#about to fix all the bullshit wrong with part 3 so 4 can rise above

[luvevee]

Withholding the urge to explode into essays about the writing of stardust crusaders

[yadds]

Another Geraskier Fix-it Fic, Part 2 Jaskier tells Geralt to fuck off, Geralt is forced into some self-reflection.

Part 1

I was going to wait until I finished this to post the rest, but that’s gonna be in approx. 3 million years at this point, so here’s part 2 if anyone is still interested.  Should only be one part left after this since I actually have an ending in mind!

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Geralt was jostled from his meditation by a foot to the side of his head. He whirled around and caught the ankle, yanking until the perpetrator fell to the floor with a squawk. He had a knife to a throat before he realized it was Jaskier, hands up defenselessly and eyes wide. 

He tsked and released him. 

“Excuse me,” Jaskier said indignantly as he sat up, wincing, and brushed his hands across his bare back, which had been dragged across the dusty floor in the scuffle. “You’re annoyed at me? I don’t even rightly know what’s going on right now! I woke up and was just trying to get out of bed! What did you expect to happen when you took up post there like some looming lurker?”

“You seem to be feeling better,” Geralt muttered. 

“I can’t even tell; my bladder is about to explode and I literally cannot even think about anything else. So if you would kindly move your arse, I would like to fix that particular problem.”

Huffing, Geralt shifted to the side to allow Jaskier to go and relieve himself. 

Jaskier was soon collapsing back onto the bed with a sigh. “In answer to your non-question, yes, I am feeling better. Thank you for pretending you care. You’ve fulfilled whatever bizarre obligation you seem to have felt so please feel free to leave. Preferably without soul-searing insults this time, but that’s honestly up to you.”

Geralt scowled as he watched Jaskier watch the ceiling, one arm thrown over his forehead and partially obscuring his view. 

“You never answered me,” he said gruffly. 

Jaskier’s head tilted minutely in his direction. “You’ll have to remind me what exactly I didn’t answer. My memory of our conversation while I was bleeding out is a bit vague,” he said acerbically. 

“Those men,” Geralt clarified. When he saw Jaskier open his mouth with an expression of exasperation, Geralt continued. “You said they were after me.”

Jaskier nodded, peering through his fingers up at the ceiling again.

He didn’t offer any more information. Gritting his teeth, Geralt mustered all the patience he could and asked for it. “Why? And why are they after you?”

“Oh yes, I’m starting to remember now - I told you already that I. Don’t. Know,” Jaskier sneered.  “I have no idea who those men were.” 

“Stop the bullshit!” Geralt finally barked. “You also implied this was a regular occurrence. What the hell is going on, Jaskier?”

Jaskier continued glowering. Just as Geralt was ready to start physically demanding answers, Jaskier suddenly turned so that he was fully facing Geralt. 

“Okay. Fine. You want to get into this? Alright. This has been going on for years, Geralt. People have been trying to kidnap, kill, or maim me to get to you for years. Not the same people - sometimes it’s hired hands for rich people you’ve pissed off, sometimes it’s people that don’t want you stopping them from doing something, and sometimes it’s random folk that just don’t like you.”

Geralt felt as though he had ice water coursing through his veins, freezing the breath in his lungs and slowing his heart to a sluggish crawl. 

“Most of the time, I don’t have a clue who or why unless they’re successful,” Jaskier continued. 

Suddenly the ice in his blood was seared to steam by the raging fury that overtook him at the thought. “The fuck does that mean?” Geralt growled. 

“Oh, yes, I’ve been in some pretty precarious situations, my friend,” Jaskier pressed cruelly, noting how each new piece of information wound Geralt tighter. “Been attacked more times than I can count. Although, to be fair, I don’t know how many of those were just because I am such a delight to all those around me and how many were thanks to you. I’ve been kidnapped at least 3 or 4 times. That’s never enjoyable but has ended up being surprisingly relatively benign,” he mused. 

Geralt was trembling, strung tight enough to snap. 

“Oh relax,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. “I never tell them anything.” He rolled back to stare at the ceiling again, arms folded behind his head, appearing to tire of his game. “I can withstand a lot more than you might think.”

“Why?” he rasped. 

Jaskier shrugged. “Well most of the time I actually don’t know anything since you usually just ditch me with not a word of where I could find you again even if I needed to. But also because I’m not a heartless bastard; I used to consider us very good friends, you know. I would never do anything that might cause you harm. You do so much more good in this world than I do so if I had to sacrifice you to save myself…well, I’m not that kind of selfish.”

The sound that punched out of Geralt at the thought was choked and miserable. “Jaskier,” he croaked, then stopped, unable to find the words to continue. 

Jaskier turned his gaze back to Geralt again, a delighted, malicious grin stealing across his face. “Oh, my,” he crowed. “Does it hurt, Geralt? To know someone has suffered for you?”

“Yes,” he hissed, eyes narrow and intent on the bard perched above him. His hand lifted briefly towards Jaskier before he dropped it to fist in his lap. 

“Good,” Jaskier replied simply. His clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes belied the casual tone.

Geralt flinched slightly before lashing out. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Jaskier quickly rolled back towards him, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at Geralt, still seated on the floor, with contempt. “My problem?” he parroted incredulously. “You rip out my heart and tear it to shreds for no gods damned reason and I’m the one with the problem? I’m sorry, was I supposed to just roll over and take it? Beg for more?”

Geralt’s glare intensified.  “What bullshit are you spouting now?  I haven’t even seen your godsforsaken face in a year.”

“Were you dropped on your head sometime in the past year?  Gotten amnesia or dementia of some sort?  I feel like I should ask because this could be a legitimate issue before assuming -    No?” Jaskier asked facetiously before continuing.  “Okay, so you’re just willfully misremembering the way you very sincerely wished me out of your life?  I’ve done my part and stayed out of your way!  Yet here you are, still...maligning me.”

Geralt scoffed, immediately knowing that was the wrong thing to do but unable to stop.  “That’s not anywhere near the worst thing I’ve said to you.”

He saw the muscle in Jaskier’s jaw jump repeatedly, accentuating the slight tremor in his chin as he took a long moment before responding quietly.  “True.  But that was the first time I knew beyond a doubt that you really meant it.  Also, the fact that you think that’s a justification just proves what a fool I was to follow you for as long as I did.”

The silence that followed was oppressive and suffocating.

When Geralt made no move to refute, or even acknowledge, the accusations, the renewed expression of disappointment on Jaskier’s face hit him like a forging hammer to the chest.  

Jaskier’s mouth opened as if to say something, but all that came out was a heavy sigh before his lips pressed together tight.  He pushed himself off the bed, face drawn and shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Well, thanks for saving my life yet again.  I hope you don’t mind if I steal a drink before I’m off,” Jaskier said with forced nonchalance as he stumbled the two steps across the room to a pitcher on the small table.  

Geralt looked up when he heard the clangor of the cup clattering against the pitcher, both trembling and unsteady in Jaskier’s grip.  As water sloshed against his front, Jaskier slammed them both back down onto the table, breathing sharply through his nose in frustration.

Standing silently, Geralt stepped close and gently grabbed the cup from Jaskier.  Before he had grasped the pitcher, Jaskier snatched the cup back.  “I can pour my own damn drink, Geralt!” he snarled.

“Of course,” he agreed as he stepped back.  His eyes traced the tense lines of Jaskier’s back as he fumbled to get enough water into the cup for a long draught, somewhat surprised by the definition of hard muscle just visible beneath a shallow layer of softness.

Jaskier turned and brushed past Geralt to get to the door.  Geralt grabbed his arm.  “Jaskier.”

“What?” he replied curtly, still facing the door.

“Stay,” he said gruffly.

“No.  I don’t wish to add to my debt to you.”

“Since when do you care about such things?” Geralt asked mockingly.

“Since we’re not friends,” Jaskier bit out.

Geralt’s grip tightened with the pang of annoyance that pierced through him.  He quickly released his hand when he heard Jaskier hiss softly.

“You’re in no condition to be out there alone,” he said, frustrated with Jaskier’s stubbornness. 

“Who says I’m alone?” Jaskier replied. “Believe it or not, there are others who don’t find me so despicable.”  He watched as Jaskier stopped briefly to rummage through Geralt’s saddlebags to take one of his shirts, turning and showing Geralt quite pointedly that he was taking it, daring him to say something about it.

For once, there were many things Geralt wanted to say, ranging from groveling apologies to scathingly cruel remarks that made his previous ones sound like fucking love letters. But he remained silent as Jaskier turned and opened the door, jumbles of jagged words clamoring against the back of his teeth, shoved down his throat until he could scarcely breathe. 

Pausing, Jaskier looked back once more, eyes tracing Geralt’s features. “Goodbye, Geralt.”

Nothing had ever sounded so devastatingly final. 

.

Geralt left the inn with the rising sun, body still humming with pent up tension. 

Not knowing where Jaskier was or who he was with became Geralt’s newest form of personal torture. 

He would have stayed with Jaskier, traveled with him again, kept him safe. He didn’t like feeling responsible for Jaskier’s hardships. But apparently Jaskier’s pride was more important than his safety. Fucking idiot. 

He grit his teeth, hands clenching. Roach snorted and shook her head, making Geralt loosen his too-tight grip on her reins. “Sorry, girl,” he murmured. 

He dismounted and prowled beside her, unable to stomach sitting idle with his fuming thoughts. 

What right did Jaskier have to punish him? For all of his extravagant overtures of devotion, Jaskier was the one who left. And all it took was a few unkind words.  It certainly hadn’t been the first time he’d lashed out at Jaskier when his frustrations had lain elsewhere.  He wasn’t proud of how he’d acted, but it was far from the worst thing he’d done in the decades that they’d traveled together.  What kind of ‘friendship’ could be shattered by something so trivial?  

Geralt spent the next mile attempting to force his mind into silence.  He was unsuccessful like he hadn’t experienced since he’d first become a witcher all those years ago, his thoughts roiling and ranting violently.  

Geralt was not stupid - he knew that a distraction such as this would only result in a quick, needless death while on The Path. Fortunately, he was also not a coward.  If this required putting thought to the...feelings he was experiencing, he would do it.  

Geralt mounted Roach, trusting her to keep the path and warn him of any conspicuous threats.  He squared his shoulders as he turned his focus inwards.

Putting a name to the emotions that were clamoring below the surface was a trying task for one who only experienced pale shades of their human counterparts.  He approached each tangle of sentiment marring the dreary landscape of his inner mind, prepared to unravel it, acknowledge it, and move the fuck on. There was anger, yes, that he was all too familiar with.  Some hurt, he supposed, if he had to admit it.  But the biggest beast was a deep-seated sense of betrayal.

The realization made him snarl; betrayal to this extent wasn’t possible without a level of trust that he thought himself incapable of. How could he be so fucking stupid?  Geralt was forced to acknowledge that Jaksier had, despite his valiant efforts to keep him at arms length, insinuated himself as the closest anything came to a permanent fixture in Geralt’s life.  He’d trusted Jaskier in a way he’d not done since he’d been a boy, been so unquestionably sure of Jaskier’s loyalty.  

And he fucking knew better.  Nothing was permanent and nobody could truly be trusted.  How many times must he learn that gods damned lesson in his endlessly long life? Apparently at least once more, it seemed. 

Fury reared its head once more, searing through his nerves until he could think of nothing else. Partially at Jaskier, at destiny, at this shithole of a Continent. But mostly at himself.

But self-castigation was of no use to him. He drew a deep breath and pushed through it, finding that he was once again placing his misdirected anger firmly on Jaskier’s shoulders, something he’d been doing so long that he didn’t even think about it.

Perhaps he’d been needlessly cruel for too long. Jaskier was an easy target, one who would take a beating with nothing but a cheeky comeback or sullen silence. And wasn’t that on Jaskier, not standing up for himself? Perhaps a little, but no, he had to admit that this was his own shortcoming. It only incensed him further to realize just how much he’d taken advantage of...yes, his friend. If he had ever had a single friend in his life, it would have been Jaskier. 

But despite his self-involvement and constant reparation of the thick stone walls protecting his inner self from the rest of the world, Jaskier had grown like weeds through any cracks in the mortar. Though he’d stopped the spread, the sprouts of greenery stubbornly remained in the endless brown and gray of dirty stone, demanding his attention.  And as the mulish weeds started to finally die, the color fading, Geralt was forced to recognize the beauty of a bit of color in a colorless life.  

Just another story of too little too late.

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So you’d think quarantine would be the optimal time for writing, but I’m finding I have less time/energy than ever between keeping up with a 3 year old and a 1 year old that are cooped up inside while trying to work from home and not neglect our little bit of husband/wife time.  

Not having any time to myself is the hardest part of all this for me (for which I’m so incredibly grateful, that that’s my biggest problem) and makes me want to just curl up and do nothing the few moments I’m able to steal for myself.  So, plan on me being EVEN SLOWER THAN USUAL.  Yes, that’s possible.  And it’s happening.

Despite my complaining, things in general are good for us - Husband and I have job security, are continuing to get paid normally, and have bosses that understand our need to juggle family/work balance, and we’re all in good health.  

Stay safe and well out there, y’all, both physically and mentally, as much as you can!  

[reeree1500]

The Return- Part 10

Disclaimer: YALL IM SO SO SO SORRY.😭😭 I have been horrible and not updated this story for at least a month.😬 I can explain though... University has been kicking my ass and between that and my co-op placement at a law firm.😅 Ive had absolutely no time to do anything😩 BTW IVE MISSED YALL SO MUCH❤️And Ive read all your messages and asks. And yes my mental health is now better and y'all are so understanding and supportive 💕 honestly could not have asked for a better group of individuals☺️❤️

Part 1 part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 part 8 part 9 Part 11 

Anyways onto the storyyyyy.....

Warnings: ANGSTY AF (kinda figured out that im probably a smut and angst writer at this point🤷🏽‍♀️), sucky ass grammar and spelling like always, my cliche imagination and the fact that Im probably a horrible human being😬😩 Also made it extra long cuz I felt baddd 

PLEASE DONT KILL ME FOR THIS ONE😬

Taglist: @yanii-the-hippie @oceans-daughter-3 @peaceisadirtyword @laketaj24 @camatsuru @youbloodymadgenius @calum-hoodwinked-me @cutegyrl927 @wuxiesalt @readsalot73 @cindy-exo @affection-rabbit @amy8220 @mel0nch0ly @queenofallthyfandoms @limbo-limbo-limbo @ragnarssonsbitch @supernaturalvikingwhore @ifihadwings128 @paintballkid711 @jenny-the-lover @funmadnessandbadassvikings @blonddnamedhandz @hallowed-heathen @pinkrockstar19 @ivarthethiccness

Sorry if I missed any of you💕 Lemme know if you want to be tagged. Also requests are open, and I’ve got a ton of them to do and finish. Hopefully Ill be able to post them soon enough

Arthur’s POV

“Arthur please! Open the door my love, I know what it may seem like to you, but I assure you that its not.” (Y/n) pleaded from the other side. I sat down on the mattress in our chamber contemplating whether or not it was true. Should I believe what my wife so desperately is trying to reassure me off. Or should I stick with my gut feeling and tell her how I have felt for the last 4 years. Her constant pounding on the door finally gets to me and I make my way to open it. “I wish to be left alone at the moment (y/n).” Her arms circle around my waist and I can feel her face wetting by back with tears. “Arthur please, talk to me. Why have you run off. You know that I love you. I do not want him, all he does is bring me pain and you take that away. So please, talk to me!” (y/n) murmurs into my back. As much as it pains me to do so I pry her hands off of me and sit us down on the bed. All I do is long for her touch, but this is not okay. I cannot keep feeling this way and go on pretending that I could have ever stood a chance against him. “(y/n), look at me. I love you and I always will. But its evident that you love him. and I honestly can say that I know I will never stand a chance against him, because the thought of you possibly running back to him has always been on my mind since the day we got married.” 

Her eyes showed so much pain that confessing this felt as if I was driving a knife through her heart. “Arthur, I love you. What can I do to show you that. Yes I confess that I was in love with him, but that was long ago and I have left it in the past in order to build a future with you. Whom I love and who I share and will continue to share beautiful children with. So please don't shut me out, Arthur.” She says leaning our foreheads together and holding my face in her gentle hands. “Ok, however I want to be able to process things by myself. So I have decided to have the guest room across the hall prepared only until I figure things out.” With out giving her a chance to fight back, I place my lips on hers and savour the kiss as if it were our last. Meeting her eyes was something I wanted to avoid as I knew that just looking at her broken expression would make me change my mind. I hastily make my way out of the room, but sneak a quick glance over my shoulder to find my wife staring off into the direction where I once sat. With tears streaming down her eyes...

Your POV

What had I done? Why was I such fool to not see what my husband was clearly going through? Millions of questions rushed into my mind about how to go about this situation. I loved Arthur, I was clear on that. But he spoke the truth, there was something in me that could not let Ivar go and it took hurting my husband and Ivar to figure that out. As I sulked I forgot about the doctor whom I had asked to see me earlier. I was having really bad stomach pains and my breasts were more tender then they had ever been. So I wanted to make sure that I was not sick, as that would have been the last thing I needed on my plate at the moment. “My Queen, are you alright? Do you wish to push back this appointment, I dont mind coming by later when you're better.” The doctor spoke from behind me. “Yes, it seems so. Ill let the servant girl know if I need you doctor. Im sorry for the inconvenience.” “Nonsense your majesty, it is my pleasure to serve you.” With a bow the doctor retreats from the room and Im left to my own thoughts once again...

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“(y/n), wake up... its seems that you fell asleep on the floor. Come on I’ll help you up.” Upon hearing Hvitty’s comforting voice my eyes flutter open and I cant help the tears that song come down my face like a cascade. “(y/n)! are you alright are you hurt anywhere? Why are you crying?” Hvitserk’s eyes scan my face and my body looking for the source of my pain, which is held in my heart, but he’ll never know that. “Arthur... He...” I try to find the words to say. “What! What did he do! Did he hurt you? I swear ill kill him!” With that Hvitserk tries to let me go and run out the door, but somehow I manage to stop him. “Hvitserk, No! He didn't hurt me. I hurt him... He believes that Im in love with Ivar, and I fear that their maybe some truth to it...” I say just above a whisper, with my head held low. “(Y/N), Ive known that since before you were married. It was obvious, but I would never say anything to you because I found that it was best if I kept such observations to myself, before I found out about your father.” Lifting my head and staring directly at him, I move my head to the side with a puzzling look. “What do you mean about my father, Hvitserk?” Hvitserk now mirrors the same lost look that I have on my face. “I thought thats why you and Ivar had gotten together, because Ragnar’s not your father...”

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Ivar’s POV

“Aghhhh!”Is the sound that comes out of my gritted teeth when the medicinal herbs are placed on my face. “That hurts like a bitch, get out! Ill do this myself if I have to. GO!” I yell at the servant girl who tried to cleanse and tend to the cuts on my face. “Ivar,  please let the servants tend to you. I still cannot believe that Arthur punched you in the face. Hehehe, you deserved it though, how could you question the paternity of his children and not expect him to want to kill you?” Bjorn laughs as he chugs the rest of his drink down. “Well, if you actually cared about your children and the heir to your throne, you’d also be quite upset to find a Christian King claiming to be their father. Those children are mine! And its pretty evident, just look at Marjorie. She's my spitting image.” I snarl at him as the anger begins to rise in me again. “Ivar, thats your mistake and why you’ll never get (y/n) back. You believe that everything should be yours. And that people are things you can govern over, but they're not. Because those are children. And yes they may be yours, but you cannot take away what they have known because you want to be selfish.” He says with a stern look on his face, whilst getting up from his chair and making his way to the door. “Now get ready and fix yourself we have a intimate dinner to attend to with MY sister and the love of your life.” Unbeknownst to us, there was Freydis on the balcony listening to our whole conversation. And little did I know that it would come to be the thing I regretted the most.

At the dinner I notice (y/n) sit on the opposite side of the table from Arthur. This wouldn't have affected me if it wasn't for the look on both of their faces. They seemed distraught and broken. Arthur masked it well, but (y/n) was an open book for all of us to know exactly how she felt at that moment. Not much talking happened, besides Marjorie and Erik shouting at each other on who was better at riding. They reminded me a lot of myself and all I wanted was to tell them the truth, that they were my children and that they would go back to Kattegat with me to learn about the true gods and not the fable that had been told to them about their so called ‘God’.” “(Y/n) are you alright, you do not seem quite like yourself tonight.” Bjorn states with a concerned look that we all share. Even Arthur looks a bit concerned, but his body language makes it seem as if he is alright and nothing is wrong. “Sarah, could you please put Marjorie and Erik to bed? Its getting late for them and they have their lessons early in the morning.” She says with a stern and cold look in her (e/c) eyes. “Su...sure your majesty. “ At that Bjorn stands up as if to accompany Sarah, but is quickly stopped by (y/n)’s icy glare and venomous words. “Sit your ass down.” At that we all look astonished, but Hvitserk only stares at her with sadness and what seems to be sympathy. He must know why she is like this then. 

Bjorn slowly sits back down on the table. A shocked look graces his face, as he cannot comprehend why she is acting this way towards her beloved older brother. “How long.” Is all she grits out through her teeth. “What do you mean, (y/n)?” My eyes meet Hvitserk’s own and the realization dawns upon me. She knows...

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Your POV

“Stop with the bullshit! I cannot take anyone else lying to me!” I scream as I bang my hands against the table, stunning everyone in sight. “How long did you know that Ragnar was not my father! How long have you kept the truth from me! How long have you known that Athelstan was my father!” I could careless about everyone staring at me as if I was a mad woman. I had been lied to my whole life. All I had known had been a lie, and the people who I trusted the most in this world had been the ones keeping it a secret from me. “(Y/N)... I..I’ve know since the moment you were born. But father had sworn me into secrecy and I could not break a promise. This doesn't change anything though. You are still my sister and you will always be.” Bjorn says in a haste as tries to come closer to me, but I step back and move as far back as I can. “Did you know? Tell me! Ivar did you know that we were not siblings!” Ivar didn't even have to answer. I knew from the look in his eyes that he too had been lying to me. 

“I knew.” Arthur says staring right at me. “I knew that you weren't his daughter and I knew that Ivar wasn't your brother. But I kept that information from you because all I wanted to do was have you by my side. I’m sorry, for the pain I have caused you (y/n). Im sorry for being selfish and not telling you the truth, but I now see that I was wrong and as of tomorrow you are free to go back to your country. I promise that your title and lands will not be taken from you or from the children. May they be mine or his. But I cannot go on with this facade anymore.” Arthur says in the most calm demeanour as he stands up and comes to me. “You hypocrite! How dare you make me feel like shit for harbouring feelings for Ivar when you knew all along and knew that my whole life was a lie.” I scream as I run at him and slap him across the face. But before I can get another punch in I feel a strong grip holding me from behind. From the shocks and the utter feeling in my stomach I knew it could have only been Ivar. As I try desperately to release from his vice grip, my whole world comes crashing down when Sarah enters the room. With blood all over her.

“Your highnesses...Erik.... he.. he..” She tries to say through her shock. “What! What is wrong with my son!” Ivar, Arthur and I scream at the same time. “He.. he’s dying!”

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We all simultaneously run after Sarah towards the doctors quarters. Ivar with his brace on, manages to run faster than all of us and busts the doors wide open. if I wasn't so worried about my son or upset about the fact they all knew Ragnar wasn't my father, I would've been impressed. “What are you doing! Get away from my son!” At that Ivar rushes towards the doctor who is bleeding Erik out. Grabbing him by the collar he slams the doctor on the wall and his sclera go into bluish hue, showing that he is in danger of breaking a bone. “Ivar stop it! Let the man go, he is just trying to help.” “Help my ass! I will not let you harm my son, do you understand me! I will not let you harm him!” At that Ivar lets the doctor go, but not without staring him down. And the doctor looking like he is about to shit himself. Rushing to Erik’s side I notice something strange. The colour of his skin is now fading and his eyes have bags under them. But what hits me the most is the memory of Uncle Rollo teaching me about poison. “He doesn't need to be bled, he needs medicine. He’s been poisoned...” 

“Mama! What is wrong with Erik! He will be okay right? He has to be okay!” Marjorie begins to say as she shakes with fear. Before Arthur or I could say something to console her, Ivar bends down and takes her hands in his. “Marjorie, listen to me. Your brother is a fighter and so are you. After all were related aren't we?” Ivar says as he lifts her chin. “Yes..I suppose that we are. Is it true what they say though? Are you our father?” At that Ivar turns to me looking towards me for permission. At this point I think to myself how hard it was to learn my whole life had been a lie and that I would not want that for my children, so I nod. “Yes, Marjorie I am your father. And no your mother is not my sister. It was something that we had to say because she needed to be kept safe.” He says ever so calmly. “Safe from who?”She questions “From my mother. Your grandmother.”

Cough*Cough* Spurts of blood cover me in seconds. My attention becomes focused in on my son again. “Where is the damn antidote! Please someone hurry!” At that Hvitserk runs into the room with a small green vial. “Here take this it should help him. Lagertha gave it to me before her and father left. Something about it would come in handy some day. Here.” Shoving the vial in my hands I open it quickly and lift Erik’s head. “Drink this Erik. It should help you, my darling. Please be strong, I know you're scared, but you’ll be alright ok. Everything will be ok.” I say through tears. Today had been the worst day by far. “Mira... please help my son. I know you're always with me, but please help me now. Pray for my son and ask God to save him.”

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A few hours had gone by and nobody had moved from the room. Arthur sat on the chair next to the bed with his elbows on his knees, looking straight and focused in on Erik. Bjorn and Hvitserk sat by the fireplace and were wetting some towels so that we could place them atop Eriks head. I sat on the bed next to my son and caressed his beautiful face hoping for a miracle. I had dismissed Sarah and told her to take Marjorie with her, but she would not budge. Sarah left, but Marjorie stayed and sat in Ivars lap asking him if Erik would pull through. Ivar was sweet to answer as best as he could, and I could tell that he truly cared for his children even if his demeanour wasn't the greatest. I knew that deep in my heart I would have to let him get to know them, but it still hurt especially knowing that he now was married. “Wait, where is Freydis? I haven't seen her since yesterday.” I say looking towards Ivar. “I dont know earthier to be honest, she's probably looking at some damn flowers anyway. Its best if she's far away anyway.” “Why would you say that about your wi-” “she's not my wife, at least not yet. Were not actually married, (y/n). I just said that to piss you off.” Taking a deep breath I go to stand up from the bed in order to fetch a bucket of water and some new cloths. Instead I end up on the floor cradling my belly, with a burning sensation in my chest and blood pouring out from my mouth. “(Y/n)! Mama!” I can hear the shouts around me. “Fetch the doctor! Now hurry!” The voices around me begin to fade and not before long I can feel myself drifting away.

“My baby... Save my baby...” And with that everything turns pitch black...

[hexxalite-hecate]

I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT TLJ AND I’M GOING TO TALK ABOUT THEM OK THANKS

Spoiler: the more I think about TLJ, the more I like it. This is a closer look at the big criticisms I’ve seen about the film. The most popular ones seem to be:

1. Reylo sucks and Rey’s storyline with Kylo romanticises abuse

2. Rey not being a Skywalker or a Kenobi is bullshit and meaningless

3. You ruined Luke!

4.The movie is too long and convoluted, what even is going on in the space casino 

WELL OK THEN HERE WE GO

Argument 1: Rey and Kylo's interactions romanticise abuse.

Some people love the idea of a Kylo/Rey romance; others feel his treatment of her bears unmistakable hallmarks of gaslighting and abuse, and the idea of a strong woman like Rey falling into a clichéd bad-boy romance arc would ruin her character and send a really terrible message about relationships that the media is already guilty of widely perpetrating. And to much of an extent, I agree with that, especially the second part of the argument. But I’m not weighing in on shipping wars; that’s not what this is about. I want to talk purely about canon interaction, and I don’t think any romanticising of abuse is borne out by how Rey actually responds to Kylo onscreen. A lot of people point to the scene where he reveals her parentage and asks her to join him, in particular that his statement about her being “nothing” is manipulative and insidious.

While I definitely don’t think Kylo is above being manipulative, let’s try and analyse a little more of what’s going on in that scene. I admit it’s kind of funny to think of Kylo negging like a redpiller, but I think there’s more going on when he says “you’re nothing; but not to me” than a pickup line. I believe Kylo’s projecting like a 60w bulb here. It just so happens that he hit the nail on the head when he touched on Rey’s fears of loneliness and abandonment, but I think he’s also talking about his own feelings. In fact, Kylo’s dialogue is so Freudian that it’s an interesting exercise to take all the statements he makes to others throughout the film (particularly Rey) and assume he’s talking to himself. The results are weirdly plausible. Snoke has clearly been destroying his self-esteem for years, and he (not without reason) believes that the bridges back to his family are forever burned. I think the “you’re nothing; but not to me” comment is a statement he would long for someone to say TO him. He’s honestly trying to communicate to Rey that she has worth, despite it coming across almost the exact opposite. And the thing he most wants in the world is for someone to feel that way about him.  

By this point in the film, the battle with Snoke and the Praetorian Guards has galvanised a new direction in Kylo. “Let the past die. Kill it if you have to.” Now he fully embraces that statement. To him, Rey represents a whole new path that had hitherto been non-existent; something outside both the First Order AND the Jedi/Resistance. When he asks her to join him, I don’t believe he means as part of the First Order. Listen to his words: "We can rule together and bring a new order to the galaxy." I think he meant for them to forge a completely different path, just the two of them. This is why he doesn’t lend much thought to stopping the attack on the Resistance ships, callous as is it. He’s killed the past. None of it matters to him. He doesn’t care if the Supremacy burns too; in fact he’d be glad. He and Rey can leave all this pain and heartache behind and become their own Order. When he makes this offer, Kylo is at his most sincere and vulnerable. And when Rey rejects it, his fleeting vision of a glorious future beyond his pain, guilt and subjugation is dashed in an instant. Predictably, he reacts with a psychotic break.

Of course it would be a ludicrous betrayal of Rey’s character for her to accept this proposal, throwing her friends’ lives to the wind and enabling Kylo in his selfish power fantasy. I’m so glad the writers didn’t go that route, for a number of reasons. For a start, Rey is not aware of the true complexity of what Kylo is experiencing in this moment. She simply sees him retreating to the Dark Side, dashing her own hopes of his redemption that had surely risen during the triumph over Snoke and the Praetorian Guards. Rey would never have said yes to Kylo Ren; it was Ben Solo she went to the Supremacy to save. But even had she seen what was really going on in his head, I’m still glad she refused because it underscores a subtle but strong feminist narrative that has permeated the new trilogy so far. Kylo is damaged, but it is NOT Rey’s job to fix him. Her compassion prompted her to reach out a supportive hand and she undoubtedly feels the chemistry of their bond, but she won’t throw her principles, her integrity and her friends under the bus for what is essentially a psychotic killer, no matter how much she sympathises with his pain. This is why I find it misleading when people label Kylo and Rey’s canon interaction as “romanticising abuse”. Having compassion for someone is not the same as enabling or excusing their actions. If Rey had fallen into his arms believing she could fix the bad boy and everything would be ok, THAT would be romanticising an unhealthy relationship. But she doesn’t. Her integrity speaks sense over her bond with Kylo, and she refuses to take on the responsibility of making him better. That responsibility is his alone.

Now, if he takes it upon himself to improve and atone, truly and unselfishly? Then I would be up for an actual relationship between them. I don’t think that’s an implausible prediction for the series, either.

Argument 2: Rey having no significant parentage was pointless and a wasted opportunity.

The feminist nature of how Rey’s character is written touches on another of the major complaints I’ve seen about TLJ; the reveal of her parentage. I think even Daisy Ridley commented with annoyance that the only conversation people seemed to be having about Rey was which famous man is her progenitor. But guess what! She’s not special because she’s Luke’s daughter or Ben’s sister or Obi-Wan’s granddaughter; she’s special because she’s Rey. If one of TLJ’s main themes is failure, the other is undoubtedly “we are the spark”, and “we” is everyone and anyone. Anyone can be special and rise to greatness, no matter if they’re a long-lost relative of a powerful Force-wielder or not. The Skywalker dynasty is not as special or unique as you thought they were.

This leads into another thing that I really love about how TLJ is written, and something that its detractors seem most furious about: it’s not afraid to kill sacred cows. The Skywalkers are not the be all and end all of the Force. Not even the Jedi and the Sith are; Luke makes that crystal clear when he encourages Rey to feel the true extent of the Force during her meditation. All these ancient traditions and bloodlines are insignificant specks in the cosmic Force. What I love about this concept is that it so perfectly and cleverly chastises fans for clinging onto a limiting and misplaced sense of tradition about Star Wars. Ending on the scene with the nobody stableboy on Canto Bight casually Force-calling his broom encapsulated this theme; the spark is everywhere. Anyone can rise and be a hero. Even the Skywalkers came from nothing; they were slaves from a backwater nowhere. The institutions of the Jedi and the Sith were both corrupt and ineffectual by the end because they clung to tradition instead of focusing on living individuals. The Jedi were as much to blame as the Sith for the creation of Darth Vader; their rigid adherence to their codes lead to Anakin’s alienation and eventual fall. Ironically, the one character we see who seems to understand this turns up in the hated Phantom Menace; Qui-Gon Jinn. His focus on the living Force rather than traditions and codes is implied to be the reason he was never accepted by the Jedi Council, but he was the only one who truly connected to the young Anakin on a compassionate and human level. If Qui-Gon hadn’t died, Darth Vader might never have existed.

Nowhere is the theme of killing sacred cows more blatantly paraded than in the scene where Luke and Yoda destroy the ancient Jedi temple tree with its sacred texts. Having conceived of the idea in a moment of manic despair (much like the moment that lead to him contemplating killing Ben Solo), Luke is then horrified when the ghost of Master Yoda finishes the job with what seems like capricious glee. But Yoda has finally learned the lesson that Luke taught him on Dagobah when he abandoned his training in favour of saving his friends; when the old ways do not work, it’s ok to let them go. Kill your sacred cows. Let the past die. “We are what they grow beyond", Yoda tells Luke. What use are Masters if their apprentices never surpass them? And that’s true of Yoda as well. Even an old dog can learn new tricks, and on Dagobah, Yoda was still clinging to the codes and traditions of the creaky outmoded Jedi Order.  He was reluctant to train Luke and believed his impulse and emotion to be dangerous. But Luke taught him that emotion, passion, love and putting your friends first was not something to be feared as a path to the Dark Side; it is to be embraced and cherished as an essential human experience. Ironically, since his failure with Ben, Luke himself has become afraid that that lesson was the wrong one. But when the tree burns, Yoda re-kindles in Luke the very thing that Luke taught Yoda all those years ago on Dagobah. The cyclical nature of their journeys mirror the cyclical nature of the Force; it will go round and round, encompassing everything and everyone. We are the spark.

Argument 3: Luke's personality was butchered and his exile was out of character.

“Killing a sacred cow” is what I think a lot of people’s feelings about Luke’s characterisation boil down to in TLJ, and where a lot of the upset stems from. I’ve seen many arguments that Luke would never have contemplated killing Ben; that he would never avoid his responsibilities with the Resistance for 20 years; he would never be so “cowardly” as to not attend the final battle on Crait in person. His hope and light was the focal point of the original trilogy; his character was butchered! But I think all of these arguments overlook fundamental aspects of Luke’s character. Implying he has realistic human flaws seems to be sacrilege. But when you think about it, the things we learn about Luke’s story in TLJ make perfect sense based on his personality, past and experiences.

Let’s look at Luke’s timeline after the OT. The biggest thing that goes wrong for Luke (that we know of) is his moment of madness when he turns a lightsaber on his own nephew. And on the face of it, it does seem extreme. Never-give-up-on-friends-and-family Luke, who went to the ends of the galaxy even for his corrupted fallen father, attempting to kill an innocent boy – his nephew at that!? It does seem outrageous. But when you really look at Luke’s character from Episodes IV to VI, you’ll see that he has these impulsive and passionate reactions a lot more than fans tend to remember. Luke is an extraordinarily emotionally driven person, and his gut instinct informs pretty much all his major decisions in the OT. He joined the Rebel Alliance because he saw a pretty girl on a hologram begging for help. He diverted the escape from the Death Star to rescue Leia as soon as R2D2 said she was a prisoner there.  He turned off his targeting computer in the trench.  He went to Dagobah on the orders of a hallucinatory ghost. He took weapons into the Dark Side cave against Yoda’s advice because he felt spooked. He went to rescue Han and Leia on Bespin despite Yoda begging him to remain impartial. We constantly see him making split-second emotional decisions or even succumbing entirely to instinctual feeling. Remember when Vader threatened Leia at the climax of RotJ, and Luke completely and utterly lost control? His hysterical, panic-filled beating on Vader is EXACTLY the kind of instinctive emotional reaction that we can assume happened in the hut with Ben. He had a shocking vision of Ben’s darkness, fell totally prey to his emotional instincts, and before he knew it the lightsaber was alight in his hand. Like during his fight with Vader, reason overcame madness pretty quickly, and I very much doubt Luke would actually have actually hurt Ben if the scene had been allowed to play out. He actually says this directly in the film: “it passed like a fleeting shadow, and I was left with shame and consequence”. But unlike with Vader, by that point it was already too late. The damage had already been done, the trust broken, and Ben reacted in his own uniquely impulsive catastrophic Skywalker way. (These Skywalker boys are all so extra.)

But Luke should have gained control over his feelings long ago, you cry! He was building a new Jedi Order, and one of the main hallmarks of the Jedi is that they control their emotions!

Well, yes, it was. But the entire point of the ending of RotJ is that Luke shatters that traditional Jedi Order. This is the lesson that he teaches Yoda at 11th hour on Dagobah; that you can be a strong in the light side of the Force and also be true to your personal attachments and commitments. They are not sins to be eradicated (this pressure is what drove Anakin to the Dark). This truth was undoubtedly part of the basis of Luke’s new Order. But when he wakes up and sees what his moment of uncontrolled instinctual reaction has wrought – his temple destroyed, Kylo gone, the apprentices slaughtered – he would naturally have had a crisis of self-doubt. Was he right about his new Order teachings? Should he have followed the old Jedi way instead? He must have been wrong, and now he’s failed everyone, including his own nephew, and by extension his beloved sister and best friend.

That brings us to the “out-of-character” exile on Ach To. As far as I can see, this isn’t out of character at all. Remember what everyone who doesn’t like Luke trots out? He’s whiny. He sulks as much as Anakin did in AotC. He had plenty of moments of inspiring optimism in the original trilogy, but he had plenty of moods too. And yeah, he was a teenager back then. But this is a part of Luke’s essential character, and the Luke of TLJ is not an 18-year-old any more; with age comes the natural loss of youth’s idealism even without a traumatic event to compound it. Luke’s always had his friends to pull him out of his melancholia before, but this time it was those very same friends whom he had let down. How could he seek solace with them when he had singlehandedly caused their son’s downfall? We don’t know yet whether he saw Han and Leia after the disaster with Ben, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he simply couldn’t bring himself to face them. And as time goes on, it gets harder and harder. Luke isn’t just ashamed of what happened with Ben; he’s afraid of himself. Is he dangerous? How many other lives could he ruin? They’re better off without him. Anyone who has ever struggled with depression, or seen a friend or family member do the same, will recognise this litany. By the time TFA rolls around, Luke is seriously depressed and probably suffering from PTSD as well. He is jaded, afraid, ashamed, cynical and bitter. When Rey turns up looking for all the world like another young idealistic Jedi puppy, asking for the very training that Luke believes doomed his first apprentices, is it any wonder Luke throws the lightsaber over his shoulder and refuses to speak to her? He genuinely thinks he has nothing to offer; or worse, that he and his teachings are an active danger to her. 

Of course as moody as Luke can be, he has always been easily pulled back to the light, even in his jaded and traumatised state in TLJ. It does not take Rey long to rekindle the spark of hope and optimism that has always been within him. The scars from his ordeal will never disappear, though. Did you notice how he FREAKS OUT when Rey shows even the slightest curiosity about the Dark cave below the island? He sees Ben all over again – or possibly even himself, entering the cave on Dagobah. He’s back to the rigid Jedi code of DENY REPRESS DENY, and predictably, it drives Rey away just as it did Anakin in AotC. It’s only after his heart-to-heart with Yoda that Luke begins to see the worth in his teaching methods again, and return to some semblance of the Luke we saw at the end of RotJ.

The projection he sends to Crait is not only a very clever move from Luke, it’s also a uniquely unselfish one, despite the cries of “coward” from the naysayers. What purpose would physically showing up on Crait serve? Only indulging his own ego. He’d have been killed in the first onslaught of firepower, and achieved nothing but despair for the Resistance and triumph for Kylo. He knows that the true value of his presence is to buy time for the Resistance to escape, and in the process inspire them with the sight of their long-lost ally. It also serves to show Kylo how powerful Luke truly is, even after all this time. Kylo drops a line earlier in the film about his Force bond with Rey not being the same as a physical projection; even with Rey’s level of raw power, he claims it would kill her. Of course it kills Luke too, although it’s unclear whether anyone has actually realised this by the end of the film. But Luke dies making the same sacrifice Vader did. He messed up, but his dying act is to protect his loved ones in whatever way he can. I personally thought the scene of his death on Ach To was incredibly beautiful. Luke has found peace and redemption. He is more at one with the Force than he has ever been. How can you begrudge an ending like that?

Argument 4: The film was over-long and the Canto Bight codebreaker plotline sucked.

Well yeah, I'll give you that one. Justice for Finn and Rose!

Anyway that’s all; thank you for coming to my TLJ TED Talk.

[thetiniestman]

every time there’s something good there’s always 50 bad things to make it less enjoyable

i really don’t want to be negative but i’m a human being and when i can’t even get all the bare minimum requirements to be as healthy as i should be then no amount of positivity is going to make me happy

fuck all those people in the past who didn’t listen to me and told me things weren’t that bad, and fuck me for listening to them and convincing myself that they were right. fuck my parents for making me feel like there was no use telling anyone about my feelings and fuck me for internalizing that and hiding everything. fuck my life for being horrible and complicated and fuck me for not being able to get stronger and rise above it or whatever. if i could’ve just had one thing or the other, a good life or a strong person, but i had to have a bad life and be a weak person, i’m not the story people want to see either way. 

it’s frustrating, it seems like such a waste but it turned me into a simultaneously useless and useful person. all the vices and virtues of someone who’s basically become a social robot, unable to focus on myself at all but so easy to talk to and get attached to. and all the people who molded me this way just want the positives and get mad at me for the negatives - it’s a flawed and selfish way of looking at it. i’ll discard both of those things, i’ll throw out the positives of being a saint if that’ll get rid of the negatives. i’ll point out their flaws that i always ignored, i’ll criticize them, that’s at least some kind of step forward.

i’ve had enough of my parents, who set up the wrong environment from the beginning and then wondered why there was something off about their kids. who called me a lazy asshole for getting bad grades instead of realizing that i had a legitimate problem that needed to be addressed. i knew something was wrong, i knew it since the very beginning of my school problems, and every time i tried to say something about it they treated me like i was just being lazy. they’re fucking lazy! what the fuck have they ever done for me that wasn’t completely passive? they were never actively helping me with anything, and if i ever showed signs of a problem that would take effort to fix then they tried to get me to stop. they never properly talked with me about anything, i had to learn everything myself, the few things that they did teach me were complete garbage that i had to unlearn. i had to be there for my sister too, she formed a reliance on me that wasn’t healthy because our parents didn’t realize that they were complete shit. i had to be the person making sacrifices and keeping the peace because they were so immature that they didn’t know how to deal with their own daughter. and i’m sure they were always hoping i would fix her, they were always hoping that i’d teach her a lesson and hurt her in a way that only a sibling could so that she’d stop being so inconvenient for everyone. unlike them, i’m not an asshole who will yell at people until they work, so that never happened. and now there’s just resentment between her and our parents that will never be solved, because my parents lack the maturity. they act more like she’s their roommate who they hate but never want to confront unless it’s by yelling or being passive-aggressive. she’s fucking 14. my parents are the ones who need to grow the hell up and acknowledge that they’re responsible for their children. when 3 out of 4 of us have something wrong with us and the one who functions normally (who is also the oldest, and is an adult who’s married and has a kid) still has problems getting along with our mom then clearly it’s not the fucking kids’ faults. and they always play the fucking victims too, when i was in school they said all this bullshit about how we’re hurting them, they always acted like “oh, look at all these people who we consider to be worse than us, how come they get good kids and we have the kids who can’t pass a class?” like they deserved better than us or something. they deserved worse than us! the mom who said “one of these days i’m going to hit someone and i’m not going to be able to stop” can’t fucking complain about anything. i still remember those exact words, she never hit me but i know she could’ve. and our dad wouldn’t have done shit. because when she said that to him, he didn’t react as if she’d said something that was as fucked up as it was. anything less than “that’s horrible” is a terrible reaction to that. and these fucking people act like i should be grateful and respectful to them if i show even the slightest bit of unhappiness with them. i haven’t even shown enough unhappiness! i haven’t shown them a fraction of what they deserve and they still act like i owe them something. i still feel like i owe them something, i still act nice around them and i’ve barely said a single thing to them that was even slightly negative. and by now it doesn’t even matter that all that shit happened and they were horrible parents, now they’re hardly a part of my life at all even though we still live in the same house, they’re only physically there, even i forget that there was never any closure to any of that, that my sister and i will probably go our whole lives knowing that our parents still don’t think they’ve ever done anything wrong, that we’ll always be “lazy assholes” to them. and now i’m left with every problem that’s given me, and the only people i have to ask for the resources to fix those problems are my parents. i’m sure my dad wouldn’t even believe me if i said i needed therapy. it’s a horrible irony

and even if i can’t say a word about it to them, because i know they’ll never understand and they’ll still demand respect that they’ve lost over and over again, i can at least tell myself that they were the lazy assholes. i can at least free myself from selflessness.

[wagingwar-rp]

Welcome to Waging War, Sunshine. The role of Gwenog Jones is now taken.

I was really ecxited when I saw that we had an app for Gwenog because she's a personal favorite of mine. And in your app you captured perfectly what I've been looking for in an app for her. Although she's a strong, independent and competitve person you've still managed to show her softer side in your app and I absolutely loved that. - Admin Carrie Please submit your blog in the next 24 hours and follow all other steps on our checklist

OOC INFORMATION

NAME: sunshine PRONOUNS: she/her AGE: 23 TIMEZONE: pst ACTIVITY-LEVEL: 3-4 - I’m a graduate student and I also have a job. TRIGGERS: removed by the admin ANYTHING ELSE: you guys!!! this is the neatest premise for a harry potter roleplay on tumblr :0 seriously, you put in so much dang work, and it shows! you should be proud of yourselves! 

BASIC INFORMATION

CHARACTER YOU’RE APPLYING FOR: gwenog “don’t touch me, it’s quidditch time” jones  FACECLAIM:  jamie chung  REASON FOR YOUR CHOICE: I’ve always enjoyed the idea of a professional all-women’s sports team that reached the level of fame and success of the holyhead harpies. I have an older HP oc of welsh origin, and I’ve done a decent amount of research on how to incorporate welsh culture and mythology into the HP universe.  writing gwenog is an exciting opportunity to explore this further and provide a more diverse and enriching experience in the group. further, she’s just such a strong-minded, resolute character. and again, she provides color and variety to the world - as much as we love the tension and drama of the order vs the death eaters (and the followers of grindelwald, in this case!) I think it is all the more important to contrast this struggle with the larger magical world, who may not be directly involved but nevertheless affected.

MAGICAL TOOLS

WAND: her first trip to london equipped her with many of her school-year firsts, including her ash wood, dragon core 7″ wand. famously prickly, obstinate, and dedicated, the wand chose gwenog for her like-minded and firm personality, already lively and independent. although a touch temperamental, the wand works consistently and well, for her single-minded focus keeps her magic in line.

PATRONUS: the welsh (northern) goshawk. gwenog would like to say that it represents her competitive streak, agile handling, and notorious speed on the broom that makes her a vicious and efficient beater - but in reality, this bird of prey patronus encapsulates more than basic quidditch tricks. her patronus is the goshawk for the dogged determination and hard work she devotes to her passions. she may like to comment about her talent on the pitch - which goes without saying - but her unyielding determination and perseverance is rather marked of her hufflepuff house affiliation. although often seen as sharp and aggressive, she is nevertheless passionate, skilled, and driven. more sensitively, just as female goshawks are dangerously protective of their fledglings, so, too, is gwenog defensive of herself, her team, and the rare few who have earned her fierce loyalty.

BOGGART: gwenog sees herself. a worthless, beaten down, broken self.  she’s terrified of becoming irrelevant - some footnote in the hogwarts trophy room, to be dusted off every year and forgotten.  and sure, yeah, she’s seen some progress. she may not have excelled in her studies, but enough of her professors have witnessed enough talent and ambition to merit some curiosity. prestigious member of the much-vaunted slug club. a couple of scouts seeking her out after graduation. growing professional plays taking off.she’s been told enough times that slytherin house would have suited her well. despite her rising successes, a part of her always fears the fall - a sports injury sufficient to keep her grounded, off the pitch forever. a more talented player, constantly swooping in to stymie every gain, every potential victory.  and so, she sees a gwenog she knows that failure could make her - and she chases away the image with a broomstick to knock that damn boggart flat on its ass as the broom WHOOSHES past.

A LAYER DEEPER

PERSONALITY TRAITS: 

positive i.  I feel like this has been touched on above, but her aggression can be the terror of her enemies, and the security of her friends and team. when channeled well, she can be a fierce defender - for as much as beaters are known as frightening offense, they play defense as well, and keep a constant eye towards the protection of their team.

positive ii. gwenog knows she’s right when she’s right. she sticks to her guns, and it is a trait that has remarkably helped her career skyrocket - she protects her own interests and won’t let herself be used, fooled, or swayed.

negative i. gwenog knows she’s right, even when she’s wrong. sometimes her self-assurance is acerbic, unyielding, and hostile. she is resistant to advice, and even the most constructive of criticism is harshly received.  she can end up pulling the rug out from under herself when she lets her pride and stubbornness get in the way of better judgment or compromise.

negative ii. she’s so determined and focused on her quidditch career that most other things tend to fall by the wayside - grades, family, relationships, and all the little things that seem so irrelevant when she’s pulling on her robes, tying back her hair, and dashing out to the pitch with her blood racing.  she can be so focused that she becomes myopic and neglectful of everything else in her lfie.

CONNECTIONS: not sure if we’re deciding to make hestia and gwenog relatives, but that’s a potential connection, there !

greta catchlove. sometimes, even gwenog can’t explain how the two girls became such close friends.  she often rolls her eyes at greta’s sweet-tempered nature, but rarely admits that she admires how greta always seems so kind  to all when gwenog can barely summon the patience to deal with the people who only mildly get on her nerves.

demetria eaves. although essentially strangers, something about the grace and dignity with which demetria carries herself stirred something in gwenog.  demetria has her own talent - something whch gwenog can understand, connect to, and admire.  she keeps an eye on her from afar for now - but it might not be long until she sends a free quidditch ticket her way.

reena giroux. while even mentioning the name might elicit a sneer and snort of disgust, along with a few choice words, gwenog secretly thrills at the excitement of their closely paired skills.  while she’d rather die than lose a match, reena is talented, and that makes each game feel that much more alive.  if she ever had to face her off the pitch, however, tempers may flare.

(I went with all of them because I want)

FUTURE PLOT IDEAS: 

plot idea i. I’d be interested in relationships that challenge gwenog. whether if this counts with professional (ok, it’s personal, it’s way personal) rivals, like with reena or james, or even anyone willing to call gwenog out on her bullshit and hot air, it’d be a dynamic kind of plot to interface with the constant clashes she’s bound to face - and how many times she must face them before she’s finally forced to look her stubbornly held truths in the eye.

plot idea ii. interpersonal relationships, part deux, or, ‘when will gwenog ever get a girl?’ while finding a ship is not and will never be the main objective of this blog, the development of the kind of skills and sacrifices necessary in forming  long term commitment is certainly not yet developed in her repertoire of skills.  perhaps she’ll find some characters who cross her path that attract her, but the dedication and hard work involved in creating - and MAINTAINING - a relationship will challenge her in an entirely new and different way, and can even start to nudge her firmly held world views.  as we know, gwenog is dogged once she sets her mind on something - but will this be enough to motivate her? it’d be interesting to find out.

plot idea iii. as her fame and success grow, and she becomes an established figure in international quidditch, how will she cope with the rising unrest in europe?  how does it affect her friends, her family, even the trajectory of her career? will she feel compelled to get involved? even use her growing sports following to influence her fans? what about if old school loyalties, few as they might be, reach out to her?

SEXUALITY & SHIPS:  this girl is gay!! while she’s had her dalliances here and there, and even a couple of relationships that kept her involved for longer than her norm, something has prevented her from quite finding a deeper connection.  she may brush it off and call it all a distraction, or a simple ‘no strings attached’ lifestyle, but gwenog hasn’t yet found - or learned - how to keep a relationship going outside of a passionate, crash-and-burn fling. one of these days, though, she might just find a woman who’ll make her fall hard - maybe just hard enough to figure out what she wants and how to really work for it.

EXTRAS: pinterest link

WRITING: here we go u guys aaahh

A breath in. Out. The crack of leather as she tightens her grip around the neck of her broomstick, her greaves dark against the grain.  It’s not raining - not yet - but the pitch is soaked in a pervasive, foggy mist that beads against her skin and flattens her hair to her scalp.  Her robes absorb the heavy water and she feels the weight pull on the balance of her broom.  She blinks away the condensation clinging to her eyelashes, and the sound of her heartbeat pounds loudly in her ears, willing itself not to be forgotten.  These are the long centuries before match start.  The weighted minutes before the toss of the quaffle, the blur and motion of the game.  Each second ticks.  Each heartbeat sounds, a klaxon in her chest.

They maintain their formation, fixed in space, hovering in a moment of captured time. Her eyes sweep the field, catch another’s.  They look quickly away - she smiles.  It was probably a misfire, an awkward, unintended intimacy with a stranger.  But she likes to think it was because they knew.  Her smile curls like charred paper, turns feral, and fierce, and proud.  

A shout, a flutter and crackle whizzing by.

And the world explodes into color.

She hurtles forward, shoulders rounded and angled aggressively ahead.  Her broomstick fishtails, spinning out as she clips the enemy beater.  She pulls with a hard yank into a controlled sweep, a bold turn that passes her over them - they duck, as she knew they would - and her aim is clear for a savage hit that connects with the hissing bludger in a satisfying crack.  It goes wheeling backwards, chattering wildly, but the chaser she’d aimed for made an impressive roll and kept their pace.  Gwenog clicks her tongue in frustration, but her peripherals notice a speeding smear that registers alarms in her mind an instant later.  She rears, narrowly avoiding the enemy seeker, whistling past. She allows herself a cursory assessment of the field - and her own seeker pulls up from below, jockeying for position. Good.  She’s on it.

Gwenog moves on - it’s out of her hands.  Her fist tightens further around the haft of her beater’s stick, teeth clenched hard until she feels the ache of it smart through the line of her jaw.  She catches sight of a bludger straightlining for one of her own, and rushes to intercept. Her own teammate gets there first, sending a nod her way, and pitches the bludger towards her.  Gwenog grins savagely, prepared, waiting - and swings true, throwing a surprise assault to the enemy as both seekers dive and twirl in a hostile dance.

A muted roar, like the crashing of waves, erupts from the crowd as one of her girls makes a score through the hoop - and then it doubles, deafening,as her shot make devastating contact, throwing the enemy seeker into a spinning freefall.  Her seeker reaches, reaches - and the game is called.  Short, this time, but it leaves her breathless.  Gwenog punches a fist into the air, and as her beater pulls her broom alongside her, she slams their hands together, hands cupped into a jubilant, crushing grip.

“Brilliant, Gwenog.  We were brilliant.”

“Bloody brilliant. Let’s see if we can’t make it last less than five minutes, next time?”