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wholoveseggs · 9 months ago

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Crimson Frost {Part Three}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Three

Things heat up between you and Elijah as you prepare to rescue Gerda and Henrik. In the pursuit of your sister things get bloody and an unexpected warrior comes to your aid.

♡♡ I'm sorry that this one is taking so long, there will be a part four! {and possibly five}

6k words - Warnings: Viking AU where the Mikaelsons are completely human (no magic, werewolves, vampires... etc) lots violence in this part. SMUT!, virgin!reader, hot springs, norse runes... sword fights.

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Four} {Part Five}

It was a four day journey to the coast, a market was there that sold all kinds of things, including people. Elijah believed that was where the Blackthornes were taking Henrik and Gerda.

The snow was still high, but it had thawed enough for you to travel on horseback, the wind whipping at your face. You leaned into Elijah, his body warm and solid against yours, the scent of him filling your senses.

You were glad he was there with you, his strength and determination a comfort, especially after losing your home and family. You had fallen for him, the attraction between you growing with every day. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn't deny what you felt, the need for him, the desire.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his voice low and husky, his breath warm against your cheek.

"Aye," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart fluttering at his closeness.

"We will find them, sweet Gerda and Henrik," he promised, his arms were around your waist, holding the reins, guiding the horse, "we will not let the Blackthornes keep them,"

You nodded, swallowing hard, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The thought of them being sold into slavery, or worse, made your stomach twist.

You stopped to camp for the night, the sun dipping below the horizon, the stars twinkling in the sky. The wind howled around you, the cold biting at your exposed skin.

Elijah started a fire, the flames casting a warm glow around you, the warmth chasing away the chill. The two of you had grown very comfortable around each other, falling into a routine, each taking on the various tasks of setting up camp, cooking food, and caring for the horse.

You took a walk to go fetch some water from the nearby river, the moonlight illuminating your path. You came across a small hot spring, the steam rising into the air, the heat and humidity inviting.

You were tired and sore from the long day of riding and the idea of relaxing in the hot water was too tempting.

You took off your clothes and slowly stepped into the water, the heat enveloping you, the water soothing your muscles. You let out a long sigh of relief, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth.

You heard the sound of twigs snapping behind you and turned, your eyes flying open.

"Elijah," you gasped, your face flushing, dipping lower into the water to hide your naked body.

"I was worried when you didn't return, I see why," he smiled, his eyes roaming over you, his gaze making your heart race.

"I haven't felt this good in weeks," you sighed, "the heat, it's relaxing,"

Elijah began to pull off his clothes, his gaze locked on yours, his body rippling with muscle.

You felt a wave of desire rush through you, your pulse quickening, a flush spreading across your cheeks. You turned away, giving him privacy, the thought of him naked making your stomach flip.

You heard him enter the water, the sounds of him splashing, his breathing shallow. You risked a glance back, his broad back was to you, the water coming up to his waist.

"Gods," he muttered, "this is wonderful,"

You let out a breathy laugh, "Aye, it is,"

The two of you faced away from each other, the silence heavy with tension, the heat of the water seeping into your skin.

"What will you do? After we rescue Gerda and Henrik," you asked, gently moving your hands through the water, creating small waves.

"I do not know," Elijah replied, his voice low and soft, "perhaps find my own land, start a family,"

"That sounds nice," you murmured, a hint of sadness in your voice. You wouldn't be going with him, your place was with Niklaus. Elijah would be a part of your past, a fond memory. You couldn't imagine not being near him, not being with him, the thought made your chest ache. "I wish you could stay with us," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

"As do I," Elijah said, his voice thick with emotion, "but we both have our duties,"

"Aye," you said, biting your lip, tears welling in your eyes.

You glanced over at him, his back was still to you, you noticed a particularly large scar stretched across his back, the pink skin raised and uneven.

You moved closer to him, the water making soft ripples as you did, your hand reaching out to trace the scar, "what happened here?" You whispered, your fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin.

He twitched under your touch, his muscles flexing, his breathing labored. "My father, he beat me, whipped me," he said, his voice a whisper, the pain evident. "For trying to protect Niklaus,"

"I heard such rumors about your father, that he was cruel," you whispered, your heart breaking for them, and the pain they endured.

"Aye, he was," Elijah sighed, "he was not a good man, but he was still my father, and I loved him,"

You pulled your hand away, his words echoing in your mind, your chest aching for him. He turned to face you, his gaze meeting yours, his expression soft, his eyes searching.

You swallowed hard, the air heavy between you, the tension crackling. He was so close to you, his naked body inches from yours. Your breasts rose and fell with each breath, your nipples hardening at the thought of him touching you, his hands exploring your body.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers trailing down your cheek. You wanted to pull him closer, to feel his lips against yours, to give in to the desire burning within you.

"Elijah," you whispered, your heart racing, a flush creeping across your skin.

"Aye," he breathed, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

"I..." You swallowed hard, your body aching for him, "I should not have..."

"Do you love him? My brother?" Elijah whispered, his eyes burning into yours.

You hesitated, the truth of it all hitting you. You did not love Niklaus, not in the way you should, not the way a bride should love her groom. Your heart belonged to Elijah, even though it was wrong, even though the gods would not approve.

"I..." You started, your voice trembling, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you, "I do not,"

He kissed you, his lips soft and warm, the passion and heat between you consuming you. You lost yourself in the feeling of his body, the taste of his lips, the touch of his hands. The two of you gave in to the desire, the lust, the need for each other.

He guided you backwards towards the rocks, your back pressing against the smooth stone, the cold sending a shiver through you.

"We should not be doing this," you moaned, the feeling of his teeth gently nipping at your skin sending waves of pleasure through you, "the gods, they will punish us,"

"Then let them punish," he murmured, his voice like a caress, "if it means I can spend one more moment with you, I will gladly accept their wrath,"

He lifted you, the water lapping around your thighs, his hands gripping your ass. The heat from his body contrasting with the cold air, the feeling of his manhood pressed against you made you feel glorious.

"I've never been with a man," you whispered, trying to conceal the nervousness in your voice, your body trembling with need, the excitement and desire almost overwhelming. "Have you been with a woman? Did you...?"

"Once," he whispered, his voice husky, "but it was not love, not what I feel for you,"

Your heart raced, the feel of his strong body, the strength of him, made you feel alive in a way you had never known.

He kissed you, his lips brushing against yours, soft and gentle. You leaned into him, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. His touch was so tender, so loving, as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

His eyes met yours, his fingers dipped below the waterline, and pushed slowly between your legs, causing you to gasp and jerk back, the sensation new, overwhelming.

He smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkling, the look of desire that filled them making your stomach flutter.

"Do you feel that?" He whispered, his fingers teasing the place between your legs, his touch eliciting a reaction you'd never imagined possible.

"That is a taste of Óðr, the god of divine madness," he smiled and when he began moving the small nub between your legs with a calloused thumb, you moaned aloud.

He lowered his head to yours, his lips capturing yours, his tongue teasing, tasting. You surrendered to him, to the feelings coursing through you, the passion and desire burning inside you. You'd never felt like this before, the sensation of his touch, his kiss, was almost too much, your breath coming in small gasps, you were on the verge of something, something you'd never felt before.

The combination of the heat of the water, the warmth of his breath on your cheek, and the insistence of his fingers were doing something to your body. Your muscles began contracting, pushing towards something new, something blissful.

Then you felt it, ᛞᛁᚡᛁᚾᛖ ᛗᚨᛞᚾᛖᛋᛋ (divine madness) a feeling of rapture, an explosion, a storm. Your body alight with pleasure and a yearning for more of whatever he would give you.

He pressed his lips to yours, like he could taste your pleasure, and you knew you had been given a precious gift. Your hands clutched at his chest, your eyes locked on his, your heart fluttering, no longer caring that the gods might see you and punish you both. You parted your lips and with a soft moan he slid his tongue into your mouth and kissed you like he was drowning and you were air, his grip tight on your body.

You wanted more, the madness taking hold of you, your hand slipping beneath the water to caress his manhood, a thrill washing through you as he twitched and groaned.

You knew enough about what men and women did to know he could place himself between your legs, thrust forward and be inside you. You had heard some of the wives claim it hurt, while others hinted at immense pleasure. But you didn't care. In that moment, your mind was a fog of desire, your body singing for him.

He pressed himself against you, searching your eyes for permission, his gaze heavy with want. You locked eyes with him, giving him a small nod and he eased himself into you. There was no pain, only a dull stretch of pleasure and fullness. His arms wrapped tightly around you, his hips moving slowly, thrusting into you. You dug your fingers into his hair, moaning as he filled you, your bodies coming together in a dance of passion and lust.

"ástin mín (my love)" he whispered, his voice thick with desire, his breath hot on your cheek. You clung to him, lost in the moment, his body moving in sync with yours, the feeling of him buried deep inside you was more than you could have imagined.

The water churned around you, your bodies moving together, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The pleasure was building, a coil of ecstasy twisting tighter inside you. His hands gripped your waist, his gaze locked on yours, the need and desire between you binding you together, the need for release overwhelming.

And then it hit, waves of pleasure crashing through you, his body shuddering as he found his release, the two of you clinging to each other, the world around you fading away.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, his eyes shining with emotion, his hand cupping your cheek. "And I do not care what the gods have in store for us,"

"Elijah," you breathed, a warmth filling you, your heart fluttering, "I love you too,"

He pressed his forehead to yours, his hand cupping your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. You closed your eyes, savoring the moment, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the scent of him, the sound of his voice.

"í þessu lífi og því næsta (in this life and the next)" he whispered, his gaze locking on yours, the look of adoration in his eyes making your heart race.

You smiled up at him, lost in the love you shared, "í þessu lífi og því næsta,"

Fear gripped your heart as you felt the weight of a raider on top of you. His face contorted into a terrifying grimace as he looked down at you. The stench of his foul breath washed over you, making you feel sick. He lifted his arm, intending to bring his axe down on you.

You screamed and woke up in your tent, Elijah watching you with concern. He reached out and took your hand, rubbing circles onto your palm in an attempt to soothe you.

"Come here, sweetheart," he whispered.

You moved closer into his waiting arms, settling in between his legs, resting your back against his chest, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

"You are trembling," he said, nuzzling your hair with his nose and continuing to rub small circles into your palms. "Another bad dream?"

"Aye," you muttered.

"Tell me what you saw."

"The raid, it haunts me," you said, swallowing hard, "the screams, the blood, the bodies,"

He hummed softly, kissing along your shoulder, "It haunts me as well,"

You closed your eyes, letting his gentle kisses wash over you, chasing away the darkness. His warmth and strength were a comfort, making you feel safe in his arms. You let out a sigh, sinking into him, the feel of his skin against yours a reminder that he was there, protecting you, loving you.

"You need to rest, tomorrow will be a long day," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, his hand gently stroking your arm, his words soft and soothing.

You nodded, the memory of your dream still fresh in your mind, the images leaving an ache in your chest.

His hands began to roam, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. You moaned softly as his fingers grazed your skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Since your first time together in the hot spring, the two of you had not been able to get enough of each other. Every night you would succumb to the desire between you. With each touch, each kiss, your feelings for each other grew deeper, the bond between you strengthening.

He would use his mouth, his hands and his body to give you pleasure, to bring you to the edge of bliss, to teach you every sinful thing you could do. He taught you how to please him, and in return you learned that you held power over him. To watch his eyes darken with lust, his face a mask of pleasure as you rode him, it made you feel like a Valkyrie.

"I cannot sleep," you whispered, the memory of your nightmare fading, the ache inside you building, your skin tingling.

He chuckled, laying back, pulling you down with him, holding you close. Bringing the furs over you, cocooning you both.

"After we rescue Henrik and Gerda, I will make love to you in a bed," he whispered, kissing along your neck, "not the ground or in a spring,"

"Or against a tree... or the side of a hill..." you smirked, a hint of playfulness in your voice, "I can keep going," you teased, turning to face him, your hand caressing his cheek, his stubble scratching at your skin.

"Aye, or that," he laughed, his hand cupping your rear, his touch sending a jolt of desire through you.

"What will happen to us?" You whispered, your expression clouding, "what will we do?"

"We will find a home, a land where we can build a life together," he murmured, his thumb tracing along your bottom lip, "where we can be together," he paused, a flicker of doubt crossing his features, "that is if you want to come with me," he whispered, the hesitation and vulnerability evident in his voice. He searched your eyes, his gaze intense, his heart open and exposed.

"I want nothing more," you replied, your voice a whisper, the words tumbling out, your chest aching, "I could not imagine my life without you," you added, leaning into his touch, his skin warm against yours. "But... What of Niklaus?"

"He.... he will adjust," Elijah sighed, "it will not be easy, but he will understand," he said, his eyes searching yours, his expression a mixture of worry and affection. "I hope," he added, his brow furrowing.

He sat up and stretched, the sun just beginning to rise, beams of light filtering in through the opening of the tent. You watched him, the muscles in his back flexing, the curve of his rear, the broadness of his shoulders. You let your eyes wander over his body, committing every detail to memory.

"Since sleep is evading me, I shall go and hunt," he smiled, pulling his tunic over his head, his hair messy and wild, "there are still a few hours before we must leave, and I want to ensure we have plenty of food,"

You smiled up at him, nodding, "I will gather the supplies and get the horses ready," you said, sitting up and reaching for your clothes.

He leaned down and kissed you, the familiarity of his lips against yours sending a wave of heat through you. His hand cupped your cheek, his eyes filled with adoration and desire. He lingered, his thumb stroking your cheek, his eyes filled with longing and need. You pulled away, your heart racing, a flutter of excitement blooming in your stomach.

He turned and walked out of the tent, leaving you alone, your mind swimming with thoughts of him. You fastened your hair into a long braid, your thoughts consumed by the upcoming battle, the plan laid out, the odds stacked against you. A pang of fear gripped your heart, the weight of responsibility and duty on your shoulders, the fate of your sister in the balance. You shook your head, forcing the doubts away, steeling yourself for the task ahead.

Elijah returned with two rabbits, the scent of blood making your stomach twist, the thought of the coming battle, the risk of losing Elijah or Gerda making you nauseous. You usually didn't mind the sight of blood or the scent, but today it made you feel ill. You swallowed the feeling and quickly got to work, cooking the rabbits over a small fire, your mind whirling, your thoughts a storm.

"It will be a long day," Elijah said, handing you a flask of ale, "drink, it will give you strength,"

You thanked him, taking a sip, the taste of honey and berries filling your mouth. You handed the flask back to him, and he took a drink, his expression grim.

"The market will be busy, but we will be able to blend in with the crowd," he said, packing away the rest of the supplies, "there will be plenty of Blackthornes, so be wary,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath, he took your hand in his and squeezed.

"Do not lose hope," he said, his voice steady, "we will rescue Henrik and Gerda,"

You gave him a small smile, the confidence in his words easing some of your worry.

"If we get separated, meet me back here," he said, his expression serious, "and remember, keep a low profile, do not draw attention to yourself,"

You nodded and kissed him softly "I will,"

The smell of fish and salt hung in the air, the morning market in full swing. Merchants and traders lined the streets, their wares on display. Children ran and played, their laughter echoing through the bustling town.

The slave markets were separated from the main market, but the smell of death and blood still permeated the air. The screams and cries of those being sold haunted the town.

Elijah walked alongside you, his expression tense, his hand gripping his sword. You could feel the tension rolling off of him, his worry for Henrik and Gerda obvious.

As the two of you passed the slave pens, a woman caught your eye, she was sitting on the ground, her head in her hands. She reminded you of your mother, her hair the same color, her eyes the same shade.

You wanted to free her, to tell her she was going home, but Elijah grabbed your hand, pulling you along.

"You can't help them all," he said, his voice low, "we must find the young ones,"

You nodded, following him through the crowds, the noise and chaos making your head spin. Your heart pounded in your chest, your stomach churning, the anxiety and fear coursing through you.

The sight of the gallows was a stark reminder that this was a dangerous mission, that one wrong move could lead to death.

The crowd was thick, the heat and stench of the bodies pressed together unbearable. You could hear the auctioneer shouting, his words muffled, the air thick with anticipation.

Elijah pulled you to the side, the two of you standing at the edge of the crowd. You could see a few men wearing Blackthorne colours scattered about. It gave you hope that Henrik and Gerda might be nearby.

"This is our chance," Elijah said, his voice low, "keep your head down and follow my lead,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You followed him down to the water, to where they loaded the ships with cargo. The slaves were being kept there until the auction began.

That's when you saw her, your sister, chained and shackled. Her hair was matted and dirty, her clothes tattered and stained. She was thin, her face gaunt, her eyes haunted.

It took everything in you to not run to her and wrap her in your arms. You bit your lip, your fists clenched, the urge to free her nearly overwhelming.

You squeezed Elijah's arm, and he turned, his eyes widening when he saw her.

"Go, I'll distract them," he whispered, before stepping forward.

You watched as he approached the Blackthornes guarding the prisoners. His stance was relaxed, his voice smooth, his demeanor calm and confident.

You could tell the men were suspicious, their eyes narrowing, their hands gripping their weapons. But you couldn't worry about him right now, you had to focus on freeing your sister.

You approached the slave trader, a tall man with broad shoulders, his dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

"How much for the girl?" You asked, nodding towards Gerda.

The man's eyes roamed over your body, his gaze lecherous, making you shudder.

"She's a pretty one," he said, his voice a low rumble, "but she's a feisty one, needs a firm hand,"

You swallowed hard, the thought of her being touched, abused by a monster like him, made you want to scream.

"So will that lower the price?" You asked, forcing a smile.

The man considered, his eyes raking over you again, "Aye, a fair trade,"

He held out his hand, and you took it, his grip tight, his skin rough. With the other hand you grabbed the dagger at your waist, and plunged it into his neck.

He collapsed, unable to make a sound, you looked around to see if anyone noticed, but the men were still distracted by Elijah. You grabbed the keys off the trader's belt and quickly unlocked the shackles around her ankles and wrists.

She blinked up at you, her eyes wide, her expression confused. The pain in her eyes broke your heart, you could only imagine what she had been through.

"Systir?" She said weakly, her voice hoarse.

"Aye, Gerda, it's me," you said, pulling her into a hug.

She clung to you, her arms wrapping around you tightly, her tears dampening your tunic.

You pulled away, helping her to her feet. Her legs were weak, her body trembling.

"You've got to be strong," you whispered, "do you know where Henrik is?"

"He was sold," she choked out, her face crumpling.

"We'll find him," you said, gripping her arm.

Just then you heard the sound of fighting. You turned to see Elijah and the men locked in combat. Blood was pouring from a wound on his arm, but he didn't seem fazed. You felt torn, wanting to help him, but needing to get Gerda out of harm's way. You knew what you had to do and what he would want.

"We need to get out of here," you said, pulling her away.

The sound of battle rang out, the clang of swords, the grunts and shouts of the men. You scooped Gerda up into your arms, and she wrapped her arms around your neck.

"Hold on, Gerda," you whispered.

She buried her face in your neck, her breathing ragged, her body shaking. You ran back to the market, slowing your pace, trying to blend in with the crowds.

You could hear the men shouting, the sounds of their pursuit growing louder. You weaved in and out of the crowds, trying to lose them. Your heart was pounding, your mind racing. Suddenly a hand grabbed your arm, spinning you around.

It was Niklaus.

You felt immense relief wash over you, seeing him there, safe.

"You're alive," he gasped, his voice hoarse, his eyes wild. "Do you know what happened to Elijah? to young Henrik?" He asked, his gaze darting around, looking for danger.

"Henrik is gone," Gerda sobbed, her face red and blotchy, "sold, not long ago," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.

Niklaus' expression darkened, his jaw clenching, his eyes flashing with anger. "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head, "I'm fine, I'm taking Gerda somewhere safe, Elijah was fighting the men who held them captive,"

Niklaus cursed under his breath, he looked like a true warrior, his head shaved into a mohawk, the Mikaelson colors painted on his face. You could see his muscles rippling underneath his tunic, his chest and arms were covered in tattoos. The scars on his arms and face told the story of a fierce fighter, one who had survived many battles. It had only been a few months since you had seen him, but he had changed so much and so had you.

"Take her and leave," he growled, "go to the forest, hide there,"

"I won't leave without Elijah," you said, your tone firm.

He gave you an odd look, and you felt a wave of guilt wash over you. But now was not the time to dwell on it, now was the time to act.

"Stay safe," he said, before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

You pulled Gerda along, keeping to the shadows, trying to stay out of sight. The sound of battle echoed through the market, the cries of the wounded, the clash of steel. You came across the stables, her weight growing heavier with each step. You could feel her heart pounding against your chest, her breath coming in short gasps.

As you approached the stables, you could hear the sound of a man's voice, the familiarity of it making your hair stand on end. Einar.

"We need to hide," you whispered, setting her down.

She leaned against the wall, her chest heaving, her body trembling. You looked around the corner of the barn to see Henrik on the ground, Einar looming over him.

Your blood ran cold, rage burning inside you. You gripped your axe, the familiar weight of it calming you.

"Stay here, Gerda," you said, your voice low.

She shook her head and clinged to your arm, her nails digging into your skin.

"You can't take him," she whimpered, "he's too strong,"

"I have to try," you said, pulling her into a hug, you handed her a small dagger Elijah had given you, "take this, if anyone tries to hurt you, use it,"

She nodded, her eyes filled with fear.

You crept around the corner of the barn, the stench of urine and manure assaulting your nose.

"Not even worth the money I paid for you," Einar snarled, kicking Henrik in the stomach.

The boy groaned in pain, his eyes scrunched shut, his fists clenched.

"Get up, boy," Einar spat, grabbing Henrik by the shirt, dragging him to his feet.

You charged at him from behind, raising your axe and striking him in the back with all your strength.

Einar stumbled forward, dropping Henrik. The boy fell to the ground, clutching his stomach, his eyes wide with shock.

"You bitch," Einar growled, whirling around, his eyes filled with fury.

Cold fear shot through you, the sight of his scarred face, his cruel smile making you freeze. Your axe still in his back, you backed away, reaching for the dagger at your waist.

Suddenly, Henrik leaped onto Einar's back, his arms around his neck, trying to strangle him.

The sight spurred you into action, and you ran forward, stabbing the dagger into his shoulder, his scream of pain echoing through the stables.

Einar thrashed, trying to shake Henrik off, but the little warrior held on, his face grim with determination.

The three of you struggled, the fight raging, your breath coming in short gasps, the sound of steel clashing ringing in your ears.

Your body ached, the blows Einar landed, his punches, kicks and elbows leaving their mark. But you and Henrik managed to bring him to his knees.

He roared, flinging Henrik off his back, and the boy slammed into the wall, his body limp.

Einar's hand went to his waist, and you knew what was coming, he was going to grab his sword and cut you in half.

You scrambled backwards, the adrenaline coursing through you, the fear making you frantic.

You were cornered, no way out, no escape.

He raised his blade, his face twisted in a cruel smile. Gerda screamed and ran forward, putting herself between you and Einar. You cried out, trying to stop her, but she ignored you. Her face was a mask of fury and determination, her body trembling, but she didn't hesitate, didn't flinch. She stared up at him, her fists clenched, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Don't touch my systir!" she shouted, her voice strong and clear.

Einar laughed, "Two children and a woman? This will be fun,"

He raised his sword, the blade glinting in the sunlight. This was it, the moment of death. You closed your eyes, waiting for the pain, wondering if you would be worthy of Valhalla, if one day Elijah would find you there.

But the blow never came.

You opened your eyes, blinking against the harsh light. But then his expression turned to shock, a pitch fork jutting out from his chest. He fell to the ground, the weapon buried deep, a gurgling sound coming from his throat. You knelt beside him, his blood seeping into your clothes. You watched the light fade from his eyes, the life leaving him.

Behind him stood a dazed Henrik, his blade bloodied, his eyes wild with rage. He grabbed Einar's sword and threw it to you, and you caught it.

You stood up, feeling dizzy, your body aching. You could taste the coppery tang of blood in your mouth, your wounds finally catching up to you.

"Henrik!" Gerda cried, throwing her arms around him, sobbing into his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her, his expression a mixture of relief and pain.

"I'm alright, Gerda," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It's over,"

They both looked at you, their eyes shining with gratitude, they both looked like they'd seen hel, their bodies covered in cuts and bruises, their faces gaunt and pale. They had seen and experienced too much, too young. You reached out, and they both embraced you, their arms wrapping around you, their tears wetting your clothes.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, "I'm so sorry,"

"You came for us," Gerda said, her voice barely audible. "That's all that matters,"

You squeezed them both, feeling the warmth of their bodies, their hearts beating, their breathing, their life.

"Come," you said, forcing yourself to stand, "let's get you both home,"

Your horse was nearby, the stallion waiting patiently, seemingly unbothered by the commotion.

You got them both on the horse, handing Henrik the reins, he wrapped his arms around Gerda, and the two of them clung to each other, their eyes filled with hope.

"Go to the forest, wait for me there," you said, giving the horse a pat, "I need to find Elijah and Niklaus,"

"My brothers are here?" Henrik asked, his eyes widening.

You nodded, "they'll help us get home,"

The stallion took off, Henrik guiding him towards the forest, the two of them fading from sight.

You headed back to the market trying to gather your thoughts, the pain and exhaustion making it hard to think. You had to find Elijah, and Niklaus.

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Four} {Part Five}

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adracat · 2 years ago

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G Witch and Norse Mythology

I think we all know Okouchi harks to both Utena and The Tempest with the writing, but an influence that's underexplored is Norse myth. The following will be a quick mention and breakdown of these references, starting from the blatant to obscure.

Fólkvangr

Show: Hidden laboratory inside an asteroid. Under the control of the Vanadis institute and where the bloody events of the prologue occur.

Norse: Field ruled over by the goddess Freyja where half of those that die in combat go upon death, whilst the other half go to Odin in Valhalla.

Vanadis

Show: The institute which pioneered the GUND-format and gundams. They were disbanded and violently stopped in their medical and military operations.

Norse: Also known as Freyja, Vanadis is a goddess of war, fertility, and witchcraft/magic. She has dominion over Fólkvangr.

Gundams Lfrith Ur and Thorn

Show: Gundams piloted by the witches from Earth; Sophie and Norea. Sophie pilots Ur while Norea pilots Thorn.

Norse: Ūr or Uruz is a rune meaning the following-

It governs shaping and forcing fortunate circumstances creatively through will and inspiration, self-healing and maintenance of good mental and physical health, assertion of home ground, personal space, independence and freedom, strength and tenacity, courage, persistence against all odds. Uruz is a symbol of the wild bovine, a reminder that cattle were once wild creatures. Uruz represents young warriors. https://runesecrets.com/rune-meanings/uruz

Thorn or Thurisaz-

It governs destruction of enemies, curses binds and fetters, awakening the will to action, breaking resistance of blockages in body, mind and spirit, Increased potency and prowess in romantic relationships, and understanding of the division and separation of all things. Thurisaz to be described as a thorn that is most sharp, a grim and evil thing to take grip on or touch. Thurisaz is also a fertility rune in the sense that it breaks down the barren and hard, rocky realms into workable soil as to bring fruitfulness to crops and wombs. https://runesecrets.com/rune-meanings/thurisaz

These are just the ones I caught so if you see another, feel free to comment! The next will just be speculation based on my own knowledge.

Yggdrasil and Odin

It occurs to me as I drink in this image composition that it looks similar to Yggdrasil, or the world tree in Norse myth. Aerial forms the trunk/branches while the people are its leaves. Considering all the norse references thus far, it feels intentional. And I fully believe it is when you spot Miorine falling towards the base.

Her fall to the base of the 'world tree' is relevant because of this image. In Norse mythology, Odin has one eye because he sacrificed it to the Mimisbrunnr (Mimir's well located beneath Yggdrasil) in exchange for a drink of the well's water. It grants Odin wisdom and insight. It wouldn't surprise me if Mio is forced to make a similar trade during S2, either to solve a problem or make an escape. (from QZ maybe?)

I'll likely add to this if I notice anything else

#gundam witch from mercury #mobile suit gundam #g witch #g witch spoilers #g witch season 2 #miorine rembran #norse mythology #analysis and speculation

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random-thot-generator · 1 year ago

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Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 10

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

TEN: Let the Sleeper Awake

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

Summary: Simon returns in time for the May Day celebration, wanting to surprise his doll, but watching her perform has him viewing her in a very different light.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Spice- just a pinch, Mention of masturbation, Fluff & Feels, Simon checks out doll, Doll checks out Simon, Idiots in love lust, the 141 have a chat sesh, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Beltane (a.k.a. May Eve/May Day) is a fire and... ahem!... fertility festival. So, I thought, what better time for Simon and his doll to finally realize that there's a little more than friendly feelings between them. Let the sleepers awake. 😏)

Word Count: 2.9K

Chapter 10

“Beltane magick here we sing

Chant the rune and dance the ring

Joy and blessing shall it bring

Let the sleeper awake!”

― Doreene Valiente, Beltane Chant

The village green was a hive of activity, preparations for the May Day celebration in full swing.

Booths, tents and stalls lined the streets, vendors setting up their wares and stocking up for the large crowds expected for the two-day celebration. An abundance of flowers, real and fake, decorated the whole of the village’s heart, garlands and wreaths attached to every available surface, every shop window sporting bright floral displays.

The maypole had been raised at the back of the green, its brightly colored ribbons fluttering in the warm breeze. The volunteers performing this year were gathered off to the side taking a break from their practice, you and Fiona among them.

The two of you had been roped into volunteering, so you both had to learn the performances from scratch. Fi especially was struggling with the interweaving moves, cursing under her breath every time she made a misstep.

“If I’d known it was goin’ t’be this big of a pain in me arse, I would’a hid in the loo when I saw Margie comin’,” she groused, wiping a forearm across her brow. She turned up her bottled water and took a large gulp as she glared at Margie Bartleby, proud owner of the Tea Room and the entertainment director of the festivities this year. “All tha’ woman needs is a bloody whip t’crack over our heads.”

You sniffed in amusement, not bothering to comment. You knew Fi was just venting her frustration and didn’t mean a word of what she said. You and she both adored the older woman, though you had to admit that Margie could be a right task master when she wanted to be.

You sipped at your water as you pulled your cell from your back pocket to check your notifications, drifting under the shade of a tent to see the screen better. You were hoping to see a message from Riley, but you were again disappointed.

He’d been gone since the last week of March, only a week and half after you had moved in with him. There had been no word from him save for a single text around mid-April to tell you if all went according to plan, he might be home by the end of the month. You had really been hoping he would make it back in time for the May Day celebration, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. He always seemed to be deployed during holidays.

“Still no word?” Fi asked, joining you.

You sighed and slipped the phone back in your pocket. “No.”

She nudged your shoulder. “Maybe ye’ll get a May Day miracle an’ he’ll show up dressed like Jack o' the Green.” Her grin turned lewd. “Can’t ya just picture it? Riley wearin’ nothin’ but a patch o’ moss over his dangly bits with oak leaves stuck all in his mask?”

“Fi-ona!” Heat crept up your neck to your cheeks, yet the image she created popped unbidden into your head.

Your face grew hotter as you imagined him dressed as Fi had described, the mental pictures in your head far from chaste. Riley was built like a Norse god, and even with the mask he earned his fair share of appreciative glances. You couldn't help but look, too; you were his friend, but that didn't make you immune to him.

When you heard Fi laughing at you, you blinked out of your daydream and narrowed your eyes. “Shut up,” you hissed at her, but couldn’t hide your wry smirk.

“Come along, lovies! Break's over!” Margie called to the group. “Let’s get back to it. We need to practice the bonfire procession and dance next!”

Fiona groaned, scowling. “God, I’ll be glad when we’re done with this. Never again,” she vowed as the two of you trudged back out to the green together.

Simon sat back in his seat, eyes focused out the window of the plane, half-listening to Soap and Gaz arguing about how they were going to spend their first night on leave. His cell phone was in his hand, your last text open. It was an image of the green decorated for May Day.

“Oi, Ghost! Ya should come with us t'night. We’re goin’ to that new pub in Hereford,” Gaz invited.

Simon slanted a glance his way, dark eyes glinting inside his skull mask. “Can’t. Got plans.”

“Ah, c’mon, mate. Readin' in your bunk isn’t plans,” Gaz replied, scoffing.

“Did ye ferget?” Soap spoke up, a mischievous smirk on his face as he bumped the other sergeant's arm. “Ghost has t’get’ home t’see his doll dance. Ain't tha' right, LT?”

Simon scowled at him. The nosy bastard had overheard him tell Price about you performing in the May Day festival, after the captain had asked him how "his doll" was doing. So, of course, Johnny hadn’t shut up about it since, pestering him for intel about his ‘wee doll’.

“Oh, that’s right,” Gaz drawled, his smile spreading wide. “Maybe we should go home with Ghost, then. You can introduce us to your doll.”

“Not happenin',” Simon gruffed. “Ya lot ain’t gettin’ anywhere near ‘er.”

Soap chuckled, puffing out his chest. “Worried I’ll nick yer lass, LT?” He smoothed his hand over his mohawk, flexing his bicep with a cheeky grin. “Canna blame ye. There’s a lot here t’tempt her away,” he teased, making his pecs jump beneath his tight tee. Gaz cackled.

Simon stuck his phone back in his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest, tipping his chin down at the sergeant. “Ain't worried. Dee knows a wanker when she sees one."

"Oh-ho!" Soap crowed. "So, it's Dee, is it? Slipped up an' said her name, LT." He winked at Gaz as Simon muttered a curse. "Dee an' Johnny. Got a nice ring to it, aye?"

“Enough, lads,” Price called from behind his laptop, not even bothering to look up. The two immediately shut their gobs.

As soon as the plane touched down, Simon was up and heading down the ramp as it lowered. Grinning like a devil, Soap was ready to head after him when Price grabbed him by the back of his tac vest and hauled him back.

“Bloody hell, lad, give it a rest,” he uttered lowly.

Gaz came abreast of them and leaned into whisper, “We just wanna know about her, Cap. I mean— it's Ghost. Kinda hard to imagine him havin' a bird. Has he told ya anything about her? Have ya seen a picture of her?"

Price scrubbed at his beard. “Never met the lass. Ya lads know he likes to keep his personal life private. Now, both of ya, leave it alone.”

“Canna believe yer no' a wee bit curious, sir,” Soap persisted. “Would ye no' like t’meet the lass tha’ caught the Ghost?”

Price wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t curious, but more than anything, he was just glad to see his lieutenant at ease, for a change. He was still a right broody cunt, but his attitude had definitely improved. “Lads, as long as she makes him happy, that’s all I care 'bout. Now, mind yer bloody business an' leave him alone, yeah?”

“Think he’d show us a picture of her if we asked nice?” Soap wondered aloud, undeterred. "I bet she's a right bonnie lass, aye? Have t'be t'get the LT all hot an' bothered." He waggled his eyebrows.

Price dragged a hand over his face and groaned.

Simon ended up parking behind the Dog when he finally made into to the village. Coming through the alley, he could see the crowd milling about the green and vendor booths, the smell of fried food and sweets wafting down the ginnel on the breeze. His stomach growled and he cursed himself for not eating something before leaving the base, but he'd been in a hurry to get home.

He usually stayed on base if he wasn't deployed when events like this were going on in Banfield. He hated dealing with the extra traffic and large crowds that descended on the village, but he could suck it up and deal with it just this once, since it was for you.

Apparently, he'd made it back just in time. Most of the crowd had gathered near the back of the green around the maypole, Margie's familiar voice loud and clear over the PA system as she announced that the maypole dance was about to begin.

Simon pressed through the throng of people, ignoring the looks and startled gasps as they shuffled out of his way. His eyes scanned over the dancers, searching for you, his eyes going a little wide when he spotted you standing with your back to him.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but he felt like he'd been poleaxed, his dazed eyes roving over your figure. You were dressed like the other dancers, wearing a pastel satin undress covered in layers of wispy, see-through tulle, but the underdress clung to your breasts and hips, the swell of your bum accentuated by the slippery material. When you shifted your weight to pose in the starting position, a split in the underdress revealed the length of your thigh, the layered tulle separating to expose it.

Simon's mouth fell open under his surgical mask, eyes avid as the music began to play. He watched with rapt attention as you skipped and dipped and twirled, weaving in and out with the other dancers to braid the colored ribbons around the pole. Your hair had been left loose, a crown of flowers on your head, makeup done to give your features an ethereal cast. You looked like a fairy, flitting around, he mused. A really curvaceous, sultry, sexy fairy...

A familiar feeling tingled low in his abdomen and the front of jeans were suddenly too tight. He shook his head, grunting at his base reaction, but now that he'd seen you this way, he knew there was no denying it. You were stunning, the prettiest bird he'd ever seen. His pretty doll. Possessive pride welled up in his chest, straightening his spine and lifting his chin. That was his beautiful doll out there dancing; his.

When the dance ended, all the performers took a bow and then the crowd surrounded them. Simon hung back, waiting, wanting to see your expression when you finally spotted him.

So worth the wait.

It was Fiona that saw him first, nudging your shoulder and whispering at your ear as she pointed him out. The slight frown of confusion on your face transformed into a look of joyous surprise, your smile wide and beaming as you rushed to meet him, crying out, "Oh, my God! Ri!" as you leapt up to wrap your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

It stunned him at first, being greeted that way. Anyone else would have found themselves thrown to the ground with a knee in their back, but you? You he caught up in his arms and held on tight, breathing you in as his hands molded to your back and waist like he had done this a thousand times. It was instinctive and felt so right.

You pulled back to gaze into his eyes, your smile becoming something softer, more intimate. "I'm so glad you made it, Ri. Can't believe you're finally home. I've missed you."

His chest went tight, a pleased flush warming his face. He pressed his forehead to yours. "Missed ya, too, doll. 'S good t'be home."

He had a sudden, intense urge to pull down his mask and kiss you. His fingers twitched on your back, muscles spasming in his arms. He couldn't recall the last time he'd kissed a woman on the lips, but damn if he wasn't gaggin' to bloody do it now. From the soft, hazy look in your eyes, he didn't think you would mind it, either, which only made the temptation worse.

You both turned your heads, startled, when Fiona giggled. She was already lowering her cellphone to look at the pic she had just taken. Simon tensed, his first instinct being to bark at her to delete the photo, but then another idea popped into his head.

He lowered you to the ground, stepping behind you before planting his hands firmly on your hips and pulling you back against his chest. "Take another one, Fi. Want t'send one t'my team."

She dutifully took the picture, smiling as she stepped forward to show you both how well it had turned out. "That one's a keeper."

Simon stared down at the picture, liking the way the two of you looked together. A rush of heat coursed through his veins at the sight of his hands on your hips, your hands covering his. He glanced over at your face as you studied the photo, and he could only describe your expression as incandescent; you were bloody glowing.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you into his side as his eyes met yours. "Yeah," he murmured. "Definitely a keeper."

Simon ended up with dozens of photos saved on his phone by the time the festival was over. His favorite was the one Fiona had first taken, the one where he was holding you up in his arms, your heads together. He set that one as his screensaver.

However, the one he viewed the most was the one he took at the bonfire the last night of the festival.

He took it during the bonfire dance, you and the other dancers circling the high flames as you swayed and undulated in a jaw-dropping, frenzied dance that had wrecked his world. His heart had been beating as hard as the drums, his eyes fixated on you with a predatory intensity.

Then you had looked at him.

You had seen him in the crowd, a teasing, open-mouthed smile directed his way as your arms lifted over your head and you rolled your hips in a move that punched the air out of his lungs. He had lifted his phone and snapped the photo, capturing the moment.

He captured your sultry smile, that hooded gaze that was meant just for him. Your body's curves stood out in stark relief against the dark, your silken skin aglow from the flames. Every time he looked at it, he ended up in the loo with his cock in his hand, choking back his groans as he desperately fisted himself to completion.

It was bloody torture watching you disappear into your own bedroom later that night, every cell of his body on fire with the need to follow you. He didn't, but he wanted to. It was the fear of losing you that finally had him shuffling off to his own room, settling for your photo and his calloused hand.

It was on Sunday afternoon that he got a notification that the team was in their private group chat. You and Fi were gone to the shops, and he was sitting on the patio, drinking a Stella and enjoying the garden. Might as well join in, he thought; he had nothing better to do at the moment.

As soon as he entered the chat, Soap and Gaz started asking for details about the festival and, of course, you. Feeling a bit sadistic, the first photos he shared were of the green, the bonfire, the pub.

[SOAP]: Come on LT. U ken what we want! Show us a pic of ur doll. 😏 [GHOST]: No [GAZ]: Pleeeeaaaase!!! 🙏🏿🥺 [PRICE]: Bloody hell. Ignore them, lad. [GAZ]: We just want to see her Cap... [SOAP]: Is she ugly? I bet shes ugly. [PRICE]: SOAP! [GHOST]: Far from it johnny [SOAP]: Ur killn us LT! Just 1 pic pls pls pls!!! [PRICE]: Stand down, Sgts! Jesus Christ!

Simon couldn't help himself. He wanted to show you off. There was a smug smile on his face when he forwarded them the photos of you in a zip file.

There was a minute of inactivity, then the messages began to ping in rapid fire succession.

[GAZ]: That's ur doll?! She's bloody gorgeous, m8! 👍🏿 [SOAP]: sTEAMn fUKnJESUS!!!! [SOAP]: Insta-chub 👀🍆 [PRICE]: Well done, lad! She's a beauty. [SOAP]: Shes ded bonnie. U should introduce me 😈 [GAZ]: When can we meet her??? Is her friend single? 😏 [PRICE]: Behave, lads...

Simon huffed in amusement, feeling rather cocky as he began typing.

[GHOST]: Thx cap. [GHOST]: Her friend is single gaz. [GHOST]: U can suck it johnny. She's MY doll [GAZ]: Yeah. Suck it Soap! 😅 [SOAP]: Fair enough but... [SOAP]: Can I keep the pic of her @ the bonfire? [PRICE]: Christ. I need bloody a drink. Congrats, Simon. *(PRICE has left the chat.) [GHOST]: Hm. Just the one pic? [SOAP]: 🙏🥺 PLS??? [GHOST]: LOL [GHOST]: Hell NO [SOAP]: 😭 [GAZ]: 🤣🤣🤣

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@stillinracooncity @cumikering @cutiecusp @deadbranch @ghostlythots @thetiredtoad0-0 @glitterypirateduck @gothgirl6-6-6 @sofasoap @cathnoneofyourbusiness @shuttlelauncher81 @luminousbeings-crudematter @crunchlite @delilah-grimes @bobochacha @igotmajordaddyissues

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x fem reader #simon riley x fem reader #cod ghost x fem reader #love thy frenemy #love thy frenemy/tenderness au

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huntressofladyartemis · 9 months ago

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Hello ✨🏹

Hi everyone! Well i want to talk a bit about me… I'm from Argentina, i don't speak english very well, i help myself with the translate. I know the basic 😅 I love to draw, to read and i like animals! I'm christian but also i love greek and egyptian gods 🤗 I'm searching about the norse too, but at the moment i focus myself in the greek and egyptian, specially Artemis and Isis, my two fav goddesses, but i like all of the deities ♡

I'll avoid and ignore some posts wich are disrespectful with the gods and blame them… You see, i'm not a hellenic polytheist yet, i recently discover it and i searching more about it, it will be lovely to worship Artemis one day 🏹🌙 But at the moment i'm just a big fan an lover of the gods and goddesses. Is hard to separate the myth from the gods, but i read one day… "The myths are not the gods".

You see, of course that the myths brings us some info and descriptions of many deities, but you have to remember that those stories were written by poets and dramaturgs, whose also had their own ideas and opinions. Many of them had some "anti-gods" ideas, like Ovid who wrote his texts after he was exilied by the roman emperor (sorry i can't remember very well his name 😫). So we can't take the poet's works as a "valid despiction" of the deity… Don't forget the myths cotradicts theirself in so many cases. Also, i prefer the hymns for made a good despiction of the gods or goddesses ✨

But the point is, please try to respect the deities, because they're not just simple characters of a story, they were gods worshiped and loved. Also now, they're still worshiped, so please don't be disrespectful with the deities. Also please don't attack the worshipers… I saw people who attacks a certain god or goddess worshiper and that is awful, respect if you want to be respected.

I come back with the fact that the myths were written by people with their own opinions… That's the reason why some god or goddess do something contradictory in a story and another. But also remember that the gods's actions in the myths were simbolic, a metaphore. The myths were for bring a lesson or sometimes to explain "why this exists?" or "Why is this object consecrated to this god or goddess?". Stop please attacking the deities!

The myths sometimes don't show the gods with good light, but that doesn't meant that the gods are bads…. They're NOT "bads" or "goods", please stop of judging a god's action for his/her myth… Ares wasn't hated by all, he is the protector of women and he had temples! He had a temple in Athens! Athena's city! We can't take a myth wich paint Ares as cruel and bloody or said that "he is the most hated god, even his parents hate him" NO! Stop! Same with Athena… So many people blame her for what she did to Medusa… She didn't! It was a story written by Ovid. Artemis and Apollo are also blamed, Hera and Zeus too, Demeter… PLEASE STOP INSULTING THE GODS! The myths are stories written by mortals for the mortals! Also if you insult a god or a goddess, you're insulting the culture too, because they are a reflection of their cultures (egyptian deities for Egypt, greek deities for Greece), so please, be respectful 🙏

We all can enjoy those stories, but without blame or insult the deities, please 💙

And another thing… The retellings. I'm not against the retellings, i think they are very interesant and is good to see the gods are still loved and people write about them. But some people need to know what a RETELLING is… I know about fans of certains retelling attacking deites's worshipers because what that god or goddess does in that retelling. There's a big diference between a retelling's character and the god/goddess himself/herself, some people seems like they can't see the diference and prefer to attack worshipers… Please stop with that! Yoy can't enjoy a retelling without blame or attack other who worship o simply love the deity that your retelling took for it story?

Sorry, but i get angry when i saw those posts or comments against the gods 😞

Also sorry if my english is not good 🙏

That's all at the moment, i hope i could find friends with the same passion and a very sane community of deities lovers 🤗

PD: I'm working in my own webcomic retelling with the Delian Family as protagonists 🤭 I'll be fair with all the gods and goddesses, because i want to share my love for them ✨ If anyone have an idea or something to say about Leto and her twins, please tell me because will be a honour to put that in my story!

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dreamsoffantasty · 10 months ago

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━━ ❀ 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐏𝐞𝐲𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡'𝐬 ❀ ( lyrical meme appreciation featuring songs various albums, please feel free to change the pronouns as you see fit ! some of the lyrics changed to fit better for RP purposes. anything with 'insert ' please put in what you would like to best fit the quote. )

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐄

❛ The darkness comes alive, feeding on me. ❜

❛ The howling Norse inside, overtakes me. ❜

❛ The time has come to stand and fight. ❜

❛ Draw your axes, let them fly ! ❜

❛ Unleash the warrior you've become. ❜

❛ Rise up, rise up, it is time for war. ❜

❛ Indestructible fortitude, wielding powers of {godname}. ❜

❛ I've got the heart of a warrior, heart of a {insert}. ❜

❛ Nothing can stop me, move out of my way. ❜

❛ Bloodlust is rising, hurricane in my veins. ❜

❛ We are, we are, we are {insert} ! ❜

❛ The sickness all around, infests me... ❜

❛ Chaos inside, runs through me. ❜

❛ The time has come to stand and fight ! ❜

❛ Draw your axes, let them fly ! Release the warrior you've become and fight ! ❜

❛ I've got the heart of a warrior. ❜

❛ Nothing can stop me, move out of my way. Bloodlust is rising, hurricane in my veins. ❜

𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊

❛ Winter nights of blood and steel, war amongst {insert}. ❜

❛ Plains being converted to ash, raze the fields and burn it all... ❜

❛ Sound the horns, the enemy shall fear, unleash our war cry ! The battle for {insert} is ours. ❜

❛ {insert}, get ready for war. ❜

❛ This is something worth fighting for ! ❜

❛ Can you taste the blood of man ? ❜

❛ Can you taste the victory ? ❜

❛ Are you ready to die in war ? ❜

❛ Glory in the battlefield, forming lines of dirt and green. ❜

❛ March to claim our history ! ❜

𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

❛ The everlasting darkness, begins to fill into my heart. ❜

❛ A hundred days, a hundred more we sail unto the battle for our home. ❜

❛ My love, I will fight this war for you. ❜

❛ If I fall, I'll see you again. ❜

❛ No matter the fight, I'll stand up and rise. I'll carry this weight across all divides and if it's my time just know that I have loved you ! ❜

❛ As I sail far from home, I can't help but think of you… ❜

❛ I miss everything I love If you hear me Oh I… Love you. ❜

❛ My love, I will fight this war for you and if I fall I'll see you again. ❜

❛ No matter the fight I'll stand up and rise. ❜

❛ I'll carry this weight across all divides. ❜

❛ I'll remember everything with you and I'll remember how you changed me. ❜

❛ I'll remember. ❜

❛ I'll remember everything, and I'll remember till the day I rest my eyes. ❜

𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐑

❛ I feel the aura on the breath of man. ❜

❛ With time let the fear sink in. ❜

❛ The bodies burn, our kingdom falls. ❜

❛ With no sacrifice what's for your kin ? Mercy is a-coming but I'm not your friend. ❜

❛ Do you know who I am ? ❜

❛ I'm the god/goddess of {insert}. ❜

❛ Destined blood filling my veins, commanding my power, annihilating the pain. ❜

❛ I drink from your bones that bled. ❜

❛ Finger on the string and my heart on the bow, one by one falling down like snow. ❜

❛ Armor on the flesh but my blade's in the wound. ❜

❛ You mock my deity ! ❜

❛ Do you know who I am ? I'm the god/goddess of {insert}. ❜

❛ Horns full of mead, as I drink from your bones that bled. ❜

❛ Mercy is a-coming but I'm not your friend.. ❜

𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

❛ The nightmare of eternity, marches right before your eyes. ❜

❛ As the ground begins to shake, Ravens fly amongst the sky. ❜

❛ Battles of great divine. ❜

❛ Torn hearts of fear and cries, let the rage of war ignite. ❜

❛ We were born to rise ! ❜

❛ We're gonna raid all your shit, annihilate your villages, plunder all for the hell of it. ❜

❛ Warriors, stand up, fight ! ❜

❛ You're going down tonight ! ❜

❛ Berserkers, fury of war - ❜

❛ Man/Woman of honor, man/woman of war. ❜

❛ Tales be told forever more - bloody axes, bloody fields, fight with honor, clash of shields. ❜

❛ Fearless soldiers fight with heart. ❜

❛ Haunting lands of man and steel. ❜

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑

❛ The weapon in the storm clashing in the sky. ❜

❛ The horns of {insert}, calls for war. ❜

❛ The ground will shake and the sun will fall and the war bears march as we bellow through the halls. ❜

❛ I will rise and push on through. ❜

❛ I'll prove my might and show my strength. ❜

❛ The limit of my mercy follows you. ❜

❛ I've got the power of {insert} in my hands. ❜

❛ Thunderous hammer that will sing across all the land. ❜

❛ Lightning strikes as I storm through the valleys of death. ❜

❛ You follow the empire ! ❜

❛ Thunderous {insert} that will sing across all the land. ❜

❛ We embrace our fears through realms of the dead. ❜

❛ The path to {insert} is the honor we share. ❜

❛ Blood by oath, iron swords by bond, no matter the realm, we're kings till dawn. ❜

#meme resources #rp meme #writing prompt #inbox memes #sentence starters #askbox meme #peyton parrish lyrics

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hollowwrites · 2 years ago

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It is Weasley Wednesday My Dudes

I have a Garreth x MC story in the works but for now have this…trash.

No one can convince me otherwise but Garreth has a nickname for everyone…do not question me!!

Imelda - Broomelda or Impy

He read a book once about Norse Mythology and found the Germanic Warrior Brunhild. Something about the powerful Valkyrie and shield maiden reminded him of Imelda and once he’d found a way of shoehorning her name into it that was it:

Imelda: (taking off her flying gear after running another time trial)

Garreth: How are we this fine Thursday afternoon, Broomelda?

Imelda: (turns to stare at Garreth)

Garreth: You know…like Brunhild the-

Imelda: I know who she is

Garreth: See you have a Broom, not a sword…and your name is Imelda…Broom…Imelda…Broomelda

Imelda: …No

After that went badly he started calling her Impy, short and fiesty…could kill you. She likes that nickname

Sebastian - Brother (occasionally Shortie)

Sebastian is an inch shorter than Garreth, if that. Only breaks it out if Sebastian is being bratty or he really wants to wind him up. Started calling Sebastian ‘Brother’ in their second year after he got mildly upset at Anne and Garreth hanging out after Potions.

Now they just call each other brothers out of habit. Anne still gets a little red faced when she hears it and Garreth will never admit he still has a thing for Sebastians sister. Will joke about it constantly though.

Garreth: Please tell me you took notes in Potions

Sebastian: I did

Garreth: Oh thank you Brother!!

Sebastian: (Chuckles) Anytime

Ominis: Is that still happening? This brother ordeal I have to listen to?

Garreth: Well I have to practise for when me and my beloved are betrothed

Sebastian: Yeah yeah, take your notes and be gone

Garreth: (Sighing affectionately) I can’t wait to be Garreth Sallow

Sebastian: Enough thank you!

Garreth: Calm down Shortie (ruffles Sebastian’s hair)

Sebastian: (Sighs)

Poppy - Bumbles

Found Poppy sat amongst the beehives doing homework. She laughed at him when he jumped out of his skin rounding the corner, her Hufflepuff Uniform blending in with the hives around her. Once said the way she flits around the school chasing after beasts reminded him of a Bumblebee. Too much of a coincidence!

Poppy: (Bumping into Garreth in the hallways dropping her books) Ooof Sorry Garreth, can’t see past these books.

Garreth: No problem, Bumbles. Where are we going? I’ll help you carry some

Poppy: Just back to the dorms

Garreth: After you (following after Poppy quietly humming) bzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Poppy: (Giggles) Stop it you!!

Amit - Stargazer

Pretty obvious one. I imagine Amit and Garreth don’t speak very often, Garreth head down in a cauldron and Amit staring off into the sky, their interests don’t always align but he likes to make people feel included.

Amit: Ah Garreth, Professor Weasley, er…your Aunt is looking for you

Garreth: Ugh, Thank you Stargazer. You are My Knight in Shining Armour. (Turns on his heels and walks in the direction he just came, away from his Aunt)

Ominis - Opal Eyes

Another obvious one. Got caught staring into Ominis’ eyes once and blurted out that he thought they were beautiful like Opals. Rolled with it.

Ominis: Bloody Wiggenweld, AGAIN. I hate that blasted potion

Garreth: Oh, Opal Eyes (throwing an arm around his shoulder) How many times have I told you? Sit next to me and I’ll smuggle you some of mine.

Ominis: I’m already blind I don’t want to lose my sense of smell too

MC - Sparkles, Sparkler, Sparks ETC (Modern AU would deffo call them Palpatine)

Have you seen anyone else shoot lightning from their fingers? Didn’t think so. Immediately came up with the name as soon as he witnessed their Ancient Magic for the first time. Teases them every Guy Fawkes Night (Bonfire Night) for hogging all the fireworks in their fingers.

Garreth: Hey I’ve run out of Sparklers, can I borrow you…Sparkler?

MC: Har Har very funny Weasley

Garreth: (stands behind them scooping their hands in his, waving them around as if they were alight)

Bonus:

Leander - Tabby

Thinks his nickname is because he’s ginger. Garreth doesn’t have the heart to tell him; 1) Tabbies aren’t ginger and 2) it’s because he prances around acting like a lion when in actuality he’s a pussy cat.

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yolowritter · 10 months ago

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A perspective on understanding Gideon Ofnir

Hello there everyone! This post is going be what it says on the tin, a character analysis/perspective piece on Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing. I'll happily admit that he's one of the most interesting characters in Elden Ring, and I've wanted to discuss him for a while now. Hence the post, obviously. I won't go into any extreme detail here, there's people in the community that have done this far better, I simply want to offer my two cents on why Gideon is a good character. Not "a good person", but "a good character". What's his worldview? What makes him interesting? Why do I personally like him? Without any further ado, let's begin!

First off, let's begin by establishing a baseline of who Gideon is, what era he has lived in, and what we know about him before the Tarnished arrives in the Lands Between. As with all things in Elden Ring, stagnation is a big theme in Gideon's character, if in subtext at least. His design itself is reminiscent of an owl at first glance, with the dark greys and soft browns. His armor especially is littered with eyes and ears, giving way to his matle of The All Knowing. Gideon is very much like an owl, in the metaphorical sense at least. He's ancient, portrayed as wise and clearly very knowlegdeable in the happenings of the Lands Between. His eyes are sharp and his ears wide open, as he often has spies and men at his employ to assist in his endeavors of collecting knowledge. Now, personally I think there's a comparison to be made here with the Norse God Odin, the All-Seeing (amongst other titles), but I'll save that for another, more specific post. The point is that from the moment we see him, Gideon is presented as a wise mentor type of character, and this is immediately reinforced when he moves from the Roundtable's central room to his office/library. In my many, many playthroughs of the game, I eventually realized that he actually does so without needing to kill a Shardbearer, and Gideon even has specific dialogue once the Tarnished interrupts his reading, explicitly stating he's got no time to waste on them, and that he will welcome them to the Roundtable once they've gotten their hands on a Great Rune. Now, at first glance this might make him seem cold and even rude, but think for a moment of where Gideon is coming from. He is old, old enough to have been Leader of the Roundtable for a very long while. He's seen countless Tarnished embark on the same journey as the player character, and one after the other they fail, go mad, or abandon the search for Great Runes. Think on Bernahl, whose related cut content helps us understand he had a Finger Maiden once, and was on the journey to become Elden Lord. Think on Vargram, one of the first Tarnished to sit at the Roundtable, now delegated to a...something in the physical Hold within Leyndell. Admittedly invasions are a tricky thing to explain in-universe, even they clearly are meant to be considering the Recusants and Bloody Fingers actively make use of "multiplayer" items like the Festering Bloody Fingers, which is how the Tarnished gets invaded when travelling the Lands Between. I digress, the point is that other Tarnished (and most famously Vyke) have come very close to becoming Elden Lord, even if how exactly our favorite Dragonspear got to the Erdtree without killing Morgott is unclear. Gideon has been there the entire time, watching one after the other get so very close...only to fail at the last step. It's no wonder then that he dismisses all the current residents of the Hold as weak, or accuses them of seeing the Roundtable as a "mere shelter from the rain". He isn't even wrong in that regard! Diallos and Roderika are soft-handed nobles who were exiled for their Tarnished heritage. They aren't warriors, and Roderika admits this herself. Diallos does so as well, later in his storyline. Corhyn clearly has no ambitions for the throne, instead seeking to "counsel" the would-be Elden Lord once somebody else makes the journey. D rests at the Roundtable partly between his hunts of Undead, and partly because of Fia also basically occupying a room and giving out her blessing. Neither of them care about the throne. Rogier also has his own interests, and until we come along it is completely natural for Gideon to see this drivel and lose faith in the Tarnished. Gideon Ofnir seems to me like a tired old man who put his faith in people time and time again only to get no results. Isn't it natural that he considers us all a joke until someone finally gets a Great Rune? I'd say it's worth pondering him further, and I'll make another post soon about the events of the actual game. See you all soon!

#elden ring #gideon ofnir #character analysis #pre game analysis #elden ring character speculation

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daifukumochiin · 5 months ago

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Summary: Sasuke's orderly life at elite Sairiumu Academy is disrupted by the arrival of Hinata, a timid transfer student whose obvious crush on him, a young man dedicated to his craft and his current relationship, stirs unease. (Initial SasuSaku with SasuHina endgame, modern Norse myth AU, high school, angst, romance, photography, postmodern-ish fic). Rated T

LIGHTS,

BOWS, and

MISTLETOES

an entry for SasuHina Month 2024, Day 27 : Forget and Remember

(for @peachy-hina, since December)

ffnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14369143/1/Lights-Bows-and-Mistletoes

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57030778

Part 2: Bows

go to Chapter List>

Dear Mother and Sister, farewell!

Your Nanna may go to her Balder. Our lives were so closely interwoven

That even in death we are mated–

—Cornelia Steketee Hulst, Balder's Death

It was Hanabi‘s thirteenth birthday at the Byakugan Estate. Hinata, sixteen, dressed in a modest but stylish Buon Giorno Armani ensemble, watched her sister return to the stage donning her third ball gown for the evening as the servants wheeled in a trolley carrying a three-tier cake adorned with fresh flowers and pink diamonds. The sisters had invited their friends, and their parents had invited business partners' relatives. They all sang the "Happy Birthday" song. As soon as the final notes lingered, the lights were dimmed, giving eminence to the pink cake’s warmly glowing candles. Hanabi leaned forward and blew them out. There was applause. A server passed by with peach-scented flutes. Hinata stepped a foot forward to hug Hanabi. But just before then, it happened.

It wasn’t gradual, no. Mercilessly and brutally, memories swooped up from within her with a skull-splitting ache. She howled at the pain, at images of resplendent faraway places she had never seen in her present life which had only known lofty opulence, of persons dear and yet unknown in the now, of home called Breidablik, of Hodor’s terrified face with a bow in hand who, being blind, could only imagine that something had gone horribly wrong; of Loki’s grin just before he disappeared in a mist. And herself, Nanna, with dearest Baldur, an arrow stuck to his chest, laying bloodied in her arms, the light in his eyes, in the strands of his hair fizzing out, the early morning glow of his complexion fading.

The cry that tore her throat was raw. The ugly force of it doubled her over, and she crumpled to the floor, clutching her chest tight as she strove breath over the sharp, frosted pieces of what shattered there. She wasn’t amid Aesir anymore—albeit her present parents and their friends were still powerful people over here in lowly Midgard—and when she came to look at her hands, they were clean, her nails coated in Funny Bunny just for her human sister’s birthday. Her wailing reverberated through the halls, but it could never fill the sunk hole that caved in from the surface formerly paved and appearing solidly passable by her forgetfulness, absorbed by the affairs of her human life.

The day after the incident, news outlets buzzed with stories about the first Byakugan Princess causing a scene at her sister’s birthday party. Online speculation ran wild—some suggesting that, because she didn’t usually stand out, she’d gone to extremes for attention, bratty and inelegant. Doctors and experts weighed in with a barrage of diagnoses: schizotypal personality disorder, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression, delusional disorder… mainly, that she had a sickness of the mind. Her mother had ordered for her library to be cleared up of all the fiction books fearing the fairytales had instigated this somewhat. But they all missed that hers was a sickness of the heart, a matter striking at the very depths of her soul.

There couldn’t be anything lonelier: she had come back to life, only to forget about Baldur for a long, long time; she finally remembered him, but he was nowhere to be found.

Struck with a malaise that doesn’t even know where to begin searching, Hinata, once Nanna, had never known the comfort of sleep again. Because even in dreams, Baldur wasn't there.

go to Chapter List>

#day 27 #lights bows and mistletoes #sasuhinamonth2024 #sasuhina

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the-dreaming-plastic-dinosaur · 6 months ago

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Wish List to Father Nintendo for PKMN Legends ZA

Disclaimer : done by two bored persons, one of which is in history

First of all, the Timeline : the trailer talks about renovation, so this is a Huge Hint for Haussmann. In real life, this period lasted from 1853 to 1870. This means a period of 17 years in which we can find many things!

Propositions are as follows, in no particular order:

- Synchro machine ? Would be logical with the trailer we got, and maybe the DLC of ScarVi was a way of testing it ?

- Mad Scientist with proto-Syncro machine isekais you to the past ?

- Something to do with The Commune of Paris, which lasted from 18th March 1871 to the Bloody Week 21st-28th May 1871 ? I mean, we can't have the Revolution but we can still have blood and barricades!

- Access to the sewers and the catacombs!!!

- An evil Sycamore ancestor, since he seemed to have been supposed to be ambiguous

- More buildings appearing the more advanced you are on the main quest

- The Opéra Garnier !!! It was built between 1861 and 1875, so it can still fit the timeline

- OPERA GLOVES AND HATS (more options than with ScarVi! It's Paris, for Arceus's sake !)

- What even is Paris without trains ? So, what is a Legends Pokémon in Paris without a lost Emmet in a train station ?

- Access to parks !

- Universal Expositions in Paris took place in 1855 and 1867 (among other dates, obviously), so maybe a similar event where you can meet NPC from other regions and maybe ancestors of known NPC ?

- ALSO ALSO QUAD ROLLER SKATES WERE INVENTED IN 1863 !!!

Now for specific pokemons :

- A Ratatoskr pokemon to follow the Norse inspiration of XY

- a feraligatr in the sewers (crocodile in Paris' sewers)

- a wailord in the river (orca in the Seine)

- a dusclops in the museum (Belphégor)

- Darkrai or a morpeko in the Opera (The Phantom of the Opera)

- and obviously, past regional forms

- and last but not least PIDOVES EVERYWHERE

#pokemon #pokemon legends #pokemon legends za #pokemon theory #haussmann #urban renovation #illumis #lumiose city #paris #paris history

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callsignbaphomet · 1 year ago

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Saw some gifs of season 2 of Loki and my brain quickly went "Oh, it's Loke time!"

I have a confession to make about my Loke lol

When I first came up with him I hadn't bothered naming him, hell, he didn't even have a backstory. He was just Jelani's older brother. Like I've mentioned before, he was so bare bones because he was just a plot device and was just gonna die bloody and ugly just to emphasize how evil and a piece of shit Iain is.

Buuuuuuuut I decided to name him and give him a backstory and then I fell completely in love with him and decided to not kill him and make him part of the main roster. I really love this character, he is such a darling of a person.

So I was coming up with this character's background, story and details but I didn't know what he looked like or what his name would be. This is where C comes in lmfao.

During the height of the MCU Loki craze C absolutely hated the character. He has since he was little but when the character got popular his hate for him just tripled and honestly it was amusing. I still like the character ngl. Got a soft spot for the bitch.

So I didn't wanna be totally obvious and outright name him Loki (due to the popularity of the MCU character) but while searching names I came across Loke which is pretty much just another way of spelling/saying Loki.

One of his nicknames is Lo but sometimes other characters will use Loki when referring to him. So in a way I snuck that version of the name in anyway.

Lol

I went with it. Plus it just rolls off the tongue so nicely. So now we have a name and a backstory. He just needed to have an appearance.

The Marvel look was not gonna go at all. I already had Jelani with long raven black hair and pale blue eyes. It isn't the same as raven black hair with green eyes but to me it felt similar. So I looked to depictions of the real Loki. Most of the ones I saw were of a pale white male with long wavy/curly red hair with different variations of eye colors. Loved it! Like I constantly say one of my major weaknesses is pale men with long red hair 🧑🏻‍🍳💋

Eyeball color tho was a choice based on a high school memory. There was this one girl in my English class pale, long curly red hair and the palest green eyes I have ever seen. She was gorgeous!

(We come in all shades. Tbh we're kind of a melting pot of rainbows. We range from freakishly white looking to rich and vibrant dark and I love that for us)

So I went with most depictions of the Norse god Loki with the pale white skin, freckles, long wavy/curly ginger hair and a set of pale green eyes. That's how I ended up with a 6'6" teddy bear of a man who's crazy overprotective of his 6'6" baby brother.

So every time I see either Marvel Loki or the real Loki I instantly think of my Loke.

Now excuse me I gotta rb some Loke doodles to satisfy my need to look at my adorable little Nordic teddy bear.

#Loke tag #oc things

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quackquackcey · 2 years ago

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Ch. 3: Hedgehogs, Honey, & Hazelnut-Covered Strawberries

Written for @hdcandyheartsfest day 3 prompt: handmade. Many thanks to my beta @wqtson! 💛

Start from beginning on AO3 here, or click the #fic: HHHS tag.

Summary:

A chance meeting—or is it a setup?—leads to the start of a relationship filled with buttery baked goods, sweet smelling flowers, and hedgehogs.~ 🌹🦔

“I am not filling in for one of your hedgehogs again!” Draco pointed his whisk at Luna. “You set me up last time!”

Luna gave a little shrug like it didn’t matter. “I’m simply telling you that Harry’s coming to visit solely for you. If you don’t want to fill in again, shall I tell Harry that Ormr’s had an unfortunate accident?”

“You— What?!” Draco spluttered. “You can’t just tell him that I bloody croaked! Just say…just say Ormr’s feeling under the weather or something.”

“But if Ormr won’t be making an appearance again, then I should just say he’s gone,” Luna told him as she walked out of Draco’s patisserie-bakery kitchen. “It’s not good to lead people on.” She paused for a moment, blue eyes piercing through Draco. “And, you know, Harry’s glamour—he’s set it so only people he trusts to some extent can see through it.”

And then she left.

Draco just stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, until he concluded Luna was just screwing with him, which then made him want to scream in frustration, but instead he muttered so many curses under his breath that Greg, in charge of the bread products, peered over from where he was baking the bread and suggested he take a break.

So Draco did.

And ended up spending the rest of the day across the street nibbling on fruits and being petted by Potter.

He was in too deep, despite it being only the second time Potter had visited him, and the proof of that lay in the little gift Potter had brought him today—a tiny, knitted hedgehog sweater.

Hand-knitted.

By Potter.

Because apparently Potter knew to knit.

Draco would’ve thought this sort of thing wasn’t allowed in a hedgehog café, but Luna, that git—“Normally I don’t allow gifts for the hedgehogs, but seeing as you’re Ormr’s only visitor and I know you don’t have ill intentions, I’ll let it slide,” she said.

And to make matters worse, when Harry asked her what ‘Ormr’ meant, the conversation topic somehow fell on him.

“Hm, so it means ‘dragon’ in Old Norse?” mused Harry. “Like Draco. I bet he and Ormr would get along.”

“His patisserie-bakery’s right across the street,” said Luna. “Have you been? His baked goods and pastries are simply delicious.”

Harry paused his petting, and Draco looked up at him to see, to his surprise, a conflicted, somewhat disappointed expression.

“I’ve heard. I want to visit, but….” Harry sighed and stirred his coffee. “Well, we didn’t part on great terms after the trial.”

Luna pulled up a chair, as if they weren’t discussing him right in front of him. “What happened? That was years ago, Harry. Surely the grudge between you two wouldn’t last that long.”

“It’s not that— It’s just, I asked him if he needed any help, erm, financial-wise or job-wise, because, well, you know—”

“Oh, Harry,” said Luna in an amused, knowing tone. “Did you tell him why you were offering help?”

“I thought it was obvious,” muttered Harry. “But he said ‘thank you for defending me, but I’m not a charity project,’ and that I didn’t need to keep an eye on him in case he turns Death Eater again because ‘the Ministry’s already doing that, thank you very much,’ and he looked hurt, and that was the end of that.”

Luna looked at Potter in that oddly penetrating gaze that Draco knew well, like she was staring into their soul. “Why did you ask him that?” she asked. “You two were never on good terms in your school years, and I’ve never heard you offer help to anyone else after the war, not like that.”

Draco startled—from the way everyone talked about Potter and all the charities Potter donated to, he’d thought Potter would be helping people left and right.

“…It just seemed like the odds were stacked against him,” said Potter after a moment. “So I thought I could help even those odds. He…” Potter hesitated. “You know what he went through in that manor.”

“You saw, didn’t you?” asked Luna. It was more a statement than a question. “Through your link with Voldemort.”

It was the first Draco had heard of Potter being linked with Voldemort, and he couldn’t help but wonder how much the wizarding world was kept in the dark regarding what exactly Potter had gone through during the war.

For one, the fact that Potter had sacrificed himself to save everyone, and died. Actually died.

And he sounded like he knew what Draco had done in that manor…. But that was impossible. He’d never told anyone, and even Luna only knew because she’d been on the receiving end once—

“I saw Voldemort Crucio-ing him,” Potter said softly. “Forcing him to Crucio others.”

Draco’s breath choked in his throat.

“It’s not something like pity, or charity,” continued Potter. “I just…. He wasn’t a Death Eater, Luna. He was a prisoner. And I guess I felt like he understood what it was like to have Voldemort in your head, and, I don’t know, I thought maybe we could go for drinks and be friends or something….” He trailed off and huffed out a wry laugh. “It sounds dumb saying it out loud. But I feel like if I walked into his shop, he might misunderstand and think I’m there to check in on him, so I get Dean and Seamus to buy me stuff when they go sometimes.” He grinned, eyes sparkling. “I like his tiramisu the most. Oh, and those dome-shaped white chocolate and caramel tarts with piping on the edge. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

And then Luna replied with her favourites, and it just devolved into a conversation about all of Draco’s desserts that they liked, and Draco just sat there in a daze, overwhelmed by the surreal scene playing in front of him.

#hdcandyheartsfest2023 #drarry #drarry fic #OMF writes #fic: HHHS #matchmaker luna hehe #harry x draco #draco x harry #harry/draco #draco/harry

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fcb4 · 1 year ago

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Israel, Palestine and the Two Ravens of Odin

“Then the carcasses of this people will become food for the birds and the wild animals, and there will be no one to frighten them away. I will bring an end to the sounds of joy and gladness and to the voices of bride and bridegroom in the towns…” -‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭7‬:‭33‬-‭34‬ ‭

The two Ravens of the Norse God Odin are called: Hugin and Munin. The translation of these bird’s names both involve the ideas of: “thought,” “desire,” and “emotion.”

Ravens are often associated with being eaters of the dead. The unclean birds that devour the slain of battle.

A raven eating a corpse is a gruesome image. To stand and watch someone’s loved one being dismantled and consumed by black beasts is a horrific terror for the mind and heart. Yellow eyes, shrill squawking in the fields sown with hell and horror is a picture that reaches into the depths of one’s soul and unsettles and unmakes us. Our fragile worlds, without and within, are disrupted, darkened and devastated.

It is a cold and brutal reminder that war eats out mind, heart and…hope.

Death 💀 is the end of desire.

In war, all that we have hoped for in our earthly lives is savagely struck down. Dreams and visions, plans and promises ripped out of our chests and stream over the burnt earth with blood and gore.

The Raven eats the victors and the defeated alike. The flesh of soldiers and the flesh of the innocents caught between invaders and defenders.

All are food for the birds of the air and only the wise know that vengeance is not a crown of victory.

Lately I’ve been sitting with Hugin and Munin at the confessional of my soul listening to all they have seen.

Tales of Terror in:

Burma

Ukraine

Africa

and now Israel and Palestine.

I’ll never escape the image of someone’s daughter being shoved into an suv with bloodied pants from being violently raped by Hamas terrorists.

I know that more horrors are to come. Victims and victors all bloodied by the cycles of justice and injustice battering cities to ruin and rubble.

Truly the sounds of joy and gladness are silenced.

Years ago in the aftermath of an endless list of people and places ravaged by violence, I wrote a poem after trying to help my kids process the world they were becoming aware of in their young lives.

It’s a poem that will never truly be fully written because the list of events won't end until the Prince of Peace returns.

Yet again I share it here as a witness to the long defeat we all must walk until our judgments come to account.

Odin’s Eye

Last night,

after talking to you,

yet again, I wept.

Massacres, mayhem and madness,

like crows gathered above my heart.

Their twitching, golden eyes,

saw my fears openly,

pecked at my scars,

dug into my wounds,

exposing memories.

A Van Gogh slain in the streets of Amsterdam,

high school halls filled with the dead,

lady Liberty’s towers falling in fire and ash,

theaters of gunfire echoing from Colorado.

Elementary playgrounds of unimaginable horror,

nightclub music silenced in blood and tears.

Norwegian summer camp butchering,

Paris brought to her knees,

Iraq in rubble, her teashops blown open by the breath of Apollyon.

Fort Hood.

Boston,

San Francisco,

beheadings, shootings, burnings and drownings,

blood trails behind the horses of the apocalypse.

I am father,

protector, provider, way maker,

and yet,

how many demons can I swallow for you?

Two generations born,

and still the fires of gehenna

burn.

At the well of wisdom, I sit,

Odin’s eye staring back at me in the depths,

what sacrifice can I give to see a new future born?

What I have witnessed, darkens my vision.

I gouge out my eye to quench your fires,

while birds of prey feast on our sorrows,

again,

and again,

and

again.

#israel #palestine #war #violence #poetry #Bible #middle east #terrorism

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orlissa · 2 years ago

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January reading summary

My one New Year’s resolution this year was to read fifty books in 2023–that would mean 4.17 books per month, just for fun math’s sake. In January, I managed to finish nine. Okay, that’s a bit of a fib, because two of these nine were started back in 2022, and one was read twice (once when I translated it, and once when I proofread the manuscript, but I’m gonna count those too). Still, it’s a pretty strong start. Anyway, I thought I’d do like a monthly summary of my reads, partially to motivate myself, and partially just to review to books I read, because we Leos thrive on attention. So, January reads, here we go:

Richelle Mead: The Indigo Spell/The Fiery Heart/Silver Shadows/The Ruby Circle – I read these right after each other (I started The Indigo Spell on December 31), as a part of my Vampire Academy re-read I started early December, so they kinda bleed together in my mind and I’m not even gonna try and write separate reviews of them. Truth is, I like 75% percent decided to read Bloodlines because I wasn’t ready to let go the Vampire Academy world yet after finishing Last Sacrifice–I just needed more Rose and Dimitri. Sure, there were things I liked in Bloodlines beyond their cameos, like the new magic system, the theme of rebellion against oppressive structures, dealing with parental trauma, and I especially enjoyed the whole re-education sequence in book five (there are very few things more terrifying than psychological torture, and the whole storyline of Sydney not giving up and fighting against it was absolutely fascinating). Still, I couldn’t get into the characters as much as I did with the original series, and, let’s be honest here, the last book sucked. The plot was all over the place, and the author basically fridged two women for a fanservice twist within a storyline with a hamfisted outcome (I mean, as a fan I was very much serviced, but it could have been done in a better way).

John Gwynne: The Hunger of the Gods – This was my translation project, so one of the books I started last year and the book I read twice from this list. As for the book itself… So, it’s a Viking-lore inspired epic fantasy (second in a trilogy) with a huge cast, where warring factions are allying with gods to gain power over the continent called Vigrið. Is it something I would have chosen to read for myself? No, it had way too much blood, eye-gouging, disfigurement, and child abuse in it for my taste (extensive facial scaring of characters has always made me squeamish). Was it objectively a good book? Yeah, sure. There is a wide range of interesting and diverse characters with depth, an exciting plot, and remarkable worldbuilding. Do I manifest the editor stepping on a Lego? Yeah, that too, because on the textual level the book had some issues that had me wanting to rip my hair out. But if you are into hard-core bloody fantasy and Norse lore, yeah, I definitely recommend it.

George Takei – Justin Eisinger – Steven Scott – Harmony Becker: They Called Us Enemy – I read this one in preparation for a course of mine which I won’t be teaching after all. Still, no regrets here (I mean, I’m sad I won’t get to teach this class, but I’m not sad that I read this book). So it’s George Takei’s memoir about his family’s time in internment camps for Japanese-Americans during WWII, while also dealing with the impact that time had on his later life, in a graphic novel format. It’s poignant and heartbreaking and honest, and really helps to put this segment of American history into perspective.

Ali Hazelwood: The Love Hypothesis – I read this book out of morbid curiosity, because I’ve seen how divisive it is (having started out as a Reylo fic, the author talking about how her agent is feeding her tropes, etc.), and honestly, I did not expect to enjoy it as much as I did. Sure, there were icky parts, like it took actual willpower not to try to equate the main characters with Reylo/the actors, and not to try to match the supporting cast to the… well, to the Star Wars supporting cast (which I really needed to do, because I don’t like the new Star Wars, and although he has my absolute respect as a human being, I do not find Adam Driver attractive at all), the author sometimes really went overboard with the “OMG, what an actual giant the male lead is”–gushing, the sex scene had some questionable lines/metaphors, some of the side plots had a distinct fanfic crowd-pleaser feel (like Malcolm and Holden, who I’m pretty sure were originally Finn and Poe, going from “vaguely aware of each other’s existence” to “in a stable, have met the parents, banging like rabbits relationship” in like three days), and the ending was definitely rushed. However, on the other hand it was a fun little rom-com with a witty language and some commentary on sexism and sexual harassment, and although I’m not in STEM, the quips about academia and PhD candidacy really, and I mean really resonated with me. I’m definitely going to read more of the author’s stuff.

Brodi Ashton – Cynthia Hand – Jodi Meadows: My Imaginary Mary – I’m a big fan of The Lady Janies-series, but I’ll be the first one to say that they seem to be running out of steam. Sure, I know this book wasn’t even the original plan – they wanted to do one with Marie Curie, but they had to scrap that idea for some reason, so instead we get Mary Shelley and Ada Lovelace –, but still, in some aspects this book falls really… flat. While in the previous books the fantasy element felt like an integral part of the world, here it’s just… there, just thrown in, and the whole “fae godmother” introduction is just lazy writing (literally, a character just appears, brings one protagonist to the other, introduces them to each other, tells them she is their fae, not fairy, godmother, and she is now going to teach them magic. Just like that, in medias res, deus ex machina, and all that jazz). At the same time, Pan is sweetheart, the pop culture allusions are a stroke of genius, and the whole discourse about what is life is nice. So, yeah, the style is great, the message is great, but the plot is meh at best.

#orlissa reads #books

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sublimeobservationarcade · 5 months ago

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Is Anglo Racism The Worst Kind?

By this I mean the racism expressed by some members of the British ethnic identity toward those they define as ‘not truly of their kind’. The Anglo identity has colonised dominions including the United States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, parts of southern Africa, and smaller territories here and there. So, when asking, Is Anglo racism the worst kind? I am including these nations and places in the examination of the evidence. The argument against this questionable assertion is that every ethnic identity displays at times in part what we now call racism toward those people it so defines as ‘other’ or ‘not like themselves’.

British Ethnicity Identity Racism Lashing Out

Britain has been rocked by civil unrest, featuring violent protests and attacks by racist elements within its population, in recent days. Hundreds of these protesters have been arrested by police for their law breaking. These mainly young men damaged property and attacked mosques and refugee centres. Their violent assault upon the streets and those targeted was provoked by the heinous mass stabbing of young girls by a British born subject of African ethnicity. Social media falsely named the perpetrator as a refugee and Moslem. Thus, the anti-refugee and anti-immigration feelings of this section of the British population were agitated and activated. Far right groups and individuals were involved in spreading this misinformation on social media to enrage this cohort to violent action. Photo by Amine M'siouri on Pexels.com

Anglo-Saxons, Normans & Vikings

Historically, we have called this British identity Anglo-Saxon. The Angles and Saxons were Germanic tribes who came to England in the first millennium CE and settled there. Therefore, in actual fact the British identity is really German on this racial basis. The later invasion by the Normans in 1066 was by a Norse/French admix, who again can be categorised as largely Germanic. The Vikings who ruled in the north of Britain and Ireland for substantial periods in the second millennium CE were another Norse Germanic people. Is the enduring racism of Anglo’s really a Germanic trait? The White Race & Slavery Is Anglo racism the worst kind? Racism is a nasty thing, which has been responsible for the full spectrum of bad behaviour from hurtful comments to genocide. Slavery in its more recent chattel form was predicated on the skin colour and African race of its victims. This appalling manifestation of racism commercially exploited a whole race of people for the benefit of the white race. This ‘white race’ was invented in the 17C, as a social construct. “The concept of “race,” as we understand it today, evolved alongside the formation of the United States and was deeply connected with the evolution of two other terms, “white” and “slave.” The words “race,” “white,” and “slave” were all used by Europeans in the 1500s, and they brought these words with them to North America. During the 17th century, European Enlightenment philosophers’ based their ideas on the importance of secular reasoning, rationality, and scientific study, as opposed to faith-based religious understandings of the world. Philosophers and naturalists were categorizing the world anew and extending such thinking to the people of the world. These new beliefs, which evolved starting in the late 17th century and flourished through the late 18th century, argued that there were natural laws that governed the world and human beings. Over centuries, the false notion that “white” people were inherently smarter, more capable, and more human than nonwhite people became accepted worldwide.” - (https://nmaahc.si.edu/learn/talking-about-race/topics/historical-foundations-race) Racism in the former British colonies, which became the United States of America, remains a real problem. This shadow upon a nation divided by slavery for centuries until its bloody Civil War in 1861 endures to this day. Segregated neighbourhoods and schools still exist widely across the US, continuing the gulf in understanding and equality between black and white America. African Americans have been enslaved, murdered, mob lynched, denied equal status, derided and economically neglected for much of their time in the land of the free. They are not alone in this, as Native Americans the Indigenous population of North America prior to the coming of the British and European settlement of this land, have also suffered in large degree similar fates. Still today, white folk are complaining loudest among the Trump cult and within his politics of grievance. These people who have stood on the backs of generations of coloured folk are complaining about their lot in record numbers. It seems no matter the advantages presented by history some folk are never happy and feel entitled to demand more. The United States has never been invaded militarily and has long stood atop the world rankings as an economic and military superpower. The Greed Of The White Race The great majority of bad shit that has ever happened in the US has been of their own making. Indeed, the extreme greed of some, the billionaires and corporations, feeds on the suffering of their fellow and sister Americans all too often. Pharmaceutical companies charge wildly overpriced rates for their life saving medications, whilst the same drugs are available cheaply in Canada and other places. Private health insurance companies make getting medical help in the US massively expensive. Private equity owned hospitals screw every last dollar out of desperate Americans. More people in the US declare bankruptcy because they cannot pay their outrageous medical bills than for any other single reason. Americans screwing other Americans is par for the course; however, I digress. Photo by vectors icon on Pexels.com Racism Downunder Racism, the racism of the white race against those it deems non-white is alive and well in Australia. Here in the land they call downunder, we have a small minority of young men marching as Nazis in the streets of Melbourne, hiding their faces beneath black masks but proudly proclaiming their messages of hate and white power. Blaming all the woes of the world on too much immigration from the wrong sort of people is a popular trope downunder. Anglos in Oz want to turn the clock back to a time before the multicultural success story of the late 20C. We used to have a government policy called the White Australia policy from 1901 to 1958. “At the end of the 19th century, Australian colonies had concerns about who was migrating to Australia. With a rise in the number of migrants from China and the Pacific, many colonies passed tough immigration legislation. The Immigration Restriction Act was one of the first Commonwealth laws passed after Federation. It was based on the existing laws of the colonies. The aim of the law was to limit non-white (particularly Asian) immigration to Australia, to help keep Australia ‘British’.” - (https://www.naa.gov.au/explore-collection/immigration-and-citizenship/immigration-restriction-act-1901) Of course, new world places like Australia and the US have always depended upon immigration to people their countries and enrich their societies. Australia has had for much of its existence a desperate need for overseas investment, which is why we make it so easy for international folk to purchase property here. Indeed, our lawyers, accountants and real estate agents love to profit from despots and criminals buying up expensive property around the place. We have some of the laxest money laundering laws in the world. However, encouraging ordinary folk to blame their economic struggles on immigrants has been a familiar populist political ploy for eons. Hitler did it. Mussolini did it. Trump is doing it now. People who look different to Anglos, like the Chinese and Arab folk, are particularly popular targets for those on the far right. Dumb denizens of nations are often frightened by what they don’t understand. The fact that they are too lazy and insular to reach out the hand of friendship is their own failing. Populists like to band these anxious people together under the banner of hate. Peter Dutton in Australia. Trump in America. Elon Musk. Rupert Murdoch. There are individuals who profit from spreading hate and fear among populations of white voters and consumers. U.S. President Donald Trump at the 101st by U.S. Department of Agriculture is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0 Racism & The Backlash Against Woke The anti-woke backlash is a conservative campaign to fight against political correctness. News Corp proudly spreads this incessantly on its Fox News and Sky News Australia platforms. What is political correctness and what is woke? At their core these progressive impositions seek to modify language in its official capacity, which is racially offensive and exclusionary. And which may be projecting gender and sexual preference bias and excluding those members of minorities who also make up the populations of our communities. It seeks to give all of us the appearance of a seat at the big table where decisions are made. White supremacists loath woke and political correctness because they don’t want these minority groups to get equal respect. Let us not mess about the bush when calling a spade a spade. The anti-woke movement is at its roots a profoundly racist, sexist, and mob power force. White men want to go on making derogatory jokes about women, refugees, foreigners, gays, and anyone else they feel inclined to besmirch. These proudly ordinary folk want to maintain their white cultural assumptions atop all levels of power within their communities, states and nations. Basically, they don’t want to share. They do not want to share power, because fundamentally this comes down to power and who has it. Power & Race Is Anglo racism the worst kind? Is it the worst kind, in large part because English is the language of global commerce and world power? The white race, the Anglified pure white race, sees itself as the superior stock on the planet. There remains a smug belief among those who consider themselves in the first rank of this Anglo-Saxon cohort that they are the bee’s knees. Many of them private school educated at the best institutions their cultures and countries can offer. This boy’s club dominates the top level of industries, professions, institutions, and corporations globally in the Western world. Political classes count them as leaders in many instances. These men have been trained and groomed to assume the mantles of power from a young age. Traditionally, they would go into the military and join the officer class to strive for glory and recognition as leaders. This dates back to the Roman aristocracy and has filtered down through British and European kingdoms and principalities. Still today, in the United States in particular, we see generals and the upper gentry seeking high political office within administrations. Racism in the military has been persistently prevalent over centuries, as the fact that it is all about power there is rarely hidden or disguised within the armed forces. Brute force and strategic training has morphed into technologically better armaments and push button warfare. WASP Power & White Supremacy In the 21C, Anglo racism is often denied by those in positions of power and influence. With the fading of blatant apartheid in countries like America and Australia these leaders frequently point to this as proof that racism no longer exists. Peter Dutton tells us so. However, if you speak with or listen to people of colour striving for the important jobs in the halls of power you get a different sense. They talk about their exclusion from advancement over many years of faithful service. These individuals share their feelings of being slighted and excluded again and again. Institutions of renown, where doctors and surgeons are trained retain white men almost exclusively at their seats of power. The WASP – White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant – men rule within these domains in an unbroken line over decades and centuries in some instances. The top levels of government bureaucracy, lawyers in chambers, and many other old world realms of power, including our parliaments at the highest office are rich in white supremacy. Our police forces have been invariably led by white men until very recently. This stuff does not change overnight via a few token female faces at the top, it will take decades and generations to lift the unspoken assumptions which define power in our nations. Trump’s Appeal & Project 2025 Many around the world find it hard to comprehend the appeal of Donald J Trump to the American electorate. This blowhard, old white guy, who so obviously lies all the time has developed a cult following around him. Why is this so attractive to large sections of the American population? Yes, he was a reality TV star for some 12 seasons on The Apprentice. Do Americans really struggle to discern fact from fiction to this extent? Apparently so. Trump is blatantly racist and feeds their grievances with promises of retribution. On this basis they see him as more honest than regular politicians and their guy – their champion. I see the archetypal husband and dad in Trump. Husbands and dads lie all the time in their bid to have answers for everything their wives and kids ask them. Perhaps, some folks are forgiving and understanding of this Trump predilection on this basis. However, it is the more serious white supremacists and Christian Nationalists behind Trump that are the real danger. Project 2025 is 922 pages of fascist plans to take over most aspects of American life. The stuff announced within this document in detail is frightening for all those who do not fit into the tight appraisal of the right kind of Americans. If you are not a Christian, white, flag waving, traditional nuclear family with mum, dad, and kids you are going to be in for a bumpy ride if this is instigated following a Trump victory. Racism will be re-instituted as official policy in the United States. Government will be in your bedroom policing what goes on. If you are Latino, African American, Native American, or just plain different you better know your place. It is hard to fathom how democracy and the best intentions of The Enlightenment can be so under threat from this power grab from folk who don’t want to share. I am reminded of the little kid not wanting to let other kids play with his toys. The sense of white entitlement is extraordinary in its gall. Yes, other ethnic identities when in the position of being the dominant cohort also show expressions of racism to their minorities. Arabs within the Islamic imperial territories considered themselves superior and the true representatives of Islam over Asians, Africans, and other ethnic identities. The Chinese have similar hierarchical beliefs and attitudes over other Asian peoples like Filipinos. Slavs feel superior to non-Slavs. Tutsis over Hutus. Russians over Ukrainians, Chechens, and the Sakha. This racism goes on everywhere and it is always about power when you boil it down. Racism is at its core all about power over others. It is the belief and justification of the entitlement to a better life by one group over another. There is no real truth or objective justification for it – it is run up the flag pole to give credence to unfair, often greedy, and sometimes violent behaviour. It is at its very heart diametrically opposed to the aims of humanism and its mission to provide a good life for all. There is no excuse for racism and the hurt and destruction it renders upon often vulnerable individuals and minority groups. Robert Sudha Hamilton is the author of America Matters: Pre-apocalyptic Posts & Essays in the Shadow of Trump. ©MidasWord Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com Read the full article

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