#and when he came out he kept the role of seer! and here we are

[gaysparkler]

🌹

From a dare I say very fun Assassin's Creed Valhalla AU in which Eivor is a seer instead of a warrior :3c

Eivor was at the very back, sitting on the ground, his back to the wall. The air felt still, heavy with the smell of herbs. His head was tilted up, and getting closer, Tarben could see his pupils were worryingly dilated. The sounds of his steps did not pull him out of his trance.

“Eivor?” he asked, tentatively. Eivor’s clouded gaze snapped to him.

[justonecitizenoftheearth]

The Saga of Rögnvald réttilbeini

Notes: This is a fanfiction about an old norse text! My friend proofread my final thesis about men who used a certain kind of magic in ancient northern Europe. This kind of magic is very strongly connected to women, so men using it were seen as unmanly, or ergi in old norse, which is also a term used for gay men. There is one story in the Heimskringla, a text about the first kings of Norway, about 80 wizards who practice this magic called seiðr living together. My friend liked the gay wizard commune very much, was very disappointed by their gruesome end, and asked for a fix-it. So here it is: The Saga of Rögnvald réttilbeini! 

I feel a bit blasphemous writing fanfiction about a 13th century text, but I think it turned out fine. Also, I know now a thing or two about norse magic now, but I took some creative liberties, this is fiction after all. ENJOY!!

@disorganisedautodidact

@fiifuchs

Rating: T

Content warning: Era-typical homophobia, era-typical gender roles, violence (not very graphic though)

Read it on AO3!

The Saga of Rögnvald réttilbeini

There was a man called Rögnvald. He was the son of the famous Harald hárfagra, the mighty king of Norway. But he wasn´t like Haralds other children. His fate led him to a different path.

The first time Rögnvald thought that there was something wrong with him, was the day he lost a swordfight and won a bet. He was nine years old and tried to be a good warrior,  a good fighter,  a good viking, so he could follow in his father´s footsteps. His father, who cast such a long shadow over the land and over the lives of his sons and daughters that Rögnvald wasn´t sure what the sun even looked like. But the axe and sword lay heavy in his hands and the anger and violence of his opponent hit him way before the wood did, let him stumble in fear and confusion. He wasn´t a good fighter. He was scared of his first raid. Of the pain and suffering he would have to endure. Of the pain and suffering he would cause. So he lost the swordfight against his older brother Eirik, who looked at his tears with a mix of pity and disgust. Men didn´t cry. Men didn´t lose. Men didn´t run into the woods afterwards, hands clutching the bruises on his arms and waist.

The woods were Rögnvalds friends. They held their own dangers, big animals, bad weather, you could trip and nobody would find you for days. But sometimes, when he allowed himself to dream, it seemed as if the vines opened a path for him, as if the birds sang louder when he came along, as if the rain fell warmer on his skin, as if the branches of the trees bowed down to him. Rögnvald had seen a bear or two, and there was a pack of wolves living nearby. He didn´t look for them in the vast forests, but he had seen their gray fur in the underbrush. But he never felt the same anger and violence in them that he did in his own brother, and Eirik had yet to kill him, so he decided to let them be as they let him be. Yes, the woods held dangers. But nowhere else seemed his father´s shadow so weak, nowhere else could Rögnvald breathe so deeply. His favorite place was on a cliff, looking over the fjord and away from the town. The sea breeze carried the smell of water, salt, and algae up to him and the trees sang their whispering songs in his back. It was his other brother who found him, Håkon, who sat down beside him and began throwing stones down into the grey-green waters below. It annoyed Rögnvald, but what was he supposed to do? So he looked away and up into the clouds.

“I think it´s going to start raining soon.”

Håkon looked up and frowned. “No, I think we have time before the rain starts. At least until we get back if we get going now, I bet.”

Rögnvald closed his eyes. The trees whispered. The wind sang. And up, way up in the clouds, he swore he could hear the soft tinkle of raindrops. He concentrated. He counted aloud. “One. Two. Three. Four.” The wind fell silent. “Five. Six. Seven.” The tinkle filled his senses. He sat up straight. “Eight. Nine. Ten.” He opened his eyes. The first raindrop hit his nose. He looked at his brother with wide eyes, who stared back through the downpour with disbelief and something between awe and mistrust in his eyes. Rögnvald didn´t know yet that he would get to know that look very well.

Rögnvalds grandmother Solveig was a Völva, a seer. She lived on her own and people came to her for advice or healing. They came with wounds and insecurities, with hurt in their hearts and sickness in their stomach. She had wise words and herbs for them. She could see what plagued them in their eyes and their future in clouds and the ashes of the hearth. Harald didn´t like her very much, he never came to her cottage, which was one more reason for Rögnvald to go there as often as possible. He sat at the fire in silence, watched her cut and dry herbs and listened to the sagas she told time and time again. He hid in her sleeping chambers when visitors came, listened to their stories of battle and love, of heartbreak and marriage, fishing and farming, the hardships and wonders of raising children and the weight of keeping secrets. Solveig didn´t judge. She listened patiently, gave advice when needed, warm tea for cold hands and hearts and an open ear for words that had to be said. It was in the darkness of her chambers in his eleventh summer that Rögnvald first heard of a man loving another.

The boy fled into the sleeping chambers of his grandmother as soon as he heard footsteps at her door. He sat down leaning against the wooden wall, and listened to the heavy steps of a man entering the house, bent down by grief. The voice of the man was surprisingly soft as he spoke, although Rögnvald had heard the heavy thud of an axe being set to the ground next to him. His name was Þorsteinn, and he had just come back from a raid to the Eastern coast. The raid had been a success, but not for him. His voice broke when he told Solveig about his friend Halvdan. How his eyes had gleamed under the moonlight when they got there. How his face had lit up by the fires of the first building burning. How ragged his breath sounded when he fell to the ground with an arrow in his chest. How cold his skin became when he died in his arms. Rögnvald cried Þorsteinns tears when the whole story broke free. After that, there was just the sound of grief for a long time. When he regained a little bit of his composure, Þorsteinn started to tell their story with faltering words. He told about a life-long friendship. About strange and secret feelings blooming. About the sweetness and terror of a first kiss. About two hands reaching for each other when everything they had been taught tried to pry them apart. About the thrill of fighting together and loving each other. About the hole left in his soul that he wasn´t allowed to show anywhere else. About the suspicion. About unmanliness, ergi, that they had been accused of, and the painful weeks apart to convince their families that nothing had happened that shouldn´t have. Solveig didn´t say anything. She brought tea and herbs for easier sleep. When Þorsteinns cries turned muffled, Rögnvald suspected that she held him while he fell apart. But he couldn´t move, couldn´t even wipe his face, was frozen in terror and excitement. It was forbidden. It was shameful. But he couldn´t help but wonder what it felt like to love another man so much. To touch his skin and know his soul, and his heart pounded, overwhelmed by the feeling of coming alive.

When Þorsteinn left, his steps were lighter, as was his heart, he had said that much. It took some more time until Rögnvald could make himself move. Solveig didn´t come to check on him, she let him be, let him take his time. It was one of the reasons he loved being with her so much. When he came back to the room, he just stared at her with wide, wet eyes. She looked back for a long moment, listening to the words unspoken. Then she kneeled down and held him, soothing his shivering, and humming a soft tone. When she got up again, she caressed his hair and lifted his chin. The light of the fire danced in her eyes.

“Fate is not always merciful, but it is never wrong.”

 The problems of his childhood grew heavier with every year of age that Rögnvald lived among his family. He had to learn how to fight eventually, it was the only way. He also learned to dread his growing feelings when fighting other boys hand to hand, his heart pounding with more than fear, his skin prickling with more than pain, pleasure and torment taking his breath away. There were, however, things he enjoyed, like hunting and learning how to provide for himself in the wilderness. Solveig taught him about herbs and plants, about the weather and the wind, the waves and the frost and every growing thing. But he had to come more secretly with every year, the disapproval of his father and his brothers weighed heavier with every spring. He didn´t understand it, until a skald came to Harald in his 14th summer, and was allowed to sing at the feast. He sang about Haralds deeds as the king of Norway, about the gods and the nine worlds. But then came another song, one that took Rögnvald back to ancient times. The woods were even wilder then, the cold harsher, the people more violent. But there was one more danger out in the wild. A man, half human, half beast. A man who could control the wind and the wild creatures of the woods. A man who sang forbidden songs to the sea and the rain, soothing or enraging. A man who was hunted. A man who killed his brothers like prey. A man who wasn´t a man but a monster. And Rögnvald thought of the woods and the wind and the rain that felt more like his family sometimes than his older brothers. He didn´t know when or how he left the hall. He came to himself when his own voice interrupted his ragged breathing and he whispered into the bark of the tree he was clinging to: “I am a monster.”

 Rögnvald kept away from his grandmother for some time. He fought hard to be what he was supposed to be, and kept himself away from the woods. His brothers approved, even his father seemed reluctantly pleased, but he failed to be happy about it. The woods called to him at night, his dreams haunted by visions. He saw a storm roll over the town, ripping down the mast of a ships and killing a man. He woke up in a cold sweat, dread heavy on his chest. Three days later he stood at the grave of the man killed by a falling mast in an autumn storm, and he thought he couldn´t breathe, he told himself that it was a coincidence and went hunting. Two days in the woods calmed his spirit, but he never forgot. The dreams became more frequent, his predictions more precise and he refused to sleep. He kept himself up and useful, stood guard in the dead of night and in the coldest days of the winter. Rögnvald shivered his way through the darkness and went to sleep in the morning. He dreamt of fire and rage, his skin turning black under the relentless flames, and when he woke up, the fire refused to leave his mind and veins. Rögnvald burned.

The fever ravaged his body for two weeks. Rögnvald barely ate, bare drank, wasn´t conscious for most of it. He screamed at the gods and begged them to take the foresight away from him. He swore to never touch a man, to never look at one, to never listen to the wind and the water again. He thrashed on his bed until he had to be bound to it and then he chaffed his skin raw on the ropes.

In the middle of his delirium, he had a moment of clarity. His grandmother sat at his bedside, bent over with worry, and she took his hand.

“The gods don´t make mistakes. You are what you are. Stop fighting it. If you are a seiðmaðr, you are supposed to be one. It´s alright, my dear Rögnvald. Your gift is not a curse.”

“It is alright?”

“It is alright.”

Rögnvald slept for four days. When  he woke up, weak and nauseous and thin as a bear in spring, his mind was clear for the first time in months. He smiled at his grandmother and stayed in her house during his recovery. He learned everything he could from her, every herb, every spell, every secret. He learned to understand the voices of the forest, he learned how to bribe the wind to do his bidding, and how to coax the fish to the surface of the ocean. She told him about Freyr and Freyja and the Vanir. About growth and death and the afterlife. He spent his days in the forest and avoided his brothers and parents. The people of his town started to turn their heads when he passed by, whispering filthy words, and uttering unfriendly suspicions. But he kept his head high, his sight clear and his mind calm.

When Rögnvald turned 17, his grandmother passed away. It didn´t come as a surprise. She had grown weak and slow over the past months. He had been the one to look for herbs in the fields and forests, he had talked to everyone who was willing to confide in him. Rögnvald had been sitting at her bedside and had carried her out to the cliff. They had watched as the sun climbed down towards the gray-green waves, tinted the mountains red and the sky golden. The sun took Solveig with her to the lands of the dead. Rögnvald buried her on a hill close to the water, where she could look over the sea and far into the forest covered mountains. Then he announced that he would leave his family and travel to find adventure. Nobody stopped him. Nobody thought he would return. Rögnvald knew he wouldn´t.

 The mountains were harsh in their beauty. Survival was hard, but Rögnvald learned to become a part of the land. He listened to the sky for rain and to the ground for shelter and prey. He read his fortune in the flight of the birds and the turn of the seasons in the clouds. His first winter was spent in a cave that he made into a home. But the cold wind found a way into his shelter, and the loneliness into his heart. When spring came, he swore he wouldn´t spend another winter like that.

Rögnvald had crossed Vestfold and came to Gulbrandsdalen. It was a lovely place, but the people were not fond of the name Harald hárfager, so he turned west into the mountains and towards the Hardanger fjord. Autumn sent it´s first cold breath over the lands when he crossed a meadow, the mountains in his back and the sea ahead. Sheep grazed peacefully and he stayed for a moment to admire the view. The rustling sound of steps behind him made him turn around. A man smiled at him; his face alit by the soft glow of the sunset. Rögnvald noticed long blond hair, shining green eyes and a firm grip as they greeted each other. The strangers´ voice was deep and rich as he announced his name:

“Frodi”

“Rögnvald”

They smiled at each other and Rögnvald followed back to Frodis hut. He stayed for the night and they talked much about Rögnvalds travels and Frodis sheep. About the summer passed and the winter ahead. Rögnvald helped Frodi with the harvest and the sheep. He hunted and fished for them both. When he called the fish to the surface of the pool out of habit, he turned in terror, expecting to see the same awe and suspicion as in his brother´s eyes, but Frodi met his gaze unafraid and full of warmth. Rögnvald couldn´t look away. The fishing net glided from his fingers. He took a step forward, heart in his throat, but he didn´t dare to go further. Instead, he turned, took up the net and caught the fish he had called. Frodi helped him to pull out the catch, fingers brushing and cheeks burning.

Rögnvald stayed another day. And another. They saw the first snow together. Every night came earlier and left more reluctantly. Every night found them laying down closer to each other. When Frodi took Rögnvalds hand and asked him to stay the winter, it didn´t come as a surprise, but that didn´t damp the happiness Rögnvald felt. His heart pounded in his chest and for the first time in his life, he felt as if he could stay.

Only the fire and the howling wind outside their hut witnessed them as they sat by the hearth one evening, shifting closer and closer together, fingers and hearts shaking as their hands found each other. For one eternal moment they looked into each other’s eyes, question and answer in one. The first brush of lips was sweet as the first touch of spring and as overwhelming as the first winter storm. Rögnvald wrapped his arms around Frodi when it ended, and held on as if his life depended on it, and maybe it did.

Winter went by slowly, in darkness and bitter cold, but Rögnvald barely noticed. He spent his days under warm furs, wrapped around an even warmer body. He learned what it meant to feel another mans skin on his own, how lips could burn and what pleasures another one’s company held. They talked a lot and by the end of winter, they knew each other so well that words were mostly unnecessary. Touches and looks were enough. Rögnvald learned what it was to love and to be loved in return, and a part of him lived in this time until the end of his life.

 Spring came, and they saw the rise of the sun with soaring hearts. They sat in front of their hut, holding hands, and looking over the endless ocean, sure about their place in the world. Summer came and they rolled around in the soft grass, the sun witnessing their joy and pleasure. Autumn came and they brought in the harvest together and reveled in the riches that nature gave them. Winter came and Rögnvald told Frodi everything he had learned from his grandmother. They talked about the power of nature, about the prejudice of humans, what it meant to be a man and what it meant to be a seiðmaðr. They dreamed about finding others of their kind. About finding and shaping a place that would allow them to be who they were. When spring came, they were ready. As the snow climbed up the mountains, they did too, hope and sorrow both heavy in their hearts as they left their sanctuary. They turned southeast, towards lands where they would be able to grow the plants they needed to feed their people, and towards the border of king Haralds influence. In the middle of summer, they found a remote valley in Haðaland, green and lush, secluded, and safe. They built a home for themselves and their sheep, and prepared for the winter. A wandering skald came through. They saw a longing in his heart they recognized. His name was Kjell. He stayed for one day that turned into ten and then into all winter. They shared with him what they had, their food, their shelter, their bed, and their hearts. Food became scarce, but house and hearth stayed warm, and they made it to the next spring. But Kjell wasn´t one to stay in one place for a long time. He longed to roam the land, but promised to spread the word among others like them, and to return for the winter. Their farewell was heartfelt and warm.

Rögnvald and Frodi began to prepare the land for their reign. They cut down some trees, but they didn´t clear the land as their people had done. They planted what they needed in the half shade of the birch forest. They dreamt of others coming to join them, and prepared shelters in time for their arrival. Three other men arrived, Erik, Þorgrim and Ragnar, they had met Kjell and were in awe about the bravery of the two seiðmenn. Two others came, Þorleik and Reik, led to them by their dreams. Two were led there by fate, Halvdan and Leif. Rögnvald and Frodi listened to their stories of violence and abuse, broken families and broken trust. They dried the tears of their new friends as well as they could and gave them something to believe in. Together, they built more houses between the trees. The men had brought goats with them that mingled with Frodis sheep. Summer was as warm and rich as the season could be, and their gardens and fields flourished. They bathed in the river nearby and watched the birds fly by overhead. Rögnvald and Frodi stayed close together, in awe of how their lands and lives bloomed. Autumn brought rich harvest and good hunt. Halvdan and Reik, who had found shelter in each other´s arms, went down to the fjord, with furs and art to trade for salt. Rögnvald, Erik and Þorgrim went hunting and came back in time to pickle the meat. Kjell returned with the first snow and Rögnvald and Frodi welcomed him back into their lives and bed with open arms.

 Years went by. More men came. Bonds were made. They spread their houses far and wide over the valley. Some of them preferred more secluded, remote places where they lived in harmony with nature. Some were happy to have found company that didn´t judge them for who they were. However, they were human, naturally there were some fights, jealousy over lands and hearts, or power. But those fights could be solved quickly, and most were aware that there was no better place to be for people like them. Women joined them, too. Mostly those unhappy with the role that they had been assigned for by their communities. They were women who loved another, who had no interest in settling down with a man, or to bear children. Many of them had learned the things that Rögnvald had learned from Solveig from their own mothers and grandmothers and didn´t want to hide who they were.

Of course, there were hardships, too. Being able to influence the weather didn´t mean that they could change the climate. Sometimes all attempts to call for rain were in vain. Sometimes even the nightly fires couldn´t keep the apple blossoms from freezing in the early spring. Mud and cold weather were as uncomfortable as ever, and sometimes the healers tried in vain to chase the sickness from a friend. But they helped each other out through all grievances and held each other up and laughter was heard more often than weeping.

Life flourished, and after ten years, about 80 people lived in the valley in Haðaland, some all year, some all summer, some came back for winter like Kjell. Music and dance were omnipresent, and they dressed as they wished to. Frodi had taken a liking to dresses while some of the women, like Þora and Ragnhild, who had fled their husbands together with their children, preferred breeches. Rögnvald and Frodi loved to take care of the children while their mothers were out and hunting, or fishing, or taking some time for themselves under the warm glow of the summer sun. The longing for Kjell was a permanent ache in their hearts, but one they shared.

Summer and winter solstices were celebrated with great fires, with drums and song, and many ate mushrooms or inhaled the smoke of burning herbs to widen their minds and leave the confines of their bodies to look for truth and vision in the depth of the space between the worlds. Rögnvald led those dances, and it was Frodi who brought him back from the vast emptiness of a space beyond sense and reason with gentle kisses and touches. Frodi, who brought him tea for his aching head and held him close and safe as he sank into an exhausted sleep. As they enjoyed the company of Kjell during the winters, there were many who didn´t exclude others from their pleasures, as well as those who preferred to stay by themselves. Live in Haðaland was free, and easy, and in harmony with nature and each other. But darkness tends to be drawn to places of light, and Rögnvald and his 80 seiðmenn and völvas were no exception. Dark dreams came as a messenger of hardship to come, and while they lived in peace and prosperity, the dread sank in like ink seeping through a piece of parchment.

 It was Kjell who brought the news. He had been at the court of Harald hárfager and he had ridden his horse half to death to get to them in time. He jumped from his exhausted steed, far too early for his return, in the beginning of autumn. With wide strides, he crossed the village to get to Frodi, who was pulling up weeds. His green eyes gleamed when he saw his beloved return, but his gaze quickly darkened when he noticed the pain and regret in Kjell´s face.

“Call everyone together! I will look for Rögnvald! Quickly, we don´t have time!”

Frodi nodded, but pulled Kjell in for a desperate kiss. “I will. Rögnvald is in the woods. Listen to the birds, they will lead you. Everything will be alright!”

Kjell nodded and ran into the forest, leaving Frodi with dread and fear in his heart.

 Harald was coming. Harald hárfager, who hated seiðr-magic, had sent Rögnvalds brother Eirik to them, to come and clear his father´s name of the shame that was a seiðmaðr as a son.

“I´m sorry. It is my fault. I told the seer Vitgeir about you, about us. I thought he would join us, but he revealed your gifts to your father. It is no secret where you dwell, but the nature of our community was, and is no longer, because of me. Please, forgive me, my love.”

Rögnvald stood and pulled Kjell up into his arms.

“There is nothing to forgive, beloved one. There was no reason to distrust one of our own. What has been done has been done. But the wheel of fortune spins quickly.”

He turned towards his people. He saw their frightened eyes and the hope shattered in their hearts and a fire roared in his ears unlike any he had ever felt before. These people were his family, his kin. He would rather burn than let anything happen to them by his brother’s hand. He´d rather turn the land itself against the men coming for them. He´d rather perish with them then let them touch what was his to protect. He spoke:

“Pack what you can. Hide in the mountains. Let Eirik come, he will find no living soul on this ground.”

Frodi took his hand, worry clearly visible in his frown.

“They will know we have left. They will hunt us like deer.”

Rögnvalds gaze turned to steel. “No, they won´t.”

Nightfall saw the village empty. Everything that could be carried had been packed. The animals had been led far into the forest. The children had been silent and scared. Rögnvald saw the last of his people disappear into the dark of the forest at night. Frodi pulled at his hand as Kjell watched the horizon with growing dread.

“We have to go.”

“No.”

Rögnvald saw the pain and fear in both his lover´s faces. He pulled them close.

“I will not let them get those I love. They will leave here believing that we have all perished. Then we will go and find another place to live.”

“How?”

“You will see.”

Rögnvald felt the faint vibrations of many feet approaching the village.

“Go, go now! Return with the sun!”

Kjell hesitated. Then he spoke:

“I have travelled many dangerous roads, and you always trusted me to come back. I trust you now.”

Then he pulled Frodi up and muffled his cries with his hand as he dragged him into the safety of the forest. Rögnvald stayed behind and sank to the ground. He beckoned the wind to do his bidding. He asked the clouds to cover the moon. He asked the animals around him to flee to safety. He waited and felt his fate approach. When the darkness was deepest, they came. And he was ready.

Rögnvald asked the wind to lift the dust up to form running humans, darting across the village. He asked it to cry with children´s voices. He let it carry his voice down to his brother, to beg him to turn back. He didn´t. Rögnvald wasn´t surprised, but he felt fire and rage burning in his veins like never before. For a moment he realized that he understood his brother now more than ever. Here, at the crossroads, before they would part ways forever, they were closest to each other. Then the thought vanished, drowned out by fire and fury.

Rögnvald let the doors of the great hall in the middle of his village fly open and let the wind carry the dust inside. He rattled with the swords and axes left behind as a cover. He clouded the minds of these people he had once called his own, as he had clouded the sky. And when they threw the first torch into the house that had once been his home, he let his rage fuel the flames, let the fire scream with the voices of his family, let the light lead them to all their houses. He let the wind carry embers into their faces and away from the trees. He raged with the roaring inferno as it devoured everything they had built up with their bare hands. Rögnvald bowed down and begged the bones of the land to imitate the bones of the people closest to him as the rain poured down and tamed the raging flames. His words died down with the flickering fires and the silence of death sank heavily onto the land. He sank down with the ashes, too drained to move, and watched as they looked through the buildings, taking everything that hadn´t been burned to a crisp, too tired to listen to their laughter and delight. He watched as they pissed on what they thought were his bones. He watched as the last one disappeared with the first light of morning. The black, scorched earth came closer, blocked out the light of the sun and pulled him down into the cold and dark, and then there was nothing.

 The first thing Rögnvald felt was water dripping onto his face. It was salty. The ground seemed to sway underneath him. He opened his eyes and saw the faces of his lovers, distorted by desperation, their tears falling onto his lips and cheeks. He wanted to reassure them, but the black earth called him back.

 The second thing Rögnvald felt was water dripping onto his face. It was sweet. His body swayed as if carried. He opened his eyes to a cloudy sky. Rain fell into his eyes as he was carried to a wagon and laid down carefully by Kjell. He wanted to ask something, but the darkness called him back before he could find his tongue.

 The third thing Rögnvald felt was water dripping onto his face. It was salty. His body swayed and as he opened his eyes, he found himself on a ship. His head rested in Frodis lap and as he slowly sat up, he saw the coast of Norway disappear in the distance. His hands were cradled in those of his lovers and together, they turned their backs on the land and people who had never wanted them in the first place.

  They sailed west until they came to the coast of a green land. Mountains rose into a clear blue sky. They didn´t want to go to Iceland, which was too far away to settle down before winter. They didn´t want to go to the Orkney islands, which Harald had shown interest in even before Rögnvald left. They sailed around the land called Alba, and were welcomed with open arms. The people helped them over the winter. They shared stories of a god with antlers, and an island covered in mist. They tended their wounds and shared what they had and stayed their friends over many winters to come.

In the spring, Rögnvald and his family sailed over to an island barely visible from the mainland. It was partly covered in forests, with a steep northern coast and soft slopes leading down to the waters in the south. It wasn´t as lush as their old home, but it was more than enough.

They sowed the seeds of their old home and watched them grow over the springs to come. Getting enough wood to build all the houses was difficult, so they started building with clay and earth, let grass cover their roofs and protect them from unwanted eyes. Some of the people from the mainland joined them and some of their own decided to live there. Kjell started to roam the lands again during summer, after being afraid to leave for some years. The island stopped being their exile and started feeling like home.

They took the legends of the land they had settled in to heart, and whenever foreign ships approached, they surrounded their island with mist, impenetrable for the eye and frightening to the heart. Only those who had been led there once were allowed to set foot on the land. Rögnvald and the others built a seat on the steep northern cliff, and there was a guard watching over the island at all times, who called the mist in and warned his friends when strangers approached. The land beneath their feet started to recognize their footsteps, just as they learned to hear the song in the old bones of the land, and they became one before the first one of Rögnvalds family realized it.

One morning, Rögnvald stood on the watchtower with Frodi. It was spring, and a small ship sailed out towards the mainland. On board was Kjell, who sailed out to his annual journeys. He had been more reluctant to go than ever before. They all suspected that he would one day grow tired of his wanderings, but it wasn´t this year and it was his decision to make. So they watched him go with a familiar longing in their hearts. After the boat had passed from view, Rögnvald turned his head towards Frodi. The first silver strands had started to sneak into his golden hair. But the green eyes were alive and warm as ever, just as the arm he wrapped around Rögnvald. They watched the sun rise over Alba and the light flood the land to their feet, where their family slowly awoke to a new day.

[thiswasinevitableid]

idk if i missed the boat on monster march but mer + indruck + nsfw? maybe something like that scene in from the depths where duck is rubbing off on indrid's tail but... not interrupted by abominations? with treasured human pet talk?

Nope, the boat is not missed. I’m pretty much taking these until the last few days of the month. Here you go!

There are rough days. There are bad days. There are terrible days. 

And then there’s whatever kind of godforsaken day Duck is having. 

It started with Winnie coughing up a hairball right on his pillow. Then he was out of coffee, trudged to the store to get some only to discover he left his wallet at home. Saying “fuck it” and spending the rest of his day at the beach seemed the best call when it came to turning things around.

Turns out his ex thought the same thing, and what started as an attempt to be pleasant while crossing paths ended with some thoroughly unkind comments about Ducks suitability as a partner, including his temperament, laugh, and appearance. 

His first spot for decompressing in the sun was overrun by seagulls, the second by a group playing New Wave hits at full volume, and on and on until late afternoon, where he trekked up the boardwalk to discover the Wolf Eel Bar and Grill was out of french onion soup. He went for a conciliatory sandwich at Amnesty Lodge instead. Barclay, saint that he is, gave him a two-scoop cone on the house when he went to pay the check. Duck retreated to the most secluded seaside spot he knows, the one where if anything happens to him, no one will see it, to enjoy his rocky road in peace. 

Then the cone toppled, the half eaten top scoop falling into the water and the bottom one hitting the rock. 

This is why Duck is now on his back, on the tidepool dotted rock, muffling a frustrated scream in his palms.  A tap on the shoulder interrupts him. 

“Don’t be sad. Look” two tan hands hold the now-gritty ice cream out to him, “I could not save the one in the water, but this one is only a little sandy. “

“Uhhh” Duck blinks at the merman bobbing in the waves, “no that;s, uh, that’s fine. Don’t feel like gettin sand in my mouth.”

The mer glances at his hands, back up at Duck, “May I eat it?”

“Knock yourself out.” He decides not to linger on whether this counts as feeding the wildlife. The merman is mid-bite before he even finishes his sentence. 

As the creature of the deep happily stuffs his face, Duck wonders why he chose this of all moments to talk to him. The merman first appeared a month ago, observing Duck while he was doing tide checks. A day later, he swam parallel to the shore as the ranger went for an evening walk. After that, Duck saw him whenever he was near the ocean. 

Duck prefers a life without too much weird, and thus ignores the strange and unusual unless it whacks him upside the head. Even then, he tries to shake it off and go about his day. So when the mer hauled himself onto the rock closest to the patch of beach Duck was reading and snoozing upon, the human gave him a cursory nod and went back to his novel. He only glanced up once, to see the merman sketching on a pad of paper; the mechanics of this happening in or near the water intrigued him, but not enough to make him talk to a fucking mermaid. 

“Mmmmm” the merman licks his fingers, “I like the little white bits in it best.”

“The marshmallows?”

“Yes! That’s the word.” He paddles his hands in the water to clean them, “you have very good taste in iced cream.”

“Uh, thanks.” Duck scrubs his face, not wanting to leave his oasis of solitude but not sure what’s going on here, “is there somethin I can do for you?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. You are clearly having a bad day, and I wanted to improve it.”

“Man you don’t know the half of it; shoulda seen what happened when I wasn’t near the water.”

“I did. Oh, oh dear, that sounded creepy. I’m a seer and enchanter by trade, which means I can see timelines as they unfold. And, ah, I kept an eye on your futures today in the hope they would improve. Especially after that conversation between you and your former partner. I did not like how they spoke to you.”

“Not like I was a model of dignity and calm.” Duck scratches the back of his neck. 

“True. Nevertheless, were you my human, I would say far kinder things.”

Duck lays back down with a snort; he appreciates the sympathy, but today it feels like the universe has made it clear how little kindness he deserves.

“It is the truth. I would tell you that you are patient and kind. That your laugh reminds me of the shorebirds when they are joyful. That I have seen sunken ships laden with jewels and pearls larger than my eyes, yet when I hear the word ‘treasure’ I think of your face.”

The human rolls slowly onto his side, facing the waves. Rock digs into his shoulder as he studies the merman. He’s staying close, but seems to be waiting for permission to be in Duck’s space. 

“Why are you sayin all this?”

“Because it is true, and I like you.”

“You barely know me. Hell, I don’t even know your-”

“-Name. Ah, apologies, I am always a bit ahead. I’m working on not interrupting as much. And my name is Indrid.” The mer rests his arms on the rock, sets his chin on the back of his hand, “You are right, we do not know much about each other. I do not know where you grew up, but I know you take great pride in showing groups of small humans the tide pools and teaching them about the sea. I do not know what you like to read, but I know that I can sit near you and draw without you fleeing in fear or trying to take a photo of me.” 

Duck reaches out, presses silver hair behind Indrid’s ear, the lilting voice seeping under his skin, suggesting that maybe he’s not as terrible as he thinks. Like maybe something better is waiting for him “now you gotta tell me somethin’ about you.”

Indrid purrs, rubbing his cheek into Duck’s hand, “I used to live in Atlantis, but I took on a role that let me travel and see more of the world, both my own and that of humans. I settled here recently because the nearby mers are not territorial and the fishing is good.”

Rock catches his clothes as he scoots the last inches to the edge of the stone, “How come your drawings don’t get ruined by the water?”

“Enchantments. Though I did get Dani’s human to bring me waterproof paints.” He mirrors Duck’s arm, reaching out to play with the humans’ hair, his tail keeping him easily afloat in the water. 

The ranger closes his eyes to focus on the cool fingers stroking his forehead, “you really wanna spend your evenin’ playin’ twenty questions with me?”

“Yes and no. I came to see what would make you happy. If talking with me is the answer, that is what we can do.”

Duck groans at the reminder of why he’s hiding among the hermit crabs, “Gotta be honest, not sure what’d cheer me up. Everything I tried today backfired.”

“Let me try something.” Indrid’s face goes worryingly blank, then he grins, “I foresee an option that might help, though you will think it self-serving. I have a vision of you joining me for a swim.”

“Water’s a little chilly for that.”

Indrid zig-zags his finger through the waves, “Try it now.”

It’s like sticking his hand into a warm bath, “that ain't gonna mess with the fish is it?”

“Not at all. The spell only applies to you.” Indrid swims backwards as Duck strips down to his trunks, “here, there’s a sandbar where you can stand as long as you need.”

“Plannin on keepin me in the water awhile?” Duck teases, paddling over to join him. 

“If you will let me.” The mer circles him, and for the first time Duck notices the gold-red fan-shaped fin on his lower back, “I have many other things to tell you. For instance, if you look at that kelp raft, you will see otters in the next twenty seconds.

Four well-camouflaged bodies surface to their left. As they splash about, Duck remembers the time he mistook one for a piece of driftwood in the dim light of morning, tells Indrid the story as the otters play.

Something smooth and strong brushes his leg. Indrid is floating close enough that his tail keeps bumping Duck as they talk. 

“Hey, uh, could I, uh, could I look take a look at, uh, um-”

There must be timelines where he asks, because Indrid turns onto his back and adjusts so the last third of his tail waves in front of Ducks’ torso. The mixture of yellow-green and burnt burnt umber reminds him of an Undulated Moray, though the tail ends in a V instead of a point. Stroking one side leads to a splash and a sigh as Indrid twitches in the water. Duck continues the motion, the skin like that of a ray, and relaxes more with each pass. It’s soothing him and, judging by the tension leaving the muscles under his hands, Indrid as well. In fact, the merman is now so limp, his head is under the water and looks to have been for some time.

“Fuck” Duck lets go, moves to fish him out only for Indrid to contort and swim so they’re chest to chest.

“Oh right, gills.”

“Indeed. That was lovely. May I, ah, examine you as well.” There’s a purr in his voice. Duck nods, and the mer slips beneath the surface. His fingers trace along Ducks legs, then drag up the back of his thighs, pressing more firmly when they reach his ass. Duck barks a laugh, so the Indrid does it again before gliding his hands up to his shoulders. 

“Mmm, all of this feels as supple and strong as I hoped. Such a sturdy treasure I’ve found.”

“Jesus.” Duck gasps as Indrid nuzzles the base of his neck.

“A perfect treasure, sitting on the shore with no one to look after him.”

“Indrid.” His dick twitches in his trunks as the mer curves around to meet his eyes. 

“Yes?”

“Will you keep talkin like that?” 

Indrid loops his arms around Duck’s neck, “So polite. Perhaps I shall take my treasure back with me, keep you as I would a spoiled pet. Caress this wonderful body, see the most handsome face above or beneath the water whenever my heart desires.”

“Nnngh.” Duck whimpers, wrapping his arms around Indrids waist and hiding his blush in the crook of his neck, “M’not worth that kinda talk.”

“On the contrary, you are worth more than all the wealth of Atlantis, my treasure.”

Duck makes weak sounds of protest, the cruel words of the morning and his own mind drowned by Indid’s whispers. The merman is smiling at him in a way no one ever does; like he’s seeing Duck with all his flaws, fears, and hopes laid bare and wants to keep looking instead of turning away.

“You deserve so much more than this day gave you. Will you let me offer something better?”

Duck nods, raises his head, “c-can I kiss you first?”

Indrid dips his head down. His saltwater kisses wash away the miserable day, replace it with curious lips mapping his own. A low, soft hum emanates from Indrid as cool scales stroke his legs. The tail starts low, petting his calves, but as the kiss intensifies it drags up to his thighs, flicking and teasing his crotch. 

“Fuck.” He’s groaning, bucking his hips in search of more as the mer smiles, indulgent and wicked. The next tailstroke is drawn-out, undulating across his folds and rubbing his dick. 

“Does that feel good, pet?” Indrid pecks his cheek.

“Don’t those visions show you the answer?” He tries for casual, even cocky, and it comes out as a gasp instead as the tail grinds side to side.

“Yes, but answers can change. I want to do as you wish, treasured one, not as my foresight tells me.”

“It feels so fuckin good, sugarAHfuck, ahnnnyeah, hell yeah.” He squirms as the tail thrusts, the tip bumping his ass when Indrid angles it for a better pressure. Then the mer stops.

“Remove these, sweet one.” He snaps his waistband, “I want to feel my perfect human slick and warm against me.”

Duck braces on a nearby rock to pull the trunks off, having only time to set them out of tide range before the mer slithers around him once more. The alien texture of the scales sets him moaning, his hips pumping erratically in hopes it might envelope his cock entirely. All he manages is a rhythm that brings him out of sync with Indrid. Panic circles his stomach at the possibility that this will be yet another part of the day that goes haywire. 

“You needn’t work so hard, my treasure.” Indrid coos, “plant your feet on the ground. I will take care of the rest.”

The ranger does as he’s told, Indrid wriggling so Duck is straddling him a few inches from the start of his tail. Satisfied with their positions, the mer cups his ass with an appreciative “ooh,” then uses it to force Duck up and down the colorful ripples of his tail. 

“Fuck, fuck, that’s so much better darlin, thank you, fuck, keep doin’ that and your human will do whatever the fuck you want ‘im to.”

“I want him to enjoy himself.”  Indrid kisses each of Ducks arms when they drape over his shoulders.

“Mission fuckin accomplishedfuck, god I wanna feel you on every fuckin inch of me, wanna kiss this fuckin stunnin face of yours until the sun comes back up, wanna--uh, Indrid, what the fuck is that?” A slit is opening in the upper part of his tail and something of considerable size is emerging from it. 

Indrid smirks, “Do you think you’re the only one getting off on this, pet?”

“Oh holy fuck” Duck goggles at the “was not expectin’ there to be two.”  He slides a hand between their bodies, runs his thumb from the head of one cock down to the base where it joins the second one in the world's most obscene “V.” Indrid trills, thrashes his tail when Duck treats the other side the same way. 

“ThaAAAaat’s wonderful but, but you needn’t do it on my account. I c-can attend to it once you are satisfied.”

Duck circles one shaft with his hand, gives it a firm, determined stroke, “Sugar, I won’t be satisfied until you’re as fucked out as I am.”

“Oh” the mer looks surprised, “in, in most futures you were too perplexed by them to want such a thing, goodNESSgracious oh, oh Duck, that’s exquisite.” He fucks the human up and down his tail in earnest, “I should have known it would be, you’re so talented my pet, so thoughtful AHgods below and above the next time I am going to spread you on the nearest patch of sand and take you in whichever way you choose, make my perfect pet go mad with pleasure.”

“Dunno, might make you use that sweet-talkin mouth on my dick instead of lettin you fuck me.”

“You say that as if it is a bad thing and not a delicious outcomeoohhh” the mer rolls his hips in time with Duck’s, “that’s it sweet one, right at the base between them yes, yesyesyes” cum spurts into the darkening water. Duck releases his hold, only to be dragged back and forth so roughly he grabs Indrid’s hips for dear life. 

“Fuck, right there sugar, lemme rub off on you like that, yeah, fuck, fuckme that’s so fucking good ohfuck, Indrid, ‘Drid!” He cums, heat shooting through him so intensely it’s amazing the water doesn’t boil. He clings to Indrid like an anemone to rock, pressing breathless kisses into his neck.

 When he looks up, his hiding spot is coming closer, Indrid swimming them there with ease. The merman retrieves his swim trunks from where they were cast away, presents them to him with a flourish.  Duck laughs, pulling them on before pulling a towel from his little reusable bag. 

“Don’t know about you, but I feel a hell of a lot better.” Duck lays down on the fabric, rock beneath it still warm from the sun. 

“I was alright to begin with, but I take your point. That was wonderful. And I am glad I could make you feel better.”

There it is again, that smile that makes Duck feel more seen than he has in months. 

“Don’t suppose you’d be up for makin me feel better tomorrow too? Not that I hope it’s as shitty as today, more that I get the sense seein’ you will make me feel better even if I already feel pretty damn good.”

Indrid raises up enough to kiss Duck once, tenderly, on the lips, “I would like nothing better, my treasure.”

[dappercritter]

Random She-Ra Season 5 Thoughts: THE FINAL RAMBLING

Yep. I finally got all my crazy absurd thoughts about this gay adventure-romance-drama cartoon summarized into one incoherent yet fun to read computer document/article! ...four months after the show itself ended. Oh well, no one’s perfect. Anyways, there are a whole lot more insane observations than ever before, so I had to put it below a link so this thing didn’t back up my blog or any of yours. Hope you enjoy reading through these as much I enjoyed spouting them for no discernible reason other than I felt like it!

-I feel that since is the last season, I ought to talk about an important part of the show that I’ve been putting off: the animation. It’s… okay. It’s definitely smoother than what the original 80’s show and it’s brother series (heheh) looked like, but at the same time it still seems to suffer from similar limitations which causes some distracting moments of stiffness. But other than that, it’s pretty good. It’s no Titmouse or Studio Mir but it looks good and it gets the job done.

         -After all, let’s not forget: “Imperfection is beautiful!”

-Even when things are at their lowest, Adora is a jock with a heart of gold.

-Horde Prime and the Galactic Horde’s aesthetic feels like a mixture of Catholicism, Scientology, Heaven’s Gate, and modern Microsoft, and honestly, that just makes him creepier.

-Speaking of Horde Prime, he didn’t waste any time with destroying Bright Moon. …apparently.

-Furthermore, on the topic of his giant holographic messages, WAS THAT A FREAKING MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE MOVIE REFERENCE?!

-Boy, Glimmer and Catra sure got along quickly! It’s almost like they magically understand each other because they both assumed leadership roles and screwed up big time! …I guess.

         -Either that or this season is going to be a speedrun.

-Wow, the Rebellion sure got used to having a once-thought-dead king as well as a known enemy general/abuser running around their camp awful fast, didn’t they?

-Mara’s got a spaceship, a cyber girlfriend, a magic grandma, a dragon, a tragic backstory, AND a force ghost?! Dang, even in death, the girl’s got it all. No wonder everyone likes her!

-(*me looking at the TV rating at the start of episode*) “Why is language in there? Is there surprise cuss words or something in this season?” (*sees Horde Prime seize control of a clone for the first time*) “HOLY FREAKING SH—oh that’s why.”

-Applause to the crew for making the “dinner with Prime” scene for making a meal between a sparkly princess, a catgirl, and alien cult leader feel even more uncomfortable than it had a right to.

-(*me throughout the season whenever a clone was onscreen*) Is that Hordak? Is that him? Is that him? Is that him right there? Oh it is—oh no wait. … Is that h—

-Extra applause for having Glimmer learn from her grey-area wetwipe phase and refusing to sell out her friends again whilst telling the imperialist cult leader where to stick it.

-I would pay a sizeable portion of my life savings to hear what a Scorpia and Swift Wind duet would sound like.

         -In fact, I’d double it if it was just Scorpia singing.

         -Ah what the heck. I would triple it for an entire She-Ra musical!

-As happy as I am to see to see Entrapta interacting with the other princesses again, I have to say that their big reunion left me with some mixed feelings. Here’s a quick rundown:

         -Entrapta, a grown autistic woman, being led around on a leash by non-neurodivergent teenagers—again: that’s bad.

         -The Princesses confronting Entrapta about joining the Horde: that’s good!

         -The Princesses blaming all their problems with the Horde bots on Entrapta’s actions and her hyper fixations alone: that’s bad.

         -Entrapta explaining herself, admitting that she regrets her mistakes, and getting the Princesses to understand that she thinks and communicates differently, but in spite of that, she really does want help find Glimmer: that’s good!

         -Entrapta never gets to call out the Princesses for how poorly they treated her: that’s bad.

         -Entrapta saves the day and goes to space: that’s good!

         -Scorpia and Entrapta still haven’t interacted even though the former is with the Rebellion in the first place because she went to look for her because she is her best friend: …can I go home now?

-How nice! Michah finally got to shapeshift!

         -And he’s rocking that She-Ra outfit to boot!

-So is Darla a back up of Light Hope or do they just run on the same operating system and have the same voice?

-I could watch an entire season of Adora, Bow, and Entrapta going on space adventure in a rundown ship with their custom-made spacesuits, tbh.

-Is anyone else weirded out that Catra’s younger self looked at her in her flashback(?).

         -Actually what WAS happening there, anyhow?

-(*watching Bow’s spacewalk to save Glimmer*) “Is that a Gravity reference?” asked the man who never saw Gravity.

-Speaking of spacewalks, how did Glimmer survive those precious few seconds in space? Does the teleporter teleport a breathable atmosphere too?

         -Also, Catra, WHY did you think it would be a good idea to teleport Glimmer into space? I know you had a plan and the ship was right there but… Ah, never mind.

-Not that I’m complaining but Glimmer’s apology to the rest of the friend squad for her HORRIBLE plan last season went… surprisingly quickly.

-You know as cool as The Star Siblings are, being a quirky band of space-travelling siblings with cool powers and some trans rep to boot, I only have one small problem with them: weren’t there already Star Sisters on Etheria back in season 1?

         -That doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about Masters of the Universe characters to dispute it.

-Entrapta confirmed pan, objectum, AND horny on main. Dang girl, you’re gonna have fun whether you got Hordak back or not…

-“The Velvet Glove” is both a menacing and stupid name for a decadent overlord’s mothership.

         -Wait, it’s from the 80’s canon? Oh. That kind of explains it, actually.

-Goshdangit, I wanted Catra to face punishment for her crimes, but I didn’t think that would involve going to evil alien conversion therapy!

         -Nor did I want her to die! For a second. Actually, since it obviously wasn’t going to last I was… weirdly okay with that part???

-Horde Prime seems awfully okay with Catradora. I mean he’s still super creepy and manipulative about it, but also oddly progressive for an evil brainwashing cult leader.

-(*Adora transforms into a She-Ra through seer will*) First of all, called it. Second of all, WOAH MAMA now that’s a glow up!

-Wrong Hordak did not have to be a thing, and yet, I’m glad that he is.

-Hordak remembers the LUVD crystal and Entrapta… Hordak remembers Entrap—! It’s happening! Oh my gosh, it’s happening! Everybody stay calm!

-Wow, Entrapta didn’t have to be so forgiving of Catra for everything she’s done to her but she did. Only I’m not sure if that was Entrapta taking the high road or the low road.

         -Or which road the crew took for that matter.

-I remember when I thought those “Chipped AUs” floating around here on tumblr were just something the fans came up with and that chipping people was not an actual despicable thing Prime does in canon. I miss those days.

-I know it’s not the same as before or the original design, but True She-Ra’s designs and powers? I think they slappin’.

-Hooray, Adora and Catra are finally making up! And it only took four and half seasons worth of communication failures, toxic villainous behaviour, and physical violence for Catra to snap out of it!

         -…We can go back to Entrapdak now, right?

-Poor Elberon. First they unknowingly adopt a double agent then get invaded by the Horde and now they’re getting brainwashed and chipped by the Galactic Horde. They might be a cute village, but they got some pretty lousy security.

-You know it’s cute that Micah is doing his best to be friends with Frosta and get back in touch with his dad-side, but look I can’t be the only one worried about how the local King is a less proactive leader than the princesses or the known war criminal/abuser, right?

-“The Perils of Peekablue” or as I like to call it, “You Thought ‘Boys Night Out’ Caught You Emotionally Off-guard? Hah! Watch This.”

-You know I didn’t think Scorpfuma would be a thing aside that one moment of flirting near the end of season 4, but they really pushed for it to be a thing! This is… actually pretty great! Perfuma’s not perfect, and I would have appreciated giving them a little more time to bond and form some real chemistry, but at least she reciprocates Scorpia’s sweetness instead of rebuffing it in increasingly aggressive fashion.

-I’m not sure what’s more concerning: that Mermista set a boat on fire, that it’s worded like she had a fling as part of some experimental phase, or that Sea Hawk is turned on by this.

-Peekablue might not be real, (I think?) but he is one dapper dude! Female-to-male redesigns could learn a thing or two from him.

-It involved them getting stung and seizuring, but that was a heck of a way to reintroduce Double Trouble! I swear I got watching them cycle through their transformations in some sort of physical reaction.

         -Or maybe that was just me worrying about their wellbeing…

-Okay, I get the Chips are huge, and actually rather clever threat, but how do these characters get chipped in the first place? I get there are chipped people who spread the chips throught the population but where do they get those from???

         -Do one of those Horde Prime drones just sneak behind someone, slap a chip on their nape then hand them a whole bagfull and say, “Beep boop beep, Horde Prime’s Light, blah blah blah. Alright have fun, kiddo”?

         -Or is it some sort of Alien: Covenant deal where they’re just floating around and Lord help you if one sticks to you?

-HOLY CRAP THEY ACTUALLY GOT SCORPIA TO SING! AND SHE WAS GREAT!

         -Oh shoot. Guess I owe the crew twice my life savings now…

-Entrapdak might be what got me into this show, but it’s Double Trouble that kept me around, so you can imagine how happy I was to see them make their grand reappearance!

-Conversly, you can imagine my disappointment when they just disappeared until the finale.

         -And on that note: HOW DID YOU GUYS LOSE DOUBLE TROUBLE?!

                  -You forgot to cherish them, didn’t you?

-So, Scorpia sacrifices herself just after finding a new girlfriend and gaining some newfound confidence, Mermista and Sea Hawk are split up,and Double Trouble didn’t join the main cast. Why can’t you just have fun like a normal cartoon, show?

-Gosh, I love me some shifting title cards!

-Is it just me or did they sneak in some more Annihilation references on Krytis?

         (-Said the guy who was too chicken to watch the movie and just read about it and watched a few clips online.)

-(*audibly sighs*) FINE. I guess I like Catradora now. Are you happy now, SPOP Crew? ARE YOU?!

-Hooray, Catra’s got a emotional support animal! And they’re a shapeshifting magic alien cat. Those are the best kind!

-Is it weird that I knew that weird glowing stuff on Krytis was just magic all along, or was it just not hidden very well. Anyways, I like Krytis. I like that we got to see a truly alien world with its own form of magic.

-Plus, we got a logical advancement of the magic versus science subtheme with magic being Horde Prime’s weakness! Neato!

-Getting back on the “which is worse?” wagon for a second, I don’t know what feels less right: that Wrong Hordak’s big revelation and his resolution to free himself and his brothers and friends from Horde Prime’s control is played humorously, or that Real Hordak should be the one having this moment.

-That bit with Castaspella and Shadow Weaver where she tells Casta about Etheria being a living thing with inherent magical property, or whatever, while we got a peaceful shot of some boar creatures sleeping was actually kind of nice. It would have been nicer though if it wasn’t part of a power hungry abuser’s obvious scheme. If only there was a kindly old witch lady character who was in touch with nature and knew just what to say when someone was feeling downOH WAIT.

-Furthermore… Why did Shadow Weaver and Castaspella need to have romantic tension?

-Seriously though, where’s our Madame Razz quota this season? Where’s my supportive magic grandma timelord at, yo?

-Yup, they speedran this season.

-I’m actually really disappointed we didn’t see more of an intergalactic new rebellion rising up to fight Horde Prime’s forces across the universe. Especially if it meant we got to see more Star Sibling action!

-Again, I adore Wrong Hordak but I keep wondering what was keeping the crew from just bringing in Original Flavour Hordak. (You know, aside from teasing us Entrapdak fans and trying to distract us with a loveable new character in the meantime.) I mean he could have done the whole infiltrating the clone squads and tricking them bit, too.

         -Heck, he could have done the wink, too!

-I’d gleefully point out Loo-Kee’s cameo this season but apparently, they already made some several seasons ago. That’s what I get for not rewatching the 80’s show and training my eyes first.

-(*sees Erelandians*) Are those freaking Toads and Toadettes?

-So, what’s keeping them from just hitting Spinerella’s chip again? Besides emotional baggage and gale force winds, I mean.

-Perfuma coming out of a cave scared out of her wits, demanding to know who’s there, clinging to her friends as soon as they come back, and balling her eyes out is a big, BIG mood.

-Frosta absolutely decking Catra in the face was nestled somewhere between cathartic and excessive.

         -Netossa spraying her with a bottle of water on the other hand…

-Oh, so Greyskull was the name of a Rebel Squad! I think. Meh, the important thing is we got an explanation and it still sounds cool.

-Leave it to a couple of dads to make a secret message out of a dad joke.

-You know I made fun of Light Hope for being creepy, but I swear that avatar from the Spire is even creepier. I don’t know if it’s her face—those dang blank eyes, man—or just that it she’s less animated than the real thing, but it just felt… off.

-Aww, Noelle made Netossa’s princess weakness illustrations! So cute!

-Forget episodes that deserves Emmys, Keston John deserves one for voicing Hordak, Horde Prime, all the clones, and several minor villains and giving each and every single one a distinct voice! Where my king’s respect, eh?

-Yes, Catra you had a small disagreement with Hordak. …Over sending his girlfriend and your “friend” to DIE IN A LITERAL LIVING HELL.

         -Sorry, I just had to get that out of my system.

-Why does Perfuma get pressured to get angry and go wild when Entrapta’s the one who’s had it the worst out of all them? Why can’t my gamer girl go berserk, dammit!?

-Okay, but really, how do these fricking chips work??? Are they parasite devices who store Horde Prime’s Baptizing Dew then slowly pump it into their host’s bodies? Do they have their own nervous systems? Are they technorganic? Also, how and why do we need to make these chips are bigger threat then they need to be?

-Horde Prime showing up on Hordak’s throne in grand Killing Joke style and casually throwing shades at his brother’s overblown attempts to impress him is pretty awesome, but it feels strangely underdeveloped. Hordak’s not there to have his hard work insulted and we never got to see Adora have any similar encounter with Hordak here before, so unless you look at it from the perspective of someone who has been here before in the Horde story like Catra it lacks the dramatic weight it should have had.

-Scorpia resisting the chip to save her new friends was pretty great, though.

-I swear, when they got to the scene where Adora and the others figured out that Shadow Weaver was grooming her so she could use her to get to the Heart of Etheria, I was mouthing “You B***H” through the whole thing.

-They really brought back Etherian deep magic just so they had something to make Micah threatening. …okay.

-Okay, the rest of “Failsafe” messed me up, so here’s a rundown on all the other messy thoughts I had while the show ripped my heart and ground it to dog food:

         -Entrapta and Hordak reuniting: Yay!

         -Swift Wind yanking her away before she can get through to him: Boo.

         -Catra encouraging Adora to try and take care of herself for a change: Yay!

         -Adora hurts Catra and she runs away: Boo.

         -Adora finally calling out Shadow Weaver on what an utterly horrible person she is: Yay!

         -Adora resolves to risk sacrificing herself to save the world: Bo—okay, seriously, was all this suffering really necessary, show?

-I know I mentioned in my previous She-Ra random thoughts that I supported Glimmadora, but I am okay with Catradora and Glimbow ending up canon. The only problem I have is how rushed they feel—moreso with Glimbow. With Catradora, the crew had an entire season to make it work again and they took it. Glimbow it feels like they were down to the last few episodes and went, “Oh right, we were gonna do something with these two!” then did their darndest to fit in some chemistry in between all the other stuff going down.

-As ominous as it was, the music where Horde Prime starts hacking Etheria honestly SLAPS.

-Okay, I know everyone is magic or something, but I am legit surprised getting electrocuted in water didn’t kill the heroes right then and there.

-Sea Hawk tries to flirt with his girl even as she’s trying to kill him. Truly, he is a man of taste.

-What do you know, Shadow Weaver can only do good when she’s (canonically!) punch drunk.

-You know a whole lot of this could have been avoided if Holo-Mara was Adora’s mentor instead of Light Hope.

-When I think about it, it was actually really clever to make Horde Prime the final villain for Adora to face: a domineering decadent man who’s been in power forever against a humble emotionally vulnerable compassionate young woman.

         -Not to mention the divide between cult-like oppression and progressive freedom. Or something.

-Holy crap, did the First Ones get a great freaking a Great Old One for a guard dog?!

-So, you guys seriously didn’t bring Angella back to reunite with her family OR mention her all season after the impact her death had on everyone all last season until Glimmer needs a power-up at the last possible minute and then you never bring her up again. That is absolutely a dick move in bird culture.

-Entrapta’s hacker sticker gives me life. Gamer girl gremlin princess forever!

-On the one hand, I’m disappointed that Adora and Catra don’t get to have an awesome couple battle against the security monster and win. On the other hand, Shadow Weaver is finally dead. YAY!

         -With apologies to the writers and especially Lorraine Toussaint. She did splendidly bringing this character to life and even if I hated Shadow Weaver, I adored the effort she put into making her one of the most emotionally complex villains I’ve ever seen.

-Words cannot, will not, and will never describe the pure joy that I experienced when I first saw Hordak’s big scene: standing up to and disowning his tyrant brother, saving Entrapta, declaring his love to her (albeit in a nicely lowkey fashion), and then throwing Horde Prime to his apparent doom Disney style with Entrapta cheering him with sheer glee. GOSH, it was everything I could have hoped for from this season!

         -Now if only they kept the deleted scene where they got a moment to themselves before Prime body-jacked him again like the creepy sonuvabich he is.

-Horde Prime just wouldn’t be a religious villain if he didn’t tell everyone to burn.

         -Bonus points for actually trying to burn the frigging planet.

-Aside from the idea of Adora switching to wearing a She-Ra themed dress everywhere in the future, the future vision was really quite sweet, and seeing Prime step in to ruin it made it all the more impactful.

-Can I just say that it’s absolutely wonderful that the show, for all it’s flaws, said  “**** senseless heroic sacrifices”?

-BREAKING: Lesbian cat finally makes up with her jock ex, has a canon kiss so pure it saves the world!

         -In other news, Catradora fans are still spoiled rotten.

-Wow, look at all those character comebacks they skipped through! Look, there’s the chefs from Dryl, Double Trouble, Huntara, the Horde Trio, Imp, Madame Razz—are you kidding me?!

-Grumbling aside, I actually find the idea of the Horde Trio and Imp getting involved in a G-rated science-fantasy version of the first Hangover movie quite amusing.

-Oh dang, they pulled a Castle in the Sky with the Velvet Glove!

-As nice as it was to see Aodra save Hordak from Horde Prime and destroy the latter through exorcism via sheer compassion, I’m rather disappointed we never got to see She-Ra go full Metal Gear Solid Rising: Revengence on any creepy old cult leaders.

         -Yeah, it would have gone against the “love conquers all” set up, but love takes on many forms, does it not? So, why can it not manifest as cleaving your mortal enemies with extreme prejudice to save your loved ones?

-Furthermore, in addition to Holo-Mara being a better mentor, Hordak raising Adora instead Shadow Weaver could have prevented a lot of similar problems. Maybe. Possibly.

         -Eh whatever, he has a lifetime’s worth of fanfiction to make up for it.

-ENTRAPDAK IS CANON, ALL IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD.

-And so is Catradora and Glimbow! That’s nice, too.

-Aww, how sweet of them to skip through Catra and Scorpia, and Glimmer and Micah’s big reunions! It’s not like we’ve been waiting forever for this stuff or anything. HahahahAHAHAHDHAHAHFHAFHKSADJHFKAJHDfine.

-And so it all ends with everyone either friends, in love, or both, as heroes decide to make up for it all with a grandiose sequel promising more exciting space adventures we probably won’t see! HOORAY!

-All snarky ranting aside, I actually really enjoyed the finale. It was exciting, heartwarming, and above all it ended on happy, hopeful note without leaving too many frustrating questions unanswered. (*glares with utmost contempt at Voltron and Star vs. The Forces of Evil*)

-You know, this wasn’t bad for a final season, but I think this might have worked better as two seasons. Not in Netflix’s cheap “split a regular 13-episode season in two 6-7 episode long seasons” strategy, but I mean two full seasons with their own storylines leading up to the grand finale:

         -First, one that starts out with Horde Prime’s arrival the downfall of Etheria, focuses on the space adventures, ends with their return to Etheria and gives the characters time to recuperate from season 4.

         -Then, we have one final season that focuses on the Best Friend Squad’s Return to Etheria, Horde Prime’s plan, gives everyone more time to properly reconcile before ¾ of the entire cast gets chipped, sets up a new Rebellion made up of Princess Alliance and former Etherian Horde members, maybe even set up a proper Hordak redemption arc or something, and then our big happy ending.

-On a mostly unrelated note, I also feel that the whole show could have turned out even better if it had been either a dedicated science-fantasy war drama with some levity (like the good Star Wars shows or Avatar: The Last Airbender) or a lighthearted yet empowering slice-of-life action-adventure romcom (i.e. basically a well-made remake of the original show in the style of Adventure Time and Parks and Rec or something).

-My final random thought for this whole thing: we really could have used a triumphant end credits song or something. Aside from obviously recommending Fabulous Secret Powers, I would have also recommended the original 4 Non Blondes “What’s Going On,” a reprise of “Warriors,” Gorillaz’s “We Got the Power,” or (my favourite) Talking Head’s “(Nothing But) Flowers” since the ending scenes remind me of it.

Thanks again to the crew for giving me something to live for and/or complain about!

Now, let’s hope the He-Man reboots do as well...

[hela-avenger]

poison & wine- part 19

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1940

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N: So the last update brought the angst and this one makes up for it! Thanks for reading and commenting everyone! Please send me a message if you’ll like to be tagged! 

poison & wine masterlist

After a few minutes, Loki was forced to let you go. You had yet to stop crying and he didn’t know what he was meant to do if this continued on. He couldn’t take you back to the palace in this state but he couldn’t stay on the bridge any longer and risk someone finding you like this too. 

“Mount my horse,” Loki instructs you as he leads you to the black stallion adorned in his colors. “You’re in no state to ride back on your own so you’ll ride with me.” 

“But…” you whisper as your stare turns to the horse you had brought along. 

“I’ll send someone to come pick him up,” Loki assures you. “Just get on my horse.” 

Loki watches as you climb onto his horse and settle into his saddle. When he’s convinced you won’t do anything brash, which he isn’t entirely convinced at the moment, Loki steps away.

“I’ll be back. Just wait for me.” 

You don’t argue when he turns away and leaves you behind. You simply watch as he makes his way into the dome. 

“Is the Lady Y/N alright?” Heimdall asks as the prince enters. 

“Yes, no thanks to you.”  

“I knew you would catch her, your majesty,” Heimdall remarks. “There was no need for me to intervene.”

Loki shakes his head at the guardian knowing that there was no point in arguing further. 

“What did you tell her, Heimdall?” Loki asks as he glared up at the All-Seer. 

“She wanted to know who her father is,” Heimdall answers. “I reminded her that my loyalty is to the king.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Loki snaps. “She’s deeply upset. What did you tell her?” 

Heimdall knows better than to reveal such a secret to the prince. You had come to the truth on your own and the prince would have to do the same.

“I gave her clues to lead her to an altogether different truth,” Heimdall states. “She was smart enough to find it.” 

Loki hated when Heimdall spoke in riddles but that was all the All-Seer was going to give him. The only way he would find out would be through you if you allowed him to know. 

He turns his back with the intent of heading back to you but Heimdall wasn’t done with him yet. 

“This game you’re playing with her at the moment,” Heimdall speaks. “I suggest you put an end to it.” 

“Is that a threat?” 

“No,” Heimdall answers as his stare shifts to watch something else entirely. “But it can be.” 

Loki scoffs and walks away. 

He held no fear towards the All-Seer and his attempts of intimidation but he couldn’t help but keep the warning in mind. There must be a reason for it and Loki had every intention in figuring it out. 

The ride was silent and slow. Neither of you were willing to be the first to speak and perhaps it all had to do with the distraction of the thoughts revolving in your mind. You had broken down and out of everyone, it was in front of Loki. You didn’t know how to manage that situation. In fact, you didn’t know how you were meant to manage any situation at all. 

You were in Asgard, a thousand light years away from your home on Earth, and you had found your answer. The answer being something you already knew. That you were on your own. 

“We’re here.” 

You frown when you realize that Loki had steered the horse out of the palace path into some unknown forest. 

“Where are we?” you ask as Loki leads the horse under the shade of a nearby tree. 

“We’re just outside of the city gates,” Loki answers as he dismounts from his horse. “There’s a small river nearby where Thor and I used to play. It’s relatively safe and out of the way that no one ever thinks of coming through here.” 

“But why?” 

“Your eyes are still red from crying,” Loki points out. “We can go back if you like but I believe you and I would prefer to avoid the royal court's attention on this matter.” 

Loki had a point and so you agree on the break. You dismount and the moment you’re off, Loki is quick to whisper something to the horse before sending him off. 

“He’ll be back when I call for him,” Loki tells you. “Just sent him out to get a drink.” 

You nod at his explanation and allow yourself to relax. You take a deep breath of fresh air and take a seat on the shaded grass. Loki follows suit leaning against the tree. 

“Are you going to tell me what you and Heimdall spoke of?” 

You let out a sigh knowing you had to. 

“I asked him about my father,” you answer as you wrap your arms around your knees to rest your head upon. “Heimdall couldn’t tell me much but the little he managed to give away … well, it was enough for me to come to a big conclusion.” 

“Which was?” 

“The reason why my father never came back for me and my mother is because he died before he was able to do so,” you can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes you. “My life is not at risk. I was safe all along apparently.”  

You’re met with silence which doesn’t surprise you. Loki stares out into the forest in front of you and lets out a sigh.

“I… I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” you tell him. “I found the answer I was looking for. All matters have been put to rest.”

“But…” 

“No, there’s no more buts, I just… I just want to move past this.” 

“Y/N.” 

You look over at Loki who’s watching you with that same concern he had when he caught you from falling to your death. 

“What?” you ask. 

“I am not the best at managing my emotions but even I know that you can’t simply move past this.” 

He was right but you didn’t want to admit that to him. You wanted to be numb and remain numb. 

“I don’t want to cry anymore,” you whisper. “I don’t…” 

“You don’t what?” Loki asks. 

You swallow not wanting to admit what you feared the most. 

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” you whisper. “But I don’t… I don’t have anyone. There’s no one left.”

“You have friends down in Midgard,” Loki reminds you. “The Man of Iron and the Captain… the Witch and the Widow.” 

“I can’t call them my friends when all I do is push them away because I’m afraid of growing attached,” you answer. “You and I both know that I will outlive them all anyway and then I’ll be left on my own once again so what’s the point? My father was the only person I could rely on and it turns out he’s been dead all along.” 

“Y/N…” 

“People aren’t meant to be alone. We need a community. We need companionship,” you explain. “I thought I could go without but I have been on my own for two centuries and I can’t take it anymore. So what am I meant to do now? What is there left for me to do?” 

You lean against the tree in resignation trying to find your own answer to the questions you’ve been asking since you left Heimdall. 

“Your father, though he is dead, must have left you a legacy to follow through,” Loki tells you. “All we need to do is find it.” 

“Loki…” you sigh out unsure why he was so intent in dragging this out longer. 

“Just listen,” he interrupts you. “I looked through the travel records and found nothing.” 

“Ok?” you answer confused as to how that mattered. “Maybe someone forgot to write it down.” 

“We are precise here in Asgard. Such a thing wouldn’t happen,” Loki explains. “Which leaves a unique conclusion to explain it all.”

“That is…?” 

“Your father, whatever his role in court was, must have been very important and private for his travel records to Midgard to be sealed. Only Odin has access to those.” 

“But what kind of… That doesn’t make any sense,” you stammer out. “What could he be doing down on Earth that it had to be kept secret?” 

“I don’t know,” Loki answers. “If you no longer wish to find your father, I will let the matter rest but I believe you owe it to yourself to know.” 

You let out a sigh. 

Loki seemed genuinely invested in helping you now. It made you suspicious. 

“You’re not trying to convince me because you still need me to fake court you, are you?”  

“No,” Loki smiles. “I have a feeling you would regret missing the opportunity to find some real answers. You deserve to know the truth.” 

You knew he was right. If you went back to Earth empty-handed, you would regret it for the rest of your life. 

“Ok, I’m in,” you tell him. “You get me my answers and I’ll keep fake courting you.” 

“It’s a deal,” Loki agrees. “Are you ready to head back?” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh out. 

Loki stands up and offers his hand for you to take so you do. He pulls you up and surprisingly doesn’t let your hand go. 

“I uh…” Loki hesitates for a moment before continuing. “I thought I should let you know that… that you’re not alone.”

“How so?” you ask him.

You couldn’t help the smile that fought its way to your lips. He was suddenly nervous that he couldn’t even meet your eyes anymore.

“You have me,” Loki answers. “I am an immortal with nothing but time in my hands. I can be there for you for as many years as you have left.”

You squeeze his hand in gratitude and he finally meets your stare. 

“I would like that,” you tell him. “Thank you.” 

Loki nods at your answer and lets go of your hand. He clears his throat and the simple gesture shifts him back to his usual princely self. He turns away from you and whistles causing his horse to trot back to you instantly. 

Loki grabs the reigns and motions for you to mount first. Once you’re settled, he climbs up and settles himself behind you.

“We should probably come up with a story as to why we left the palace to visit Heimdall,” you tell Loki as he pulls you back to the palace path. 

“Simple, you wanted to check in on your friends in Midgard,” Loki answers. “And if someone asks if you’ve been crying just tell them the truth.”

“My father’s dead?” you ask confused. 

“No,” Loki objects quickly. “I was referring to your bridge incident.”  

You can’t help but be shocked at the reminder.

“I can’t believe I almost fell off the Bifrost,” you mutter in realization. You look back at him with a laugh. “There should really be some kind of warning sign to prevent another accident like mine.”

“A warning sign?” Loki mocks. “It’s common sense to not get close to the ledge.”  

You can’t help but laugh and continue to pester him for a solution. 

“Ok then maybe set up some rails or a fence,” you offer. “Your first order of business when you become king is to put some rails up.” 

Loki shakes his head as you continue to ramble on possible solutions for him to consider. You look back at him in amusement and he can’t help but smile in response. The return of your happiness was contagious and he allowed himself the peaceful reprieve of it.

poison & wine tag: @damalseer​ @just-the-hiddles​ @jessiejunebug​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @smollest-soybean​ @assassinoftheworld​ @readerbandit​ @doyoufeelikeayounggod​ @strangemcuvlogs​ @ha-tep​ @i-dont-know-eiither​ @gene-king​ @day-dreaming-fox​ @bn-studies​ @is-it-madness​ @sigyn-njorddottir​ @devilbat​ @victor-criss-bish​ @skinny-macncheese​ @musicconversedance​ @baby-bunnyxn​ @fandoms-allovertheplace​ @marvelloonie​ @jinxjinxednova​ @queenmuahaha​ @accio-boys​​ @eternalqueensworld​​ @umlvk​​ @roger-the-reindeer​ @punkrockhufflefluff​

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas​ @thesilentbluesparrow​ @oddly-drawn-muse​ @josiehosiedaninja​ @hp-hogwartsexpress​ @sadwaywardkid​ @wolf-lover74​ @sizzlingbarbarianglitter​​

All Works Tag: @jmb959​ @astudyoftimeywimeystuff​ @hellocookiecutter​ @steve-rogers-personal-hell​ @buckybarnesyard​ @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger

[alottamoney]

Lisa anon again.Thank you for for insightful answer.But - first things first- am I not a seer or what?You saw what happened with the BP debut on weVerse.WV "mistakenly" made a technical error that basically was free promotion of BP's debut .After they apologised saying "oops!" and corrected their "mistake".In short ARMY suddenly had BP in their following tag after they made their debut.They had to go to the BP page to leave manually.This is shaping out to be a very interesting turn of events considering BTS didn't/doesn't need BP for anything,whereas bp benefits all things good from this association.Lisa has been trending non-stop since her "supposed slip up" in JK's vlive.For BTS, Nothing but money can be gained from this association.They are at a stage where they should collaborate with independent Korean artists to not only uphold them,but for self enrichment as well.

To explain about my perceived after-effect of jikook,I have to talk about a key decision that V made,which is corroborated by other members as well(Suga,Jimin). Keeping his worklife and personal life separate.He considers BTS his work life.The friends are in Wooga squad,who were like unicorn to the members.If you go back in time this change came about from Fall 2018.You can see where I am going with this.

When you think about jikook,you think about jimin.I think by now it is general consensus that bighit promoted jikook to heavily promote jimin.I don't know if I can write so much here but I am trying to provide you with the short version.I believe Taekook had disagreements about bts vs them very strongly in 2018 which was about which should they focus on more.Coupled with the fact that now they were quite openly a pair in front of the members and key company people,they were under pressure not to neglect their professional commitment.I had a hunch before that Jungkook struggled with this a lot.He confirmed it for me(supplemented by My Time and his 'all of my life' cover) when he suggested a story "The herdsmen and the weaver",which is a sad love story of two people who fell in love,but due to them neglecting their chores,were banished by the king who allowed them to see each other only once a year.The king wanted to teach them a lesson. I think bunny drowned himself with work to numb the pain.While Taehyung who didn't have as much load as bunny,wanted the opposite.Jikook comes in here because jimin's schedule is almost as full as bunny's.Here,I sincerely believe, jimin exercised some behaviour regarding Taekook's relationship,which Tae didn't like,and later the members would react negatively to it too.Jimin is a strict person regarding his work ethic.Tae is an easy going intuitive person. I think Jimin was opposed to the idea of taekook in BTS's workspace due to his aforementioned work ethic.and don't forget that jikook was ongoing too,which obviously Tae would've preferred would happen with less "intensity" shall we say.I have seen angry Tae during jikook moments and I have also seen Jimin noticing that and smirking.He didn't take it seriously but it's safe to assume that Tae was serious.It's interesting that jikook could converse and have flirty talking and Tae would be fine.But the extreme physical ones would rearrange his face. On the professional front, he was not being heard and recognized which was just a mess.

With the other members it too was easy to see.They started getting irritated with jikook for 1. BTS is not only jikook.But for a time it seemed only they were the bts.The others were just there.Jikook and co. It did not suit with other members. 2. They did not like jimin in taekook situation.I remember around that time Taekook were extremely hot and cold.And from that time(late 2018- early 2019) , vmin never seemed the same.There was a time when in interviews /place where Jikook was happening,RM and Jin would look from Tae to jikook I kid you not.It wasn't about romance.But couples are gonna fight and makeup.That's the rule of the universe.If you are picking sides in fights just remember after a while they are gonna be together and you are going to feel like shit.

Relationships that changed that you cannot deny no matter how much you look at it : 1. Suga-Jimin - Suga had a real softcorner for Jimin.Extreme is the right word.But now it is not like before.Instead Suga became extremely protective of V.

2. Jin- Jimin - I don't know what happened but again Jin has bonded with Tae for some time.Jin has had a great relationship with Jimin but now it's not reflected in their demeanor.

3. Vmin- The biggest change.They are cordial with each other.But they are not bffs no matter how much they preach it.Tae has kept Jimin outside his boundary of personal life for quite some time.They are professional so it is not apparent to the newcomers.But ARMY have seen them grow up.

I struggled with one thing.Why would Jimin not think V's anger was serious being his "bff"?I have a feeling he thought of it as silly.Not going to lie I think other members thought of it too.They couldn't put themselves in V's shoes as 1.They lacked perspective of a male who was attracted to another male. 2.They lacked serious relationship experience in general.From 2019 things changed.You can sense that the members really started giving their relationship respect.I wonder how much of it is because they have started their own serious relationships.Jin is 30,RM Hobi Suga all are way older than Vminkook.Before they used to tease Taekook and thought of them as chaotic duo,but how their attitude towards them has changed!

I also think their personal romantic relationships have taught them Tae's emotion was not a silly matter.Some things you cannot help.They also think of JK as a bit immature at times but professionally he is the mature man with excellent work ethic.I think no matter what JK does, he is soft corner of every hyung.

The members now has solo successes.They are secure.But in 2018 they were suddenly getting superstardom and they weren't ready.Insecurity about their abilities made them wary.Jikook getting the forefront most of the time was not appreciated.Jimin's overly caring attitude towards bts's future also I think pissed the members off.At 30 you want to have a relationship.Someone to go back to.You cannot be like work work all the time just slaving away.Jimin would rather taekook focus on their work more.I know each people can choose how they prioritise but taekook didn't want to abide by it. The members too.I know Jimin encouraged JK about his work a lot but there is a difference between JK and Jimin here.JK wants to be independent from BTS.Not that he doesn't want to be in bts.But he wants to sing,dance the way he wants,not because he is told to.JK is trying very very hard to be independent and establish his singer-songwriter profile and he has done a marvellous job with it.In contrast Jimin focuses on BTS as a whole.The problem is BTS is 7.6 more independent mind than Jimin. Idk what is in the future so lets wait and see.

Lisa anon😊

I thought of you when the weverse incident happened. I still stick to my opinion that a Liskook collab will not be well received by the fandoms but if it does happen then I would like to hear less of how shippers are the reason Tae and Jungkook chose not to interact with each other and how BigHit facilitated the awkward co-workers by not showing them in content.

I try not to form any concrete opinions about the BTS dynamics because like I said earlier they don't reveal much and I don't believe what celebrities say in general, they have an image to maintain after all. I do like theorizing even though I call them analysis, I don't consider them true analysis as we don't know or see enough.

I too have noticed Tae being uncomfortable during certain Jikook moments. Another one of the reasons Taekook stand out to me; why care about what your estranged bandmate does and over fanservice, which is scripted, of all things. If I'm not wrong they also rehearse fanservice so it can't be the first time he's seen it unlike the audience unless Jimin is doing impromptu stuff. He could be doing it to tease and genuinely doesn't see the problem, like you said maybe they don't consider it serious because it is different from their own experience with relationships. I don't want to assume anyone had any ulterior motives, I'm sure some of them had reservations about Taekook but not beyond a point-I'm not a fan of the hyungs know/expose Taekook trope. As much drama as Taekook can provide I'm sure they had their own personal problems to deal with.

I think the problem with vminkook and to an extent the rest of BTS is that they started off at the same point of familiarity and Taekook suddenly getting “closer” might also make Jimin and the others feel left out or annoyed. For the same reason, it's possible Jimin doesn't even think he's breeching any boundaries, I don't know if that makes sense. I'm sure and like you also pointed out that most of them seem to have outgrown that.

I admit I haven't paid much attention to Jimin and Yoongi's relationship but everyone I talk to agrees that Yoongi has a soft spot for Jimin and some who have access to Korean side say that Jimin is mostly seen with Jin and Yoongi outside of work and not with Jungkook which is the popular perception. So maybe they were able to move past it. 

I agree about vmin. I never really gave importance to the soulmates/bff narratives. I consider these things part of fanservice and their stage personas much like Tae fanboying over Yoongi and Hobi, Jungkook saying Namjoon is his role model, or even Jungkook saying Tae brought him out of his shell. These might not be outright lies just one-liners that make it easier for fans and for themselves. The interesting thing about vmin is that no one needs much to believe that they're bffs (even vmin shippers seem to ship them as bffs lol) No one cares that they aren't spotted together, no one is out to debunk them because their dynamics changed, and no one is upset even when they interact. Very few popular ships are as non-contentious as vmin. If I had to pick a pair that did "drift apart" then I'd pick vmin (they still seem close all said and done). Pinpointing Jikook as the cause seems too easy. Tae and Jimin seem like people who don't have much in common that could be a reason.

In terms of Tae and Jikook: Apart from the company endorsement which may have inturn promoted Jimin. I don't blame Jimin completely for what Jikook brought about. Jungkook was an equal participant in the early years of Jikook. Again "blame" is a strong word as we don't know the exact status of Taekook's relationship around the time Jikook was being promoted. I don't think Jikook do anything over-the-top, just standard kpop fanservice with the difference being that BTS is hugely popular with an international audience who might not be exposed to this type of fanservice. I don't think Jikook are attracted to each other, nothing they have said or done makes me think otherwise. Tae's discomfort seems to be disproportionate to all the possible reasons we have listed so far and he seems fine when Jungkook does fanservice with other members, he himself seems fine indulging in fanservice. Some say Jungkook isn’t too fond of Taejin fanservice (🤷🏻‍♀️). This seems to be one of those things that can be categorized under Taekook Being Weird lol Maybe we'll find out in a few years.

Lastly, I think Jimin says things the fans want to hear (all of them do). So him "relying" on BTS could just be him pandering to fans and not because of lack of ambition or personal fulfillment.

I look forward to hearing more of your thoughts. You can message me or I can answer without posting your ask if you aren’t comfortable sharing controversial opinions.💜

[talesofealdancynedom]

Uncle Cetus knitting; There is a matching picture, where Morgan is wearing that sweater by the way...

Tale 21: What The Wagon Was For (chapter 8 - On The Radio 8/8 ) part 6. Stories of wizards

no warings

           Wool and yarn; Soft threads tied together to keep warm. Self soothing, and expressing creativity. Natural fibers, twirled into textiles that are plush, yet strong. The smell of plastic from the store, that turns into a soft warm sent, as fingers pull it between needles and hooks; As it is transformed into a variety of adornments. Bright as red, or white with dots, thick as rope, or thin like thread; There is no limit to the yarn available to those who seek it. Each loaf, pulled from its inner loop, and wound into balls that seem to always escape, tangle, or go missing. There is always too little, or too much of it around. With a few years practice, a hat can be made in under an hour, with argyle of red and navy, against a confetti white base; Complete with ties and pom-poms. The secret ingredient is time and love; Weaved into something comforting, to be gifted and cherished by someone. A gift of warmth that shows you care.

There is an aesthetic, sensation, smell, and rhythm, in this ancient textile art. Not only calming, but also protective and embellishing. This is why when the couples’ knitting group was over, uncle Cetus kept knitting for the family, while Jupiter kept finding odd amounts of wool in the linen cupboard. While she groaned about the plethora of thread, each autumn, Morgan and the rest of the family, eagerly awaited what Cetus had spent the year crafting for them. Made with love, thought, dedication, and material that costs more then they should. these treasures were meaningful; Because they were made by hand, just for them.

           At the end of the semester, some important paperwork finally got processed and aproved. Magic politics can only function within the common laws of a land; And the law prioritizes children in need of homes, over opinionated wizards. Cetus, after struggling to organize finances after his mother died, finally got guardianship over his sister’s precious son. The problem was that Morgan was bonded to Tiberius Gate, living in an ominous tower. With Emilia. Aunt Jupiter was no quitter; She suggested they move into the tower as well. They already lived in town, and Reginia was going to be sent to magic school anyway. She was to be Morgan’s peer support. Though cousins, they were the same age and like siblings. As magical as Pepperidge was, Cetus and Jupiter were perfectly mundane; Born to magic houses, but unqualified to care for young mages. But they were qualified to provide a supportive and loving family, to two growing youths. Cetus was up to the challenge of helping Morgan overcome his trauma, grow, and be himself.  Mage or not, Morgan deserved to feel safe after everything he went through.

Thus, Cetus became a great aid in Morgan’s recovery. A male role model, as well as an incredible barrier to the corrupt wizard counsel. Morgan, as the mage of Tiberius Gate, was the way of getting to Pepperidge, and its mages. So, if anyone wanted to get rid of mages there, they needed to control Morgan. But now, they also had to threaten the wellbeing a commoner, who had common law on his side. Cetus knew it. No one was getting their fingers in any peanut butter jar, that would mess up his family’s happily ever afters. Every advance made to contain Morgan’s abilities, was being thwarted by an increasingly close pro mage community, in the tiny town of Pepperidge; From the bus driver, to every teacher and student. If he didn’t feel it, Morgan was completely safe.

           After school, mid week, Cetus dropped Morgan off at therapy, and Jupiter would come to pick him up after sessions.

“We have a family meeting, and child welfare check next week. As always, do your best, sport.” Cetus said, ruffling Morgan’s hair. It gave him joy; After almost a year of adoption, and counseling, Cetus could finally touch Morgan without him flinching. Cetus didn’t know what Leo was doing, or if it was even Leo and not life in general; But it was working. He saw Morgan off, before taking Reggie and Emilia home.

“Hey, want to get ice-cream on the boardwalk after dinner?” Emilia said, leaning out the back window. She pulled Morgan over to kiss his check. He nodded, and shyly returned the gesture. Cetus and Reggie tried not to giggle. Morgan slowly walked into the office, checked in, and sat in the depressing psychiatry waiting room.

The fluorescent lights flickered, but at a rate that wasn’t noticeable until there was a migraine. There was the smell of bleach, and old drywall. The receptionist was taking a line of calls, as other families came in, and everyone tried not to look at each other; Because every chair was awkwardly placed facing inward. The walls were mustard, and the chairs plastic. The water cooler bubbled, and the thermostat was set low. Morgan was wearing a forest green, salmon, and black argyle knit sweater, Cetus had made it. Fall had come around, and it was almost his birthday. Morgan reflected on how it had been nine months since his uncle took him in. He loved his uncle. But it wasn’t the same as his mother and father. He hadn’t seen his parent in almost three years.

           Leo came to the front, and h led Morgan to his quiet office, while holding Dolly. The light blue walls, smelled of ambiguous air freshener. There was a stack of papers, bulletin of inspirational posters, bowl of fidget toys, and a Yuka in the back. It had started to become comforting and familiar. Morgan relaxed into the chair, holding Icarus on his lap.

“Never seen you so relaxed,” Leo smiled. He took his seat, causing the office chair to squeak. “What would you like to talk about today?” He started. Morgan sat there, looking around the room. He wasn’t feeling anything in particular at the moment. Nothing was really bothering him. Well, maybe the embarrassment and excitement of getting his girlfriend with child WAY too early, or the stress of balancing the world of fey with homework. Also, the upcoming equinox dance at school, and his birthday. Actually, there was too many things to talk about.

“How about you and Emilia, or Cetus? Your aunt and uncle are getting a review from what I hear.” Leo prompted. He had an agenda. Morgan being relaxed was good, but there is always more work to do. Morgan shrugged, like usual.

“How about what you’re feeling right now? I can bring out the chart if you like.”

“I think I’m sad? Out of all things, today I miss mom and dad a lot. They send me paint, books, and clothes, to help my uncle. Mom still knows exactly what I like. Cetus is super nice, and he’s always there for me; He worked really hard to take me in, even with all the magic politics. I appreciate it. Oh, he actually got pulled into some quests, even though he’s common folk! Now I get to graduate early under professor Hara, researching Griminthropes. Aunt Jupiter wants to do a good job too, so she’s-” Morgan mumbled on.

“Stop there. This isn’t about Cetus’s life; This is about built-up trauma, and missing your parents, in spite of your recent happily ever after,” Leo interrupted. “I’m glad you’re confident enough to talk to me, but every conversation is about a fairy tale, not a feeling. You might need to break your habit of relying on magic, legends, and individuals, to avoid problems. I just want you to have a quality of life, feel loved, and care for your yourself. Without relying only on mystical outings or old books. You have the opportunity to do so, and I encourage you to focus on yourself.” Leo suggested. Morgan was leaning inn, looking mildly confused while he listened. At least he had Morgan’s attention.

“I get so frustrated with your avoidance problem. You walk around with so much pain and suffering; And it keeps you up at night. Yet, instead of processing it, and using your support system, you go to the shadow veil, stay silent, act reckless, and harm yourself. Your gratitude is wonderful, but happily ever afters are meaningless if you desert them. Avoidance is not a log term solution, and I don’t expect immediate change. But you need to start embracing things around you in the moment.” Leo said, fizzling out into a whimper, as he tried to stay professional. Morgan looked at him, unblinking.

“Yes, Leo. That’s what the wagon was for.” Morgan said, nodding his head. Leo gave a look of complete defeat. He already knew that.

“So you’re telling me, it’s more then a scheduled avoidance quest? That now it’s something meaningful; A source of fulfillment as a seer. Thus, Honestly Morgan, do you actually still need the wagon to find friends and joy? I don’t think you need to runaway anymore; Everything you need is right here, if you’ll sit with it.” Leo continued. Morgan liked that perspective; It sounded like enjoying life, without sacrificing his dreams. Morgan smiled a bit. The meaningful stories of each object in that wagon, were tales of is growth. That wagon had helped him. But his new life was doing that too. A simple, worn, faded, treasured wagon. In primary colours, the offend the senses. Something that was purchased at a toy store, to carry children on family outings. It is easy to say what the wagon was for, and what that means now. The wagon helped Morgan runaway, and become an accomplished mage. Now the wagon reminds him of good things he experienced, and is for visiting friends.

“Thanks Leo.” Morgan said. “I’m sorry I accidentally mislead you with the wagon. It’s very distracting.”

“Your most welcome, and forgiven. Oh look! We still have thirty minutes left.” Leo laughed. Morgan groaned. He still had to unpack his relationship with his parents with feeling words, now that the wagon was gone.

TABLE OF CONTENTS--->

<---PREVIOUS

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Two: Chapter Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Mistface was jolted awake the next morning by a yowl of excitement. His face scrunched unpleasantly in irritation as loud chatter rose up just outside the entrance of the den he was in and battered his ears. He refused to get up. The nests in the houses were made of odd, soft material that smelled very alien, but were unarguably comfortable and kept in warmth beautifully. Even with the stone of the houses chilling their innards, Mistface was quite cozy.

But, alas, the commotion was continuing, and Mistface knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. He scowled, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed.

“Oh.” He heard Laurelclaw shift and get to his feet nearby. “New cats, it looks like. Well, maybe. Beetlefoot, are they new?”

“They are.” Beetlefoot was just as annoyed as Mistface, but significantly more awake. “And clearly very eager to be here.”

“Awful early to be yellin’ like that,” Mistface muttered into his nest.

“This is hardly early, the sun’s out.” Beetlefoot marched past him. “Where’s Greyleaf? He was here last night.”

“Went to talk to Redheart.” That was Darkpelt. She shifted and rose too. “Up with you, Mistface. We need to greet the newcomers.”

Mistface reduced the sigh he wanted to make into a slightly deep exhale and slowly got up. He shook out his thick fur out of habit, even though there weren’t any bits of grass or twigs to get stuck in it overnight. That was a rare luxury.

Beetlefoot was already standing outside, waiting for the other three to join him. Past him, a group of nearly ten cats walked together, some casually looking around at the Clast members or their homes, some chatting with each other.

It was very obvious who had yowled – a red-and-white tom was almost bouncing as he trotted along, blue eyes wide. He looked back at his companions with a wide grin.

“So now we get to meet this rebel deputy!” he said, with all the giddiness of a hyperactive apprentice getting to hunt their biggest prey yet.

A cat behind him had the exhaustion of the mentor of that apprentice, especially after chasing after them all day. “I still think you’re crazy. No one’s stupid enough to just declare themselves a rebel where the leaders can hear them.”

“And no one has.”

Every cat jolted to attention as Redheart emerged from the loosely gathered cats that had come to see the loud newcomers. Head high and eyes a little tired, she came to a stop in front of the patched tom and gave him a slow, single nod.

“You’ve come because of the rumors,” she said.

The tom wilted a bit under her gaze, but he kept up his merry attitude. “We all had to see if they were true. Cats leaving the Territory sounds really exciting.”

“You’re here just in time.” Redheart turned around. “I was about to make a morning speech.”

The Clast natives and the visitors slowly began to follow her towards a strange, small structure. It was like the houses, in that it was made of many rocks evenly spaced and neatly piled together, but it was round and short enough for Redheart to jump on and seat herself. Mistface guessed from how she was perched and the fact that her tail had disappeared that it was like a circular wall of some kind. Above it was rotting, flat wood angled upwards. It was impossible to say what it was originally for, but it served as a position for an authority figure to announce things from well enough.

Once everyone was sitting, or at least standing still, Redheart raised her chin and began.

“I wish to formally welcome everyone who has arrived here,” she said. “I’m very pleased to see that there is still curiosity and courage in this Clan, and that you have come for answers and a possible test of your worth as a warrior. I’ll say it now – yes, it is true that I have intentions of leaving the Territory. Before any of you leave or lose interest in this idea, I want to pose a few thoughts and questions for you to consider to yourself and with your companions.”

She paused and drew a breath. As she did, Mistface’s roaming eye caught his brother sitting in the shade of the structure, blending in with the stone around him. His expression was serious, but it was impossible to deduce what he was thinking. Mistface did not like this new pattern of not knowing his brother’s mind when it mattered most.

Redheart continued. “Our lives are easy here – too easy. Apprentices learn the most basic of skills before being named, never needing to achieve anything more than a swipe and a pounce, and we hardly even think about our elders’ needs when food walk in front of our noses, leaving them to hunt for themselves. Healers – you all know this – healers are treated with disdain for pursuing what we think of as a pointless role with a set of unnecessary skills. We speak scornfully of kittypets and their cushy lifestyles, but look at us. We grow fat and lazy, and we become fatter and lazier by the day. When was the last time any of us had to actually work for what we wanted, even for a brief moment? Kittypets are imprisoned by their masters, those creatures we call ‘humans’, and claim to be free. Meanwhile, we have the audacity to think of ourselves as so much better, but we don’t dare leave our borders of this Territory for fear of what lies beyond our oversized nursery den. Even the Plage and seers traveling to the Lighthouse to speak with our ancestors – even they don’t step off of the well-worn paths they’ve walked for generations.”

The gathered cats exchanged whispers and troubled looks. Mistface narrowed his eyes, but he was careful to say nothing to his neighbors, just watched Redheart as she regarded the cats below her. She spoke with a clear, controlled voice, and it was obvious she had practiced this speech a few times, but he couldn’t detect any obvious lies in her words. Actually, he realized disconcertedly, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

“We are hardly warriors anymore.” Redheart’s voice was strangely grave. “We do not fight for our loved ones, or hunt with any skill, or mark our borders. Our forefathers were warriors. They knew what it was to stand on their own feet and earn what they wanted and needed. Back then, being part of a Clan meant something. What does it mean now? What truly separates us from kittypets and well-fed loners, on the most basic of levels?”

She was met with silence this time. An uneasy air shifted through the crowd.

It was hard to tell if she was satisfied with this. She simply concluded, “I want you all to think about that. Speak to each other. Start a discussion with your neighbors. Question what you think you know. And when the time comes, I hope that I will find you ready to come with me – ready to really be a warrior.”

With that, she stood up, moved around the wall’s edge, and jumped down smoothly where Greyleaf was sitting. He got to his feet and followed her closely as she parted the cats in her way.

Discussion did indeed start after that speech. It almost erupted, in fact; voices rang through the clearing as soon as she left her podium and cats quickly faced each other with shocked expressions, eager to dissect what they had just heard.

“I didn’t think it could’ve possibly been true,” a cat near Mistface remarked, almost in awe. “She’s got some stones to even suggest that!”

“I never really gave much thought to any of this,” his neighbor replied, sounding just as amazed. “She might have a point. An insane point, you know, but it is a point.”

Mistface restrained from making a face and looked to his right. Darkpelt was close by, looking deep in thought. He made his way over to her, thankful that she had settled a little ways apart from the bulk of the audience.

“So we know for sure what she’s doin’,” he murmured, standing next to her and watching where his brother had gone.

Darkpelt twitched her jaw forward and nodded. “Real interesting idea, isn’t it?”

Mistface realized quickly that she was pretending to be considering the option to leave for the sake of the cats around her. He shifted his face to mimic her contemplation. “Indeed. Dunno if I’d take that kinda life over one in here.”

Darkpelt hummed and stood up. “It’d be fun to see how we do, at least.”

Before Mistface could respond, she slightly leaned into him. From where she was, her mouth was right next to his ear without her having to turn her head.

“Look busy,” she whispered. “I’m going to take a walk.”

Mistface wasn’t sure what that was code for, but he nodded and said aloud, “I’ll see what Beetlefoot thinks.”

The two split up. Darkpelt walked away until she was a whisker-length from the nearest house and slunk off around its corner. She did not appear to be noticed by anyone. Mistface melted back into the now moving crowd, looking for his other two teammates.

 ---

 Contrary to popular belief, being a blind spy was incredibly useful.

Darkpelt heard the mass of noise behind her quickly fade as she walked along the house. When she felt air at her side, she knew she had passed the stone structure. She could smell that she was still in the camp, and, more importantly, that Redheart had been nearby.

It was quite easy to be stealthy, even out in the open. Cats with sight never seemed to notice what was in front of them. Blindness was also an excellent excuse for when someone did catch her – she could just pretend that she was lost and looking for assistance. They always bought it. It was hilarious.

Now, however, there were no cats around her. From yesterday’s exploration, she gathered that the settlement’s community only spread out towards noon, when the prey-pile ran low and it was time to hunt or find something else to do (which was, true to the stereotype, usually fighting). She had a bit of time before she needed to get back to her novice crew and pretend all was well.

Nose raised, she moved quickly, turning immediately when the scent of the deputy went left or right. She heard soft footsteps and someone settle into a nest, and she stopped just before she bumped into a house. The door was to her left, so she carefully scooted back a little to the right and tucked herself against the wall, ears swiveling to catch the soft conversation inside.

“I mean, I think it went well.” That was Greyleaf. It was a marvel how very unlike he was to his brother, right down to his voice. Mistface had a low, smooth drawl that sounded almost too bored to even be coming out of his mouth; Greyleaf’s voice trembled and sounded significantly younger, like it was scared to make itself heard. “I heard them all when we left. They sound excited and surprised.”

“I hope so.” Redheart was deeper and even as low as it was now, it commanded attention. “I’m worried I scared some cats off.”

“We knew that was a risk.” Greyleaf’s tail swished across the floor. “It’s just the first step. Hopefully, if they do leave, they can tell other cats who might be interested, and we can get more out quicker.”

“It’s going to be a long process no matter what,” Redheart said. “And Snowshine will be eager to cut us off as soon as possible. We have to be careful, especially around her.”

“Yeah…” Greyleaf was still for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, “My mother will be coming with us, right?”

“Of course.” Redheart’s voice turned almost gentle. “Even if we have to carry her out, kicking and screaming, on our backs.”

Greyleaf sighed a short laugh, and the two fell silent. Darkpelt waited a minute to see if they would talk again. When they didn’t, she walked off, careful to make her steps completely silent. Luckily, there were no leaves or grass to stir up noise, so she padded along on the stone back to the noisy clearing.

Darkpelt was happy to not have to measure her distance from the crowd to circle around it and find the team. Laurelclaw was close enough to be heard when he said, “Oh, there she is.”

“Save some prey for me?” she asked casually, heading towards the voice.

“Yeah, actually.” Mistface was laying down, from the position of his voice. “Laurelclaw insisted on gettin’ you a bird.”

“They’re really tasty around here!” Laurelclaw said, like this was something to defend himself over. “They’re not as good on the coast. Very, um… what’s the word… salty.”

“Saltiness is disgusting.” Beetlefoot was the furthest away, but he was definitely close enough to overhear a quiet conversation. “I don’t know how you tolerate it.”

“Happens when you grow up flopping around in the ocean,” Darkpelt replied breezily. She sniffed out the bird and pulled it close to her. “Thanks, big guy. I do like the birds in this part of the valley.”

Laurelclaw somehow emanated delight enough that she could feel it from here. “Happy to help.”

“Find out anything?” Mistface muttered. He was across from Darkpelt.

Darkpelt sat down closer, and she felt the other two toms join her. In a low voice, she said, “Snowshine is a cat of interest. From what Redheart said, she’s going to be heavily opposed to whatever the extent of their plan is. Mistface, I think you can find her and talk to her. I need to keep on the downlow.”

“If I must,” said Mistface, not sounding nearly as badgered about it as he was probably trying to. “What else?”

“This plan is long-term,” Darkpelt went on. A cat walked past, and she waited for them to be gone before continuing. “They sound like they want to get as many cats out as possible. StarClan knows why. I’m suspecting they might make return trips to get more members of their little group.”

“That’s not good,” Laurelclaw whispered. “Should we send a message to the leaders?”

“Not quite yet.” Darkpelt could smell Beetlefoot near her and looked in his direction. “I want us to get some information out of this Snowshine first. You, boyo, are going to watch the perimeter and see when it’s least occupied. That’ll be your prime time to speak with the patrol.”

Beetlefoot, surprisingly, simply harrumphed an affirmative. Something meaty made a peeling sound; she figured he was eating his prey.

“What do you want me to do?” Laurelclaw had a tone like he was anxious about not being helpful.

“Keep me within your eyesight,” Darkpelt said. “I’m a hapless blind molly and I’ll probably bump into lots of cats. Might start a fight on accident, yadda yadda, you know how it goes. You need to watch me and help me out when I get particularly lost and clumsy.” She turned to him and winked. “A big cat around these parts is a good meat shield.”

“I can do that.” It was funny how earnestly upbeat he was about being assigned to such a useless task. “Maybe that’ll keep me from having to fight anyone!”

“You will have to tussle at some point, Laurelclaw,” Mistface said. “We’ll be gettin’ questions if you don’t.”

Laurelclaw sighed with such melancholy that Darkpelt laughed out loud, to which he responded with a sheepish chuckle. With that, everyone returned to their prey. Nothing more was said for the rest of the meal.

[doritopaw101]

Arc1, book 3: Chapter 6

Icefire took Whitethroat back to Shadowclan territory two days later. Him and Whitethroat had a long overdue talk. It had been cut short but they were getting somewhere.

Tulip-paw still hadn't woken yet. They managed to stop all his bleeding but only time would tell how well it worked. It had been a half-moon since then. Didn't help when Ashpaw started screeching about how his blue eyes were turning purple. Yellowfang quickly shut him up and said it was due to his Shadowclan blood from Blackfoot, Shadowclan cats tend to change color sometime in their lives, Ashpaw just happened to get it early.

The whole clan was on edge from the attack, more so when Bluestar went rapid when she heard about Nightshade and especially Tiger-roar. Her reaction did nothing to help and only made the panic worse. Raveneye noticed their niece, Sunnypaw be on edge at every given moment and refused to leave camp.

Icefire would try to calm them but he had his own problems. He was having one of his episodes, he had nicked his injured leg on patrol and had been in the sun. Raveneye did their best to help but all they could do was let Icefire lean on them and let it happen.

"It's worst then it usually is" Cherrycloud muttered

"I know, they'll pull through, he always does"

The white tom was curled in a ball, holding his tail for dear life. Raveneye squeezed some wet moss into his mouth and watched in slight relief as Icefire lapped it up.

"I'm glad Brackenfur has taken to the messenger role well enough"

"Agreed, we needed it anyway"

"Stork-kit could work well with it"

"I suppose"

"Daughter, Raveneye" she never called her son or kit, it was for Dustpelt, Fogtail, and Chestnutclaw. Chestnutclaw was always such a kiss up to her. Not like her new litters were much better. Chivestalk and Chestnutclaw seemed to be in a contest for Robinwing's love, not like Dustpelt helped.

"Robinwing" they never really called her mother. Cherrycloud just shrugged, she pulled Badgerkit and Stork-kit closer to her belly. Robinwing went crazy when Cherrycloud named her son Stork-. Raveneye didn't understand but Cherrycloud seemed to know and he wasn't about to ask and get on their bad side.

"What are you doing?" she growled

"Laying with my mate and my sister?" they replied, glancing at Cherrycloud who returned it then turned to glare at the brown molly.

"A mate that can't stop lifting his tail" she sneered "He has a taste for fish I see"

"We're poly, we've discussed things you'd never do considering your love life" they snapped back. They truly didn't care about who Icefire was with, the white tom always kept him in the loop and he'd be a fool to say that some of the toms Icefire's with aren't attractive and he wasn't getting his own share.

Robinwing burned her mateship with Fuzzypelt and Rosetail to the ground moons ago, Patchpelt didn't care and why she was with Featherears, Raveneye still didn't know.

Robwing scoffed at him "At least I have respect in this clan, unlike you two but especially him"

"He should have respect considering he's one of Thunderclan best fighters and showen he's willing to kill for his clan" Cherrycloud growled

"All the while he's whimpering like a lost kitten" her amber eyes shimmered with disgust "I don't know why he's deputy" Robinwing drawled "He's barley doing anything, Leopardstorm or Miststrike should be deputy"

Raveneye felt their fur rise "Too bad, Bluestar made the decision and she's the only one to change it" They could feel Icefire shudder "He'll be back to his regular self soon, piss off"

"At least his kits are useful" she sighed "We shouldn't bother with these kinds of cats"

Raveneye felt their claws unsheathe, these cats she was talking about were: Snowkit, Cinderfreeze Nettlemist, and Icefire. Cats who had their own issues but did well for themselves in the clan in Raveneye's opinion. They all had their own limitations but were still contributing to the clan in some way or form.

"These cats have more good in their bodies than you ever will" Raveneye hissed

"Keep telling yourself that, neither them nor you two could match up to me"

"Good, it be horrifying if they did" Raveneye laughed

As they watched their mother walk away they knew one thing, her time in this world was numbered.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time was barley a passing thought at this point. The clan was dying, either of sickness or starvation. Thymeroot's cure ran out quick and Shadowclan didn't have the herbs that Thunderclan. Whitethroat and Littlecloud were too nervous to cross Thunderclan territory again considering the hostility. Flyswat stole enough herbs for Marshstar and a few others, they managed to live another day.

Whitethroat felt his bones crack as he woke. 'Damn I'm getting old' he thought grimly.

As he tried to get up, he felt the hold of the cat night to him pull him close. He licked the cat's head softly.

"Crowcloud"

"Where are you going?" The black molly murmured

"Just patrolling, I did say I would patrol tonight"

Crowcloud nuzzled his neck, brushing against his neck fluff "Stay safe, love"

Crowcloud and Pineshadow fit in great with clan society without the pressure of Brokenstar. Pineshadow proved to be a very capable fighter and Crowcloud was a great addition to the nursery and a great help around camp.

He had fun decorating Crowcloud's ear and pelt with crow and raven feathers. He bonded with Crowcloud quicker than he thought. They became mates and it had been bliss before the disease came. Crowcloud was great with raising the baby crows under her care, it was easier to find any good prey at this point. They shared the pain of losing children: Hollylock-paw died first from eating rats, Garlicpaw died next from a coughing fit that left her in so much pain, she asked for death and Blossomhaze gave it to her. Darkpaw shared the same fate. Whitethroat had licked their heads as they took their last breathes.

He did his best to make sure Foxtrot and Buzzardwing lived, made sure Darkhollow didn't overwork herself when she became pregnant with Duskthorn and Boulder's kits when Amberfoot broke it off with him, maybe that was why his leg still hurt when it really shouldn't.

He padded into the clearing, cats either sleeping or grooming each other. He looked up and felt himself stiffen, the tom he hated and privately feared was sitting on the deputy rock, Mossclaw. He was chatting with Jaggedtooth and Toadpelt.

Mossclaw turned his head and locked eyes with Whitethroat. He smirked at him. Whitethroat bared his fangs but his limbs wouldn't work. Mossclaw padded forward, his tail held high. Whitethroat wanted to yell or attack him but his body wouldn't move.

Badgerfang sunk his teeth in Mossclaw's neck. He tossed Mossclaw to the side as Dawncloud nudged him out of his trance.

"Are you okay?" she asked, she carried the scent of sunflowers.

"Y..Yeah"

Badgerfang was standing above Mossclaw, his long fangs bared "Stay the fuck away from him if you know what's good for you" he spat on Mossclaw

"Badgerfang, what's going on here?"

Badgerfang sighed "Nothing, Tigerclaw"

The large two-colored tabby stood tall and mighty, Nightshade and Nightwhisper at his side. They came to camp a half-moon ago, bringing prey and helping with patrols. Marshstar knew why Nightshade and Tigerclaw were exiled but she and everyone else knew they needed as much help as they could get at the moment. The tabby took the name -claw as a sign of change for him, Whitethroat didn't know how he felt about it but he knew his clan wasn't in the position to complain.

Along with them, Tigerclaw and Nightshade brought some of Brokentail's followers and some rouges as well. Tigerclaw said they had changed in their exile and if they gave problems, to talk to him and Nightshade.

Of course Mudfoot was not allowed anywhere near, Palecloud, Lizardfang, Muddytail, and Muddedkit. Barkfoot wasn't allowed near any of his kits. Dewflare was a whole issue altogether though she mostly stuck with Tigerclaw and Nightshade.

The rouges were nice enough, at least they pulled their weight. As an over-seer, Whitethroat taught them the ways of Shadowclan life, either said than done with them honestly. Nightwhisper was quiet but a good fighter. Socks was decent and knew how to hunt at least. Wildfur was well-rounded where he didn't need to much. Crowcloud brought her younger brother Striker into the clan and he earned the name Strikerclaw.

He had a feeling Tigerclaw and Nightshade looked down on him for his injury but if they did, they didn't express it.

"Keep him away from Whitethroat and Houndbelly" Dawncloud hissed "As well as Batwhisker and Burdockpaw"

"I've done nothing" Mossclaw snarled trying to get up but was slammed down by Badgerfang

"You didn't even visit Hollylockpaw or Darkpaw in their final times" Dawncloud spat "You said you loved them and wanted to change but you lied like the fox-heart you are"

"They were weak, they don't deserve-" Whitethroat screeched and lunged at Mossclaw. The brown tom hadn't expected it. It became a blur to Whitethroat. It seemed to pass over shortly when he was dragged away by Batwhisker.

"Mossclaw, you're bothering everyone here, why don't you stay away?" Tigerclaw mewed, his voice as soft as feathers

Mossclaw looked shocked but realized he was very much outnumbered. Jaggedtooth lead him away, to the furthest parts of camp.

As if things couldn't get worse.

Blossomhaze was dragging Blazefang out of the medicine den and behind her Palecloud was dragging Brownwhisker.

/

Whitethroat watched Brownwhisker and Blazefang's bodies as they were being picked apart by crows and coyotes. The coyotes and Shadowclan had a silent agreement of the circle of life.

Viperfang and Goldenmint were heartbroken and Wetfoot and Littlecloud seemed to shut down. Viperfang made sure Jaggedtooth was no where near Blazefang's body. They had taken the former deputy's fangs and claws and they were passed to her kits.

"You'd think it would make you vomit but it just makes you feel nothing"

"Shadowclan is like that Nightwhisper, you get used to it" Whitethroat stated "Brokenstar beat that into our heads perfectly"

"Your uncle was lovely wasn't he" Nightwhisper said sarcastically

"So lovely" he replied

That caused them both to laugh.

He turned away, not wanting to look at the graveyard anymore. He didn't expect any other creatures around but he had been proven wrong. He tripped and fell into a pond.

"Whitethroat, you okay?"

"Yes"

He didn't care much for his fur, it had the typical dirt from living in the marshy pine forest territory that Shadowclan resided in.

"What tripped me?"

Nightwhisper didn't reply for a moment then he gasped "a fox"

He looked over at what had tripped him and his eyes widen, a vixen was caught in a trap. Her head seemed to barely be attached to her body.

Nightwhisper moved the vixen's back leg, revealing a fox kit.

"Fuck"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dogpaw coughed violently, the pain in her side was almost unbearable.

"Tragic"

Dogpaw whimpered "I..I'm s..sorry"

Vixentail scoffed and turned away "Go back to camp, you can't be a disappoint there, deal with the nursery"

Dogpaw was all too happy to run back to camp. She tried to do a diving trick Vixentail told her to do but all it left her was almost drowning and a sore side. Her mentor was not pleased when she was apprenticed to her, she knew why. Her auncle Mistyfoot wanted to mentor her.

As soon as she got into camp, she went to find her papa, not dad or mother. She loved Stonefur and Skyeyes dearly, he treated her well unlike Blackclaw did, Blackpaw was the favorite.

Riverclan had a lot of dens around, cats could have their own personal dens. It was usually for senior warriors but it's been trimmed down to if you want it, you can. Most cats wanted to stay in one area with their kin but others liked space.

She knew who shared a den with who: Mudfur shared his den with Graypool, Morningriver, Swanlight, Reedtail, Condorwing, and Lakewillow the new kits would join them soon. Suneyes shared her den with Blackclaw, Grasswhisker, Vixentail, Flarepaw, Whirlpaw, and Shinepaw. Whiteclaw shared his den with Greenflower, Silveryide, Silverstream, and Graystripe along with Silverstream and Greenflower's apprentice-aged kits. Leopardclaw only shared her den with Mistyfoot and Mudbelly. Stormstar shared the leader's den with Voleclaw, Sootwhisker, Hailpaw, Mosspaw, and Shellpaw.

Of course there were some cats who lived alone such as Rippleclaw, Sedgecreek, and Dawnscale.

Why did Dogpaw know this? Because Vixentail liked to make her clean all the dens often when she failed a task, of course she never finished all of them had to have her siblings help her finish at least one.

She poked her head into her father's den "Papa?" As far as she knew, Stonefur only shared his den with Skyeyes and Mosspelt. It was the only reason why she knew Stonefur fathered Dawnkit.

She saw her father asleep, cuddling with Skyeyes. Stonefur had cobwebs over his shoulder and muzzle.

"P..papa?"

Stonefur opened one eye "Pup?"

"Yeah, are you okay?"

Stonefur sighed "I'm okay, just a dispute with some otters, someone was taking their share of fish and they got mad, I got in the middle and-"

"Got scratched up when he should've left Blackclaw to deal with it" Skyeyes cut in, her tail lashing

"Is it dealt with though?" Dogpaw asked

"Yeah" Stonefur mewed "Me and Willowheart smoothed it over"

Dogpaw sighed with relief

"Silverstream wanted to talk with you" Skyeyes mewed, "He's by the Starlit ponds"

"Is this true or an excuse for me to leave to give you two privacy?" she chuckled

"You're too smart" Skyeyes returned the chuckle "But no, Silverstream wanted to see you and your siblings, something to do with fish and flowers"

"Got it, have fun" she purred padding out of the den

"She's something" she heard Skyeyes say

"Just like her grandmother" Stonefur replied

Dogpaw jumped between the ponds, water droplets flicking from her fur as she leaped. She caught the scent of Shadepelt, Blackpaw, Pikepaw, and Coalpaw nearby. She hadn't spent time with them in a while and it would be fun to do something with them and a cat she admired and wanted to do anything she could to make up for causing his blindness.

She spotted her brothers and sisters huddled together, it looked like they were planning something.

"Hey-"

Coalpaw put her tail over her mouth "Shush" she pointed her ears in the opposite direction "Listen"

Dogpaw was confused but obeyed. She rested beside her sister and leaned forward.

"As much I applaud you wanting to check on apprentices and royalty, what do you want from me Leopardclaw?"

"I wish to apologize to you for my words against you Silverstream" Leoaprdclaw replied

'What' Dogpaw thought 'that doesn't seem right, Leopardclaw would never apologize if she could help it'

"I realize from my father, Swanlight and my own reflection that I was wrong about you and shouldn't treat you like that because of something you can't control"

Silverstream was silent

"I've actually began to see you in a new light in fact"

A small squeak escaped Silverstream "W..What?"

"What is going on?" Dogpaw whisper yelled

"We don't know" Blackpaw replied

"Shut it and watch" Shadepelt hissed "I trust my mentor, it's Leopardclaw I don't trust"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Icefire sighed, he felt Raveneye and Embereyes groom him.

"How're you feeling?" Thymeroot asked

"Better"

"Better that you could make a trip to the moonstone"

"Yes" he mewed "I want to be there for Maplepaw"

"I want you to be careful" Thymeroot advised "No heroics, I don't want to have to reset your leg"

Icefire snorted "Got it"

"Get your herbs" Yellowfang cut in "You'll need to be there before dark"

"I can't wait" Maplepaw yowled "I hope to see Snowstrike"

"You'll see who Starclan wants you to see Maplepaw" Icefire mewed

"I hope it's Thunderstar" Rosepaw boasted.

"I want Thunderstar" Bearpaw countered

"Relax" Smokyclaw rolled her eyes

"Apprentices" Yellowfang rasped "Out with you all"

Icefire chuckled "They're just excited is all"

"Excited doesn't mean tear up the den" Yellowfang retorted "Out with you all"

They all piled out near the entrance of camp. He hoped the group wasn't too large as to not cause trouble with Windclan or Shadowclan.

It was him, Maplepaw, Smokyclaw, Bearpaw, Rosepaw, Dustpelt, Aspenpaw and Chestnutclaw. Shrikepaw was due for battle training and Sunnypaw still wasn't comfortable leaving camp and Frostbite didn't mind. Chestnutclaw was grooming her a lot before they left.

Leopardstorm and Miststrike saw them out "May Starclan light your path"

[viciousgracearc]

LYANNA STARK IS A WARG & A GREEN SEER

I would like to preface this headcanon by saying that this is borne out of my own imagination + analysis of the text + hours of conversation with @luxfurem. There’s a very high possibility that I’m completely off the mark here and of course, you don’t have to agree with me on this headcanon specifically. But as far as this interpretation is concerned, I’M ADAPTING THIS HEADCANON IN ALL OF LYANNA’S MAIN VERSES.

THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND BEFORE READING FURTHER (based off of my PREVIOUS HEADCANON):

LYANNA IS THE KNIGHT OF THE LAUGHING TREE. I think this is as good as canon at this point.

RHAEGAR FOUND OUT THAT LYANNA WAS THE KNIGHT OF THE LAUGHING TREE. As a sort of acknowledgment, he crowned her The Queen of Love and Beauty by the end of the tourney at Harrenhal. It doesn’t go any deeper than that (a.k.a. they’re not secretly in-love, sorry).

THE MAD KING ALSO FOUND OUT AND ORDERED FOR LYANNA’S ARREST. I’ve written extensively about this in the headcanon linked above, but pretty much the mad king was triggered by the KOTLT and couldn’t let shit go.

ADDITIONALLY, CONTRARY TO FANON:

LYANNA DID NOT RUN AWAY WITH RHAEGAR TO ESCAPE THE BETROTHAL WITH ROBERT. While I don’t think Lyanna was the most eager to be married to Robert Baratheon (or to be married at all ), I also don’t think she ran away with Rhaegar to escape her betrothal. She could have run away, point blank period. But with a married prince? I don’t think so. (Considering too, that Lyanna’s initial reservation against Robert was his inability to keep to one bed. Based off of that alone, I don’t think Lyanna would willingly participate in infidelity of any kind. In this separate essay I will –)

LYANNA WAS DUTIFUL to a certain degree, but not in the same way as Brandon could have been or Eddard was. Lyanna’s upbringing was focused on being a proper lady who would marry a highborn lord someday, so she can pop off male heirs. She won’t inherit Winterfell, unlike Brandon, and she’s not even next in line unlike Ned. The expectations of her were quite different compared to the expectations of her brothers, thus, she wasn’t as committed as they were to the idea of duty, or at least not in the same way. That being said, she still held her family’s honor to great esteem and she went out of her way to defend and uphold that honor.

LYANNA WAS NOT SELFISH. I see this around a lot and it’s the most mind-boggling of all. This was the girl who, at 14 years old, was ready to throw down against three grown squires to defend the honor of her father’s bannerman. She later fought in a tourney and won, and asked the lords that the squires served to teach them manners. If she would go that far to defend a sworn bannerman to House Stark, who was not just being bullied but also discriminated upon because of his culture, then I’m pretty certain she’s the type to stand up to injustice without regard for herself. In that similar vein, I don’t think she would besmirch her family’s honor on a whim, knowing how seriously she took the meaning of that honor as made clear by her defense of Howland Reed.

Now that we’ve gotten all of those out of the way, it’s time to dive in into the void.

As is already previously established by canon, ALL STARK CHILDREN ARE WARGS. I know this mostly pertains to the six children of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, but there’s literally no reason why it could not extend to the generation of Starks that came before them. Brandon and Lyanna for example, possess the legendary “wolf-blood” of the Starks of old, and thus are tied very closely to the Stark mythos of being descended from the First Men. According to AWOIAF, “Greenseers had the greensight and were wargs as well.” While not all wargs are greenseers, we have evidence in Bran that the greensight is definitely alive and well in the Stark line (and in the North, as evidenced by Jojen Reed, a crannogman, and Brynden Rivers a.k.a. Bloodraven, whose mother was a Blackwood).

Following this logic, I don’t think it’s far-fetched at all to say that Lyanna might have been a green seer (and a warg). The ability in Bran was triggered by his fall, whereas it almost came too easily and too naturally to Rickon. Rickon and Bran shared the same dream about Ned’s death (which they predicted even before Maester Luwin made the announcement), and Rickon also knew when Catelyn and Robb left that they would never see them again.

In Lyanna’s case, I don’t think she knew what she was (I don’t think the Starks ever realized how closely they were tied to what’s left of magic in the world). She knew she was said to have the wolf-blood, which she thought had something to do with her temperament (a trait she shared with Brandon). By all accounts, Lyanna was wild and brave; she thrived off of independence and did not do well with restrictions. She rode horses “like she was half a horse herself” according to Roose Bolton, and maybe that’s because she understood horses like no ordinary human could?

I’ve already headcanoned that my Lyanna is a warg, so I’m going to take it a step further and say that she’s a green seer as well. No, she’s not as good at it as Bran, mainly because it was not a talent she cared to develop. But this ability ties her up with Rhaegar, who we know to be prophecy-obsessed. This even ties her up with with the Ghost of High Heart, who Rhaegar sought out time and time again just to hear her foretell the future, no matter how disjointed these predictions were.

So my theory essentially is that Lyanna had a run in with a wildling (most likely raiders caught by Rickard’s men) and before this wildling was executed, they told Lyanna something about the same prophecy that consumed Rhaegar to the end of his days. I imagine it had something to do with blue roses and blood, which are the images / symbols closely associated with Lyanna. I also imagine it mentioned the same fire and ice prophecy that Rhaegar so determinedly chased throughout his short life. In addition, I also think that on the way home from Harrenhall, Lyanna contracted a fever which triggered her green dreams. This drove home the urgency of the prophecy and you could even say, it gave Lyanna clues — about what she should do and where she should go to play her part in it.

In my FIRST HEADCANON, I speculated that Rhaegar (a good year after Harrenhal) went to rescue Lyanna in the Riverlands from his father’s men (who found out she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree), but I also think that for some reason they were fated to cross each other’s path, and they knew it, because by this point both of them were aware of the prophecy (by virtue of each of them being in contact with green seers, by virtue of Lyanna being a green seer herself albeit an untrained and unskilled one). But before any plans were set in motion, they visited the Ghost of High Heart to confirm the prophecy, and only then did they decide that yes, for mankind, we will fulfill our roles in this prophecy TOGETHER.

Worth noting: At some point, Lyanna realized that the prophecy, to come into fruition, would have to mean her death (blue roses and blood). But after everything she’d seen through her green dreams and after what she’d been told by the wildling green seer, by Rhaegar, and by the Ghost of High Heart, she determined that this cause — saving the world — was worth losing her life over.

Something you have to understand about Lyanna Stark: she wanted to be more than just someone’s betrothed, someone’s wife, someone’s mother. This prophecy — to a young, idealistic, romantic, wild, and by all accounts, good girl — was almost irresistible. This was something bigger than herself; she had a real chance to do something here, to be both the maiden AND the hero in a tale where she saves the realm from an ominous threat (and wasn’t Lyanna like Sansa in this way? In love with stories of maidens and heroes?). The KOTLT incident showed us that Lyanna had a strong sense of morality, and also a penchant for risky yet grand gestures of bravery. Saving the world was the kind of thing that she would not even think twice of doing, no matter the cost to herself.

Things Lyanna did not foresee: Brandon’s reaction to the news that she was missing and Brandon’s fast assumption that it was Rhaegar who took her. AT MOST, LYANNA EXPECTED THEY WOULD NOTICE HER ABSENCE AND WOULD ASSUME SHE RAN AWAY FROM HER BETROTHAL, BUT FOR HER BROTHER TO ACCUSE THE CROWN PRINCE AND STORM THE CAPITAL WHILE DOING SO… DID NOT OCCUR TO HER. Also, IMPORTANT: Lyanna and Rhaegar had no idea about Rickard and Brandon’s death until after the Battle of the Bells, when Gerold Hightower finally found them in TOJ and asked Rhaegar to return to King’s Landing. By this time, Lyanna was already pregnant.

Whether or not Rhaegar and Lyanna were right about the prophecy doesn’t really matter here. They could be completely wrong. Dany could be the TPWWP and not Jon. Heck, it could be Aegon (who really isn’t Aegon, LBR). Basically, this was just how they interpreted the prophecy, and they both paid in blood for it. Since they’re both alive in mine and Bubbles’ main timeline verses, the blood is of their loved ones, which was infinitely worse for both of them than if it were their own blood.

Is this a ship now? Well, no. At least not during TOJ, and heck, not many years after that. Lyanna was miserable in that tower and I can’t imagine Rhaegar was all too happy either. They’re doing what they thought they had to do, and Lyanna was going into it thinking she would die. All things considered, that might have been her preferred outcome, now that she knew just how much blood she had to pay to assume the role that would make the prophecy come true. The only real consolation in the aftermath was Ned’s forgiveness and the fact that Jon was kept alive because her brother loved her enough to give up his honor for her. But even then, it was a bitter consolation, and Lyanna would spend all her life trying to make up for her mistakes.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Soul Seer, Pt. 6

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut, Light Bondage

Author’s Note: Takes place right after Avengers 1, with time travel elements and hints of Infinity Wars. Does NOT follow cannon after Avengers.

* * *

You spooned the last bite of chocolate mousse into your mouth with a sigh. “Mmm, thank you for have something to eat sent up. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

Loki lounged in a chair across from you sipping on a glass of red wine. His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’ve told you. You’re mine to watch over.”

“That should freak me out.” You took a drink of your own wine. “In any other circumstance a statement like that would send up so many warning flares it would look like the Fourth of July.”

“It’s just a fact.”

“It sounds controlling and unhealthy.” You smirked. “But damn it, since I actually know where you’re coming from, I find it kind of comforting.”  

His brow rose, curious.  

“I mean,” you sighed. “I’ve been thinking a lot about your perspective on me. Granted, it started because I was kind of terrified of what you would do about me.”

Loki set his glass down, leaning forward in his seat. Before he could speak, you pushed forward with what you were trying to say.

“But after you promised you weren’t going to hurt me, I began to try and figure out what you must think of me, how we could possibly relate. Everything in my head is so completely foreign. Then I realized, that you ‘taking ownership’ is less about controlling me, and more about being responsible for me. See, here we don’t think about other people the way you think about other people. I’m still trying to figure it all out, but I think – in my mind - I’m equating your desire to be responsible for me as the only way you know to show that you appreciate my role in freeing you from whatever that was.”

Loki stared at you, hard. His aura flared with a brilliant intensity. It shone bright lime green, something akin to amazement and joy radiated from him. To your eyes, it was a stark contrast to the harsh look upon his face. You smiled softly, taking another sip of your wine. “Am I wrong?”

“I owe you a debt.” His voice was calm, impassive.  

“I will never hold that over you.” You set your glass down.  

He stood, swift and graceful, pulling you out of your chair and against his chest. Long fingers slipped into your hair, other hand pressed into the small of your back. He breathed in your scent, nose ghosting over the skin of your face. “Why must you be so perplexing?”  

“Why are you?” You hands slipped around his waist, eyes drifting closed.

“So obstinate.” Loki’s lips brushed yours.  

“Just being truthful.” You smiled against his lips.  

“A truthful moral for the God of Lies?” Loki chuckled, holding you tighter against his chest and your feet came off the ground. His mouth descended upon yours, tongues dancing. He set you back on your feet, bending you back. You moaned.

“I’m going to pull every delightful moan, every delicious drop of ecstasy, from your…”

Knock! Knock! Knock!  

“What?!” Loki howled towards the door. You would have tried to stand up straight, except Loki held you firm.  

The door opened and Thor walked in. He stopped upon seeing the two of you. “Brother. I seem to be interrupting.”

Loki stood you upright. Answering blandly, “How astute.”

“Hi Thor.” You smiled, taking up your wine to hide your amusement at Loki’s fake blustering.

“Lady Y/N,” Thor nodded a greeting. You could feel the concern flowing off him in waves. “I trust you are well.”

“Getting better all the time.” You smiled. “What brings you by?”

“I will be departing for Asgard.” He turned to Loki. “You will be of use here, without trouble, brother?”

“I have vowed.” Loki rolled his eyes.  

“I assume you have a plan?” Thor placed a strong hand on Loki’s shoulder.  

“Of course, when do I not?”  

“Why do I have the feeling not everyone will approve?” Thor frowned.

“There is enough Chitauri technology and weaponry out there to tip the power scales on Midgard. The way I see it, in order to abide by my vow, all of that must be kept from the wrong hands and destroyed.” Loki grew very serious.  

Thor nodded. “They will argue with you.”

“I have no doubt.” Loki smiled at you. “But I have a plan to convince them.”

“Very well.” Thor stepped back, turning to you as well. “And you, Lady Y/N? You wish to stay with my brother?”

Loki scowled, stepping between you with a growl. The intense flare of defensive outrage, of violent intent, nearly blinded you. Resting a calming hand on Loki’s arm, you smiled gently at Thor. “He’s actually growing on me.”

Loki looked down at you, settling instantly. He covered your hand with his own.  

Thor also noticed the immediate shift in his brother and nodded. “I see that.”

“Is there anything else?” Loki glowered.  

“No.” Thor chuckled, backing away towards the door. “Be well, Lady Y/N.”

“Thanks, you too.”  

At the door, Thor couldn’t stop himself from teasing. “Be good, brother. Take care of that one.”

“Get out.” Loki slammed the door in his face. He turned slowly toward you, taking purposeful stalking steps. His head tilted to the side, eyes narrowing. “Growing on you?”

You backed away from his predatory approach. His mischievous joy made it nearly impossible to keep the smile off your face. “What? I was just teasing.”

“Teasing?” Loki growled. You smiled. He dashed forward, quicker than you could react, and tossed you over his shoulder. “I will show you what it is to tease, you minx.”  

You squealed, laughing. He hauled you into the bedroom. Loki dropped you onto the bed, where you landed with a bounce. He stood over you, smirk on his lips. You stretched out on the bed, smiling. Loki practically vibrated with an energy that made your nerves tingle and breath come quick.

He crawled above you, on all fours. His hair fell around his face as he leaned forward and captured your mouth in a bruising kiss. You moaned as his teeth nipped your lower lip. Loki’s hands clasped your arms and slid them up over your head. Something cool, solid, and heavy appeared around them.  

You pulled away from the kiss to look up at the heavy gold chain now binding your arms to the bed. “Loki?”

He still hovered over you, smiling. His voice poured over you like pure sin. “I want you to pick a word, my pet.”

“You going to push me, Loki?”  

He leaned closer, and licked a line up your neck. A green shimmer of magic tickled your skin as all of your clothes disappeared. “I am going to tease you, my pet.” Loki purred. “Pick,” his teeth nipped your ear. “A,” your neck. "Word,” your nipple.

“Emerald.” You breathed.

“Very good.” Loki licked the taunt nipple with his tongue. He sat back on his heels between your legs. “Now, what to do with these.” He took one ankle in his hand, bringing it to his lips. Lifting your leg high, he trailed wet kisses across your calf to the back of your knee. Your eyes fell closed, sighing.  

Bending your leg, knee toward your chest, and and laying it open wide, he placed a golden chain around your leg to hold it open wide, bent. Loki repeated the action with your other leg. It left you spread open, exposed, and dripping for him. The predatory lust in his eyes made your cunt clench and he licked his lips.

“Delightful.” He purred. Long fingers slid through your wetness, slicking up sensitive flesh. With a shimmer his clothes vanished as he crawled back up your body. His nose, lips, ghosted along your flesh until he reached your mouth. Loki kissed you thoroughly before whispering darkly, “let’s begin.”

Rocking back on his heels again, Loki fingers touched your collar bones. They were ice cold. You sucked in a breath. His icy touch slid down your chest, circling your breasts, until he rolled your sensitive nipples between frozen fingers.  

“Oh fuck,” you whined. His mouth, hot and wet, sucked hard. “God, Loki!”

He hummed his delight and took the other in his mouth, drawing a moan from you. Loki fingers continued their icy exploration of your flesh, over your stomach and down your sides. He slid his hands along your thighs. You shivered violently, desire overwhelming the cold.

Loki held his hand up where you could see it. A gold vial appeared in his palm. He trickled warm oil over your chilled flesh. You moaned as he rubbed the oil over your legs, stomach, coming closer and closer to your core. When his fingers slipped between your folds your hips rocked into him.  

Two long fingers slipped into you. Hot oil over frozen fingers danced over your clit, pumped in your cunt. Heat spread. Tension coiled.   

“Fuck, oh, fuck...”  

Loki’s hands pulled away, depriving you of release.  

“No!” You pulled on the chains. He laughed, dark and seductive.

Even the sound of his laugh poured over your heightened senses like honey. You shivered again, eyes falling closed. Cool breath blew over your hot sensitive flesh. Your eyes popped open to see Loki poised between your legs, looking back at you.

He nipped at the flesh of your inner thighs, sharp teeth soothed by his warm tongue. You writhed, wanting more. “Please, Loki.”

His deep chuckled made you pull at the chains. “My poor pet. You are so sensitive, so reactive, aren’t you?” His tongue lapped up the center of your folds and you moaned. “So delightful.”

Loki’s mouth latched on to your clit, humming and sucking, suddenly ravenous. You screamed, back arching off the bed. His strong hand splayed across you, holding you down. Your thighs pushed against the restraints, shaking. Your body lit up.  

“My god, Loki!”

He push back, suddenly not touching you at all.  

“Fuck!” You cried. “Loki, please!”  

Wicked mischievousness lit his eyes as he crouched between your spread legs. You could see his straining erection, this turned him on as much as it tormented you. “Are you going to stop teasing your god?”

Despite your desperation, an equally wicked smirk crossed your face. “You wouldn’t want me to lie to you, would you?”

Loki pounced forward, body pushing against yours, hand at your throat. “So obstinate, my pet.” He kissed you hard, messy. His teeth tugged at your lower lip. “Such a delight.”

“Please, Loki,” You panted. “Fuck me.”

His rich chuckle slid over you again. “In such hurry?” The hand around your throat tightened momentarily before it slid down your oil slicked body. He moved down. This time digging in deep with his fingers, pulling hard at your nipples, dragging moans from you.

Two long finger slid into your wet cunt, massaging up, pressing against your g spot with a masterful touch. His other hand pressed against your pelvis, heightening the sensation. You mewled, whined. Wet, sloppy noises filled the room.

“Do not come yet, my pet.” Loki smile. “Breathe, look at me.”

You did. Your eyes lock with his. You tried to breathe deep, but your body coiled like spring. An inferno spread from your core. The intensity in Loki’s eyes, held you suspended. His hands grew more forceful. You panted, unable to hold back.

“Loki!”

“Now.” He growled.

You came harder than ever before. Squirting, flooding, over his hand and the bed, soaking everything. Your body shook, eyes rolling back, nerves electrified.  

“My pet,” Loki crawled up your quivered body, kissing you. “So lovely.”  

He slammed into you, filling you deep with one powerful thrust. You cried out in pleasure as it pushed your singing body even further. He moved with quick, snapping, thrusts. “Oh, fuck! Loki! Let me touch you, please!”

The chains vanished, and your legs rose higher, wrapping around his hips. Burying your hands in his hair, you pulled. Loki moaned deep. Your teeth latched onto his shoulder. He growled, slamming into your harder. You orgasm hit you all at once, leaving you clutching and quivering beneath him.  

Loki rode out your pleasure, grinding into your body as he found his own. Fucking into you hard and fast until he finally pressed deep, emptying himself, holding you tight. The urge to stay there, buried deep, wrapped around each other, completely took Loki by surprise.  

You felt him go stiff. Felt the euphoric afterglow marred by confusion. Still holding him to your body, in your body, you gentle ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his neck. “Loki?”

He moved slow, reluctantly, to the side. Gathering you to against him, cupping your face in his hand, you could actually see the myriad of emotions in his eyes. He wasn’t hiding. Swallowing hard, his words came out thick. “You are mine.”

Tears filled your eyes, knowing exactly his meaning. Your hand covered his. “And you are mine.”

Loki’s eyes closed tight. He pulled you close, curling around you. The strong complex feeling that always emanated from Loki settled. “Sleep, my pet.” He breathed against your ear. He did not need the sleep, but enjoyed lightly dozing. “I will stay here until you wake.”  

TAGS

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[crowtongued]

Despite Gyr’s towering size and Protem’s own considerable height, both stepped lightly through the gardenesque corridors, past the enormous crow-statue, into the back room. At first, only a waft of scent hit them, and then a wall of steam, smelling mildly of salt and more strongly of medicinal herbs carried by warm water vapor.

Dressed in all-white against a backdrop of white stone, his hair the color of fresh snow and his skin only marginally less pale, Protem moved like an ethereal phantom. Despite his unseeing eyes, he stopped before the steps, extending a hand for Gyr to guide him. The larger Reachman took it delicately, and paced himself with Protem’s steps, leading him like some sort of regal king of highest importance.

When they reached the bottom, they came to the medical area just beneath the stairs, where Skucheetsa’ster kept her supplies and ingredients and a soft, fur bed for her patients. Presently that bed was occupied; Alekt, their birth-Clan’s heir, and his branch-clan’s Eye--his second-in-command--Reno.

Ster greeted them warmly, the Khajiit’s emerald eyes standing out in sharp contrast against her pitch-black fur, set into delicate features partially hidden by long, lynx-like fur.

A few brief words are exchanged before Ster steps aside to make way for Gyr. He makes a face, most of it amusement, at the redhead curled up close to Alekt’s side, and Alekt himself having perhaps curled in closer in his unconscious state.

Awake and healthy he would seldom be caught so vulnerable, much less anything that anyone would dare call cuddly, but here--right now--in this Sanctuary, weak and exhausted and away from judging eyes, a small lapse in the untouchable front the young leader-to-be constantly upheld.

Carefully peeling Reno off of him without waking the redhead was no easy matter--but with enough patience, Gyr managed to get Alekt away from him, picking him up bridal-style and awkwardly shimmying out from under the stairs before standing to his full height so he wouldn’t bump his head.

His young Chief was still breathing, if shallowly, and his wounds had been treated the night before and were properly dressed now, but there was no such thing as Too-Careful.

Any protests and whines from the unconscious Eye were shushed as Protem brushed a few fingers through red locks, murmuring in a soft whisper, “We’ll return him to you soon.”

The white-clad Seer likewise moved from the healing hut under the stairs, and the two of them departed. As they headed for the portal at the entrance of the Sanctuary, two mighty wolves--void-black with violet eyes--flanked on either side of Protem and Gyr, and stepped through the portal with them.

Their path took them first through the Evergloam, the trees creaking and birds crackling at them, ominously loud in the dark forest of no wind. Wisps occasionally danced in their path, before vanishing or floating away. Other dark wolves and wraiths watched them from the shadows, bare-chested Shrike women crouching on the rocks to look below here or there, but nothing stood in their way or bared its fangs.

Of the many dilapidated, half-crumbling ruins that dotted the thick forests in lonely vigil, one looked to be some cathedral or temple in startlingly good repair. Its windows were all in-tact, fine stain glass murals, and standing protected within its interior was a statue.

Though in the likeness of a bird, this was no standard crow. The great figure appeared to be crafted out of ebony or some other shiny black stone, its elongated neck bristled in hundreds--maybe thousands--of small, sharp feathers intricately carved. Its brows were raised and crested upward, and from its tail extended long, intricately flowing feathers, more ribbon-like than any bird seen in Tamriel. Veins of glittering red gemstone ran down the center of each feathers’ stem and ended in patterned eyelets. A masterpiece that would drive any treasure-hunter mad with greed to have it.

Yet the statue was not unguarded. Inside the temple were two towering Crow-Wraiths, standing atop beast-like feet with menacing talons, their horrifying skeleton forms dressed in dark grey-blue rags and cowel hoods, the wings from their backs exaggerating their size further and scythes held in their hands. Their eyes, while hollow pits, held an undeniable, unquenchable hunger to them, no matter what they gazed upon, and there were more who patrolled the outside grounds on guard.

Though as Gyr and Protem stepped forward, none of these Daedra tried to stop them or cut them down, and a portal stood waiting to let them through, from one plane into another.

Into a place made up of darkness and dim glowing plants and long, extensive caves.

Their entrance is far from subtle. Here, this place is inhabited by people and crows and wolves, and they notice Gyr and Protem’s arrival immediately. The youngest of faces all crowd each other in a herd to see, before older members follow, and there is a chorus of quiet, curious, concerned clicks and croaks among each other. A most notable word that commonly passes their lips is Vergen--the Guardian.

Gyr and Protem ignore them all and keep moving down the corridor, and anyone in their path immediately skitters out of the way, only to join the crowd of onlookers that hovers at their heels to follow.

As they grow near to Protem’s quarters, an older member of the Clan wisely steps in the way of all the looky-loos to bar them, shooing them away. It doesn’t get rid of all the curious youth, but it keeps them from continuing to dog Gyr and Protem’s steps the whole way there.

For as important a role as Protem holds as the Clan’s Seer, his living space is quite modest. A small chamber, lit by glowing flora, housing a small garden of herbs, a table of ceremonial items and dwemer mechanisms--and in one corner--a table for eating and a bed.

There is already a stone bench, intricately carved along the sides and cushioned by furs, where Gyr sets Alekt down carefully and steps back.

A young fawn approaches them to sniff at Alekt briefly, then to Protem to nose his hand. He rewards the creature with a few pets and a stroke of its ears. While the animal is clearly a young deer, its colors are unusual--dark black with lavender spots and stripes that seem to dimly glow, not unlike some of the fungi clinging to the walls of Protem’s cave.

He lowers himself down to his knees and continues stroking the creature with his hands, and after a moment it lays down in front of him, closing its eyes and resting its head in his palms. He continues to give it affection until its calm, its head lowering with his hands into a willing doze onto the grass.

When Gyr takes an axe to the Vale fawn’s slim neck, it feels no pain. Protem begins to speak in a low murmur, his fingers gliding over the speckled back of the beheaded deer with magic alighting across his fingers.

“Namira, Lady of Decay, Queen of the Spirits and the Dead; I beseech you as a humble mortal and a Child of the Reach. Take this innocent life into your embrace, and let its blood and its flesh feed the unseen creatures of your sphere that wiggle and writhe in the places disregarded as lesser by Men and Mer. Let my words reach you in reverence, that our bodies are yours for the taking at the End Of All Things, and bow my head in respect to you and your agents who work quietly in the deepest dark.”

He stands to move towards Alekt, his fingers still glowing, and brushes them over his wounded side where his healing shadows no longer reach, ever since his battle against the Dark Storm and the wound inflicted by the Gray Host.

“I ask of you; take the life I offer, so that these proud wings don’t return to the earth too soon, on the promise that they will be yours one day--but not this one. That these claws and beak will make you and your servants many more offerings, and do your bidding faithfully, as we have always done, and as we always will.”

The magic remains at his fingertips a while more as he traces them around the wound, and then eventually the light fades as his pact is completed.

Gyr quietly moves the corpse of the deer, picking it up from the ground with care and respect, and resting it gingerly among the plants of Protem’s garden, head and all, for the worms and the maggots to feast upon as promised.

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 21/32 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning, Wilderness Survival Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

All around Yvanne the enormous cypress thrummed with life. If there was a world beyond the belly of the hollow tree, she didn’t quite believe it.  

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Of course you don’t understand,” her great grandmother said kindly. Distant bells seemed to ring with every one of her words. All of a sudden Yvanne wasn’t sure if the old woman’s lips were actually moving when she spoke to her. “Who could possibly expect you to?”

“Why did you bring me here? That spirit I saw—was that you?”

“In a way,” the old woman allowed. “But I did not bring you here. You brought yourself.”

“But you called me. You told me to come home.”

“Is that what you heard?” She smiled. “Oh, my daughter.”

That stung. “Stop it,” Yvanne growled. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not as well as I’d like. But we have met, in the world beneath the world.”

“You’ve been spying on me,” Yvanne realized. “Through the Fade. Just what gave you the right?”

The old woman’s bright eyes flashed. “Precisely the same thing that gives you to look in on those you wish to see.”

“That’s—that’s not the same,” Yvanne faltered. “I didn’t want to look. I tried not to look. I couldn’t control it.”

“But you’d like to. And so you are here.”

“No, I’m here because you called me. I’m here because I had just settled into a perfectly contented life when all of a sudden I became tormented by these voices—your voice.��

Yvanne could load quite a lot of furious accusation into a short phrase spoken softly, but the old woman remained unmoved. “Believe me, my daughter, I do not have the power to bring about what you experienced. If you heard my voice, it was as a trickle in a torrent. You have begun to awaken as a spirit mage.” 

“And just what in the void does that mean?”

In tones of infinite patience: “For years you have hobbled yourself; now you are beginning to walk freely for the first time. Of course you were overwhelmed. Anyone would be. Nobody here in Dairsmuid awakens in their third decade of life, without the benefit of any guidance whatsoever.” In tones of bottomless sorrow: “You have been done a great disservice.”

Yvanne stood for a while, feeling all the hot air leak out of her.

“So can you help me?” she said, defeated. “Or not?”

“Of course I can. And I will. If you choose it. But how far you walk along the path is always up to you.”

Something sat uncomfortably in Yvanne’s stomach. “Alright, fine. Can you at least answer me this?” she said wearily. “Where is my mother?”

The old woman cast her eyes down. “That I do not know. She never came here.”

An unspoken hope died in her chest. “My father, then? My sisters?”

“Three of your sisters live,” the old woman said. “In one way or another. But of all who I called, only you returned.”

All she did not say fell upon Yvanne like a mountain. She dropped her head. “I see.”

“Oh, my daughter. I am sorry.” She sounded like she meant it. 

More questions sprung to her lips. When did my father die? And how? Which of her four sisters lived? And how? But as soon as they occurred to her, she thought better of them. She didn’t want to know. Of course she didn’t. If she’d wanted to know, she would have seen it in the Fade. It was a cruel thing to know about herself. 

“Why me, then?”

“You are the one who answered.”

“No. Why call at all? My father never spoke of his home. We have nothing to do with each other, blood relatives or not. What do you want with me?”

“Is it so wrong for an old woman to wish to see her lost daughter?” The old woman’s eyes closed. She said no more for many long moments. “I apologize. I am tired now. I must walk in the Fade for a time.”

“What? But I’ve only just arrived!”

“We will speak again. For now you will go with Itai; he will be your companion today.”

“Now hold on, I—” Yvanne began to protest, but the old woman was already asleep, having slipped into dreams in the space of a few breaths. She was alone. But she did not feel alone. If anything she felt like an intruder. The tree keeping her great-grandmother alive thrummed steadily, like a heartbeat.

“Yvanne?”

She turned to face a young man with wide cheekbones and a halo of black curls. “How did you know my name? Or that I was here?”

He gave her a polite, puzzled smile. “Buya called me, of course. I’ve finished my training for today, so I can show you around.” He was younger than her. Was he even twenty? “I’m Itai—I think we might be cousins.”  He crossed his right arm over his chest and tilted his chin down in greeting.

She stiffened. “Well, maybe we’re cousins, but you don’t know me, and I’m only staying here for as long as it takes me to get this—this problem under control, so don’t get too comfortable. There’s no need for all this…this…”

Itai shrugged. “Well, you’re going to have to wait at least a few hours anyway before she wakes up, so you might as well see the city, right?” 

—

On her way to the great cypress, Yvanne had paid no attention to her surroundings at all. A compulsion to reach the tree where her ancestor dwelled had consumed her, and only now had it loosened its hold on her. Now she was finally seeing the city with clear eyes.

Dairsmuid was a city built upon the water. Wooden planks, shiny and smooth from the thousands of feet that walked upon them, were its streets, but so was the water; everywhere were gondoliers carrying goods by canoe, chatting with each other as they passed. Some of the buildings were built in the trees themselves, and what trees they were; they flared at their twisted, knotty bases. Some grew fused together, making masses large enough to support homes. Circling steps were bolted to many of them, and cables ran between the boughs, sending packages and messages zipping overhead.

Itai introduced Yvanne to more distant cousins and uncles and aunts than she could possibly keep track of, men and women of all ages. Each one greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and a quick embrace, too swiftly and with too much assurance for her to protest.

And not a single one of them batted an eye at all the magic.

Magic didn’t seem to exactly be common in Dairsmuid, but every once in a while she would spot a shopkeeper levitating his wares, or a gondolier lighting a lantern with a snap of his fingers. Everywhere she saw spirits, mostly formless wisps, but larger, more distinct spirits, too. Children chased them like chickens, earning scoldings from their parents when they were caught. She watched, rapt, one group of mage children play a game of spark-shooting with each other. As she watched something cracked open deep inside her, and suddenly she wanted to cry.

“Alright, there?” said Itai. She snapped out of it, drawing her eyes away from a scene where one child chased a wisp right over the edge and into the water, where he was fished out by an irritated gondolier. She just barely managed to nod.

Itai kept rambling as he took her around, away from the center of the city—”Dairsmuid’s mostly on the water now, but old timers will tell you how the sea used to be much further out“—past rows of fishermen hauling in oysters and crayfish—”They’re best with lemon sauce,”—inland towards residential areas that were raised over mud and peat rather than standing water. They went past shrines to Andraste laid with offerings of fire-lilies—”What? Of course we worship Andraste! What a strange question,”—past spirit-lanterns nestled in the branches of the cypresses—”They’re always lit, so nobody falls off the platform. And if someone does, the spirits signal the night watchman to come over and fish them out…it’s usually just the drunks, though.”

Yvanne found herself liking Itai quite a lot. Until—

“And my Templar training isn’t so bad, usually, but master has us getting up so early, and usually at night I find myself thinking of so many things and unable to sleep—”

She stopped in her tracks. It took him a few seconds to notice, and he turned, puzzled.

“Your what training?”

“Templar training,” he repeated. “Are you alright? You look like you ate something curdled.”

“I didn’t realize Dairsmuid had Templars.” She did not try to keep the hiss out of her voice. Including my own family.

He stared at her, uncomprehending. “Sorry, I don’t get it. What’s the problem?”

How in Thedas was she to respond to that? “So was that why they picked you to give me the tour? Were you supposed to keep an eye on me and cut me down in case I turned out to be dangerous after all? I knew I was right to be suspicious—”

“Hold on!” Itai was laughing. Actually laughing! “I think you’re confused. In Dairsmuid, Templar is a ceremonial role. We don’t take lyrium or anything like the westerners. I’m not even being taught to fight with this thing—” He tapped the ornate weapon belted to his hip. “It’s all just rituals and basic forms.” 

“Then—” She stumbled. “Then what’s the point?”

He shrugged. “Tradition? Got to be a Circle at Dairsmuid, with Templars. So we have them. We’re supposed to keep the Seers safe, but the Seers don’t really need protection, so it’s pretty boring. Once I finish training, I’m probably going to be a fisherman like my da. Look, the sword’s ceremonial—it’s not even sharp.”

She must have still been staring. He smiled, embarrassed. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I don’t really know much about western Circles.”

Maker, but this place was weird.

“I can’t believe the Chantry lets this place exist,” Yvanne said just as the silence was growing awkward..

“Well, Rivain’s pretty far from Orlais.” He shrugged. “We do things our own way. Really, the Qunari up north are a much bigger problem, but Dairsmuid’s not anywhere near Kont-Arr. Anyway, the Seers wouldn’t let anything happen.”

“Just what is a Seer? Exactly?”

Itai looked at her like she’d just asked the color of the sky. “Huh? But you’re a Seer. Aren’t you?”

She shook her head.

“You know—a woman who communes with the spirits. You call them mages out west, right?”

“But plenty of men are mages,” said Yvanne. “What do you do with the boys who are born with magic?”

Itai snorted, laughing.“Nobody’s born with magic. Spirits pick who they want to talk to. And sure, boys can talk to spirits, but they can’t be Seers.”

“Why not?”

“They just can’t.” He scratched his head. “Look, I don’t really know. Why don’t you ask Maita? She’s not a Seer yet, but she will be. Come on, you’ll like her. I have to get home and help da clean today’s catch, anyway, so I’ll leave you with her, if that’s alright.”

Three girls sat laughing and weaving reed baskets as Itai and Yvanne approached. One of them stood in anticipation, her eyes widening in delight. All three girls wore bright brass jewelry, but one—the Seer?—wore the most; bangles on her wrists and ankles, and a headdress of overlapping discs that glittered and clinked with her tiniest movement. 

“Is this her?” she demanded of Itai, and didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh, it is! Oh, welcome! We are also so glad you have come.” She jangled as she wrapped Yvanne in a tight, loud embrace. “Ambuya told us you had come.”

“But how—”

“Oh, but your hair!” Maita gasped. Never had Yvanne heard anyone sound so heartbroken over hair. She glanced over her shoulder to plead wordlessly with Itai, but he was already grinning, waving goodbye, and backing away, the traitor. “You poor thing, you must have been through so much.” 

Yvanne suddenly became aware of her body, sharply and unpleasantly. She hadn’t looked at herself in so long that she had forgotten that others could still see her. Maker, she didn’t even want to think about how she probably smelled She self-consciously tucked a piece of it behind her ear. Unending months of neglect and salt had caused it to dread up into unsalvageable masses.

“You must let me fix it for you. Oh, I love to do braids, but–may I?” She reached out to touch Yvanne’s hair. She struggled not to flinch. “No, I don’t think there’s enough left to do braids. How about knots? Or twists? I do the best twists; ask anyone.” She turned to her two friends, clinking, for confirmation. Both nodded earnestly.

Nobody had done Yvanne’s hair since she was nine years old. Loriel had been useless at it and nobody else had come close to earning the right. “I—Okay.”

“Yes! Wonderful! Please, do come in. You must have some of my beads. I’m getting married soon, so I won’t get to wear them, and I don’t even have any sisters to give them to. Only brothers–it makes me so sad!”. Then an expression came over her face. “Wait! You aren’t married, are you? I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed…”

Yvanne felt the absence of the ring upon her finger, and answered, truthfully, “No, I’m not married.”

Maita’s animated expression returned. “Oh, good! Then you can have the beads. Come, come!”

She tugged her inside, enticing her friends to come join her in solving Yvanne’s hair problem. She was altogether reminded of Leliana. Yvanne slipped out of her grasp. “Look, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but—we’ve only just met.”

Maita gave her a confused smile. “But of course we’ve met. In the world beneath the world.”

Again that phrase.

“Maita, you’re shaming her,” one of the others said, rolling her eyes. “She has no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh,” Maita said, suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, no, you really don’t, do you?”

If Yvanne had not spent the past years being humbled over and over again, she might have taken offense. As it was, she only shrugged.

Maita covered her face in shame. “I’m so sorry—I assumed, since you were training with Ambuya—we were all so jealous when we heard…”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m afraid I only look Rivaini. I’m not a part of any of this. I’m certainly not a Seer.”

“But you are a Seer,” Maita said encouragingly. “Or you will be.”

She crossed her arms, doubtful. “She said I was only beginning to learn. That I was already late.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’ll learn. You’re her blood, after all.”

“Isn’t half of Dairsmuid her blood? I’ve lost track of how many cousins I’ve met today.”

Maita laughed. She had a musical laugh. “Perhaps not so much as half! Our Buya had many sons, but even those who are not her blood are still her family; she is buya to all of us.”

Yvanne, who had been assuming that ‘Buya’ was the old woman’s name, made a small adjustment.

Dairsmuid had a public bathhouse, and she was in luck—today was the women’s day to use it. The next several hours went to matters of hair and beads and other things so trivial that Yvanne had nearly forgotten they existed. Was there really still a world of moisturizing hair cream and scents and jewelry? She had liked such things, once, because in the Circle they had been—if not forbidden, then strictly discouraged, and difficult to get a hold of. The habit had stayed with her as the Vigil’s keeper, and she had yet to be cured of it. It was so ridiculous. It was so nice.

Somewhere in this process she told the story of her travels. She hadn’t meant to—she’d thought it far too painful—but somehow it all came out. She started with hiding in Highever—she left out that she had ever been a Grey Warden—and by the time she got to the part with the pirates her hair was done. It had been long all her life, and was twisted close to her head and bound with bells and beads. She looked both like and unlike Isabela, like and unlike her old self. She had never felt so light; she couldn’t stop tilting her head back and forth and feeling the absence of the weight. It was strange, but not—bad. No, not bad at all.

By then it was time for the evening meal was upon them, and Maita’s mother—a stout woman who had clearly never taken no for an answer in her life—was insisting. Yvanne ate with Maita and her mother and her younger brothers who stared at her with curious eyes the size of dinner plates. Maita’s mother, it turned out, was not from Dairsmuid, but from a village on the eastern coast. 

“—I came here to be with my girl, of course. She wanted to learn here in the capital, and I was not about to let her go alone,” she said proudly.

Yvanne slept there on a palette by the smouldering hearth, sick with imagining what it would be like to have a mother like that.

As the days passed and her great-grandmother did not summon her, she was folded into Maita’s family almost without noticing. Maita had three younger brothers who Yvanne somehow fell into the watching of—boys of six, ten, and twelve, who begged her to show them how to make lightning. She helped with the chores, kept the boys busy. She even learned a few words of the local Rivaini dialect. On the last day of the week, she helped decorate the household shrine to Andraste with marsh-lillies and necklaces of carved wooden beads. The prayers spoken over the shrine were not entirely unlike the Chant, but not entirely like it, either.

Finally came market day, so Yvanne saw the Dairsmuid market. Maita tugged her along as she did her family’s shopping, informing her of what fruits were in season and asking frequent questions about what things were like in Ferelden. 

“Oh, I used to love the star-reader,” Maita sighed, pointing out a woman’s nondescript stall. “Of course, it is not Seeing, but that’s what made it special. My friends and I used to giggle for hours over the fates the stars had in store for us. The men we would marry, how many children we would have…” She trailed off, then finished cheerfully, “But I’ll be getting married soon.”

Yvanne could not help but notice that no husband-to-be was in evidence.

Maita clinked loudly as she laughed. “I haven’t met him yet, of course! He lives in a village far away from here, one that needs a Seer. Once I have passed the ritual, I’ll be ready to serve. I’m told he’s very kind. Is it bad that I hope he’s handsome, too?” She giggled behind her hand. “But you aren’t married! Do you want to consult the star-reader? Don’t you ever wonder what your husband will be like?

“Hm,” said Yvanne. “No, thank you.”

Soon after Maita encountered a friend of hers, and fell inextricably into an animated conversation that Yvanne couldn’t follow at all. Slighted, and resentful that she felt so, she wandered away. She could hear in the middle distance bell-like music. The source of it turned out to be a Vashoth woman sitting cross-legged, producing the tune from an instrument Yvanne had no name for, a wooden box lined with metal rods that produced unearthly music under the Vashoth’s careful fingers. Too soon, the song ended, and she lifted her hornless head to smile in thanks at the crowd. 

Only then did Yvanne notice the scars around her lips.

“Did you mean to buy something?” the Vashoth asked suddenly. Yvanne forced herself not to stare.

“I have no money,” she stammered, then added, “Sorry.”

The saarebaas sized her up, and smiled. As she did, her scars instantly became the most noticeable thing about her. “Oh, I see. You’re new; one of Buya’s girls, aren’t you? I am called Amarna.”

“So I’m told,” Yvanne said stiffly

“You’re a bit old to start training.”

“I’ve had training.”

The saarebas laughed shrugging. “Mm. Well, it was probably better than the training I got.”

Yvanne’s eyes flicked to the woman’s scars again. 

Amarna snorted good-naturedly. “Admiring these?” she said, touching her lips.

“I wasn’t—”

The former saarebas laughed. “Go ahead and look, I’m not ashamed.”

Yvanne wanted to apologize, but now she worried that it would only make it worse. Luckily the awkwardness was broken by a little Vashoth girl in pigtails, no more than eight years old, and already as high as Yvanne’s shoulder.

“Look what my friend showed me how to do!” the little girl said breathlessly to—presumably—her mother, ignoring Yvanne entirely. She extended her pudgy, little-girl hands palms up. Fireballs bloomed there, first, red, then yellow, then green and blue. Yvanne startled backwards and nearly knocked over a rack of fishing spears. “Are you proud of me?”

“Very good!” her mother beamed as Yvanne desperately tried to stabilize the rack of spears. “Indeed I am proud of you. But do you remember the rules?”

The girl let the fireballs dissipate. “No fire without my tutors watching,” she said ruefully, rolling her eyes. 

“That’s right. Now go play.”

Only then did the little girl notice Yvanne and mutter a shy ‘hello’ before running off again.

“Sorry for her,” said the saarebas. “She’s always trying things she’s not quite ready for yet.”

“That…must be difficult.”

“I can’t even tell you how many times she’s hurt herself!” She shook her head. “But if she makes no mistakes, she’ll never learn.” 

Yvanne had been that age when she’d first discover her magic. She never would have dreamed of showing her father. She’d hidden it. Had prayed for the Maker to take it away. “I’m surprised you don’t worry.”

“Of course I worry! What mother doesn’t? But she has good teachers here. I’ll never be much of a mage, but the Seers take care of her. And if she’ll receive some scars for her own foolishness, she will never have scars like mine.” She said it in well-rehearsed tones, like this was a speech she had been obliged to recite too many times.

Yvanne remembered Cheddar, and what had happened to her sarebaaset. But no, she daren’t ask. Instead she said, “What kind of instrument is that?”

And like so Maita found her some minutes later, profusely apologizing for leaving her alone, exchanging pleasantries with Amarna, and finally dragged her away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you,” she said in hushed tones. “I forget that most people outside Rivain aren’t used to the freed saarebas. Quite a lot of them live here.”

That night Yvanne could not get to sleep beneath the unfamiliar ceiling. She thought of Amarna’s little daughter whose magic would only ever earn her a gentle admonition, and envy rose in her gorge like poison. What she would have given to have grown up here in Dairsmuid. What might she have become if her father had brought her here instead of to Ferelden? Why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he loved her enough to bring her here? All those years in Kinloch, the wretched thing that place made her—

She thought of Amarna’s scars, and thought—yes, it could have been worse. But it could have been better, too.

Yes, she was here now, but what good did that do her? It didn’t make up for it. Nothing ever would. Dairsmuid was not her home. If she had ever had one, it had been Vigil’s Keep.

That home was lost to her. Perhaps did not exist at all. Just like her mother and her father and her sisters. Everything was lost, lost—all that remained was here. A wave of nauseous longing rolled over her like the evening tide, and she went to sleep no less conflicted and confused.

—

She dreamt again of Loriel, buried deep within her tower of stone.  Her hair was longer now than it had ever been, neatly parted in the center. Somehow in their time apart it had stopped frizzing, and fell to her back in elegant feathers. Were there new lines on her face? How old was she now?

She was writing busily in a blank parchment manuscript, occasionally consulting a tome at her elbow. She scribbled for hours, only occasionally pausing to sip water or stand up to stretch. All these little gestures, so familiar, so utterly strange.

Who was she? Who was she?

“I never even knew you, did I?” Yvanne said to her, knowing she wouldn’t be heard. “Not that you were any better. You never knew me either, did you? I don’t think I ever felt more alone than when I was with you.”

And Loriel kept scratching away, oblivious. It was starting to make her angry.

“You know,” she said, “If it hadn’t been for all that fucking blood magic, maybe you could have heard me say all these things. Maybe you could have heard me at all. I was too much a coward to say what I meant to your face, and now you’ll never know how I really felt. You selfish fucking bitch.”

And then—

—Loriel looked up.

Her forehead wrinkled in that burningly familiar way. Her mouth began to form the shape of the word, who—?

The dream collapsed.

—

Yvaanne woke in the middle of the night, knowing that she was summoned to Dairsmuid’s great tree. She received no message; only a conviction that she was wanted, and an intuitive understanding of where to go. She walked there, barefoot, the ancient half-drowned forest singing all around her.

Buya was exactly where she had been, awake and bright eyed. “I am sorry to have woken you. Did I interrupt your dreaming?”

She shook her head. “I did not want that dream.”

“I see.” The old woman’s lips still did not move when she spoke. “Have you decided, then, if you will stay and learn from me?” 

“I…”

A heaviness lay on her heart. After a week in Dairsmuid, she had never missed the Vigil more. She missed her high grey walls, her fluttering banners, the smell of smelting iron in the air. She missed the training, the drinking games, the knowledge that everyone around her knew her name, that people would care if she was gone.

But here in Dairsmuid, everyone somehow knew her name. They would care if she was gone. So they didn’t know her, so what? Nobody had ever known her. 

Dairsmuid was here. Dairsmuid was now. And was love not born of base familiarity? Was love anything besides mere exposure, mere proximity? 

“Great-grandmother, I want to stay,” she said. “But…”

Ambuya waited, patient.

“But there’s someone I still love. Far from here.”

“Ah,” the old woman said. “I see. I will not pretend I am not disappointed, but it was good to lay my mortal eyes on you, my daughter.”

Yvanne shook her head, and knelt. Then she looked up, her eyes streaming. “And I never want to see or think about her, ever again. Please, grandmother—I am yours. Please, teach me.”

Ambuya smiled, reached out, and placed a hand on Yvanne’s bowed head. She was resolved; she would become a part of this. She would be one of many, and she would make this life a good one if it killed her.

[bunathebunny]

A few months ago, I stayed in the dorms with some of my classmates and we played Werewolf (the card game) and at the end of the week, when I was riding the bus back home, I came up with some kind of a Werewolf AU with Maribat and the note is rotting in my draft and since I’m cleaning my notes, I guess I’ll just put it here?

Based on card game Werewolves of Miller’s Hollow and took place in a town/city that was the mix of Paris and Gotham or something along that line. We only had twelve people per room so there wren’t much variety and I had to look up some more cards.

Mari was the daughter of bakers and was the little girl when she was younger (Card: Little Girl) and later was the apprentice seer to Fu, working under the alias of Ladybug (Card: Apprentice Seer) and then became the Seer when Fu passed (Card: Seer)

Fu was the Seer and went under the alias of Jade Turtle (Card: Seer) and also mentored Mari until one day, he died and passed the mantle to Mari

The knowledge of the Seer was well-kept and most people didn’t know about who was the Seer so people like Alya looked up to Ladybug as their protector

Luka was the Priest, who also worked in the shadows and cooperated with the Seer and the Witch and since the mantle of the Priest was passed down by his mother, who played the role of the Priestess when she was younger (Card: Priest)

Kagami was the supposed Huntress, which she was trained into by her Mother as the ex-Hunter was a friend of her mother and he chose her to be his legacy but ended up as the Witch as the ex-Witch, a.k.a the lover of the ex-Hunter passed her mantle to her first (Card: Witch)

Chloe wasn’t supposed to get a role but the ex-hunter passed her his role because of the fall out he had with his lover over her choosing Kagami (Card: Hunter)

The system was that Mari would scry and if someone was a wolf, they contacted the Hunter through Kagami, who then passed the info about the wolves’ target to Luka or if the situation was dire, she would cook up a cure or if their target wolf escape, they would try again with Kagami’s poison

Bruce was the Big Bad Wolf a.k.a Alpha Wolf, couldn’t be scried as a wolf by the Seer and working to rule Paris/Gotham by fear (Card: Big Bad Wolf)

Barbara was the Sorcerer, hunting down the Seer and her position was kinda snatched up by herself a.k.a she fought for it from the ex-Sorcerer, who operated outside of Batfam to return the role into the fold as per order from Batman (Card: Sorcerer)

Dick was the Wild Child whose role model - Mary Grayson - died and he became a wolf and was taken in by Bruce who trained him and stuffs (Card: Wild Child)

Jason was the Cursed and became a wolf when he was bitten by Joker - who was the Lone Wolf - and was taken in by Bruce who found him on the streets (Card: Crused)

Cass was the Doppelgänger at first (Card: Doppelgänger) and her father wanted to use her to steal the role of the Big Bad Wolf to get control over the wolves but she broke free and chose the ex-Spellcaster and when Bruce found her, she wanted to help her family and he ordered the ex-Spellcaster executed and Mari and co failed to save him so Cass ended up as the Spellcaster (Card: Spellcaster)

Tim was the Wolf Man while his mother had been a normal werewolf and Bruce took him in when his mother was killed and his father found out and shunned him and his father kinda disappeared too and no one knew why - Jack Drake was executed by the Wolf Man - and was kinda the spy for the Wolves’ faction (Card: Wolf Man)

Stephanie was the Lycan who allied with the wolves because of prejudice she received from being a child of the ex-Wolf Man and Bruce kinda took her in after Tim struck out on his own (Card: Lycan)

Damian was the Wolf Cub because somehow he took after Bruce and not ended up as a vampire like his mother’s side of the family (Card: Wolf Cub)

Alfred was a Minion who worked with Bruce’s parents in the past and raised him and took care of the others (Card: Minion)

And I think that’s it. There are still other characters and I could only write that much on one bus ride before carsickness hit. 

[hs-analyzing-and-theorizing]

Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc: What’s their Classpects?

Hello welcome back to “What’s their Claspects” where i (Rage/formally Time) look at pieces of fiction and try to find out the Classpects of the Characters.

Today we’re looking at Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc to find the Classpects of the cast, we’ll skip over backstory only characters & monokuma (Monokuma would likely be a first guardian in homestuck anyway) (Also this gonna be very long)

Makoto Naegi: Muse Of Hope

Alright so i think this one is very clear to see why I’d think this, Makoto isn’t one to act & instead is one to cause others to act for him. Him almost dying near the end of the game is what brings the group together to stop Junko & all Makoto had to do to cause that was trust in Kirigiri. As whole Makoto tends to lead others to hope but doesn’t force it, there’s only one time he leaned into an active role which was in SDR2 which we all know how that almost turned out for him, His plans & ideas work best when he’s not being active & instead helps others. Makoto is a very good example of a good Muse Of Hope. (Though you could make a case for him being a Light player)

Junko Enoshima: Lord Of Rage

Ah yes the queen of despair, of course she is the opposite Classpect to Makoto, though had Makoto fit something like Witch of Hope better I’d still give Junko Lord Of Rage, she is by far one of the most active people in Danganronpa, often making people serve her so she spread her despair farther than she’d be able to on her on. I’d very much say the people who serve Her remind me of Lord English’s followers by making it harder to deal with the Lord and by bringing more people into the fold. Junko mainly fits the parts of Rage to do with negative emotions also She could also fit Mage/Seer of Rage due to her analytical prowess.

Kyoko Kirigiri: Knight Of Heart

Kyoko’s childhood caused her to hide away her heart & feelings making her the cold but thoughtful young women we meet in the first game. She like other Knights hides the part of herself tied with her Aspect, she acts like the things around her don’t brother her & acts stone cold but behind that she’s a very emotional person who sometimes boils over & shows how she’s feeling. (Like when Alter Ego thought the headmaster could be the mastermind) Kyoko also mainly acts to serve others, working to keep everyone alive without caring how that could hurt her, (like making her seem shady to the others) she acts for other’s wellbeings way more often then for her own gain, even when letting Makoto take the fall was for the greater good of the group instead of her own good.

Byakuya Togami: Page Of Light

Byakuya was probably the hardest in this set to figure out but here it goes. Byakuya tends to avoid being the acting when he can help it, he tends to try to have others to serve him be a butler to serve him or the others knowing about Jack to make sure she doesn’t do anything to him. Byakuya tends towards the part of the Light Aspect about knowledge & fortune not so much on the luck part, the knowledge Byakuya has tends to be used by him for mainly his own gain though he is willing to work towards greater goods as long as he cares about it.

Toko Fukawa: Rogue of Doom

Alright so this one is more about DRAE:UDG as in the first game Toko was kinda role playing as a Knight due to trying to serve Byakuya but within Another Episode we get to see Toko act without Byakuya around. She tends to act for others instead of herself & often the way she helps hurts others, like with always around Byakuya it did keep him safe in the killing game but it kept him in a role where his bad side would show more along with making it harder for the others to deal with Jack. Within Another Episode Toko in a way steals Komaru‘s fate to become another Junko and gives that fate to Monaca to help Komaru along with the city & Byakuya. now Toko fits to doom to a t when it comes to personality being a very gloomy person.

Jack: Thief of Life

Unlike Toko Jack is very upbeat even though she’s one of the darker characters in Danganronpa. She tends to kill for her own gain (trills & the like) without caring what that will do to others (like Toko having to deal with the guilt) as a Jack tends to take what she wants without caring for others. Though once she starts showing a better side to herself that can be caring & protective of people other then Byakuya. Like Meenah (who shares a classpect) Jack can be very rude & uncaring at times but also can be loyal and protective.

Aoi Asahina: Sylph Of Blood

Hina is besides Makoto is the friendliest of the students, often trying to include people are were shy (like Toko & Chihiro) in group activates, which definitely falls in well with how often Sylphs act like they know best when it comes to their aspect. Like other Sylphs Hina takes a active role in protecting her Aspect/with her Aspect, when she thinks the group has caused the death of her best friend she jumps to act to kill the group.

Yasuhiro Hagakure: Seer Of Breath

Yeah Hiro’s a Seer, it just makes too much sense with who he is, he’s someone who already has seer powers so really all i needed to do was find his Aspect. Hiro was probably one of the more selfish students in the game, trying to trick people to try to get out of debt & being a bit of a coward. He also was very laid-back & didn’t get too overly close with anyone, not to say he didn’t make friends but unlike the others he didn’t seem as close with everyone.

Sayaka Maizono: Bard Of Heart

Sayaka did a lot to be an Idol including things that don’t really match up with the her we know in-game (like that modeling we see in dr3), Sayaka also used feelings in her murder plan, had it worked out Leon & Makoto (Plus everyone else) would’ve been screwed due to Leon being into Sayaka & Makoto caring & trusting her. Now why Bard instead of Prince is meanly Sayaka’s goal wasn’t really to destroy nor did she act well actively instead her plan relied on others to act/destroy instead of herself.

Mukuro Ikusaba: Prince Of Time

Mukuro’s life made sure she would be a killing machine. Since she was a kid the road she’d walk would lead to killing. Like other Time players she is very determined and is willing to do what it takes to get her goals done, & like other Princes tended to be the loner on her path though still very loyal to those they stayed close with. A in-canon case of her fitting this role would be all of IF (I’d say Mukuro was also kinda role-playing as a Knight) (Also you could make a good case for other classpects like a Muse of some kind)

Leon Kuwata: Maid Of Mind

Alright so think less the logic part and lean more into the choices. Leon at the start of the Game (along at the start of him going to Hope’s Peck) Leon wanted to change his talent just for a girl he didn’t even seem to very close with, like other Maids he started out relying on others for his Aspect and in the game he doesn’t get past this point, i think had he had the time he likely broke of the idea of having others decide what he’d be, hell tbh he seems like he’d try to just not be an Ultimate anymore so he’d be able to enjoy whatever he’d pick to do with himself instead of being told he has to do it.

Chihiro Fujisaki: Knight Of Void

Chihiro acted for other’s well-beings above their own, being the one to make Alter Ego who helped save the students. Like other Knights Chihiro hid a part of themself, though unlike other Knights no one have guessed Chihiro was hiding anything, in a way hiding in plain sight. Chihiro served the group using the secret of Alter Ego to do it.

Mondo Owada: Witch Of Rage

Mondo tends to be a victim of his own anger problems more then anyone else, (like other Witches who tend to suffer at least a bit from their Aspect) said problems harder to deal with then they already were. Like other Witches Mondo isn’t happy in the role he plays but keeps playing it.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru: Sylph Of Mind

Like cannon Sylphs Taka is very pushy about his Aspect, mainly he knows best when it comes to justice, (which likely at least a bit tied to Mind) He tends to try to act as a leader to others even though there are people who’d likely be better leaders. Like other Mind players Taka seems to have a hard time having healthy relationships with people even though he wants to.

Hifumi Yamada: Heir Of Space

Tbh wasn’t fully sure what to give Hifumi mainly cause Danganronpa tends to turn fat characters into jokes but anyway here’s my best shot. Hifumi is for sure a passive player i mean the guy only does things when he’s told too, so the guy ain’t an active player, now as a guy who didn’t have any friends and dealt with that by making things that screams Space player like a lot. Hifumi was always away from people & didn’t have people to be close with, he was surrounded by Space all the time which did help him live for quite awhile, had he not close with anyone he would’ve been safe

Celestia Ludenberg/Taeko Yasuhiro: Mage Of Void

Celeste is the queen of lies so of course she’s a void player all i needed to do was find the fitting Class. Celeste like other Mage’s caused a lot of other people to get caught up with her aspect, her lies over took all of the 3rd Class Trial & with said lies she was able to make Hifumi do things he otherwise wouldn’t do. Also like other Mages her own Aspect hurt her a lot, her lies only made her feelings about her true self worse.

Sakura Ogami: Muse Of Blood

I’ll keep this one short. With her sacrifice the rest of her classmates came together which was something that without her wouldn’t have happened, she was someone who was protective & strong but the she used her Aspect fits best with a Muse.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 197:  Well Enough Alone

After a year, the war was still dragging on. Slowly it dragged, begrudgingly. But there was evidence that there was hope on the horizon. In the beginning, it truly had seemed like it was merely a rebel uprising, but after a year, it was obviously more than that. People joined David and Snow in droves, flocked to them, really! They started in the small towns, similar to the place Regina had threatened the Princess and drew from there to make their army. For the most part, as long as that was all they were doing, George and Regina continued to ignore them. Stupidly, in his opinion. They attacked their camp on more than one occasion. Snow and David intelligently gave the order not to fight but rather to flee and regroup elsewhere. And then, one night, after their army had grown close to a thousand, George foolishly sent a small platoon after them, and Snow and David had attacked. They'd claimed victory over his army easily enough, and many of the survivors had turned for them, vowing to serve them loyally.

From there, they moved from recruiting in small towns to cities, that was when George and Regina had both realized they might have a problem on their hands and formed a stronger, more official alliance. More and more, they attacked, and more and more, David and Snow won. Even he had to admit, False Prince though he may be, David was learning the ropes faster than he'd ever thought he might. Standing at Snow's side, even if he still used James's name, he was growing into quite the leader with an eye for battle. He was becoming a prince. A true prince. Not just a foolish boy playing prince or a man engaged to a princess. He took to the role like a fish to water.

Soon, it wasn't just George and Regina's troops that were attacking; Snow and David's army was doing some attacking of their own and not just on battlefields. They began claiming land. They began governing as well as warring so that he knew when the day came that they finally took what they needed, they would slide easily into a castle, just as though they'd always been there.

Snow and David weren't the only ones learning; he was too. He learned to trust the Seer. He learned to watch and not meddle, that everything had its time and place whether he rushed off to help it along or he didn't. For instance, when George realized that he was destined to fail, fall from grace and lose his Kingdom, he'd hired a new general, an old familiar face to him but not to anyone else in this land. It was none other than Lancelot of Camelot, and he'd been hired by George not to kill Snow, but rather to capture her. He was successful. One night, just after his appointment, he captured Snow White, put a bag over her head, and took her back to King George, and that was where he'd executed a brilliant but cruel plan.

"I don't care what you do to me! I will never tell you where he is!" he heard Snow shout through a mirror the moment the bag was off of her head.

George held up a hand to silence her. "I know. That's not why you're here. Would you bring our guest some water?" he requested, looking to Lancelot. He looked confused at the command, but he couldn't blame him. The task seemed beneath him. But he was an obedient knight, he remembered that much about him, and poured some water into a goblet sitting out of the table as George walked away from her.

"Times have been good for you, haven't they? I can see a light in your eyes. Cherish that. Because that light can die and be replaced by something else–pain."

"The only thing you know of pain is how to inflict it," Snow snapped, pulling the goblet from Lancelot.

"That's where you're so very, very wrong. I've had my share of pain. I had a son that I loved, died before his time. I tried to replace him with your 'Charming,' offered him the world. But he rejected me. Humiliated me in front of my kingdom. All for the sake of true love."

"Something about which you know nothing," she stated before taking a sip and meeting him at the table.

"I know more than you think."

"You? Were in love?" she taunted in disbelief.

"Yes. And she loved me. We were happy, blissful. But then, she became cursed. She drank a vile potion that made it impossible for us to conceive a child. Family is everything, my dear. Losing all hope of having one…there is no greater misery. Charming could have been that hope for me. But, instead, he made my suffering worse. For that, death is too good for him. First, he must know pain. My pain."

He felt his stomach twist sickened in his gut as fear stole over Snow's face and into her eyes. "NO!" he shouted at the mirror, at the same time that Snow did. She was looking down into the goblet, looking for something that couldn't be seen. No.

"You poisoned her?" Lancelot realized aloud.

"I cursed her," George corrected. "She will never bear a child."

He'd fret about, panicking, telling himself he had to go, had to find a cure even though he knew there was none. The Seer urged him to stay put. He'd watched the mirror like a hawk as Snow was released, tossed cruelly back into the woods at the spot her camp had once been before George's armies attacked. But she wasn't alone for long, for out of the woods came Lancelot.

After knocking him off her horse and threatening the man, she helped him to his feet, and the pair departed for a little cabin that David had hidden his mother in long ago, before the war had even started, apparently. When they arrived, David was there, so was his mother, who had an arrow sticking out of her chest surrounded by nearly half a dozen dead soldiers of King George.

All was lost. He could see that easily enough, even before they pulled the arrow free and examined it's tip, observing the wink of poison left on the wood. The wound to Ruth's chest would be a fatal one without magical intervention, and the Seer wasn't giving him a sign to go.

But they did.

While he expected them to put Ruth into the house and stay with her for her last hours, they moved quickly, prepared a wagon, loaded Ruth into it, and left for somewhere. Lancelot and David talked in the front, but Snow stayed with Ruth in the back. While the boys were away and the wagon was stopped, Ruth struggled to pull a charm from her neck, one that he recognized instantly as a gypsy charm because he had about twenty of his own. It was a charm for women, one that predicted the sex of a woman's child. Snow was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, but he watched as Ruth held Snow's hand out over the charm…and it didn't react. Snow nodded in understanding and exchanged what he could only imagine was an explanation to Ruth. But instead of growing concerned, the old woman grew excited. The words she said not only calmed Snow White, but they also made her smile.

All conversations ended when the boys returned, but as they walked on, he looked between the pair and often saw them cast glances at each other that encouraged smirks and grins. They were planning something. But what?

Lake Nostos. Oh, he knew the moment he saw it that was their plan but…it was a useless plan. Lake Nostos was no more. With the siren dead, it was now barren land, the lakebed drying up a little more every second. Still, they searched, and searched, and searched…until David raced to the place where Lancelot was, and he saw a single swallow of water left inside of a seashell. The men poured it into a canteen, and David took it to Ruth. David offered it, and she drank, or at least it appeared that she had…but he knew it wasn't so.

That water, even a sip, should have cured a wound like hers instantly, and yet there was nothing, no hint of getting better at all. That left him two conclusions. Either the water wasn't from Lake Nostos, just something left there from a rainstorm, or…she hadn't taken the sip.

Given the look Ruth kept giving Snow, he was willing to bet it was the latter. But…as he watched what unfolded, he began to see that there was method as well as madness to the Seer's instructions. Snow and David made themselves suddenly busy, and Lancelot bent his head low to listen to something Ruth said as she pressed the flask into his hands. A few moments later, the couple had constructed a simple arch and a bouquet of flowers. Though he couldn't hear, he recognized the wedding ceremony simply enough, a wedding ceremony that Lancelot officiated, in which, before he'd taken his place, he'd poured the small contents of the flask into a canteen.

Snow drank first, then David, and after they kissed, he wasn't surprised to see Ruth had died.

A few hours later, when David had buried his mother and held the charm out over Snow's hand, it did as he expected, and swung. The curse was lifted. He hadn't had to lift a finger. It was a good lesson to learn. So often in his life, he'd thought that he was the catalyst only to find that he was just another pawn of history, playing his part so that things could continue as they were supposed to. There was some relief in that because it meant that he was destined to get back to Baelfire. The future dictated it.