic”.

Mother: Kassady DesRosiers (Fallon)

A kind, adventurous, and headstrong dragonologist from Galway, Kassady spent most of her adult life traveling until she settled in France after meeting Marcel. She had a brief reunion with an old flame, Aesop Sharp, just beforehand — leading to her becoming pregnant with her son Ronan only two months before Raegan is conceived.

Growing up, she attended Hogwarts as a Gryffindor and was very close with a Slytherin named Guinevere Faughn, who eventually becomes the mother of Raegan’s best friend, Diana. Kassady was also friendly with Samuel Sallow and his wife, Alyse.

A sometimes absent and distracted but very loving and protective mother.

Sibling: Ronan Sharp (half-brother/twin)

Born to parents Kassady DesRosiers and Aesop Sharp out of wedlock, Ronan grew up separated from his sister and mother. Raegan isn’t even aware she has a sibling until Sharp formally introduces them in their sixth year.

A charming Hufflepuff and future Healer who excels in inventing in his own Charms.

Companion: Soleil

A fiercely loyal phoenix rescued from poachers in a mountain mine, Soleil lives primarily in the Vivarium while Raegan is at Hogwarts — but he’s known for showing up anywhere and everywhere at the most unlikely times.

Friends: Diana Blackwine (childhood best friend), Sebastian Sallow, Natsai Onai, Garreth Weasley, Ominis Gaunt, Leander Prewett, Imelda Reyes (frenemies)

Love Interest(s): Sebastian Sallow

After they meet in fifth year during DADA, Raegan and Sebastian have a dynamic that can only be expressed as mutual respect hidden beneath a lighthearted rivalry. Though their equally willful and opinionated personalities tend to clash, they begin to find that they have more common ground than they thought. They’ll duel each other — no holds barred — to settle a squabble, but at the end of the day they’re sharing chocolate frogs as if it never happened.

(you can read more about them here)

𝕭𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞

TW: infidelity, abuse, familial death

Born in Avignon, France, Raegan had a turbulent childhood. While her mother was loving and kind, she often had to travel for her work - as did Raegan’s father, meaning she was often with only one parent for extended periods of time or had to be watched by one of her paternal aunts. When he was around, Marcel was not an affectionate man…in fact, he was often physically and verbally abusive to his wife right in front of Raegan and extended the treatment to her as she got older.

Eventually he discovered that Kassady had had an affair and conceived a son with another man. This coupled with his disdain for witchcraft led him to abandon his wife and daughter. So, the two moved back to Kassady’s hometown of Galway, Ireland.

However, times were tough. Her mother’s career as a dragonologist was no longer lucrative enough in the troubling times, and so they again relocated to London.

It was there that Kassady met a tragic, sudden end at the hands of an unidentified serial killer (who many suspected was actually a wizard). A newly orphaned Raegan, upon hearing the news, burned her house to the ground and wound up killing the officer who reported it accidentally.

The emotion was enough to unlock the ancient magic that had been hidden away inside of her, and just days after her mother’s funeral she received her Hogwarts letter. She now lives with her best friend (Diana)’s aunt in Scotland.

𝕬𝖈𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖈𝖘

Best subject: DADA

Favorite subject: Flying and History of Magic

Favorite teacher: Hecat and Sharp

Worst subject: Herbology

Least favorite subject: Herbology and Divination

Least favorite teacher: Binns

Quidditch: Chaser (sixth year) and Quidditch Captain in seventh

Notes:

Rarely late, but she does miss (more than) a few classes in her fifth year

Detention record reads more like a rap sheet

Infamous but still respected as a dedicated and intelligent student

𝕱𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊

Career: Auror

Though Raegan notoriously resists authority and despises the incompetence of the Ministry, she sees working for them as an opportunity to change things. Being in on the more secretive matters going on behind the scenes of the Wizarding World (and the chance to deal with them under the protection of their influence) doesn’t hurt, either.

They likely would have fired her on her first day for her insubordination, but they can’t deny the fact that she quickly becomes one of the best they have. Really, it’s a case of mutual loathing maintained through an advantageous truce.

Eventually, she does leave of her own accord, and takes up studying ancient history and magical weapon making.

(thanks @rypnami for motivating me by association to finally post this months old draft 🤠)

[queer-ragnelle]

Oh, no, what happened in The Altar of the Legion? 😭

It was a very good book, 5/5 stars from me! But it's Arthurian, it's a tragedy. It was very satisfying though and I highly recommend it. Full spoiler break down and review of The Altar of the Legion by Farnham Bishop and Arthur Gilchrist Brodeur below. It's gonna be long.

It all takes place post-Camlann. King Arthur has been defeated and Owain mab Urien is now an old king of North Wales/Rheged. The story follows Owain's two children, Princess Gwenlian, a brave and courageous girl whom the court believes would make a great sovereign, and Prince Meriaduc, a jolly kid who fears the sight of blood and would rather be a minstrel than soldier and heir to the throne. The people of Wales require help from the last remaining Roman city in Britain as Owain's Ravens, his black-leather wearing fighters, have been reduced in numbers and can no longer combat the Saxons alone. However when Gwenlian falls ill, Meriaduc dons her gown to take her place as ambassador for Wales. During this time Meriaduc, as a princess, seems to develop complicated feelings about gender and the role a prince is supposed to play.

Every one loved the merry prince. But Meriaduc was fifteen, and at that age in King Owain's land a man must be a man. But this man, a king's son, chose to be a woman, and in that guise was even now about to enter Legionis Asa. All in the service of his hard-pressed country, it was true; and there was no doubt that a beautiful, high-spirited princess would have more influence than a prince who could not fight.

On top of that, Meriaduc doesn't merely enjoy the time spent passing as a woman, but fully embodies it, and seems to fall in love with Roman-Briton Drusus, a prefect of the last Roman city in Britain, although there are some half-hearted attempts to deny/prevent it.

Meriaduc, in the midst of his mischief, was feeling that sense of security and fraternal content the presence of Drusus inspired in him. The young prince did not want a love affair on his hands, messing up his more serious business.

This romantic nature of attraction is observed from multiple outside perspectives, including Niall, the Irish captain of the Ravens and the princess's escort, the only one aware of Meriaduc as Gwenlian.

Niall of the Sword, picking his teeth with a dagger, watched the two with open satisfaction. He saw and understood the prefect's ready sympathy, his interest in the pretended Gwenlian's beauty, touched to radiance as it was by the fire of patriotism. He saw the quick response of eye to eye, of smile to smile, of serious mood to serious mood; the spontaneous friendship of two young, wholesome souls.

This mutual romantic interest is so pronounced that Tullia, Drusus's cousin, becomes openly jealous, and teases him about the whole situation. His aunt Sophonsiba also doesn't like Gwenlian!Meriaduc flirting with her nephew. All of this Meriaduc noticed, found hilarious, and continued to exploit throughout the story.

The elf of mischief, never far from the surface of Meriaduc's soul, chuckled ever so softly. Was Tullia jealous of him?

And Drusus, for his part, defends Gwenlian!Meriaduc, even when she isn't there. He's a good guy! Calling out his aunt's racism!

He forced a patient smile. It was little use, he knew, to argue with Aunt Sophonisba. "The Princess Gwenlian is scarcely a skin-clad savage," he answered kindly. "But her eyes!" exclaimed his aunt. "And her manners! The girl is a little barbarian, affectedly trying to live up to her new surroundings. And I do not like the way she looks at you, Drusus. She is playing with you, twisting you about her finger, for the sake of your influence with the Senate. And you why, this very morning, the little Welsh flirt kept you so engrossed that Tullia spoke to you thrice without receiving an answer. You will break the child's heart." So that was it? Square chin raised, Drusus met his aunt's eyes almost angrily. "This is folly !" he exclaimed.

At last the honest and honorable Drusus decides to aid the Welsh even if the political powers and his family won't. Tullia argues against him, accusing Gwenlian!Meriaduc of bewitching him. Drusus won't hear it.

But Drusus, carried away by his own eagerness, was not to be checked. "The Quæstor dares not arrest me," he answered. "If he did so now, the troops would march on the city. I am no traitor, Tullia. I am a Roman Briton, one who loves his country and would see her follow the honorable course. If the Senate refuses to let me call for volunteers, I will proclaim myself dictator, seize the city, and form an alliance with King Owain." The curtains parted, revealing the supposed enchantress, flushed with excitement, in the doorway.

It's at this point Meriaduc completely loses the plot and the lines between the role of princess and truly embodying a woman in love begin to blur.

"I am sorry," said Drusus simply. He shrank from trying to understand his emotional cousin's conduct. "Tell her I will bring back a Saxon standard for her," he added. "That is a proper gift! " exclaimed Meriaduc, all Gwenlian again. "I wish you had made me such a promise." "I shall bring you a sword, red with Saxon blood," Drusus responded gallantly. It came so suddenly, Meriaduc staggered a step backward, caught Niall's glance with its message of "You see!" On that he straightened proudly, and smiled gratefully at Drusus — every inch a princess.

Anon they are simply in love I don't know what else to say. Just look. At this point the story finally gives us an Owain pov chapter. He misses his kids. :^( And tragically, he never gets to see them again, as he falls in battle with his men, unaware of Gwenlian's illness or that Meriaduc has succeeded in the mission too late to save their father.

However this is where things get really interesting because Gwenlian, recovered well enough from her illness, is now dressed as Meriaduc in an attempt to make it to the city and complete the mission she has no idea her brother has already followed through on. The group does catch word of this though, telling Meriaduc!Gwenlian that his sister, Gwenlian!Meriaduc, has made it safely to the city and rallied troops.

Deep was Gwenlian's wonder. Meriaduc? How could that be? Yet anything could be if Meriaduc were concerned. She decided to keep her own disguise till she met the pseudo-Gwenlian.

While Tullia continues to complain about Drusus and Gwenlian!Meriaduc's budding romance...

It irked her almost beyond endurance to live in the same house with the British girl, whose manners were so un-Roman, who seemed to take perverse pleasure in speaking of Drusus with familiar affection.

There’s toxic yuri potential here. By the way. Anyway Meriaduc!Gwenlian finally makes it there and the siblings reunite!

With cries of joy, the brother and sister were clasped in each other's arms. Tullia considerately withdrew. "Gwenlian!" breathed the one in woman's gown. "Meriaduc!" sobbed the one in mail. The disguised lad laid a finger on his lips. "Not so loud," he warned her." Here I am Gwenlian. And you, it appears, are Meriaduc! Let me look on myself." He held her at arm's length. "Not bad, Gwenlian; but I do you greater credit, I think." And he walked a few paces away from her, trailing Tullia's gown of blue and white across the green carpet of grass, with simple and entirely feminine grace. He turned, expectant of his sister's admiration. She tried to smile, but was too wrought up by the situation. "What shall we do? " she implored. Meriaduc returned swiftly to her, and took her protectingly in his arms. Gwenlian submitted, though the experience was new to her. But laughter had come again into her brother's eyes. "Saints, what a jest!" he whispered, against Gwenlian's hair. "Owain's son comes as Owain's daughter, and plays his part so well that Tullia Marciana is jealous! Owain's daughter comes as Owain's son —“ "But I cannot play the man, as you have played the woman, neither do I like it. I but did it for greater safety on the road. Why are you here at all, Meriaduc, and not with our father?"

I could write an essay about this page alone. The contrast of the evidentially cisgender Gwenlian, sobered by the gravity of impending war and unhappy living as a man, with the potentially transgender Meriaduc so euphoric from passing as a woman that it's somewhat overshadowed the original intent. Now you'd think here they could switch back. But Meriaduc insists it's safer for Gwenlian if they remain swapped. There's a creepy senator Ventidius who's been trying to hit on Gwenlian!Meriaduc that Meriaduc wants to protect her from. But considering the events that unfold later, I don't know that it really mattered, but the prince got to stay a princess just a bit longer than was strictly necessary.

"Gwenlian!" he said, and for a moment could say no more. "Gwenlian, for once you must be guided by me. I must still be Gwenlian; you must remain Meriaduc." "I will not I cannot," she replied. "We can explain to our friends here." "Blessed Saints!" replied Meriaduc, overcome. "We cannot, Gwenlian. We must go on as we are. I understand the situation. There are considerations. Oh—" desperately — "Ventidius is in love with you — with me — that is —" He collected himself. "You must be protected from him. That can be best done if I am Gwenlian."

So from here some political/battle stuff happens that is all interesting but less so to me than Gwenlian’s and Meriaduc’s storyline so in summary the politicians had been plotting with the Saxons and selling people into slavery (shocker) which Drusus and Niall uncover. One of the other British kings, a redhead like Drusus, is struck down so it gets back to the city that Drusus died although he didn’t. Fast forward to Drusus attempting to reenter the city, and the evil older politician Ventidius has is forcing Gwenlian!Meriaduc to marry him in exchange for men to supply Owain’s army. All of this culminates in Drusus riding his horse into the chapel and crashing the wedding.

Down toward them bounded a huge horse, backed by a tall rider in faded cloak and rusted mail. Beneath the raised visor of his helmet his eyes glared with unearthly fury. Awed and frightened, the crowd drew back to yield him room. They breathed the rider's name in running whispers, instinct with the horror of living men for the ghosts of the dead.

"Drusus!" "Drusus!" "Drusus!"

Then immediately after this…

"In the name of the Holy Trinity," [the bishop] called boldly, "I conjure you, if you be ghost of hell, go back to the fiend who sent you! But if ye be living man, then speak, Marcianus Drusus, and cease to perturb the holy sacrament of marriage!"

No sooner had the prefect's name rung out upon the startled ears of the group before the altar than they turned with one accord, to meet the blazing eyes of Drusus himself. Sophonisba shrieked. Tullia's proud, beautiful face turned white. But the graceful figure in the white linen of a bride, ran to meet him with a joyful cry, deep-throated and rich, and looked up at him with eyes which spoke unbounded relief and trust.

Drusus took the bride's hand and looked over her head at the bishop.

"I live," he answered, "by the grace of God and my good men! I live, to restore the honor of my people, and to prevent this unholy marriage!"

Chat Drusus came back from the dead to rescue Gwenlian!Meriaduc. I LOVE ARTHURIAN GHOST CHARACTERS/UNKILLABLE MFS!!!!!

But after this a battle ensues as Ventidius has the city police try to arrest Drusus for this. He and Niall start retaliating with swords but there are too many of them. Drusus is about to be killed when…

Niall had met his man with the edge; but before Drusus could disengage, the third was on him. Caught between the point and the pillar behind him, Drusus could only await the blow. As the short sword stabbed upward, the prefect thrust out one foot, dashed the blade aside with his greaved ankle, and drove his heel into his enemy's stomach.

A tense, slim figure in loose-hanging policeman's mail, clutching a policeman's short sword, hovered about Drusus, never striking with his weapon, but seeming ever ready. It was Meriaduc.

…….Meriaduc overcomes the fear of blood and changes back into the clothes of a man to rescue Drusus in return. And what does Gwenlian think of this?

Oh, why was the gay, the brilliant Meriaduc born under the necessity of being a soldier? She whose courage made her the darling of her people now trembled, and all but wept, in the grip of imagined terrors, and in despair of the helplessness of women.

Wow. It’s literally a tragedy that Meriaduc has to be a solider. It’s not something the prince takes any joy or pride in, and the princess knows this too. And only Niall knows they switched places, so after this, when Gwenlian dresses as herself, and Meriaduc resumes the princely role, it means that Drusus has effectively become a stranger. The little romance abruptly cuts off. Devastating. Worse still, after all that, Ventidius kidnaps Gwenlian and tries to flee by ship to Brittany only for Saxon pirates board the ship, kidnap the kidnapper and hold Gwenlian as hostage, but they burned the ship too. So by the time Drusus, Niall, and Meriaduc arrive, they have nothing but a handful of half-drowned men to fish out of the water. Winter is coming and they have no choice but to turn back.

"What will you do?"

"Put back to Bellerium. It is all we can do. But when the spring comes — then woe to Wessex!" The despairing eyes of the two Welshmen, tender youth and hardened soldier, strained across the dark waves to the burning Cygnus. Meriaduc wept.

"See, Niall," he said, "what comes of my trying to be a soldier! Would that I had not changed back into myself!"

Drusus overheard and thought the boy daft with grief.

All this and Meriaduc can turn to no one for comfort. I’m unwell. Drusus doesn’t know. He doesn’t know!!!

So Gwenlian and Ventidius are prisoners of war over the whole winter. They even have Owain’s sword kept on the wall as a trophy. It’s so messed up. Ultimately Drusus, Niall, and Meriaduc are able to make it to the Saxon kingdom, sinking a bunch of ships along the way, and Gwenlian is brought to the top of the castle and an exchange is arranged of her life for the Saxon prince’s. That part was crazy because Gwenlian was shouting down that the security of Wales was more important than her life, kill the enemy! But they didn’t rescue her and return to Britain.

After that, Gwenlian essentially assumes the role of Wales’ sovereign. Meriaduc is there here, but not as good at it as Gwenlian.

"Their homeland lies east," insisted Meriaduc.

Gwenlian was on her feet, asking to be heard.

"I remember," she said, "the words of Ceawlin to Ventidius, just before I was taken to Sorbiodunum. The traitor urged the king to move against Bellerium by sea, but Ceawlin refused, thinking he could crush you in the field. Now that they have taken ship together and sail west, there can be no doubt but that Ventidius has prevailed. Beaten in open battle, the Saxons have but one hope: to overwhelm Legionis Asa in your absence."

"You should have been a man and a soldier!" Drusus complimented her. None observed Meriaduc sigh at the dictator's words.

Meriaduc my darling that sigh speaks a thousand words. This lovesickness continues as they all return “home.”

The two bronze lamps still glowed at the portal of Drusus' house; and, with a gulp, Meriaduc regarded the façade with the affection of one who returns to his own loved home.

Goddamn Meriaduc. So from here, plans are made to combat the Saxons who are riding on the Roman town. Things turn extremely bad very fast because an earthquake happens and ruins all the plans of everyone. Gwenlian and Tullia are at home and buried under the rubble of the house. Gwenlian finds herself alive but trapped, and can feel blood seeping into her little alcove. Straight horror novel scenario.

Gwenlian awoke with a sense of strangling, to find herself in the dark. She was lying with aching shoulders on a mass of broken cement. Stretching out her hands, she felt about her and her heart sank. She was imprisoned, closed about with heaped-up timbers.

Her fingers groped about her prison. The house had fallen in upon her in such a way as to pen her in without crushing her. She was in a sort of tent of piled-up woodwork.

Tullia! Where were Tullia and Sophonisba? Had they too survived, or were they crushed under the ruins? She called again and again, but no answer came to her. Her fingers, fearfully exploring the peaks and hollows beneath her, touched something warm and wet. She screamed in horror.

As if she hasn’t suffered enough!! Meanwhile Drusus is trying to hold the bridge with the help of Niall and Meriaduc. Drusus is losing and pulled from his horse. He passes out right before the Saxon strikes and… this happens…

Drusus saw a dim vision of the Saxon's dagger hanging above him, and then saw and heard no more.

When his senses began to clear — he was being held and lifted in mid-air. His outstretched right leg touched something smooth and familiar — a saddle! They were lifting him on to his horse. Instinctively his knees gripped and his body straightened. The two who had helped him turned and sprang on their own mounts, as Drusus opened his eyes.

He looked to the left and saw that the wagon barrier had been burst apart and bent inward. Through the ever-widening gap poured the triumphant Saxons - and facing them, single-handed, stood the stripling Meriaduc! Niall of the Sword lay wounded unto death a few paces away. Meriaduc's shield was split, his crest shorn away, all his armor red with the blood that revolted him so. Yet he had held back an army long enough to save his friend, who in turn would save Wales — Britain.

Such was the thought in Meriaduc's heart as he stood there, fighting tensely, blindly, wildly — killing — hating it even in his frenzy, but doing it for Drusus and Britain. One instant Drusus saw him standing there, saw Niall struggle half to his feet and then sprawl, helpless, arms outstretched toward his prince, across a heap of dead and wounded Saxons. Then the barricade was swept utterly away by the onrushing heathen host, and the Captain of Ravens and Meriaduc of North Wales were no more. Drusus' heart heaved so that he could hardly breathe.

I knew it was coming. Of course it was. But… it still hurts. Sick and twisted authors!!!!!! I was really hoping Meriaduc might come back, but it didn’t happen. Ultimately Drusus ends up fighting Ventidius AGAIN because Venti pulled Gwenlian out of the wreckages of the house and is trying to kidnap her AGAIN but finally he dies for good.

Gwenlian and Drusus end up fleeing the city as the tsunami/flooding that comes as a result of the earthquake wipes out all the Saxons and the last of the town. They’re stuck on the peak of a hill with only a handful of people for days until a random boat comes along and rescues them. It ends on a slightly hopeful note as Drusus vows to retreat to Wales with Gwenlian and pick up Owain’s cause once more.

Anon I’m devastated. It was a very enjoyable read but I’m fantasizing about an alternate version in which Meriaduc and Drusus at least kiss. I might even write it who knows. ;^) So yeah life changing, I’m so glad I read it. I hope more people do and tell me there thoughts, especially since I cut down the plot quite a lot, entire characters omitted. But all of them were interesting so any thoughts subsequent readers have, I’d love to know! Okay that’s it. Have a good day anon.

[excaliburwielded]

YOU HELD YOUR HEAD LIKE A HERO, ON A HISTORY BOOK PAGE. IT WAS THE END OF A DECADE, BUT THE START OF AN AGE.

gavin stenhouse, bisexual, cis man + he/him → isn’t that arthur pendragon? i hear that they're king arthur from the sword in the stone. i hear they’re 38. they seem to be chivalrous & protective, but also reckless & destructive. their aesthetics include showing off his fighting skills, golden hair in the wind, glowing eyes and a glowing sword.

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: [ ARTHUR CLUDWR CLEDDYF PENDRAGON ] NICKNAME: [ THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING, KING ARTHUR, SWORD BEARER, ART ] AGE: [ 38 ] GENDER: [ MALE ] PRONOUNS: [ HE/HIM ] FAIRYTALE: [ KING ARTHUR, THE SWORD IN THE STONE ] ETHNICITY: [ BRITISH, WELSH, CELTIC ] RELIGION: [ PAGANISM ] LANGUAGE, IN ORDER OF PROFICIENCY: [ WELSH, ENGLISH, IRISH, SCOTTISH GAELIC ] ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: [ BIROMANTIC ] SEXUAL ORIENTATION: [ BISEXUAL ] SEXUAL TEMPERAMENT: [ DOM-SWITCH ] SEXUAL POSITION: [ TOP-VERSE ]

RELATIONSHIPS

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: [ TBD. ] PARENTS: [ UTHER PENDRAGON. IGRAINE PENDRAGON. ] SIBLINGS: [ MORGAN, HALF-SIBLING, UNBEKNOWNST TO ARTHUR. ] FRIENDS: [ MERLIN. MORGAN. LANCELOT. ]

PHYSICAL TRAITS

FACE CLAIM: [ GAVIN STENHOUSE ] EYE COLOUR: [ BLUE ] HAIR COLOUR: [ BLONDE ] HEIGHT: [ 1.92 METRES ] BODY BUILD: [ ATHLETIC, BUFF, MUSCULAR ] FACIAL HAIR: [ BEARD CENTRED AROUND THE MOUTH, EXTENDING TO THE SIDE OF HIS FACE. ] TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: [ tba. ] NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: [ VARIOUS SCARS OVER HIS BODY FROM TRAINING AND BATTLES ]

PHOBIAS AND DISORDERS

PHOBIAS/FEARS: [ TBA. ] MENTAL DISORDERS: [ tba. ]

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: [ SMART. KNOWLEDGEABLE. ] LIKES: [ SWORDS. GALAVANTING AROUND. SCALING CLIFFS. FIGHTING. ] DISLIKES: [ DARK MAGIC. LONG COURT SESSIONS. SCHEMING NOBLES. ] ALIGNMENT: [ CHAOTIC GOOD ] POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES: [ DETERMINED, CHIVALROUS, PROTECTIVE, FIRM LEADERSHIP, JUST ] NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES: [ RECKLESS, DESTRUCTIVE, COCKY, ROGUISH ]

COMBAT INFORMATION

WEAPONS: [ EXCALIBUR. WOODEN STAFF. EXCELLENT HAND TO HAND COMBATANT. ] POWERS: [ LATENT MAGIC. SUPERHUMAN STRENGTH AND SPEED WHEN WIELDING EXCALIBUR. MINOR MAGIC CHANNELLED THROUGH EXCALIBUR. ]

AESTHETICS

AESTHETICS: [ SHOWING OFF HIS FIGHTING SKILLS. GOLDEN HAIR IN THE WIND. GLOWING EYES AND A GLOWING SWORD. FAST HANDS. RIDING OFF INTO THE SUNSET. KEEPING THE DOOR OPEN. CROWN ADORNED WITH JEWELS, OCCASSIONALLY FORGOTTEN. POLISHING HIS SWORD. PRISTINE ROBES WORTHY OF HIS STATUS. RUGGED LOOKS WHEN NOT IN COURT. SWEATING WITHOUT HIS SHIRT ON. ] INSPO: [ KING ARTHUR, KING ARTHUR: LEGEND OF THE SWORD. ] LYRICAL INSPO: [ I HAD THE TIME OF MY LIFE FIGHTING DRAGONS WITH YOU. // CAUSE BABY, I COULD BUILD A CASTLE OUT OF ALL THE BRICKS THEY THREW AT ME. AND EVERY DAY IS LIKE A BATTLE, BUT EVERY NIGHT WITH US IS LIKE A DREAM. // THERE WILL COME A SOLDIER WHO CARRIES A MIGHTY SWORD. HE WILL TEAR YOUR CITY DOWN, OH-LEI, OH-LAI, OH, LORD. ]

KINKS

KINKS: [ BREEDING. COLLARS. LEASHES. VERBAL FEMINISATION. WORSHIP. OBJECTIFICATION. COCK WARMING. RESTRAINS/BONDAGE. PUBLIC. SOMNOPHILIA. GAPING. OBJECT PLAY. ] ANTI-KINKS: [ VORE. SCAT. INFANTILISM. ]

BIOGRAPHY

[ wip ]

when his father, uther was poisoned and the throne had been seized by the leaders of the coup. merlin took arthur away to be raised in secret by the knight and lord sir ector, with the boy being unaware of his true heritage. merlin would later befriend arthur as the boy became of age and grew into a man. a man that had mastered the art of various combat techniques and styles, becoming extremely proficient with a sword, and hand to hand combatant — as was fitting of someone of royal birth.

with the help of merlin, events unfolded which led to arthur, now in his 30s, learning about the truth of himself and his royal blood. arthur's greatest feat and catalyst of learning about his heritage turned out to be the pulling of the legendary sword, excalibur, from the stone. the blonde struggled with the revelation for a time but eventually came around to it and accepted both his royal heritage and his destiny. with his chivalrous leadership and kinship with people, arthur amassed a large following to his cause and name. and with excalibur's might and power, and loyal knights and followers behind him, the rightful king stormed camelot to liberate its people from tyrannical rule and oppression. arthur then claimed his crown and throne, born for the role he assimilated well and ruled justly and righteously. even so, arthur still constantly yearned for adventures and often dresses down in something more comfortable and taking his horse out for a ride to places unknown.

eventually with the prophecy of ruin upon their kingdom, merlin brought all of them to a new realm, now named avalon, where the king has to begin his kingdom anew.

[ note: guinevere is not in my (current) portrayal and backstory, so if anything does end up happening it takes place after the inhabitants of camelot have moved to the new realm. ]

[petermorwood]

This feels a little bit cheeky, but you're probably the best-qualified person I have any idea how to get in touch with. Do you have any advice for displaying swords? I'm having my room redecorated and I don't really want to just screw a bunch of hooks into the newly-repainted walls. (I have six, ranging in size from a ~5ft two-handed thing to a small gladius.) Thanks in advance!

How about a floor (or counter / table / sideboard) stand? Like any display rack, make sure its uprights are close enough together to take short stuff like a gladius; bigger swords will be no problem.

Martial arts stores are usually a good place to examine these things IRL, however in the meanwhile here are a couple of examples sourced from this Sword Encyclopedia article.

Here's one from Kult of Athena:

This one is from Reliks:

Most of the racks in those pics are 4-sword and 8-sword; for six swords, you could park something else in the spare slots; a Kingsman-style brolly, for example (not guaranteed bulletproof)...

Or a walking stick that just happens to be a real Irish fighting shillelagh.

Or an umbrella combining the best of both worlds - this one is a "solid stick", which means exactly what it says:

The umbrella mechanism is mounted onto, not in, the stick, giving considerable sturdiness when fending off... Really heavy rain, yes, that's it. And there's no need whatsoever to sharpen the ferrule; a good half-sword grip is more than enough for... Downpours.

Alternately you could get two 3-slot racks, for opposite sides of the room, perhaps?

There's also this sixer from Amazon which, if you're non-Zon, a bit of research might find elsewhere.

Finally if you're up for a bit of carpentry and wood-staining, you could make and fit home-made floor / table feet to a wall rack; several look well suited to this.

HTH!

[byenycfm]

Devan McCahill || 31 || Apt# 412 || Avan Jogia || Closed

Personality:

Devan is a man of charisma and audacity, the kind of individual who you either immediately take to or absolutely don't. He's devious, quick-witted, and smart — both academically and street-wise, a quite deadly combination, both in the old world and especially this new one. The duality of this man is shown quite clearly in how he has a worn, cracked-spine paperback book of the Aeneid tucked in one back pocket of his jeans and a handgun in the other, perhaps equally well used, especially in this present day. From the moment they were born, they had it hammered into them that their soul was damned for the greater good, and that does something to a young boy’s mind. After all, if you’re already going to hell, what would or should stop you from doing what needs to be done? Devan is a rule breaker, a troublemaker, a firestarter, but with enough moral fibre to not be a bad guy, per se. In every stage of his life, every aspect of his being, “do what needs to be done to make the world a better place, even if you gotta do some really bad shit to get from here to there,” has been an overarching theme. To Devan, judging every detail for good or evil will not change anything for the better, it will just stagnate progress; it’s about the bigger picture, the long term future type shit, that’s where you gotta look. You can’t win a fight weighing every stone in your hand; you find the biggest rock you can and just make sure you toss it at the right target.

Biography:

Devan was born to a young Indian-Irish woman in Swords, Ireland, and never really knew his biological father, who’d already been in prison for battery of his mother by the time he was born. It was her new boyfriend, a rough but kind bloke from Ballymun, who stepped in to take over the father role, and although it had still been a relatively new relationship by the time he was thrust into this world, the man took to it readily. Perhaps that was for the best, because even from a very young age, it was clear that Devan would be at least three-and-a-half hands full to handle.

To call them a precocious child would be the understatement of the century. By the time they were two years old, they were already reading their own books, and their mother and her boyfriend were frequent visitors to the local library just to keep them sated; if there wasn’t a book in the young boy’s hand, they'd find their entertainment elsewhere, usually in ways that ended up with something breaking. This is a trend that carried over well into adulthood – a lot of Devan's life choices can be summarised to, “just trying to stave off boredom.”

Things took a turn for the worst just after he started primary school at 3 years old. Due to his mother's work and his school being incompatible on some days, there was an arrangement made with her boyfriend's parents – who already saw the two as their own family – that he would stay the night with them so she wouldn't have to worry about anything. Her boyfriend brought him home at noon, after school, somewhere in the middle of the school year, and they had found her dead in the apartment she shared with her son, her throat slit. While the police and ambulance would be called immediately, they'd later determine that she was murdered in the middle of the night, and the main suspect was Devan's recently released biological father.

From there on, his life changed significantly. As an adult, they don't really remember their mother or exactly what happened to her, perhaps a cognitive response to protect themself from what they'd witnessed. His mother's boyfriend's parents immediately put an adoption into motion so he would still have family and he wouldn't be lost in the foster system, and so he immediately went to live with them – at first, the only thing that really changed for him was that he didn't get to see his mother anymore, his last name changed, and he had to see a lady for a whole year who wanted to talk to him about how he felt and what he was thinking about.

The next twelve years were spent being trained in parkour, hand-to-hand combat, endurance training, and indoctrinated into a mindset that his soul was to be damned for the sake of others. Alongside their cousins, who received the same training, just like the previous generation had been, they were made to patrol Dublin City, and protect anyone who needed it. Growing up, Devan slowly became aware that their family had a reputation, not only in the city or even the county, but in Leinster as a whole, and the family-owned pub – which would serve as a gathering place for the majority of his family and their family friends – was considered a place that if you were in trouble, someone made you feel unsafe and the Gardaí couldn't or wouldn't do anything with it, you could find help there. If you crossed a certain line and you had been put on that family's radar, justice would be swift and brutal. If you were lucky, you'd end up in a hospital, and if you weren't, you'd see an early grave.

Devan was already very used to the feeling of soft tissue splitting under his knuckles and bones breaking under the weight of his tire iron by the time he was fifteen. And when they were sixteen, they got their tattoo, a Celtic cross with the top right cut out so the circle formed a G, so styled for ‘Gaffney’, their adoptive grandmother's maiden name. Every child who had proven their skill and loyalty to the family would be offered to receive the tattoo at sixteen years old, and few – very few – would reject it and be disowned from the entire family. To Devan, rejection with such a steep price wasn't an option. They'd continue to do what their great uncle and his eldest son told them and their cousins to do, the years of violence and looming post-death doom already numbing their young minds to the brutality of what they did for ‘the sake of the greater good'.

Regardless of his home life and his family's brand of ‘chores’, Devan found his peace in books – any book – and language as a whole. If he had free time, he'd spend it in second-hand bookstores or learning new languages, something he took to like a piranha to bloodied water; rabidly and single-mindedly. The fact that they didn't care what they read rather than that they had something to read gave them access to an incredibly broad range of knowledge; not always very deep, but enough to make them tiresome to debate with. And debate he did, to the frustration of many of his teachers and even his classmates. He got his leaving certificate when he'd just turned fifteen, having skipped his transition year, and after a little bit of debate between his adoptive father and his father's cousin, Devan was allowed to pursue a further academic career so long as it wouldn't get in the way of his duties towards his family.

By the time he was twenty-two, he held an MA in Art History and a BA in Archaeology, but more importantly, a better perspective of his family, since he had enough time and experience away from them for the majority of his academic career after secondary school. Although they were indoctrinated to believe that what they did was a good thing, Devan saw their family for what they actually were: a gang. Not even ‘a gang but with good intentions,’ because the fact was that just about every gang started with good intentions and trying to fill a need their community had. But beyond that, it became even clear that he and his cousins, just like his father and his cousins, were nothing more than a means to an end. They weren't unloved or even unwanted, but at the end of the day, they were trained from a young age to be a blunt weapon to throw onto the streets of County Dublin. This became especially clear to Devan when he expressed a wish to see the world to his father, who wholeheartedly supported him in it, but his father's cousin, his great uncle's appointed commander, did not.

Months of arguing later, the topic was deemed settled by said commander, and Devan's chances of actually doing something they wanted to do with their life – even if it wasn't exactly clear to them what they wanted to do with their life – seemed grim, condemned to the fate of an early grave or otherwise inevitable prison time. It was their father who, one night, came by their apartment, gave them access to the money he'd saved up over the years, a plane ticket to mainland Europe, and his blessing. Devan never looked back, and hasn't returned since, knowing there are consequences waiting for him.

Between his degrees, his training, and his inability to stay put, Devan fell into the world of art and antiquity theft, first on commission from people who had money to spare and didn't trust law enforcement to actually care – art theft was and still is, after all, one of the most tolerated crimes, and lucrative to boot, given the article is genuine. He made his name getting the job done, with his occasional collaboration with the likes of Interpol and the USA's FBI solidifying this reputation. Regardless of his intermittent work with law enforcement, Devan found most of his contacts to be more criminally inclined – after all, the echelons in which he did his work, business was business, and being able to hold his own helped that a lot.

They'd been in New York City for a meeting with one Sada Vang, their cab had almost made it to the Holland Tunnel on Jersey City's side when their driver was told it was blocked off, and would possibly be reopened the morning after; they had no choice but to redirect to a hotel nearby and wait until such a time came. It never did. That evening's news said Manhattan was under quarantine due to some unknown virus and by the morning, not only had the Tunnel not been reopened, shit had hit the fan in a significant way. The first time he actually saw what people would later come to know as 'chompers', it didn't really register in Devan's mind that that was what it was, but, as used to violence as he was, he did note that that particular violence was less human, more animal.

The following months, Devan would frequently find themself in the company of other survivors – initially scared people who would prove to not be cut out for the end of the old world, and they quickly learned that trying to save those who couldn't or wouldn't save themselves would lead them into an early and absolutely unwanted grave. Or worse. It was a few weeks before proper snowfall that he'd find the people he would spend the winter with, who knew what it took to survive, most whom didn't need any babysitting at all. Unfortunately, Demeter's wrath brought with it its own difficulties, lack of supplies, lack of food, lack of a lot of things that they had to send people out for to find, at any cost. And those who returned spoke of an apartment building of survivors, the name of which sounded very familiar to him.

So once the snow had melted, they decided that maybe it was time to go to a meeting, hoping that being months late wouldn't be held against them.

Pre Outbreak Occupation: Private Detective Previous Zombie Experience: His very first was seeing a woman eviscerated by a few. Over these past months he's been forced to kill his fair share of them. Marital Status: Single Children: N/A Residence: Apt. #412 Years residing at The Wexley: Post Outbreak New Arrival Connections:

Sada Vang - Business Associate

[submalevolentgrace]

me: hey youtube, i'm really into gunpla lately, i like watching videos about gunpla kits. i have no privacy from you, you know all this already. so what's...

youtube: vinyl anime girl figurines in bikinis, you wanted?

me: no, that's not... gunpla. i like gundam plastic model kits. i wanna admire all the little detail in kits i don't have and learn some modelling techniques to apply to the ones i do.

youtube: ahh, gotcha. here's ww2 nazi germany panzer tank model kit reviews.

me: no! gundams! model kits of fictional giant robots! tiny 1/144 scale model kits of fictional giant 20m tall robots with laser swords they hold in their hands and put in cool poses! fictional. robot. kits.

youtube: this nazi half-track truck is considered one of the best 1/32 scale model kits for beginners, it comes with a full mechanised infantry support unit to paint, with accurate uniforms.

me: no.

youtube: best imperial japanese army fighter aircraft model kit 2023?

me: robots! fictional. robots.

youtube: ahh, best imperial japanese navy battleship model kit 2023.

me: listen, you...

youtube: a-10 warthog desert storm camouflage custom painted model kit!

me: STOP! i don't want vehicles of war! look i get it, gundam is a franchise about the horrors of war and we all missed the point in favour of 'wow cool robot' or lately 'omg cool yuri private school romance' or whatever, but it's not real. they're not real machines. it's not a real war, it's fiction. i can build these little guys as a distraction from the impending war here, from the existing wars, from the horrors of wars burned into my brain by live television news, i can love the zaku and zgok without conflating the republic of zeon with real world military superpowers seeking to dominate the globe and becoming a fascist fetishist because of anime robots.... i don't want to watch creepy old men salivate over scale model sculpted detail in planes with gattling guns that mowed down civilians, real human civilians, in real life wars. i want to watch energetic irish homosexuals rank the single-joined elbow posability of a bright red mech with a laser axe that'd be larger than a building, if it were real, which it is not, because these are toys for playing with, not historically accurate recreations of actually extant machines of horror and death. there is a difference! surely there is some confluence of keywords and user engagement metrics that can elicit an echo of understanding the difference in your unthinking algorithmic fever dream of signals????

youtube: ...

me: *panting with rage*

youtube: .....balloon titty anime bikini girl with the sculpted face of a scared crying child? it's a model kit!

[transgenderer]

While on approach to Heathrow, about five minutes before the flight was due to land, a 55-year-old Australian named Laurence James Downey went into the toilet and doused himself in petrol.[1] He then went to the cockpit and demanded that the plane continue on to Le Touquet – Côte d'Opale Airport in France, and refuel there for a flight to Tehran, Iran.[2][3] Upon landing at Le Touquet, Downey further demanded the publication in the Irish press of a nine-page statement which he had the captain throw from the cockpit window.[4]

After an eight-hour standoff (during which time Downey released 11 of his 108 hostages),[5] French special forces stormed the plane and apprehended Downey. No shots were fired and nobody was injured.[6] It was later found out that Downey was being sought by police in Perth, Australia, in connection with a $70,000 land fraud incident,[7] and was also wanted in Shannon, Ireland, for alleged assault.[6] He was sentenced in February 1983, in Saint-Omer, France, to five years' imprisonment for air piracy.[8]

In his statement, Downey claimed to have been a Trappist monk in residence at Tre Fontane Abbey in the 1950s (this was later confirmed by monastery officials),[2] before he was expelled from the order for punching a superior in the face.[3] He then took a job as a tour guide in central Portugal, at a shrine devoted to Our Lady of Fátima, the reported origin of the Three Secrets of Fátima.[2] At the time of the hijacking, the third secret was known only to the Pope and other senior figures in the Catholic Church; Downey's statement called on the Vatican to release this secret to the public.[3]

on the third secret:

Sister Lúcia chose not to disclose the third secret in her memoir of August 1941. In 1943, Lúcia fell seriously ill with influenza and pleurisy. Bishop Silva, visiting her on 15 September 1943, suggested that she write the third secret down to ensure that it would be recorded in the event of her death. However, Lúcia was hesitant to do so as, upon receiving the secret, she had heard Mary say not to reveal it. Because Carmelite obedience requires that orders from superiors be regarded as coming directly from God, she was in a quandary as to whose orders took precedence. Finally, in mid-October, Bishop Silva sent her a letter containing a direct order to record the secret. Lúcia continued to struggle, even after this direct order. According to Lúcia, she overcame it after the Virgin Mary appeared to her in early January 1944 and said, "Write that which they command you, but not that which is given to you to understand of its meaning."[18]

The text of the third secret, according to the Vatican, was published on 26 June 2000:

The third part of the secret revealed at the Cova da Iria-Fátima, on 13 July 1917. I write in obedience to you, my God, who command me to do so through his Excellency the Bishop of Leiria and through your Most Holy Mother and mine. After the two parts which I have already explained, at the left of Our Lady and a little above, we saw an Angel with a flaming sword in his left hand; flashing, it gave out flames that looked as though they would set the world on fire; but they died out in contact with the splendour that Our Lady radiated towards him from her right hand: pointing to the earth with his right hand, the Angel cried out in a loud voice: 'Penance, Penance, Penance!'. And we saw in an immense light that is God, something similar to how people appear in a mirror when they pass in front of it, a Bishop dressed in White. We had the impression that it was the Holy Father. Other Bishops, Priests, men and women Religious going up a steep mountain, at the top of which there was a big Cross of rough-hewn trunks as of a cork-tree with the bark; before reaching there the Holy Father passed through a big city half in ruins and half trembling with halting step, afflicted with pain and sorrow, he prayed for the souls of the corpses he met on his way; having reached the top of the mountain, on his knees at the foot of the big Cross he was killed by a group of soldiers who fired bullets and arrows at him, and in the same way there died one after another the other Bishops, Priests, men and women Religious, and various lay people of different ranks and positions. Beneath the two arms of the Cross there were two Angels each with a crystal aspersorium in his hand, in which they gathered up the blood of the Martyrs and with it sprinkled the souls that were making their way to God.

[ladyinred2248]

The Offering, Finan x Luna Part 5

Warnings: Mature. Minors DNI

Summary: Sihtric abandons Uhtred. Finan reveals his past to Luna as danger lurks ahead of them. Setting is Season 3 Ep. 6-7.

***************************************************

“Osferth!!!” Finan whispered sharply as he exited the chamber door. “I will kill ya if you ever interrupt the pleasuring of my woman again!”

“I’m sorry Finan, I didn’t mean to interrupt your… pleasuring,” Osferth replied, “It was an emergency.”

Finan rolled his eyes. “I know it, baby monk. Luna is going to be devastated. How could Sihtric do this?” He said with his sharp Irish tongue.

As soon as the words came out of Finan’s mouth, Luna exited into the hallway as well. “When did he leave?” She asked, “We can catch up to him!”

Osferth looked at her sadly. “I think he left in the middle of the night, lady.” He replied to her.

Luna looked at Finan with tears in her eyes. He felt immediately powerless seeing her sadness. He hated it.

“Luna, I’m sorry… I had no idea he would actually leave.” Finan said.

“I know…I didn’t think so either. It’s not your fault. I don’t understand why he would leave me. Leave us all. He will surely die in battle if he joins the Dane’s army. I can feel it.” She replied.

Finan looked into her eyes deeply and didn’t respond. 

“Lady, what happened?” Osferth inquired as he looked at the red marks across her chest and neck, coupled with the flush in her cheeks.

Finan rolled his eyes again and shoved Osferth away. “Get out of here, baby monk. We will talk later.”

Meanwhile, Sihtric had schemed the Danish prisoners into thinking he had betrayed Uhtred in order to enter the camp as a spy, and it had worked. Sihtric prayed to the gods that his sister would remain safe, but he was confident that Finan would take care of her.

When Sihtric had arrived at the camp, they received his betrayal well as he gave them information about Uhtred and the other men. 

“Tell me this, boy,” Haestan exclaimed, “Did Uhtred and the Irishman take one of our women from the battlefield? I am missing one of them.”

“No, I did.” Sihtric replied. “She is my half-sister.”

Haestan laughed. “Luna is Kjartan’s daughter? How sweet, the two of you reunited!”

Sihtric kept himself calm as his heart rate increased. “I do not care much for her,” Sihtric said, “But yes, Finan took her for his own.”

Haestan became serious for a moment. “Oh really?” He inquired, “And where are they now?”

Sihtric felt nervous now that he was being questioned about Luna. He hadn’t prepared himself as he should of. “They could be anywhere by now.” He replied.

Haestan glared at Sihtric, but Sihtric held his ground, looking calm and collected. 

“So Uhtred’s pretty Irishman thinks he can claim my belongings,” Haestan said as he spit on the ground. “He’ll wish he never crossed me.” 

Do something, you cowardly beast, Sihtric thought. Finan won’t give you time to draw your sword before he kills you.

Back at Saltwic, Finan had prepared some food and ale and took Luna outside the grounds to a spot in the forest. He laid down a blanket, and they comfortably enjoyed a warm day that hinted at spring’s arrival. Finan thoroughly enjoyed the thought of a break from traveling and battling with his beautiful woman by his side.

“Are you okay, love?” He asked after Luna had been silent for a while.

“I am lord,” she replied, “I can’t control my brother, and Aethelflaed said we need to live normally until Uhtred returns. I would love nothing more than to share that time with you.” She said as she bestowed a kiss upon his neck. He pulled her into his lap as he sat cross legged on the ground, wrapping his big arms around her waist, holding her tightly as she kissed him deeply, Luna running her hands through his hair.

“You must tell me of your origins,” she said as she pulled away from him slightly. “I have never been to Irland, but I have family that have journeyed there. Tell me about your upbringing, lord.” She said with a big smile as she stood from his lap and knelt down to lay beside him.

He gazed at her for a moment, then looked away as he laid down next to her,  propping himself up on his elbow. His heart began to race.

“I… I’ve never told anyone.” He replied.

“What do you mean you’ve never told anyone?!” She teased, then frowned upon seeing the seriousness in his eyes.

“Finan, do you wish to speak about it? I will not push you to speak of things you… do not wish to tell me.” She expressed with concern in her eyes, feeling slightly self conscious, as if the reason for not telling her was because he didn’t feel serious about their relationship.

“No, Luna, I wish to tell you. I’ve just never told anyone about my life before the slave ship. Not even Uhtred. All anyone knows is that I had the same unfortunate experience that Uhtred did on that ship.” He replied. 

She looked at him intently and nodded, waiting for him to hopefully continue.

He held her gaze for a moment, then sighed as he sat up to a seated position again, rubbing his head. She joined him and sat upright.

“I was born in the Kingdom of Ulaid,” he started, “first son of the King.”

She looked at him in shock, taking a deep, slow breath, staying silent but nodding so he would continue.

“I had one younger brother, Conall, but I was next in line to the throne. When I was very young, My parents arranged my marriage to the King of Ailech’s daughter, while my brother got to the marry the one he had chosen.”

Luna grabbed his hand as she witnessed the frustration in his eyes as he spoke.

“I fathered two sons in my marriage. God, I was still so young then,” he continued. “But I was not in love. I was but a child myself.” 

Luna looked away as her mind processed what he was saying, then looked back to him as he spoke again.

“I was so unhappy with the constraints that had been made on my life,” he continued, “and like a fool, I fell in love with Conall’s wife, searching for a reprieve.” He said. Luna raised her eyebrows, still listening attentively as she nodded. “Please continue, Lord.” she said.

“We devised a plan to run away together, of course.” He continued, “We made it not too far South when the Ailech forces caught up to us. Conall punished her severely, letting his men make a whore out of her in front of me while I stood in chains, until he finally slit her throat as I watched. I loved her, Luna, but it was a childish love. She didn’t deserve to die for that mistake.”

Luna looked at him in horror. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing as she saw the pain in his eyes.

“Conall then claimed my wife and Sons as his own, exiled me from the kingdom, and sold me to the Danish slaver, where I remained for years. Until Uhtred, that is. And of course, I’ve never been back to Irland.” He said at last. Finan had shed a few tears as he looked to the distance, but Luna could tell that it was actually so painful that he was numb.

Luna stayed silent for a few moments, and then gestured to sit back in his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, sobbing a bit into her shoulder as she rubbed his back and a hand through his hair. 

“Lord, you are so strong,” she started, “So strong that you have built an entirely different life, surviving despite the odds. You have a valiant reputation, and a strong family of men here. And I never want to leave your side. You live a better life here, so it wasn’t all for nothing. I'm so sorry, I truly had no idea. Thank you for telling me…” she said softly as she placed a soft kiss on his lips. 

“Luna, I want you. I’m scared, but I want you more than anything in my entire life.” He said softly.

“You have me, Finan. I’m not going anywhere.” She replied with a deep kiss to his lips.

He pulled back to cup her face and look deep into her eyes. “I want you to know,” he began to say, “I love you. I’ve never felt this way, where all I can think about is you. I’ve surely gone mad.”

She placed her forehead to his, nuzzling his nose with hers. “I love you so much,” she replied back, holding him close. “I can hardly imagine being apart from you now,” she continued, then paused before she spoke again. “You know…It’s really unfortunate that you are a Saxon.”

He looked at her with wide eyes as he gasped, then quickly grabbed her sides to tickle her, forcing her to the ground as she laughed, her struggling to get away from him. Her laugh made everything right for him.

“You better watch your mouth,” he chuckled as he moved himself on top of her.

“Yes, lord,” she said, still chuckling as he looked into her eyes. 

“God, woman, you drive me mad.” He whispered.

He brought his lips to hers with deep intensity, as his hands ran up and down her body. Luna pulled away from his lips to lay kisses along his jawline and neck.

 “I need ya,” he whispered, “Will you let me?”

Luna nodded with a smile as she pulled at his armor to remove it, and then his tunic before running her hands across his firm abs. He did the same, pulling her tunic over her head, then grabbing at her trousers with strong hands, pulling them off swiftly. He knelt between her legs and began stroking her with his fingers, laying wet kisses on her inner thighs. He lifted her legs slightly, situating himself in between and locking her legs down with his arms.

Luna moaned as he began to lick wide strokes along her entrance, teasing at her clit with his tongue. He placed his thumb over it, rubbing light circles around it as he listened for her soft whimpers. She tasted like pure sex, and he just couldn’t get enough as he felt his cock grow harder.

“Tell me what you want, my lady.” he groaned.

Luna moaned as he sucked on her clit. “I want you to take me from behind, Lord,” she responded in between pants. Finan quickly obliged as he turned her around with a firm grasp on her hips, bringing her onto all fours. He grabbed her long hair and pulled her up against him as he palmed her breasts firmly in his hands. He stroked his cock along her folds, teasing her clit again before he thrusted in.

She moaned instantly at the deep sensation as he took her from behind, setting the perfect pace as his cock breached the deep sensitive spot in her core.

 “That’s it,” he groaned, “You are such a good girl for me, darling.” He said in his deep accent.

“Oh, gods,” she moaned as he gripped her hair again, pulling her up until he could wrap his strong arm around her waist. He quickened his pace slightly as he listened to her whimpers intently, eager to bring her to climax on his cock. Seconds turned into several minutes as she felt herself coming undone for him.

“Lord, please…please keep going.” she pleaded, as he wrapped his hand around her throat from behind her, giving light pressure and pulling her against him.

Finan lost his self control after a few more minutes of deep thrusts as she moaned, her core clenching his cock tightly and a gush of fluid drenching his cock as her legs quivered, Finan releasing himself deep inside her.

“Fuck, I lose all control when you grip me like that...” he sighed as he grabbed her jaw, biting her lower lip and kissing her with his tongue. He turned her around slowly and she collapsed to the ground with a happy sigh as Finan chuckled.

They stayed in the forest until dusk, and then returned to the estate hand in hand. Finan had resumed his lighthearted jokes and mannerisms, and felt lighter putting his trust in Luna at last. He had never felt happier than he did at this moment. He even caught his mind drifting to the future, perhaps returning to Coccham with Luna, starting a family and eventually putting down the sword, for a while at least. She would need to follow him on his travels, because he could never imagine parting with her now. Aethelflaed saw the couple in the garden, laughing and kissing. She smiled to herself.

Meanwhile, Haestan had spontaneously and erratically gathered a group of 50 men and made the correct assumption that Uhtred’s Irishman would be assigned to protect Lady Aethelflaed at her estate in Mercia as he was away. He went to Bloodhair with a proposition.

“Since the Dane-Slayer has not obliged my request for trade,” Haestan exclaimed, “how about I give you your Seer back in exchange for your assistance in retrieving my soon to be betrothed? And perhaps Alfred’s daughter for my whore!” Haestan said with a deep maniacal laugh.

Bloodhair hesitated for a moment before he responded. “It is a reasonable request,” Bloodhair replied. “We can leave at first light.”

Tags: @persephones-journey @gemini-mama @bhxrdy @alexagirlie @king-alfred @blkflowergrl

[novashelby]

The Shopkeeper Girl-Chapter Two

Pairing: John Shelby x Margot (OC) Warnings: This is a bit of a dark one...dub con, non con, coercion, abuse of all types. Summary: When Margot denies John Shelby a date three fold, he spitefully triples her grandfather's protection fee and comes up with a much more interesting way to fix it. Something that equally scares and excites the proper Irish Catholic girl.

*This story has been on Ao3 since the beginning. I am adding 3 chapters a day on Tumblr. However, you can read it on Ao3 and Wattpad.

Margot woke up at her normal time of just half past five. It was not a glorious time at all. In fact, she'd rather stay up to just half past five and not wake until noon. The hustle and bustle of life in the 20's, however, did not afford that luxury. People worked, and they worked hard. Some would say Margot got the easy end of life's ruthless sword. Women who did not choose motherhood worked no less than twelve hours a day, everyday except Sunday. Sunday was for the Lord. Margot woke early, and cared for her Granda' and Granma'. First was breakfast followed by a bath supplied with just a bucket and sponge.

"C'mon, Granda'," she sighed, grunting as she rearranged his legs and hoisting them up on an ottoman. "Gotta get them legs up...your circulation has been poor." She hummed, examining his pale toes and cold feet. "We'll have to call the doctor this week-"

"Ah," he sighed, shooting her off. "Doctors! Bloody fuckin' ell, I'm old, Margot! Life's just lingering at this point. I'm on my last loose thread."

Margot rolled her eyes, and looked up at him. "What's got you this mornin'? Hm? Saying the Devil's words! We'll call the doctor. Dominick, get me Granda's pills from the hutch-no, Dominick, the hutch, love."

He looked back. "The blue tinted glass bottle?"

"Yes," she said, reaching out her hand. When she noticed only two pills left, she made a mental note to pick up some from the pharmacist. "Get your tea, Granda'. Gotta take your pills." Before Margot left to open the shop, she made sure her grandparents had a pitcher of water, some caramels, and enough reading material to occupy themselves. "Now," she said, brushing off her hands on her skirt and grabbing her shawl. "You call down to the shop if you need anything. Dominick or I will rush right up." One after the other, her and her cousin placed a tiny kiss on their foreheads.

Her Granma' simply opened her mouth to say goodbye, but no words came out. A stroke from the past January left Cara Dulaney permanently deaf and slightly slouched on her left side. Everyone had been surprised by the news as she was a force to be reckoned with right up until the stroke. That is when Margot agreed to sail over, promising to stay in England until her grandparents passed and the shop was closed up.

"We have to pay the store dues today," Dominick noted, grabbing the folder from shelves behind the counter. He opened and showed Margot everything. "This is the utility section, merchant section, and miscellaneous...misc for short...that is what misc means, Mars!" She knew that, but the boy looked proud of himself. It made her happy to allow him those moments of confidence. The world was cruel to those like Dominick. Shame. As he has the biggest heart of gold.

"I'll drop the notes off to the office on...on...Alcott?" she questioned, and he nodded, commenting how she was getting along just fine. Smiling with pride, she said, "and I will go to the post and send out a ticket for merchants. And!" But Dominick quickly shut the books. "Dominick!"

He sighed, "the miscellaneous is not for you."

"Dominick." She chuckled to herself and reopened the book, taking it and turning her back to the boy. Her smile slowly faded when she noticed the last name Shelby with a £5 next to, quite a bit of money for the 20's. In fact, that could buy their grandfather's medication for three months! "What in the Lord's name?" she asked, aghast, dropping the book on the counter, palm open. "Shelby, that's the gentleman that came by yesterday, is it, hm? Is that who you're afraid of? Dominick, what hold do these people have on you...wait, just wait until-"

"Mars," he warned, in panic. "It ain't John Shelby you gotta worry about. It's Thomas...he'll burn this place right down. No, no...the fee is just a little protection, is all-"

"From them," she noted, "wow. Extortion at its finest!" Margot never laid a finger on anyone. Except maybe Billy from her Boston tennant complex. Whacked him well when he tried to play funny games up her skirt in the stairwell after work. Other than that, she felt a Shelby was on her hit list. Though, the memory of yesterday lingered...could she do it? The way his aurora just demanded and his presence conquered everything. Not particularly a large man, but John Shelby was still intimidating. Especially when Dominick made her realize there was always a gun strapped to his belt. Locked, but always loaded with a quick triggered owner. Defeated, she sighed, "and how exactly do we pay this? With our granda's medicine money...."

"You wait," he said. "Sometimes they come on the first, sometimes they come on the 30th. When they need it, I suppose." He shrugged, and sighed as he counted out five notes, placing it under the money box. "You'll know when they come...best suits in town on them...best suits. And they'll just walk in...like this, Mars." Dominick went to the door and with a pencil, he pretended it was a cigarette. Coolly he walked in and stared at her. "You see?" he tossed the pencil. "Just hand 'em the notes and say, Hello, Mr. Shelby...." She replied with a simple hum, and he could tell by the way her face stiffened. "Margot Dulaney, you give 'em the notes...no fuss, alrigh'?"

"Alright," she agreed. "I'll give him the notes."

It was on the 3rd they came, and Dominick was in Liverpool helping his Da' with the fishing docks. The notes were still under the money box and each day she'd been tempted to buy her granda' a surplus of medication. She'd been facing the bookshelf, organizing tags and receipts. A random song she hadn't recalled ever hearing before, hummed from her lips. John Shelby entered. Neither the bell nor whistle got her attention. But what did was the reflection from an empty rum bottle. A gloved hand and gun resting on the counter. "You could have just said hello," she whispered, slowly turning, her eyes on the revolver. For ease of mind, her hand found its way to the wooden bat.

He grinned, enjoying the way her fingers twirled the handle of the bat. What was she to do with that? He gave her credit for having balls, but what a daft girl. "I'm here to collect the dues. Surely, the boy told you the process-"

"Usually," she said, forcing out a brave voice, but her stomach ached from the bundle of nerves. "We say please when we want something, Mr. Shelby."

"Somebody has a bit of nerve," he commented, thumb playing at the trigger. "Miss. Dulaney, you don't have to pretend you're tough. But if it'd make your little ego happy." The man, with a widening grin and toothy smile leaned forward, and reached for a loose curl. His eyes slowly drifted to his fingers, twirling it. "Please," he said, in an almost taunting whisper, "Miss. Dulaney, can I have the fucking dues?" His voice got louder and sterner with each word, and the light twirl he tugged at her hair with, turned into a pull that stung her scalp. John Shelby was typically the sweeter of the Shelby's, but he'd been stressed.

Tommy had him doing overtime. He woke up to screaming kids and went to bed to screaming kids. The cherry on top was his wife, Esme, was secretly pawning family jewelry for cocaine. About at his wits end, John Shelby gave little fucks about the buttons he pushed. Right there, pulling at that girl's hair relieved a bit of that stress. "What are you going to fucking do, hm? Fuckin' stare it? Get it. Unlike you, some of us are fucking busy." Margot grabbed the envelope, letting the wooden bat fall to the floor, and handed it to him. John released her hair from his finger, and counted. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"Mmhm," she said, eyes on the revolver he clumsily left on the counter as he counted and wrote in a small book. Something had possessed her because it was not Margot's consciousness that made her hand slowly creep over to it. John noticed it from the corner of his eye, but he did not react. He let her humor him.

"Go on," he snickered. "How does it feel in your hands?"

"Heavy," she whispered, and it did feel heavy. The weight of a gun rested heavy on her shoulders. Never was life so close yet so far. "It's cold."

"It's metal," he said. "I bet you wouldn't know what to do with it even if I unlocked and pointed it for you." The funny thing was, he was probably right. Margot rested the gun down and wiped her hands of the thing on her apron.

"You should go on your way." But he lingered as she worked around the counter and made some sales on cigarettes and canned goods. When he didn't leave, she sighed, "you have what you want, go on your way, Mr. Shelby. I'm starting to get claustrophobic-"

"Your parents born in Boston?"

She wanted to tell him to leave, but she he wouldn't even if she asked. "No. But something tells me you already know all you need to."

"True," he agreed. "You da' was born in Donegal and your Ma' was born in Cork. Why are your grandparents here?"

"Irish tradition," she humored. "Emigration."

"How old are you?"

"How old did your research tell you?"

"22," he said, waltzing around the counter, leaning on it right next to her. His fingers teased at her forearm as she organized the junk drawer. "22, unmarried, single." Goosebumps rose as his fingers tickled up her arms. "Uneducated. You'd think a girl with a smart tongue went to school." It was true that she hadn't attended school after the age of twelve. Her body went cold and she stiffened as he teasingly brushed the hair away from her face. "You volunteer at the church on Wednesdays...teaching Chinese immigrants the Bible. Friday, you attend a silly little girl book club. Hmm, and Sunday. What does a good girl like yourself do on the holy day?"

She watched his hands closely, trying to find the bat. Except she'd forgotten it fell. John's foot found it, and kicked it from her. "I take care of my grandparents," she replied, voice weak and small.

"Have you ever tried loosening that tight arse of yours? Dropping some of that fucking edge off?" Margot choked, looking at him, red in the face. Her heart must have skipped about five beats. This is when she would have slapped him if hadn't a gun. "Hm?" he hummed, dragging his index finger along her jaw and down her neck. Instinctively, she closed the crook of her neck as it tickled. "No, of course not, a good girl like you hasn't even self-pleasured, I bet." Before he could continue, a customer came in and relieved Margot of his torture. Though, the man got frustrated when she kept fumbling the money, shaken up. John Shelby watched the interaction before pushing her aside and finishing the transaction, giving the man his proper pence. "Can't fuck a man two pence, Dulaney, you'll get your throat cut around here." He pocketed a few pence himself, and chuckled, "my wage for my days work, love." Without a warning, he kissed her cheek, and whispered, "you should lighten up...if you need help, you can find me easily."

"I'm light enough," she said, closing the box and wiping the wetness off her cheek.

"Like dancing?" He suggested. "At the jazz club downtown?"

Her eyes fluttered up at him, appalled he'd even dare ask that after he'd been so crude. "I hardly have time for dancing, Mr. Shelby."

"C'mon," he teased. "I'll have the good girl back in proper condition by her bedtime. What is your bedtime, 8?"

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, Margot, Margot." He grabbed her by the waist. "That's your name, yes? You should feel so lucky. I've not asked a bird out in a few years. But here I am, courting you." When she'd nervously pushed off and went to sweep the floor, he left it at that, taking his hat and nodding off. John Shelby had never been so forward unless he wanted a quick fuck hidden away somewhere during a party. But those girls were the type that didn't mind a grab. Margot was also a pursuit for simple fun. Away from his wife that had been giving him nothing, but headaches the last few months.

He truly loved Esme and respected her. She was, of course, the mother of his youngest children. A good wife, really. Beautiful, but not timid. She wasn't soft and had not an inch of submissiveness. There was also the issue of cocaine, but he promised that she'd never touch that shit again cause if she did, they would move away from it all. He'd keep her from society to clear her brain and make it straight again.

Perhaps with Margot, he was too aggressive, but there was an ache inside him he couldn't kill. He needed someone that'd let him do the most disciple things to them, then thank him when he finished. Margot was soft, timid, but had the perfect amount of bratiness. But she was a prude and a stiff. Of course, a whore would let him do anything; hold them by the neck, push them down, bite at their soft flesh. He didn't want paid satisfaction. He wanted something he won, something that would slowly submit to what he wanted and enjoyed it equally, in quiet and secret. For that, Margot would be perfect, he decided. 

[qqueenofhades]

I will always attempt to prod you for new Garcy content, so, here's hoping this speaks to you 😂 (also happy belated birthday! <- my Tumblr wasn't working properly on you big day, and didn't let me send you a HBD greeting then, so I'm doing it now) 🥳

----------

Garcy

41. Don't look back

The New England night is rank with cold, with the briny scent of the distant sea, with woodsmoke and creosote, tar and turpentine, hay and mud. Lucy stands with her arms crossed, her coat drawn tightly over her shoulders, staring out at the dark woods that stretch endlessly beyond this simple farmhouse on the edge of Boston -- in the year 1880, a fast-growing industrial city, thronged with largely-Irish immigrants, strung up with newfangled electric lights and trolley cars, steamships moored at the docks, but still straining at the old Pilgrim bones beneath, forced to accept all this modernity at a blow. In other circumstances, she would almost like the chance to look around. Not, however, as if that is going to happen. Now or ever.

She shivers harder. She can still feel the wind cutting right through her, and surely it's her imagination that it's not just a figure of speech, that she's becoming more and more insubstantial, never-existing, by the moment. She feels dreamy, almost comfortable, the sort of lulling reverie you slip into when you're on the brink of freezing to death and it feels downright pleasant. She looks down at her hands, tries to see if she can see through them to the ground. It would be just, perhaps. It would be the only outcome.

Just then, there's a particularly loud commotion in the farmhouse behind her, and she turns around sharply. She hasn't been paying attention to the low-level clamor -- the shouts, the shots, the smashing, the screaming, the sort that would attract the neighbors if there were any in range. As it is, there aren't, and that too is all by design. She stands here, a cold and merciless goddess, listens to men die inside, and feels... nothing. Her mother has, in the end, done her job too well. Carol Preston dutifully raised her daughters in Rittenhouse, trained Lucy to be the heiress, the crown princess, and now it's playing out exactly as she intended, with one devastating little twist. It's Rittenhouse dying in there, all of them, or at least Lucy so badly hopes. All her ancestors, her great-grandfathers and uncles and whatever else, and that means that when they get back to the present day (if they get back to the present day), there is a very good chance that she will never have existed at all. Will be a revenant, a time-ghost, a relic from another timeline who has nothing left at all, no root to her old life, and not even anyone else's memories. Hell, she might just wink out on the spot, a twisted paradox too contradicted to exist. Is it worth it? Can anything possibly be worth this?

Yes, Lucy thinks. Her face is stone, her eyes are dry, she does not weep a single tear. Yes, it is.

At last, the banging and blasting falls silent. Ruthlessly effective as he is, Garcia Flynn is far from subtle. There's a long moment in which Lucy panics, thinking that they managed to strike a lucky blow, that he's gone too, but then he emerges, tall and dark and shadowed, his suit sleeves spattered in blood. He looks at her and doesn't say a word. Just goes to his knees in front of her (even so, he's still almost as tall as she is) and holds out the gun, a medieval knight pledging his sword to the service of his lady. At last, his voice half a whisper in the wind, he says, "It's done."

Lucy shivers from head to toe. She looks down at him and doesn't answer. Yes, her ancestors might all be dead now, but there's still no guarantee that Rittenhouse has been erased, root and branch. One of them might have left a pregnant wife somewhere, or a secret mistress with a love child, or all the other ways history contorts around on itself to protect its continuity. She could have done all this, live with the knowledge of it forever, and still failed. Flynn might have gone in there to kill her whole family, but Lucy is the one who brought him here.

(What would she have done, if they hadn't found each other? Who would she be? Carol's perfect little Rittenhouse princess, just as planned? Not this, this Salem witch, hands dripping with blood just as much as Flynn's. It's only on his because she asked him to do it, and he agreed. That's love, she supposes. A twisted and dark and desperate version, but still love. He is the only thing she has.)

"Flynn." Lucy doesn't recognize her own voice. "Please. Get me out of here. Get me out of here."

Flynn considers, then nods once. He lifts her halfway, arms around her waist; as ever, her weight is completely negligible to him. It's going to be a long walk back to the Mothership, where Rufus is waiting nervously. When they get in, the jump very well might not work, as long as Lucy is in there. The space-time continuum might reject traveling back with an alien entity, an erased object. She might have to get out and stay in 1880 forever, the price of removing Rittenhouse in the present. Is she ready to do that? Can she stand it? Or will she just simply evanesce away?

"Flynn," she starts again, shaking, her face buried in his shoulder. He walks quickly, but somehow without hurrying. The wool of his jacket smells of lamp-oil and fresh blood. "Flynn, I'm not going to be able to come back, not if I don't -- "

"Yes." He sounds calm, certain, cold as the snow. "You're going to be fine, Lucy. Rufus will figure it out. You'll come home with us."

"But back there -- " Lucy twists, tries to peer over his shoulder, to look back at the dark farmhouse where Rittenhouse has, pray God, finally met its utmost end. "If you -- "

"Shh." Flynn's grip tightens on her. "Don't look back, Lucy. It's all right. Trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you."

It's a deeply ironic utterance, considering what he just did to her whole family (on her express invitation, but still) and how their relationship started, but she does. She trusts him. She holds onto him with both hands. Don't look back. Like Lot's wife fleeing from Sodom, unable to resist the curse, transmogrified into salt. There are tears on her cheeks. She tastes it on her lips. She doesn't know who she's crying for. It seems impossible for it to be her.

Don't look back.

Lucy buries her face in Flynn's neck again, and does not.

[kultofathena]

Legacy Arms is back in production!

Irish Hand and Half Sword

Roman Gladius Sword

Templar Knight Sword

[luimagines]

Hey Pinky I am back with my Lynel Farm something that came to my mind because of irish!Reader but it has more with the mythology that kicked my brain. I am ancient compared to most people for the category of Anime. I watched Beyblade Metal Fusion as a kid but it's not about that even if it would be funny. But I write about another childhood series I saw, Inuyasha. As I don't know if you know this Anime I make a little headcanon. This is Inuyasha!Reader.

They lived in the feudal lands of Japan.

Reader may look young, like 15 to 17, but they are actually over 200 years old.

They are a Hanyou, which means they are half human and half Youkai, a half-demon.

Even though their mother had a title that is the same rank of a princess, they were treated horribly with only their mother as support.

But demons didn't accept them either as they were still part human.

Their father was a dog demon, a strong one at that, with the title of the Lord of the Western Lands.

And his blood is strong which is why Reader has white silvery hair with golden yellow eyes.

Except it's a new moon, in this phase of the night they lose all their abilities they have as a Hanyou, don't worry I will list them later.

At the new moon they have the hair colour of Reader with their eye colour as it's their human part and they hate the new moon as it also makes them vulnerable.

They wear the Robe of the Fire-Rat, it's from their father, with a white hadagi undershirt. And with this they are fireproof. They can walk through a forest fire and come out alive and without a scratch. And they always go around barefoot.

Their abilities are enhanced jumps, they can jump from a one story house up to the roof of a four story high house. They have superhuman strength like Reader punches through solid steel. Superhuman speed, they can outrun a horse without problems and as their stamina is inhuman as well. They can run through the whole day and still make it through the complete nightshift. Their agility and reflexes are nothing to brush off either, they can catch and destroy arrows mid air even if they stand with their back to their opponent or opponents. Their durability and accelerated healing will shock the Chain, especially Hyrule. They can get impaled through their stomach and survive it while fighting! And within a day the wound is gone without leaving a single scar.

As a dog demon they have enhanced senses of smell and hearing. They can smell the hints of blood from kilometres away and can hear what people were whispering from a great distance away. They also have dog ears which are very fluffy like the ones from an Akita Inu.

Their fighting style is unorthodox to say at least as they are extremely stubborn and refuse to back down, even when their life is in danger. As they won't back down and fight with their claws if their sword isn't available or they don't want to use it and they can solidify their own blood and make it into flying blades.

Now to their sword. It's called Tessaiga which is the sword that can "kill a hundred demons in a single stroke" and it looks like a Katana that's about to break until they draw it to protect someone, who is dear to them. Then it looks like an overgrown dog fang and its cross guard has a large patch of fur also similar to the one of a dog. But it only changes into this form by Reader's hand only.

But their demon blood is also their weakness. You see Tessaiga is practically suppressing and sealing Reader's demon half away to a certain content. When they are in life danger and don't have Tessaiga with them they can become a full-fledged demon and attack every living being they deemed as a threat.

They also have an older half-brother and they hate each other. A deceased wife and a daughter which is a quarter part demon.

Now to the group. They will be so suspicious of each other. Reader is half demon but not with Ganon, they don't even know who that is and they don't understand one word from each other. Reader will be confused with them as in their home people with pointed ears are normally demons but the Chain don't look, smell or fight like one.

But after they learned the language I think they will tolerate each other but begin to trust after a while. Well except for Wind he loved to be carried by them as they are fast and jump far away. Four screams at them because of Tessaiga's broken form until they show him the real one. Then he is all over them and their sword as it's made out of the fang tooth of their father and its attacks are very destructive. They also can fight through an army of monsters and even without breaking a sweat and without injuries on them.

But also can find traces far easier than Twilight as they have a more sensible nose than him. But they can't stand him, they have bad experience with wolves, one tried to court and kidnapped their late wife. So they often say to him "Wolf-Cub", it was an insult for the wolf demon back then.

But Reader and Legend will have so many fights as Reader is pretty hotheaded and got betrayed the worst possible way. Their first love pinned them with a seal and an arrow onto a tree. They were hated by humans and demons alike so they are harsh. Hyrule still wants to heal them after they encounter a tough opponent even if Reader can lift a Lynel and can bite through the neck of a Gleeok. Time will be impressed as he is not half as nimble as they are. Yes, Wild is technically 117 years old but he slept 100 years but Reader was only sealed away for 50 years until they were back kicking and screaming so they have his respect.

Sky will be the most suspicious one at first as they are a half demon after all. But he will notice that they are really protective over the people they care for and see as their friends and family. And as he asked about their life, after they trust the group. They talk about their daughter, their late wife, the adventures they went through, their deceased friends, their half-brother, how they met their wife and so on and Sky as the true romantic he is will ask more about the missus. Wars tries to get them to stop being so reckless even if they eliminate 100 monsters alone he can't allow that. Wild will ask about recipes from their homeland and they have some, which their mother shared with them when they got sick, which is a very rare occasion.

But they definitely disappear when it's the new moon until dawn so they don't see their human form. It's stuck with them since they were a child, to hide when its new moon as they are vulnerable at this time and feel pain. Or have their abilities anymore but if one of them saw that they will threaten the Link with his life.

I've got no notes. XD

I think you've covered most, if not, all of the bases. I know what anime you're talking about but I've never seen it. I have the faintest suspicion that this is more or less the timeline/backstory of the dog man half demon from the show. XD

Actually, I lied. One note.

I don't know if Twilight would register "Wolf-Cub" being an insult or not. He'd probably think it was just a nickname and that Reader just straight couldn't care less about him. Kinda like "Yes, I am a wolf. Thank you for noticing. Why say it like that?"

Unless he starts to think that it's actually a term of endearment because Reader is a dog demon and also calling him pup/cub from time to time like Time does (in fics- I forgot if that's canon or not.)

With all of this in mind, I think that it would lead to a funny one-sided hate/tolerate relationship where Twilight just doesn't register Reader hating his guts for literally no reason. XD

[anastachord]

wtf ao3 tags - the sequel

vampire ballet

Slap Slap Kiss

Irish Republicanism

Setting Zombies on Fire

Woke Up Gay

Autoerotic Asphyxiation

i was raised a catholic and went to religious schools so this is the time to exploit that

There isn't a tag for titties OR man titties and that's really disappointing

a sheep farm

Happy Enging

they are GAY and they are STUPID

Misue of Louisiana Slang

FEDDY FABEAR

Subway Meet-Cute

YO-HO-HO HERE WE GO BITCHES

hehe

actual chicken

nae nae swag

tossing salad

Zuho puts coins up his nose

stanky leg

the transgenderification of the ninja turtles

Improper use of OceanGate's Titan Submarine

when the sound "mmmm" is a weapon

Inappropriate use of butterflies

impending doom

that's not what windows are for

when blushing causes an existential crisis

flirting via security cameras

pretending everything is fine when it's clearly NOT

I swear to god there's a happy ending in here somewhere please believe me

Warning: reading this may require the use of a defibrillator

Inappropriate use of mayonnaise

unholy use of mayonnaise

the looming threat of a fedora

zombie chickens covered in jam

religion...???

violence against musical instruments

the mechanics of a good hug

I have been told reading this fix has curative properties, I have also been told that it has killed people

ill advised climbing

this fic is chicken noodle soup for your soul

accidental improper use of setting tablet

screams into the sun

i claim my right to remain silent your honour

I'm happy to announce that I'm back on my bullshit

Inappropriate use of tv

teeth extraction kink

mind fucking, literally

innapropriate use of a santa hat

Reader gets peeled like a grape

torture, visualize peeling a banana

improper use of a detached arm

eats a mushroom and becomes a communist

Inappropriate use of a McDonalds cup

improper use of religiously oriented yogurt

the homeless man i gave a burger to in 2017

Non con bc lamps can't consent

improper use of a wine bottle (it doesn't break)

whipped cream as lube

improper use of a decomposed finger

no children were actually kidnapped, just temporarily acquired

ovary popping like grapes

Improper use of goose

soap uses drugs and alcohol to cope with being a furry

Sharpened Bones of Brendan Urie

improper use of a swiffer wetjet

OceanGate Titan Submarine/RMS Titanic (Anthropomorphic)

Tennis, i dont know how to play tennis

Questionable anger management solutions

setting off fireworks in hands

An abundance of baby oil

submarine sandwich

the mortifying ordeal of discovering you're into bdsm while you're caught up in a political intrigue

Unacceptable use of tragedy

spoilers for the bible... i guess??

exploitation of magical swords

Bees

improper use of duct tape that would make OSHA cry

Punching your future father in law in the face as a metaphor for love

smut bit also i'm too scared to write it

ryan reynolds - Freeform

sharks dying

A walking brick of cocaine

The Curse of the Bonus Vajayjay

Refrigerator

Brief mentions of a dog in a top hat

that one song by the buttholes of whatever the fuck they're called

Sink me like one of your French girls

Biblically Incorrect

Moose

a decade-long streak of Pining is ruined by a false hickey

Tim is homophobic??

this is half smut and half roasting two thirty year old men for being fucking stupid

something that is sort of crossdressing but not really

holy shit barbed dick is already a tag, i fucking love the internet

Robbery, by a dumbass

human toilet

Abuse of gummy worms

someone please help this fish

Mentions of heterosexuality

yogurt (i can explain)

Nuns

Tim gets fucking attacked

weirdly sexual cheeseburgers

university of arkansas

Out of Character, but I'm out of fucks so it's fine

TW straight people

car seats as an expression of love

alarm clock to lovers

it's not game of thrones inspired but it's not not game of thrones inspired so

shoe licking

Inappropriate use of Logitech controllers

Decidedly non-platonic BDSM

how to create a romance epic for dummies

aggressive mutual caretaking

the usual amount of murdering characters in my fics

weirdly long talks about fnaf lore

All the men die but the boats are okay

SPOILER: it is not an egg!!

yelling at people to show you care

set in australia in my hometown but that affects literally nothing

somehow a harmonica gets involved

Top Shadow the Hedgehog

Elevator Butt

gru's noise

Accidental Uncle Acquisition

frog tie

Quantum Mechanics, but wikipedia's version, so take that with a grain of salt

a crazy amount of john mulaney reference that carries on for multiple chapters for some reason

sadist slime

questionable use of dortitos

scandalous use of musical vocabulary

swallowed alive

human on mushroom violence

misuse of whirlpool baths

sir this is a Wendy's pull up your pants

let me delulu in peace

the eternal question of who is doing the laundry

screaming into the void

somewhere ogre the rainbow

a random horse appears

Mentions of a goat

don't let your memes be dreams

shrek eats beans

Santa Claus has seen some shit

green cow milk

erotic birth

unhealthy relationship but in a spicy way

a truly pathetic amount of pining

gratuitous use of Narwhals

one sorta severed limb but not really

putting the fun in funeral

tragedy my lord

is it murder when they die themselves?

meet tired

falling in love over a coffin

dirt as a love language

Sugar Daddy Voldemort

Florida AU

Canonical Character Death, It gets better I promise, the death not the fic

what's the tag for come coming out of your nose

Tentacle Dick, actually more dolphin dick but no one needs to know what i looked up for this

if you guys KNEW my google search history right now

There are deer that are wizards that have human hands

Multiple historical events were caused by a sentient pitcher of Kool-Aid

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Hello! I just read "i go uncrownd" and lost it when Alfred called his gun Rita. That was such a good touch. Do you have weapons headcanons for other characters like that?

Oooooh. Yes, I do. So it's going to range drastically based on the era and the situation, so I’m going to go with the ones that are kind of the most iconic. Rhys and Arthur are longbows. They were, like King Arthur and about half of what is considered proto-typical Englishness, originally Welsh. Their mother taught them both to shoot. The traditional narrative is that during the Norman invasions of Wales, one of the Edwards incorporated the Welsh system of archery into the English army and proceeded to fuck the French right up with it at Crécy and Agincourt later.

Rhys is stocky and better with a sword, so he balanced a bow and a sword for distance and hand-to-hand combat. He likely used a shield and spear before inheriting his mother’s sword, but he never let go of it once it was his. They were long-bladed weapons, with the curves serving to focus the force of the user’s strength into a smaller area for more damage. They were primarily slashing weapons, with some, like the ones shown below, having a point with a strong two-groove blood-tapestry in the center. There was also a trench knife with a background that was supposed to be taken from a medieval Welsh sword but has more or less been disproven, but there are certainly familiar design elements here too!

Pre-Norman Arthur was younger and smaller but more accurate and was more likely to perch himself somewhere defensible and fire as he ran to give himself time to disapear. His bow was his primary weapon and he probably only had a seax to defend himself for anything too close for the bow until he was older. The Seax is where the Saxon’s got their name and was a very important symbol for freemen to carry, with women often depicted wearing them as well. They were part tool, part sword and could be used as something like a one edged machete. The one here was found in the Thames in the 19th century and was probably from 900 something. The ‘broken back’ shape of the sword is part of where I got my headcanon for Arthur still having back pain from the Viking invasions even 1000 years later. This one was probably way to big for Arthur to have been using and there are much smaller ones but I had to use this one lmao. Lives in my head rent-free.

Alasdair always preferred to be at the forge or easel, but where Brighid was usually the head of government, at the foot of their mother's throne, as the firstborn son, he was the acting defender. He was large and did well with a shield and sword, later the broadsword and shield, often wielding the shield with the dirk (Dearg in Scots Gaelic) in the same hand to use if he lost his broad sword. He’s a very tall, broad man, so Claymore isn’t off the table either. He was also very good with an axe. The Scottish version of a poleaxe, the tuagh-chatha, was a semi-moon axe blade on staff and fucking lethal. He could clear a space with that thing, let me tell you. The sword and shield combo is also how he was killed the day their mother died, engaging the Saxons and Jutes who had made it over the bridge before he destroyed it, buying Brighid just enough time to escape across the Irish sea.

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #41: Game of Thrones, but make it Lord of the Dance

About five years back I broke Amazon's recommendation algorithm and it never quite recovered. Case in point, it's been recommending Lord of the Dance and Lord of the Dance: Dangerous Games to me for the last few weeks despite my never having expressed an interest in Irish stepdancing.

And then it occurred to me: Lord of the Dance sounds an awful lot like one of the titles someone might have in Game of Thrones, like Lord of the Tides. So naturally my mind went: What if Jon Snow was Lord of the Dance?

Aka: The Lord of the Dance Fic:

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon up to Robert's arrival in Winterfell - with one exception. In addition to being fairly skilled with a blade, Jon Snow excels at the Northern traditional dances, which to some degree resemble Irish stepdance and/or Slavic squat dance.

Instead of being sent to the Wall, Jon heads south as part of Ned's household, the intent being that he train to be Sansa's sworn sword, possibly even a Kingsguard in time.

While Ned, Sansa, and Arya follow their canon plot lines, Jon spends most of his time in King's Landing training or practicing his Northern dancing. Someone - likely Joffrey - catches him at the latter and gives him the nickname Lord of the Dance. It's meant to be derisive, but Jon wears it with pride, partly because he really is an impressive dancer, partly because anything is better than Bastard of Winterfell.

The rare moments Jon doesn't spend training are spend shadowing Sansa, which keeps her from telling Cersei of Ned's plan to flee King's Landing. They manage to take ship before they can be captured...

...and flee to Dragonstone, where Ned and Stannis write their letters declaring Cersei's children bastards.

The War of Five Kings takes place pretty much as in canon, with the exception Robb Ned is never named King in the North. Robb and Ned gather their armies to fight for Stannis - though the Red Wedding still happens as in canon, with Ned present to die beside his wife and eldest son.

In fact, all of canon pretty much takes place as before with one major difference: Sansa, Arya, and Jon are all safe on Dragonstone throughout, half for their own protection and half as guests to ensure the North's continued support of Stannis' claim.

During this time Jon finds himself joining the Dragonstone guard - even becoming its captain after Stannis leads most of his men North following the Battle of the Blackwater. He has near complete freedom of movement throughout the island, and it is during this time that Jon begins to suspect his father isn't Ned Stark at all.

By the time Daenerys and Young Griff arrive at Dragonstone, Jon has become throughly disillusioned. All of his family save his sisters are dead, Winterfell is in the hands of the Boltons, and the two men he admired most in his life - Ned and Stannis - turned out to be liars and religious fanatics. Sansa still hates him for interfering in her betrothal to Joffrey and Arya blames him for not being with Ned and Robb when they died at the Red Wedding. His only friend on the island is Shireen, who managed to slip off the ships when her parents headed north, as disillusioned by her parents as Jon.

When the Targaryen fleet arrives at Dragonstone, Jon opens the gates.

Dany and Young Griff (dealer's choice if he's Rhaegar's son or a Blackfyre) don't quite know what to make of Jon, but eventually warm to him after he gains the loyalty of one of their dragons. Jon comes to be a key player in their conquest of Westeros and is even named their heir until such a time they have their own.

Jon, Dany, and Young Griff reunite the Seven Kingdoms. Jon proves himself in the conquest and War for the Dawn which follows. Dany and Young Griff are crowned Daenerys I and Aegon VI, and Jon is named Prince of Dragonstone. Sansa is named Lady of Winterfell and is always quite bitter about it, while Arya runs away with her blacksmith.

What follows is the long business of putting down rebellions and restoring law and order to Westeros. It... doesn't go nearly as easily as the war.

Young Griff dies trying to put down a food riot in King's Landing about five years after being crowned, having been reluctant to use his dragon against the smallfolk. Dany is assassinated shortly after by those reluctant to follow an Essosi-raised princess. Their marriage produced no children and many believed the queen to be infertile.

Jon is crowned Jaehaerys III. His queen is Shireen Baratheon. But he always says he prefers the title Lord of the Dance as it's the first he earned for himself.

Bonuses include: 1) The world's softest, gentlest friends to lovers for Jon and Shireen. It's the one bright thing either of them have during the war and is built on a foundation of true friendship; 2) Jon, despite reading all the books hidden away in Dragonstone and coming to suspect the truth long before Dany and Young Griff arrived, never quite knowing how to feel about his Targaryen ancestry; and 3) Everyone Jon meets feeling the need to comment on his title Lord of the Dance, leading to Jon having to demonstrate how he earned the title more often than he'd really like and incorporating it in his list of official titles to get ahead of the gossips.

And that.... is surprisingly more than I thought would come from this idea. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do.

Other Jon Snow Headcanons: Aegon the Undying | Aegon the Unyielding | Aemon the Adventurous | Baelor the Brave | Daeron the Desired | Dyanna the Defiant | King of the Ashes | Lady Arryn | Lady Baratheon | Lady Lannister | Lady Stark | Lord of the Dance | Prince Consort | Prince of Summerhall | Queen Mother

More Terrible Fic Ideas