#army of my short kings crushes gets bigger and bigger

[theholypeanut]

You know what looking at this haikyuu trailer I think I will develop a crush on Kenma, if I didn’t already

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Unexpected Places (Pt. 11 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 2 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

<- Previous part (10)

{Vikings Masterlist}

×

Home

Walking slow, you keep up the pace of a heavily pregnant Aslaug. The news of the child on its way came on the last day of the feast for your wedding and it was well-received by everyone. The snow falling gives Kattegat an amazing look, with everything painted white. The ocean is starting to freeze, but there are still boats coming and going, doing the last trades by sea before the ice keeps them away, having to endure the walk instead of sailing here.

Heading to the main hall, you stop when Aslaug stops, a hand on her swollen belly. “Everything alright?”

“Yes. I just need to lie down for a while.” She answers, setting in motion again. “Ragnar sons are always–” She's cut short once you enter the hall, the high number of people gathered around getting both your attentions. “Did something happen?” She asks, raising her voice. Ragnar comes to stand beside her, very protective ever since he found about the pregnancy.

You make your way to where Ivar is, seated on Ragnar's throne. “What's going on?” You ask him. “Bad news?”

“Boats were seen sailing this way.” He answers, gesturing, and dismissing the men. “With your brother's flag.”

“What the hell does Aethelwulf want?” Shrugging your shoulders, you stand beside Ivar, who takes your hand and places a kiss on it.

“Ask father.” He says, clearly annoyed.

Raising an eyebrow, you look at Ragnar. “Last raid I might have left implied that you were here on Kattegat, so... I think they came to take you back.”

“Why would you do that?” You inquire, hands on your hips.

“They were really pissing me off.” Ragnar justifies, and you roll your eyes.

“Are they coming for war?”

“No,” Bjorn says, entering the hall and dusting off his clothes from the snow. “I don't think they're planning on battle us, on our ground, with such few people.”

“Good. It means I can just tell them I don't wanna go and they'll leave.” Sighing, you look at Ivar. “And here I was planning on asking you to take me on the next raid.” You complain to Ivar, shooting Ragnar an angry glance. “England came to me.”

“Missing home?”

“Are you seriously asking me if I want to sail for weeks, stay on a camp in the woods for the entire summer for any other reason than to staying with you?” Faking an annoyed tone, you raise an eyebrow at Ivar.

Giggling, he bites his lip, nodding his head. “My mistake, princess.” Winking, he turns his attention back to his father. “Let's do what we have to do and get this tiny problem out of our lives so I can enjoy winter with my wife.”

“Speaking of enjoying the winter, I'll fix myself a warm bath and I hope you to join me.” With that, you turn around and head inside, ignoring the low chattering your words caused.

The word got out, you think, about Ivar being able to perform sexually. But since you were the first one to know, you don't mind the gossip.

The girls don't take much time to get everything ready, and you let them help you undress before you step into the tub. You always use Ivar's tub now, since you just moved into his bedroom after the wedding. As if you weren't sleeping here before. A few moments later you hear Ivar coming inside, taking off his clothes before joining you, making the hot water spill off when he moves inside, settling down next to you.

“You're so beautiful.” He whispers, immediately pulling you into a kiss, and you can't help but smile as you cave in, running a hand through his chest.

“Thank you, handsome.” You mutter when you pull away to breathe, biting your lip.

“Won't you even consider it?” You don't follow, so you pinch your eyebrows together, looking at your husband.

“Consider what?”

“Going back home.” There's fear in his voice, and that's a sentiment he only shows to you.

Ever since the announcement, Ivar has been listening to some rude things. People are mean, some of them at least. They say you'll leave him, trade him for a full man. That you'll get tired of him soon enough. You've been into awful arguments with some people about it, and Ivar have nearly killed a man a few weeks ago. With time, these comments are fading away, but it always gets to him. And when it happens, it's your mission to reassure him your love hasn't changed, it has only gotten bigger.

“I am home.” Caressing his cheek, you smile. “This is where I belong.” Your voice fades when you remember you have something to tell Ivar. It's been a while since you've been feeling odd, and your period is very late. “Actually, I need to talk to you about something.”

He furrows his eyebrows, a question on his face. “What is it?”

You know he wants kids, you've always knew. And you've been waiting until you're sure. And you're kinda sure at this point. “Ivar, I... I may be with child.” Speaking low, barely a whisper, you focus on his expression, trying to read it.

But you don't need too much. Ivar's lips break into a smile, and he kisses you deeply, until you're out of breath. “I'll be a father.” He says when you pull away.

“Yes, you will. And if it depends on me, you'll have a bunch of children, my love.” You can't wait to tell everyone, to let them know Ivar can do what they all doubted.

“I love you, (Y/N). More than everything.”

“We need to talk names now.” Giggling, you caress his face. “Everyone will have a suggestion.”

“We'll have to do it later.”

“Later? Why? Are you planning on doing anything now?” Smirking, you don't need any other answer than the kiss he gives you, and suddenly all the rest is put aside for a moment.

°°°

Hours later, when the sun is about to set, you're at the docks, watching as the two boats approach. A great number of people came too, of course, to see how it'll play out. There are soldiers, ready to fight if that's the case, but if it depends on you, it won't come to that. It doesn't look like they're here for war.

It gets your attention when one of the men, standing on the edge of the ship, recognizes you. He raises his eyebrows, but you don't show any expression. Slowly, he and a few men step out of the boat, eyes scanning through the Vikings, ready to defend themselves and their leader. That's when you recognize the man, Sir Wilfred, one of your father's man, now working for your older brother. He was kind to you, so you don't have your walls all the way up.

“Princess (Y/N).” He greets you with a small smile, taking your hand and placing a kiss on it. “It's a true blessing to find you alive and... Well.”

“It's good to see you too, Sir. Hope you made a safe trip here. But may I ask why did you and such a small army bothered to sail all the way to Kattegat?” Cutting straight to the point, you offer him a small smile. Ivar, who stands beside you, gets a worried stare from Wilfred, and you can feel his anger emanating.

“King Aethelwulf, your brother, sent us. After Ragnar Lothbrok told him you were here, brought by your own will, he decided to give you a chance to reconquer your old life, as a princess, by his side.” There's more than he's saying because you know your brother. It doesn't sound like something he would say. Aethelwulf wants you back because he can't even begin to imagine who would want to stay here. And he's ego demands him to try and get you back, so he can present you to his court, telling them how you came back to your senses and abandoned the barbarians.

“Tell my brother I have no intention of leaving Kattegat.” You begin, getting a weird expression from Wilfred, and some of his men start gossiping with each other. “I made myself a home here, among the Vikings. I even married one.” Gesturing at Ivar, you have to bite back the laugh that threatens to emerge at the surprise on Wilfred's face. “This is Ivar the Boneless, my husband and the father of the child I'm carrying. And I believe you know him very well Sir.”

“My princess, I don't understand–”

“I'm thankful for this... Rescue party you brought with you across the ocean, but I don't need to be rescued.” Cutting him off, you step back a little, gesturing at the people who stand behind you. “This is my place now, my people. My house, my King and Queen, my husband and friends. I'm not being held against my will. In fact, I didn't come against my will.” You raise your voice, so all of his men will listen, so the truth can find a way to your brother's ears. “With the same people you call soulless, barbarians, monsters, I found great happiness, something that I never had back in England. And I apologize if you had to endure such a journey for nothing, but I won't be going with you. And, just in case you were ordered to take me by force, I must advise you not to try it. Because you will lose.”

“My princess, those aren't the orders,” Winfred speaks again, clearly uncomfortable. “King Aethelwulf commands that, if you are indeed here by your own will, and refuses to return home, he will tell your people you died, and never again you'll find refuge in his kingdom.

Laughing a little, you shrug your shoulders. “So be it.” You simply say, looking at Ivar, who has a smile on his lips. “I'm not going anywhere.” You tell most to your husband than to anyone else. “It was good to see you one last time, Sir Wilfred.” But now I must ask you and your men to sail away from Kattegat. Your presence here isn't welcome.”

“I wouldn't stay even if you invited me, Prin... (Y/N).” He quickly corrects himself, and the change of humor makes you giggle.

“I wasn't planning on inviting you, Sir. Have a safe trip back to England.” Nodding at him, you turn around, walking away with Ivar next to you. Everyone steps out of your way, and you notice how some of Ragnar's men take a position to follow the Saxons back to their ship and until they're far enough from the town.

The commotion soon stays behind as you make your way back home, the wind, which gets colder by the day, messing with your hair.

“I love both of you,” Ivar says, out of nowhere, making you stop on your tracks by the main hall's entrance.

“What's that now?” Squinting your eyes, you stare at him, a chuckle caught in your throat.

“You make me happy. Like I never thought I'd be.” He comes closer, a hand on your belly. “This child is the very image of what we feel. And I never thought I'd ever love someone this much. Or that someone would love me even though–”

“Well, I love you. Just the way you are.” Your heart warms up at his smile, genuine and kind. “Now, let's get inside. It's getting cold.” Taking his hand, you pull him inside.

Many things are on the way now. The child, the raids, on which you do want to go every once in a while. The road is long and full of surprises, but you're willing to enjoy every step of the way. You never thought this would be how your life turned out, but as crazy as it is, it's good. It's the proof that love and happiness can be found in the most unexpected places, and you found both those things in a town across the world, with people who live in a completely different culture, in very different ways. But you would do it all over again, and now that you're here, you'll never take things for granted. You'll never trade this for anything else, not even for the throne of Wessex. This is far more valuable than all the crowns of the world.

×

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla @anotherfan07 @heavenly1927 @msrawog @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

[lifeofroos]

Part 60. I hate Minos, me my homies all HATE Minos.

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, he has decided he wants to talk to King Minos. Dionysus quietly agrees, but only so long as someone comes along. The story is also on AO3 and FanFiction.net! And in Tumblr tags like Dionysus, Nico di Angelo, percy jackson fanfic etc.  This Might Be Crazy: Chapter 60: Pomegranate Iced tea 

‘Did you bless the Jacksons’ house when I was there last time?’

Dionysus looked up. ‘I did. Sally Jackson runs a sanctuary. We can’t have monsters coming in.’

‘Very good.’

‘Now tell me the real reason why you came here. You can’t be here just to ask something you already knew.’

‘I mean, no.’

‘Spill.’

‘Don’t you trust...’

‘Nico!’

‘I want to go talk to king Minos. I want to know why he chose me.’

Dionysus took a moment to think about that. ‘Isn’t it clear why Minos chose you?’

I shrugged. ‘It might be. Because, you know, I was going around raising the dead and opposing Percy, which was very convenient for him. Still, I…’ I shrugged. ‘I want to talk to him. I want to know how he thinks.’ 

Dionysus thought for a second. ‘Minos is dangerous.’

‘So I can’t go?’

He thought for a second. ‘I can’t control you. You’ll go anyway, no matter what I say. Yet, I have a requirement.’

‘Being?’

‘Someone must be there with you. I am not letting you talk to a psychopath like Minos on your own.’

I sighed. ‘Who must it be?’ 

‘I’ll ask Persephone and Hades first. You’ll hear the answer tomorrow.’

‘Alright.’

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

The next morning, early as all hell, I heard a knock on my door. ‘Nico. Come.’ 

I scrambeld out of bed. ‘Eh, I will.’ Whoever you are. ‘Can I put on some actual clothes instead of my pajamas first?’

‘Five minutes.’

‘Okay, okay!’

Within five minutes, I was done and I stepped out of my cabin. I raised my eyebrows. ‘Ariadne?’

‘The very one. Persephone will come too. She’s waiting for us near Elysium.’

‘I mean... cool.’ I tried to shrug, but half-way through we were already teleporting into the underworld. My shoulders hurt when I got there. 

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

I disliked standing in front of the gates of Elysium again. It was soul-crushing to see all of the spirits, some of them hopeful, some of them sure they wouldn’t get in. 

I noticed Persephone standing near the judges. She was looking up at them, with her hands on her hips. She looked around when Ariadne called her name. ‘Still okay?’ She asked to the other goddess. 

‘As okay as it can get.’

‘Good.’ Persephone straightened her back. ‘We’ll let him do the talking.’ She pointed at me. 

‘And we’ll keep an eye on everything.’ Ariadne confirmed. 

Persephone nodded. ‘Come,’ she told (mostly) me. I nodded. We walked past the lines, to the three judges. The spirits didn’t seem to mind. 

Ariadne held up her hand. ‘Minos.’ All three of kings turned around. Minos mouth fell open. ‘Go on,’ Persephone commanded the judges. ‘Except for Minos. He comes with us.’

Minos got up, with a suspicious look in his eyes. 

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

‘What is it, my queen?’ he asked Persephone as soon as we were away from the line. His eyes ran past Ariadne without adressing her. His eyebrows raised when he saw me. ‘You brought me your own stepson? Unbelievable! Now why would that be?’

‘He has questions for you. We would like to see you answer them.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘That’s all.’ She gently laid her hand on my shoulder for a second.

‘Terrible to see you again,’ I began. 

‘You are the one bothering me.’

‘Still.’ I tilted my head. ‘I have my suspicions, but I wanted to know why you chose me. Why you had to haunt me instead of somebody else.’

‘You’re the son of Hades.’

‘I am.’

‘Doesn’t that seem like reason enough?’

‘Maybe. Yet, it would have been way easier for you to get a random scared kid to raise the dead for you. All the things you taught me are things you could have taught most other people. Raising the dead with Happy meals? You don’t need me for that. Don’t get at me with wanting to help Luke. You are way too selfish for that.’

Persephone and Ariadne gave each other a look when they heard me mention raising the dead with happy meals. Minos went on: ‘My goal might not have been to aid him, but perhaps what he had in mind spoke to me.’ Persephone crossed her arms. Minos smiled sinisterly. ‘My queen, don’t act like you didn’t know, even if I would never confess it.’

I pointed at him. ‘Didn’t you just…’

‘Let it go, Nico.’ I looked up at Ariadne, who nodded towards Minos. He still had not aknowledged she was there.  

‘I was easy to manipulate, but still on no-one’s side,’ I continued. ‘Any other demigod might have gotten dependent on you. They would have been your string puppet.’

‘But they would have had less power. Why have a string puppet when they aren’t useful for all sorts of things? Also, di Angelo, you can’t act like you weren’t dependent on me. You were so wrapped up in your silly hate and grief you didn’t see what was going on.’

‘Perhaps.’ Ariadne and Persephone tensed up. Maybe I had been more of a string puppet to Minos than I liked to think I was. Still… ‘Still, I did manage to break out. I listened to Percy after he showed me the truth. An agent of Luke wouldn’t have done that. They would have turned a blind eye and kept following you.’

‘The Jackson kid cared for you.’

‘He would have cared for any other demigod as well. You could have told them to play apologetic and then you would’ve had a spy. It would have been easier, it would have lead you to bigger things...’

‘What is it that you want? I picked you because you were powerful. That’s it. Every strategy has holes in it. It was a gamble to pick you over some nobody and…’ Minos bit his lip and did not say more.

‘And you gambled wrong,’ Persephone finished the sentence. 

Minos shrugged. ‘You win some, you lose some, my queen.’ 

Ariadne gave him a disgusted look. ‘Perhaps.’

‘You were a powermaniac,’ I concluded. ‘It would have been safer, be it a little harder, to use a minion from Luke’s army. Yet, I had power, and you fell for it.’

Minos shot me a disintegrating look. ‘Watch your words, demonspawn.’

‘Sounds like a weakness to me.’

‘Nico.’ Persephone slowly shook her head. 

‘I think I have what I wanted,’ I told Minos. 

‘Leave, then. I’ve got a job to do.’

‘Playing judge, jury and executioner even in death,’ Ariadne stated.

‘It comes naturally.’ It was the first time he acknowledged her existence. ‘I’d watch your mouth if I were you. Some of us might be power hungry, but we aren’t reckless traitors. Each their own.’ He grinned, before looking at Persephone. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll get back now, my queen.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t.’ 

He curtsied, before turning around and walking away. I had to bite my tongue to not yell after him that he was a terrible person, a terrible king, a terrible father, a terrible husband and a terrible judge.

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

‘He is terrible.’

‘He is manipulative,’ Ariadne stated. ‘The gamble analogy is apt. He gambled he could take control of the kingdom by banning his brothers. He gambled that he could contain the Minotaur and make Athens pay for it, and he won that bet twice, until…’ she sighed, ‘Until someone messed with his stack of cards. Every gambler misses now and then, and so did he. Terribly, a few times…’ 

Persephone clenched her fists. ‘And then he still didn’t, because my father had to give him the power he desired in death as well.’

I slowly nodded. Persephone sighed and pushed something into my hand. It was a can of Pomegranate sweet tea. I left it in the underworld a little while ago. 

‘Did you learn anything?’ Ariadne asked. It sounded as if she was somewhere else with her thoughts.  

‘What I thought about king Minos was proven. And I once again realised that maybe I should not always go through with my strange ideas.’

‘At least someone was here this time. I can’t tell what that man would have done we hadn’t been there,’ Persephone mused. A little smile appeared on her face. ‘I wanted to come too. Honestly, I wanted to see if it would be better to kick him out. And well, that is more than proven. As soon as I can get rid of him, I will.’

Ariadne looked just as surprised as I felt. ‘They needed to be sons of Zeus, right? The judges?’ I asked. 

‘Yes. But that friend of yours is here now, too.’

‘Jason.’

‘The very one. I think we might have a job for him.’

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

‘Coming with you was my own idea,’ Ariadne told me when we were back in Camp half-blood. 

‘Ah,’ I said, while I nodded. 

‘I mean Dio didn’t ask me to come. I wanted it. I wanted to see how Minos would react to you, to see if he was really still like that.’

I nodded. ‘Well, so did I. Thanks for coming anyway.’

She nodded, although she didn’t smile. ‘I think it will be lunch soon.’

‘Eh... yeah. I think Dionysus is in the big house.’

‘Then I’ll go there.’

It was clear we were both too busy with our own thoughts. I said goodbye and went to the dining pavilion. Will would want to hear my story. I assumed Dionysus would already have heard it next time I saw him, which was, if I can be honest, a relief. 

A/N: I was originally going to do this with just one of the ladies but then I thought of this and it was good. 

Finals are over today which is good now on to results haha help

[idjitlili]

Thorin x Modern!reader

Summary: imagine being annoying and singing the bilbo baggins ballad to wind up Thorin.

Word count:2125

You had been travelling with company for many months now, since you dropped from the sky onto a troll. It hurt like a smashing your back into the taps of a fancy bath. Then you were almost eaten by that troll, until Gandalf had saved you and the small dudes by smashing a rock in half.

Gandalf had allowed you to join the Journey despite Thorins total dislike of the idea.This face scrunched up in anger as he began to talk “I will not be responsible for her safety nor Bilbos.” You giggles at Bilbos name you knew exactly where you were and what you were going to do on the journey. Thorin turned to you and glared, you just stuck your hands up on surrender.

“Very well ,Thorin but you will not cause harm to my burglar or this women.” Gandalf spoke to the dwarves king.

Over the course of these months Thorin ignores you as much as he could even after bilbo saved him, he still avoided you at all costs. You thought he thought you were annoying. Kili and fili would annoy their uncle to get attention from him so that was exactly what you were going to do.

Now you all were escaping Thranduils kingdom in barrels down a river,thanks to Bilbo. The water soaked your shirt with y/m/r(movie reference) upon it, and denim shorts. Since the elves had stripped you from everything else, despite the dwarves anger. Not going to lie this barrel ride thing was very fun. From what you gathered so far Thorin wasn’t the type of person for jolly songs, and you knew of a song that was just that. You had previously had your arms in the arm , like on a rollercoaster, so you began shouting lyrics while doing so.

“In the Middle of the Earth, in the land of Shire

Lives a brave little hobbit whom we all admire

With his long, wooden pipe

Fuzzy, wooly toes

He lives in a hobbit-hole and everybody knows him”

Bilbo looks at you confused, aswell as legolas , he wonders what the fuck she doing she’s gonna get stabbed. Kili has already been shot and you all had already passed through the gate. You were trying to annoy Thorin yes but to lighten the mood distract kili from his pain.

“Bilbo (Bilbo!), Bilbo Baggins

He's only three feet tall

Bilbo (Bilbo!), Bilbo Baggins

The bravest little hobbit of 'em all!”

You aren’t really singing you just shouting the lyrics, Thorin keeps glancing at you with glares you smirk at him, you are sure that kili is going to join in singing soon enough.

“Now, hobbits are peace-loving folks, you know

They're never in a hurry and they take things slow

They don't like to travel away from home

They just like to eat and be left alone!”

“But one day Bilbo was asked to go

On a big adventure to the caves below

To help some dwarves get back their gold

That was stolen by a dragon in the days of old.”

You duck in the barrel as arrow flew passed you.

“Well he fought with the goblins!

He battled a troll!

He riddled with Gollum!

A magic THING He stole!

He was chased by wolves!

Lost in the forest!

Escaped in a barrel from the elf-king's halls!” You purposely changed ring to thing , so no one knew his secret you just smiled at Bilbo who had his mouth wide open, knowing you knew he had found a ring.

“Bilbo (Bilbo!), Bilbo Baggins

The bravest little hobbit of 'em all!” Kili and fili joined in at the second Bilbo, Bofur laughed the three of you, Bilbo smiled.

“Now he's back in his hole in the land of Shire

That brave little hobbit whom we all admire

Just a-sittin' on a treasure of silver and gold

A-puffin' on his pipe in his hobbit-hole!”

By the time you had finished you all had outrun or out swam , you all got the barrels drenched in water, clothes sagging from it.

“Y/n , is that a song from where you are from?” Bilbo had questioned you looking up at you , standing on the bank of the shore , you nodded at the hobbit. Before anyone could say anything else , Thorin marched over to you , grabbing you by the shoulder to turn you to him.

“What WERE you doing?” He screamed at you with anger. Damn this felt like the perfect line , he just spoon fed you more motive.

“ what arrr you doing?!” You frowned at Thorin , who clenched his fists harder.

“No,I SAID what were you doing?”

“What’re you doing?” You smirked , as Thorin scoffed at you about to shout at you, but then Bilbo clenched on your hand pulling you away. You looked back at Thorin who was still scowling at you, you gave him that smiling face Nicolas cage does.

That didn’t continue much longer , as Bard arrived, “damn bro he looks better in person.” You whispered Bilbo who just just nudged you’re leg to be quiet.

“When I was a lad, I ate four dozen eggs

Every morning to help me get large

And now that I'm grown, I eat five dozen eggs

So I'm roughly the size of a barge.” You spoke quietly down into the water recalling beauty and the beast. You had a huge crush on Gaston, but stupid Thorin bad made you achieve a bigger on on him.

“I’m so sorry miss y/n, but bomburs the only one the same size as a barge.” Bofur smirked to you , you giggled “it’s just a song from my home, sir.” You looked towards the dwarf with the hat.

“You will have to sing it for us miss y/n, your Songs are most enjoyable.” He smiled at you placing a hand on your shoulder.

“I can’t sing, hence why shouted the last song.” This made bofur laugh, but didn’t say anything , but bard told the dwarves to get in the barrels to hide. “Mister Bard , I have too long of a torso to hide in them.” Bard looked at your appearance , frowning you looked very different to anyone you had met. He wraps his coat around your shoulders.

“We shall act if we are courting as you need to wear my coat to hide your strange clothing.” He smiles lightly at you.

“Yes sir.” You did an army salute, he chucked at your weird gesture. Thorin didn’t like this idea or the way you looked at Bard.

Bard had been stopped from going into lake town from that greasy skank Alfred, eventually Bard had convinced him but that wasn’t going to stop him eyeing you up.

You glared at him , grabbing onto Bards arm, who realised what was happening wrapped his arm around you pulling you into his side. Alfrid was soon to look away embarrassed, he was clearly afraid of bard. Soon you passed and was able to let go of bard and soon the dwarves were out of the barrels. While bard and you headed to his house with his son , Bain. “Thank you bard for helping us.” You had told bard he sent you a smile.

You entered the house house to be greeted by his two daughters ,sigrid and Tilda. Their mouths gap in shock, at you wearing their fathers coat. You pull it off , putting on the peg. “Isn’t see a little young father?” Sigrid has questioned her father, you were only two years older than her.

“Uh.. I am not courting your father.” You replied with a blush on your cheeks from embarrassment. “Why are there dwarves coming out of our toilet da?” Sigrid had questioned, after the embarrassing in counter. “Will they bring us luck?” Tilda spoke up in excitement. Bilbo walked into the room wet and cold, as bards daughters gave you and the other blankets. You wrapped it around your cold form, “how was your trip Bilbo?” You smirked.

He sent you a glare “oh lovely , you know I had a nice swim.” You giggled.Thorin glared at you , from the fire place.

***

Yo u had told Thorin it was a trap , saving fili and kilis life, now Thorin fought Azog on the ice. Once Azog was distracted Thorin has threw that brick like weapon to Azog causing him to caught it. Thorin stood off the ice , making Azog fall but before he fell in the water you had popped out plunging the sword into Azog a back into his heart.

Your sword had became stuck, you pull at it with all your might, but you can’t get it free. Before you know it you are in the freezing water, trying keep ahold on the ice.

“Y/n?!” Thorin screamed running , towards you, but you cannot hold on to the cold ice any longer. “T-tho” before you can finish his name you lose grasp on the ice, plunging into the icy water. Your whole body is covered as your fingers lose sight of dryness , before the water takes over.

For moments that felt like hours you were surrounded, in death, before someone had grabbed onto your hand pulling you out of the water with ease. Yet you still only saw darkness until the you began coughing up water to breath. You lay on the cold ice spitting up the water on your side. “Y/n?” Someone’s voices echoed, through your blocked ears. You couldn’t see clear everything was blurry, you couldn’t make out details.

Large hands pull you into their bodies , wrapping fur around you soaking body. Bloody hell you were still wearing shorts and a t-shirt. “Yes?” You had whispered before closing your eyes, the person had stood up carrying you bridal style , becoming sonic running.

The next time you woke up you were in a bed , covered with furs and a very warm body laying at your side. The body is strong and muscular his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. The furs tickle your bare arms. You eyes shot open like a fridge by a hungry obese man. (That guy egg dude from sonic) You look to your side to see Thorin in deep slumber , his face surprisingly peaceful, as great contrast to his brooding face. “DAMN BRO did I finally get laid?” You shout loudly causing Thorin to jolt.

He sits up in the bed, you were in the covers yet he lay onto of them, without his shoes just a tunic and pants. “Y/n,you are awake.” He spoke groggly,removing his arm from you quickly when noticing it’s position. “I’m so sorry y/n” damn he never apologised except to Bilbo. “It’s okay I didn’t mind.” You smiled slyly at him.

“Thank you.” He had spoke sincerely, you sat up in the bed, joints cracking, looking around the room, this wasn’t your room Thorin had given you... it was his room.

“For what?” You questioned , you did nothing but almost dying. “For saving my family y/n . For that I also must apologise for treating you so poorly. I hope you can forgive me.” Thorin was also sitting up next to you clutching your now warm hand holding it gently.

“It’s all good Thorin. Not going to lie to you, I did annoy you to get a reaction out of you.” You smirk at the dwarves king. He chuckled at him “yes I was fully aware, kili and fili do the same thing.”

“That’s where I got the idea.” You giggledz

“Of course you did.” You sigh , In satisfaction you had never had a proper conversation with Thorin.

“God dude you didn’t even speak to me , and when you did you were angry. Yet still a dwarf , you captured my heart.” You spoke lowly , not really thinking about your words.

“I did?” You gasp , Thorin looks at you in shock, you eyes burn in embarrassment, you nod slowly and nervously. Before you know it , Thorin had grasped your cheeks pressing his lips to yours briefly before pulling away.

“As you have captured mine. God I saw those looks you gave that barge man.” He strokes his thumb on your cheek softly.

“What can I say he is a very handsome man.” You giggle at your own words.

Before you know it the door is open and Bilbo is skipping in “Oh my you have changed Thorin.” You both snap you’re heads to Bilbo.

“You did nawtttt God damnit Dildo Gaggins,”

[shkspr]

santhomedusae a réagi à votre billet:

I know I don't know anything about hamlet but I know enough about hamlet to posit spiral hamlet for the consideration of the committee

this is a very good insight and here’s my full thoughts, under a cut because whoo-ee i was not lying when i said i was a powder keg of hamlet thoughts and you ignited me. explosion follows:

hamlet would be courted by several entities. he’s a prince, he’s got power and potential, and he’s got the capacity for any number of things, depending upon his decisions. and which entities covet him most changes as he grows and changes as a person. 

prior to old hamlet’s death (pre-canon), the most prominent powers in young hamlet’s life would be the slaughter, the lonely, the stranger, and the web. 

he’d make a lovely avatar of the slaughter, like his father before him, if he chose. having armies at his command and perpetuating wars with causes he can’t remember and doesn’t care about.

the stranger and the lonely come from his time at wittenberg, his fascination with theatre, his deep distrust of others and his desire to keep them at arm’s length. 

the web would love to use him because he would be king someday, and the king has that power to manipulate and shape events to his liking even without supernatural help, so it would just make sense.

during the brief interlude between his father’s death and the appearance of the ghost (1.1-1.3), hamlet would still be on the radar for those ones, but especially the lonely, and he would also be of increased interest to the buried, the end, the dark, and the desolation. 

he falls a little bit in love with death during this time, because - it’s a cliche, but nobody alive understands how he feels. but the incarnation of death itself? that inevitability, that hopeless dread? he feels it so acutely.

then of course there’s the needless, senseless destruction of having his father ripped from his life without even the chance for a goodbye. he’s ripe with despair, and the desolation would eat it up, and it would be so easy for the desolation to turn that around and recruit him.

and then there’s the cold, lonely helplessness of the others. i’ve discussed before the connection between the lonely and the buried and the end, and i think i can throw the dark in there as well. it’s just - he hasn’t been buried alive in a literal sense, but in a figurative sense, he absolutely has. 

he’s feeling every bit of that crushing, inescapable weight upon his shoulders, every bit of his own impotence, every bit of his isolation from humanity, every bit of his own ignorance. he knows exactly how much he doesn’t know, and he knows exactly how much he can’t do, and it’s killing him. he can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t change, he can’t see, he can’t even die. 

so again, while he would very much be a victim to those powers, he would also be susceptible to their. grooming, for lack of a better term. he’s vulnerable and hopeless, and that’s just perfect.

after he speaks to his father’s ghost, he does go a bit twisty. but along with the spiral, this period in his life (1.5-3.3) is also ruled by the eye, the web, and the stranger.

the web is just - there are so many intricate threads of plots and lies and schemes and interpersonal relationships and what they truly are vs what they claim to be, all of it arranged just so, and of course from a doylist perspective we know this is because it literally was arranged by an author, but in a watsonian sense, it’s all very mother-of-puppets.

hamlet’s whole “antic disposition” scheme is of the spiral, using the tools of the spiral for his own ends, but also - you can’t really trust the spiral, of course, and he does ultimately become a victim of his own machine. there really is no line between what is hamlet acting as a madman and what is hamlet truly going mad.

which brings us to the stranger - because hamlet the play focuses a lot on acting as a theme, the dichotomy of reality and fiction, actor and audience. every single person in hamlet’s life (with the sole exception of horatio) is playing a part to get what they want from him, and he is doing the same to them. none of them are what they seem. they aren’t really people, not as hamlet knows them, so much as they are roles to be filled.

intertwined with that theme is the thread that runs throughout the play of surveillance. the actor/audience dichotomy is also a surveilling/surveilled dichotomy. it’s about the “now i am alone” and the “i’ll observe his looks” and the security cameras in hamlet (2009) starring david tennant. it’s about polonius and claudius directing ophelia and gertrude in how to engage with hamlet while they hide and watch. it’s about hamlet watching claudius pray and deciding that to kill him then and there would be too kind.

and finally, finally, we get to the final leg of hamlet’s journey (3.4-5.2), which still plays upon all the themes of before, with extra crunchy layers of slaughter and desolation and spiral and a bit of some others.

there’s so much murder. i don’t feel like i have to explain the slaughter connection here. the second half of this play is full of senseless, needless violence, violence without a clear target, violence without a clear goal. violence for its own sake.

which is also the desolation - so much loss and heartbreak and young lives cut short and loved ones killing other loved ones. all of that delicious destruction, and hamlet is mired in it.

hamlet can have little a flesh/corruption/death trifecta, as a treat: “at supper... not where he eats, but where he is eaten: a certain convocation of politic worms are e’en at him. your worm is your only emperor for diet: we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots: your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service, two dishes, but to one table: that's the end.”

the spiral and the mother of puppets have a strong connection here - think of how skillfully claudius seems to be playing laertes and ophelia, how much he thinks he’s pulling the strings, but of course he’s not - he’s telling lies, and all it does is drive ophelia mad and make laertes a rogue element, and hamlet knows this.

hamlet also plays the spiral a bit, himself - the way he plays up his madness after polonius’s death, the way he twists the truth to get rosencrantz and guildenstern killed and get back to denmark - but i think ophelia’s death does something to him, puts a lot of this in perspective for him. it makes him angry, of course, much like it did laertes, but unlike laertes, hamlet knows exactly where to channel that rage.

hamlet understands the inevitability of his fate, and his acceptance of his own lack of agency in this situation is actually one of the most reasonable, rational decisions he makes in the play. when he thought he could manipulate these powers for himself, he failed. now that he admits he’s not in control - ophelia’s death was proof of that - he sees clearly for the first time, and he might be furthest from the spiral here.

he goes into that fight at the end, knowing that there’s something bigger going on that he’s not privy to, and he plays his part as it’s written, he makes amends with laertes, he’s cordial with claudius and gertrude, he’s a good sport. and yes, he dies for it - but that was always a possibility, and he won’t defy augury.

in conclusion: hamlet is vulnerable to many powers, and he leans into several of them, but ultimately, his role is as a pawn in the game, not as a player. he can’t use any of the powers the way an avatar would, and his attempts to pull the strings on the spiral and the eye are what gets him - and everyone else - killed in the end. 

at a certain point - and no one can say exactly when - this ending became inevitable. at a certain point, all of the players in this game became pawns, acting out their prescribed roles to serve the ultimate end.

hamlet spends the entire play stubbornly avoiding and running from the slaughter, and he turns to various other powers for aid in that endeavor, sort of like mike crew giving himself over to the vast for protection from the spiral, only in hamlet’s case, it doesn’t work.

he actively attempts to manipulate the spiral, the eye, the stranger, and the web at various points in his journey, and he categorically fails every time. it’s only when he accepts the fact that he doesn’t have that kind of power that the play can run its course and reach its conclusion.

[ionlydatesassyelves]

sad bats

a snippet from the fic i never actually got around to. for context, abscuro had resurrected antasma among others to help him gather up pieces of the chaos heart. they had a messly falling out concerning the piece that luigi carries. this is shortly following that. 

------

"Come with me."

Antasma's mind was reeling, every inch of him hurt. All he could hear was those three words--not the howling wind or the pouring rain soaking through his fur, not his own ragged breathing, just that desperate voice and three words. He still couldn't manage to process them.

"Come with me, please," Luigi tried again, raising his voice over the storm. He reached out for Antasma, and the bat recalled himself enough to flinch back, glancing between Luigi and his hand like he was expecting an attack.

Thunder rumbled in the clouds overhead.

Antasma glanced up, arms curling tighter around himself. Maybe Luigi would be merciful after all, and kill him before the Inklings could catch up.

"Antasma!" Luigi shouted. He took two steps towards the bat, and slipped a bit on the slick grass.

Antasma jumped when his back hit a tree, and his claws scrambled for purchase on wet wood. It didn't entirely dawn on him that Abscuro's elaborate red cloak wasn't doing much to shield him from the storm, and it may have been cold he was shaking with now. It was most likely nerves. He couldn't tell if it was wind or whispers following him, couldn't make out the shifting shadows in the trees and if they were lethal or not.

"They're coming for you," he told Luigi again, insisted desperately. "You haff to go-- please--"

Luigi returned his stare with wide, blue eyes--so bright in the dull haze of storm around them. Afraid and uncertain and shaking himself. Antasma thought of him staring up at Abscuro that way, thought of black vines stilling his thin form, and he couldn't bear it. "Luigi, leave - there isn't time, they're coming -"

"What about you?" the smaller man shouted.

Antasma felt his blood run cold, and couldn't imagine the look on his own face. "Vhat ABOUT me?!"

Luigi paused, glanced up to Antasma's left. At the gnarled mess that used to be his ear. "You're hurt," he said, like it was the only thing that mattered.

"YOU vill be hurt, you must go -" Antasma was begging, just shy of dropping to the ground and pleading with him. "Vhy do I haff to convince you to run now?!"

"Come with me!" Luigi tried again, and he reached out a hand once more. Didn't take a step closer, just let the rain fall into his empty palm.

Antasma stared.

He slowly managed to shake his head.

"Where are you going to go?" Luigi insisted, and came closer now. "Why are you so scared - what happened to you?"

What did you do?

My sweet little bat, what have you done?

Antasma chest seized, and he scrambled around the tree, away from Luigi. He didn't expect Luigi to chase him, didn't expect Luigi to gain too quickly on him. "Antasma, what happened? Who hurt you?"

Antasma tripped - a stray branch at his back, but he hit the ground instinctively when he thought it might be a vine reaching for him. He scrambled against the grass to back up from Luigi, shrunk down to a tiny bat and struggled against the rain to escape him.

Hands clasped around him.

Antasma fought to scream, but he couldn't manage, he'd forgotten entirely how. His wings fought uselessly in Luigi's fingers, and he found himself being held against a wet, green shirt. The fabric clung to his fur, and his wings ached as he tried to wrench them out of Luigi's grasp.

He should change forms, he should be bigger than Luigi again, he should sink in his claws and teeth until he was free.

Luigi was running.

It dawned on Antasma he was coming along, like it or not. If he wasn't before, now he really began to panic. He wanted to scream, wanted to fight, wanted to cry, but it was such a struggle to even sit here and breathe now.

Stars, what did Luigi want with him?

----

Antasma had only known Kamek a short time, but he had never heard him raise his voice. Had never heard him scream and fight Luigi like he did that night, had never watched this carefully composed magician come totally unhinged.

He couldn't manage to do anything but sit there in Luigi's arms and shake, small and pitiful and fragile. He wondered if Kamek could crush him with one clawed hand at this size. He wished he would.

Eventually they stilled, and only the knowledge that they might wake up the entire inn halted the argument.

Kamek fumed silently across the room, stress in every inch of him.

Luigi talked to Antasma when he couldn’t get Kamek to speak up. Talked at him, asked him questions Antasma couldn’t form a response to if he held a form capable of speaking at the moment. Antasma felt gentle fingers begin to scratch along his back, and he shivered. Wondered if Luigi would tear his wings apart to keep him still. He tried desperately not to move.

It took an unearthly amount of time for Luigi and Kamek to try talking calmly. They decided to head for Evershade Valley, sent word to "the others" to meet them there. Couldn’t be sure if Luigi was the only one in danger. Better safe than sorry.

Whatever that meant. 

----

Riding a train was nothing short of terrifying, especially as a tiny bat hidden in Luigi's arms.

He tried to sit quietly in Luigi's lap, tried to tune out the sound of Kamek and Luigi speaking to each other in hushed whispers, tried to not think about the fact they were probably trying to decide what to do with him and it wouldn't be anything good.

At some point on the trip, Luigi began to very gently pet him again, and he tried to hold still, tried to allow it. Luigi was spacing out, Antasma could taste colorful daydreams tickling the edge of his mind. Vivid and tempting and stars, he was so hungry. He'd been sick for days, it only just now dawned on him to want food, to miss the lovely nightmares the dungeons had overflowed with when Abscuro let him have his pick.

Abscuro.

Antasma tried not to whine, tried not to shake. He wondered if Abscuro really did miss him, wondered if the armies of Inklings would be after him too now.

Luigi kept petting him, and Antasma wished it was gentle claws again, wished he could hear Abscuro tell him sweetly one more time "Shh, shhhh, love. Everything's alright now, I forgive you."

He wondered very distantly if he could have had that. If he could have said yes two nights ago and brought the king a broken and damaged Luigi and their positions could have been reversed now.

He tried not to dwell on it.

--—

The mansion they managed to break into felt a lot more like home than anywhere Antasma had been so far. Dark and rickety and falling apart at the seems, a creepy feeling about the whole place. Luigi seemed oddly concerned at the lack of ghosts, at the lack of anything lurking in the valley, but he helped Kamek set up wards all over the house and Antasma hoped they hadn’t jinxed anything, that maybe no one would think to find them here.

Luigi wandered to the pillows stacked on an endtable he’d left Antasma sitting on from time to time. Kamek had wanted to lock him in the basement “just in case” but Luigi had loudly opposed it, and Antasma tried to sit still and quiet and show somehow that he was grateful for it.

He let Luigi pet him gently when he walked by (he may have flinched), tried to look up if he said something (he couldn’t remember the words a moment later), let Luigi’s fingers tilt his bad ear (bad he had a bad ear now) gently off his head to look at it. He shuddered once, and managed a pitiful little skree, and was sort of stunned that Luigi let him go.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said softly. Pet him once more and left the room. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Antasma stared at the door all night, waiting for him to come back and change his mind.

——

Three days went by, if Antasma hadn’t lost count, which he likely had. Luigi has gotten it into his head somehow that Antasma should not be left alone, and he began wearing a worn jacket around the mansion so he could keep Antasma tucked neatly into the hood.

Antasma bit him, once, when he very expressly did not want that to happen, but the look Kamek threw him across the room made him quickly reconsider.

Being with Luigi wasn’t completely horrible. The hood of the jacket was warm and soft, and he could feel the warmth of Luigi pressed so close to him. Luigi talked to him, made sure he was comfortable, offered him little slices of fruit to munch on. He tried to eat, he honestly wanted to, but as comfort and relief crept up on him, he kept hearing a silky sweet voice and seeing bright blue eyes staring at him in fear and suddenly he felt very sick.

He began to slowly feel sick for other reasons, but he tried to be thankful for the heat even if it made him dizzy, he was so tired of being cold. Luigi pet his head gently, and mumbled things he couldn’t make out, and left the bat alone on a table for a bit with a tiny bowl of ice.

It tickled his sharp teeth when he chewed it, but the cold felt so nice, and the water was cool and refreshing as it melted down his throat. He hadn’t realized it was so tight and rough until he couldn’t get enough, he felt like he’d been stranded for days in the desert.

Once the ice was melted and he was tired of drinking, Antasma curled into himself and managed to sleep for the first time in days.

——

Antasma startled dizzily awake to a burning sensation on his head. He shivered horribly and flicked his ears. It stopped briefly, and then it was back.

It dawned on him very abruptly that Luigi was holding his ear.

Antasma flipped off the table, actually flipped in a scrambling, frantic motion that ended in him being his full size across the room, backed into a corner and pressed against the rough walls. His breath came in ragged gasps, his ear felt like someone took a match to it, the room was spinning and his vision swam as Luigi cautiously came near him.

He was saying something.

Antasma couldn’t make it out, he watched Luigi’s lips move, tried so hard to piece together the garbled sounds in his head, but it was just a shrill ringing in both ears, nothing made any sense.

Luigi slowly sat on the floor in front of him, and held his hands up. He met Antasma’s stare, blue eyes shaking with uncertainty and clouded with concern. His lips started moving, he was talking again.

Listen when I’m speaking to you, love.

Antasma shuddered and blinked, like the room was swirling in front of him, like it was vines instead of curtains over the windows, like it was a lovely shadow instead of a startled plumber kneeling before him. He strained his ears again, ignored the sting of protest when his bad ear didn’t want to move, locked eyes with Luigi and tried to hear him this time.

“You’re okay,” he said, and he sounded like he was the one panicking. “It’s okay, it’s okay, Antasma, everything’s fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Antasma struggled for air, glanced down several times and wondered why Luigi was still several feet away, why vines hadn’t dragged him any closer, why Luigi wasn’t towering over him as he shook and gasped. His claws dug into the wall behind him, and he breathed. Waited. Let Luigi speak again.

Luigi looked around, glanced back towards the table. There were knocked over bottles where Antasma had been sleeping. “Your ear,” Luigi explained, holding his gaze and gesturing to his own ear. “I’m worried it’s infected.”

There was a beat, then Antasma felt his own face twist. He wasn’t entirely sure what Luigi meant. Yes, it’s infected, badly infected, red and swollen and hurt if he even twitched it, did he need the bat to say it aloud? Did he want him to admit that he was hurt, admit that he was weak?

“I think… we should try to clean it,” Luigi said slowly. He leaned back towards the table and took one of the bottles, took soft, white cotton balls in his hands, and sank gently back onto the floor. Antasma watched every movement. Luigi kept glancing up at him hesitantly as he drenched the cotton in the clear liquid, and Antasma could smell it across the room—strong and strange. It smelled like sharpness, like biting into iron. “Would that be okay?” The bat swallowed thickly. His ears twitched against his head. He nodded cautiously, unable to find his voice.

Luigi’s mouth twitched into a smile, and he scooted a little closer to the bat. “Okay, it, um… it’s going to sting a little…”

Antasma froze.

Oh.

Antasma stared up at Luigi with wide eyes, tried to move slowly as he unhooked his claws from the wall and folded his arms over himself. He tried to slouch over and make himself look smaller, but the room was still swaying a bit, and he was afraid to try shifting again. Luigi let him move, then propped up on his knees and very gently reached out for the ear. Antasma sunk his teeth in his lip, tried not to flinch, tried not to breathe.

It stung, it stung like sandpaper on an open wound.

Antasma’s chest shook with a gasp, it slipped, he couldn’t help it. Luigi started making that gentle shhing noise at him again, but it sounded very foggy and far away. Antasma’s heart was hammering. He wanted to bolt, wanted to shove Luigi backwards and climb out the window across the room before Kamek heard anything happen.

He held himself still, made his ear rest limply in Luigi’s hand and endure the burning sting. He deserved it, he told himself. After everything he’d done, to everyone that reached out to help him, no less. He didn’t deserve to be wanting Abscuro back, didn’t deserve to hope the thorns wouldn’t prick him this time, didn’t deserve to want anybody’s forgiveness. He deserved Luigi dragging him back across the room by his ear. The medicine was close enough.

Luigi paused.

Antasma’s head swam, and he could only make it out the third time Luigi asked “Are you okay?” It took him several seconds longer to process the words, and then he nodded mutely.

He waited for Luigi to keep going, but the pain never returned. Instead, Luigi sat back a little, and Antasma glanced up to meet his face. He unhooked his teeth subtly from his lip, tried to look calm, tried to be still and quiet and good. Luigi’s eyebrows pushed together, and he made the oddest sort of frown. Like he wanted to say something and had no idea what.

“Hey, it… it’s okay…” he said, slowly and uncertainly. He sat gently back down, until he was looking up at Antasma’s face, and the bat wasn’t sure at all what he wanted now. Luigi’s eyes met his own wavering gaze, his ear, every inch of his curled up body. “It’s… Antasma… please, don’t be scared…”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to inhale something magical on one of these shuddering breaths that made all this sickness and fear and anger and hatred melt out of him but he couldn’t, he couldn’t do anything but hold himself tighter and his claws felt like thorns when they sunk in and he wasn’t sure why it helped but it did.

Luigi glanced at his ear again, and stared at it three solid seconds before he looked sadly in Antasma’s eyes again.

“What happened to you?” he asked, in a hushed, broken sort of way.

Antasma choked, let out one stuttering sob.

Breathed.

And then he was crying.

[thatlittlered]

Vows | Chapter Four

Summary: A faithful dog or a broken man… Whatever the case, Sandor has taken vows he does not intend on breaking.

   Like the beautiful bodies of those who died before growing old,

   sadly shut away in sumptuous mausoleum,

   roses by the head, jasmine at the feet -

   so appear the longings that have passed

   without being satisfied, not one of the granted

   a single night of pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings.

 Longings ~ Constantine P. Cavafy

◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇ 

Series Masterlist.

When he wakes, the room is dimly lit, a couple of flickering candles almost burnt down to the wick. Everything seems to be covered in smoke and the foul, acrid odor of tallow.

There are stains of dried ale all over his tunic, the watery kind he’s been downing for days, and the straw bed barely beats the comfort of hardwood floors, but he got what he paid for and he’s not planning on wasting every last coin so that the Stark girl will enjoy her privacy.

There’s heavy pounding at the door, the voices outside rising to a crescendo of rage before a man barges inside the room, short and drunk as any, followed by the stocky woman who robs Sandor blind every night for a pint of ale and broth you wouldn’t feed a pig.

“You got the money yet? We gave ya two days, s’time to pay up.”

His head is pounding as he rises from the bed, body aching in every way imaginable and hand twitching at the thought of silencing the scum before him.

The man’s hands get a hold of Sandor’s shirt, and the woman gasps. when he reaches for his sword, heavy metal pulling at his muscles.

“Listen here, pest, you ever let yer filthy hands near me again, you’ll be searching for them outside the city walls. Have I made myself clear?”

“Aye, ser.”

Sandor grunts, half satisfaction, half pain when the rage inside him fades.

“Don’t let me see you again.”

They both scurry away like frightened mice, filthy insects running from his boot.

The entire place stinks of wine and piss, dirt everywhere around him, and suddenly he longs for the comfort of his own chambers. Dark curtains that spare him from painful sunlight, fine selections of wine and peaceful silence, all things that made it his personal heaven until a certain northern girl invaded his life.

Now everything in it smells of rosewater.

They are no longer his quarters. The she-wolf took over with her many braids, silken dresses, and glassy Stark eyes that he would kill for, without knowing why. In her new lair, she takes the time to heal and lick her wounds. As wolves do, away from the eyes of others in fear of proving weak and falling prey to bigger predators.

Sandor allows it.

Within the hour, he’s ready to leave.

A little girl helps him dress, meekly passing him pieces of his armor despite him telling her there’s no need. She’s small and bruised all over, an abstract sculpture of bones that has seen and felt too much. He only lets her help when he sees the fear in her eyes and suspects that should he send her back, she might receive a beating.

When he’s strapping up, she takes the chance to shove her tiny hands into his pockets, quick and smooth as if she’s been trained for this. She walks away with two copper pennies.

He allows it.

◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

When he reaches the room, the door is ajar and he’s almost angry at how you never fail to make yourself vulnerable. There are threats left and right and you might as well be welcoming them. He moves to knock, he really does, but the wind beats him to it, pushing the door enough so that he might get a glimpse at you.

Suddenly, making his presence known doesn’t seem as appealing.

Your hair lies long and loose, obscuring the lightness of your dress, yet allowing glimpses of skin on your arms in a southern fashion. For once no plaits adorn it and it hangs in all its northern glory – a sharp contrast.

The handmaiden floats around you, hands curling in your locks as she runs a brush through them, tugging a little too painfully at every knot. He supposes a Stark girl’s hair is not made for this.

‘Any word from your brother, my lady?”

You hum and for a moment he deems it the most peaceful sound he’s ever heard from your lips, but it’s sorrowful. You accepted your fate long ago.

“Is there ever? I’m afraid the king is much too occupied with the newest impending threat. I suppose my brother is too small an enemy to consider when Stannis Baratheon is approaching the city.”

Nira gasps, almost dropping the brush and Sandor laughs to himself from where he stands behind the door. The maiden is older than you, yet you outsmart her in so many ways, you might not be quite the little bird he thought you were.

“Do you truly believe it, my lady, that Stannis will reach the capital?”

“Has the world ever known a Baratheon who failed to succeed in their quest? He will reach the city, Nira, for that rest assured. What happens after that, remains to be seen.”

She moves to face you, resting on her knees to grab your hands with a familiarity that surprises Sandor.

His lady wife is good at making friends.

“Even so, the King’s army will hold. The Lannister troops are already flooding the city, Lord Tywin made sure of it. No harm will come to you, my lady.”

Your own hand raises to her face, a gentle cradle of her cheek – a mother’s touch, the kind he’s long forgotten.

“I have no fear of Stannis. My greatest enemies surround me every day.”

“And yet, it seems that your lord husband’s presence has discouraged them.”

“All lions quiet before attacking their prey.”

The door slams then, the force of wind meets the force of man. Nira rushes to check, always mindful of her lady’s safety, but there’s no one there.

Still, the following days pass in relative silence, mindful of curious ears that creep behind closed doors. Nira has seen enough to know the crown has eyes and ears in every corner. Instead, there’s quiet singing when handling your hair and hushed whispers about childhood stories. Everything blurs with your drinking, honey mead, and berries melting on your tongue.

Sandor Clegane is nowadays quite literally, your shadow.

For a man who’s meant to guard the King, he seems to prefer keeping an eye on you. In the gardens, buried amongst roses and greenery, you can sense his presence. In the quarters you’re supposed to share, no one dares enter but Nira and yet, every now and then, you can hear heavy steps in the hallway.

He never addresses you and you feign ignorance in fear of him stopping.

Nira’s words keep coming back to you; he’s your best chance at safety in this city.

  ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

Footsteps follow on your trail, the same sound of armor clinking with every step, albeit more graceful, less weighty. You’re awfully used to your loyal guard stomping around court, he makes no effort to conceal his presence.

A smile tugs at your lips, you’re starting to understand Sandor Clegane.

“You can always talk to me, you know.”

A hand appears from nowhere and tightens on your wrist, white-knuckled, strong. You turn to fight it but find your feet dragging along the marble as you lose your balance. He pins you to the wall so effortlessly.

“I’m well aware, Lady Stark.”

His breath stinks and he makes a point of shoving his face as close to yours as possible, all in a way that makes your legs go weak and your stomach churn. No fear, you remind yourself. He’s no big predator, he’s but a snake, lucky enough to find a mouse on the ground. Others would crush him.

“Ser Meryn, I would ask that you remove your hands.”

Gloved fingers grasp your chin, bound to leave bruises.

“I must admit, my Lady, that for a woman broken in by the Hound himself, you seem entirely too merry. Tell me, how is your dog treating you?”

Your body recoils, almost melting to the wall in an effort to avoid the proximity.

“I would also ask that you refer to my husband by his title.”

He laughs, such a disgusting sound.

“You’re in no position to ask for things, little lady.”

“And if you don’t let her go, you’ll be in no position to walk when I’m done with you. Your head will be hanging in the throne room if I have it my way.”

Your gaze turns to Sandor, familiar heavy footsteps approaching the scene. His sword is drawn, his eyes are murderous and for the first time, you realize the day might not end with your blood on the floor.

Trant laughs again and it’s a death wish.

“Now, now, Hound, it’s always good to share.”

“I don’t share, especially not with cunts like you. What’s wrong, Trant? I thought you liked them younger.”

His nose moves to graze against your skin, so close to your lips, tears gather in your eyes.

A friend of Robb’s had stolen your first kiss, pinned you against a stack of hey and touched places you would never have allowed him to. Your brothers beat him to the ground the next day.

Sandor Clegane won’t avenge your honor. He’ll chop off anyone’s hands the moment they touch you.

“I like them broken first and foremost. I’m sure you’ve taken care of that.”

White knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from the effort to keep his composure, Sandor’s large form exudes a burning animosity. His face is red with suppressed rage, and when Trant’s fingers make their way towards your chest, everything snaps inside him.

His sword never meets the hideous flesh of your attacker, but his fist does. A blow to the jaw, powerful enough to make the cracking sound echo in the hallway. Then Sandor’s hands are pressing his face into the wall, a great force overpowered by one greater. It gives you the chance to escape.

Your attacker seems light-headed, gripping his shattered nose where blood runs plenty. There’s stillness on both sides. If hatred was visible, the air would be all shades of red, scarlet and ruby, like the stains on Sandor’s glove. Then suddenly movement, so much force in every hit.

Sandor rains blows onto the man as if he means to smash him into the very earth and there’s barely any resistance. He doesn’t want him dead, he wants him smashed, obliterated, nothing left to bury.

The bloodied rat on the ground manages a hit on Sandor’s face and it only works to enrage him further.

You’ve seen him fight before in the tournament, moves sudden but precise when in duel, you’ve heard stories of men who’ve faced his sword, but this is different. It’s raw violence and force, uncharacteristic rage fueling him.

And then he stops.

He looks at you, always with his good side.

“Go back to yer room.”

You don’t move an inch. You know what this means, you know he’s not stopping and suddenly you’re but a youngling again, running around the training ground with Robb and Jon on your heels. Your father calls for them, forbids you from following.

At night you learn about the man whose head your father took before their eyes, a sight he sheltered you from.

You won’t let Sandor do the same.

Trant’s blood will be in your hands, whether you witness it or not. And so will your lord husband’s when word gets out that he pummeled a fellow Kingsguard member to death. You won’t allow it.

“I said, go back to yer room and lock the door. Don’t let anyone in until I tell ye.”

“I will if you come with me.”

The man scoffs, blood dripping from his fingers.

“Don’t question me, girl. I’ve got to finish some business.”

“If you stay, we both know it will be the end of you, one way or another. The things that Joffrey will do-“

“I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

“You will be if you don’t walk away. Just walk away, Sandor.”

It’s the first time he’s heard his name in a while, first time ever from your lips. Of course, he notices.

“I walk away now, he’ll do it again. I stay here and finish what I started, there’s one less cunt in this fuckin’ city.”

“And is that worth your head?”

He stares at you, so openly, his eyes still screaming murder, yet you refuse to relent.

All it takes a swing of his sword, a single move to push it in Trant’s heart while he’s gasping for air.

He turns to him, spitting on that mess of a face he’s created, branding his work, and then walks right past you, grabbing your arm right where the other man had. It hurts but you don’t dare tell him.

You let him drag you all the way to your chambers, smaller feet catching up with his strides.

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇ 

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

He latches the door and sheds his gloves, then as many pieces of his armor as he can. He looks like he’s struggling to breathe and you worry. His face is flushed, angry scars growing paler every moment.

He reaches for the pitcher of mead on your table, a mistake. It’s awfully sweet, disgustingly so, and he spits it out the moment it meets his tongue, knocking the whole thing over in an effort to push it away.

“That’s not fucking wine.”

You move across the room, his hunched form still in the corner of your eye. His face is buried in his hands and he rubs desperately, most likely because the rush of blood in his head feels impossibly warm. That’s when you notice his bare knuckles, cut and bruised and bloodied all over.

You reach for the bottle of wine under the table, one he put there himself, and place it across him where you sit.

“You’re hurt.”

“Just shut up for a while, alright?”

You do as he asks, but your hands still reach for his. Of course, he pulls away.

“Are you fucking deaf?”

You smile, “I’m not talking.”

Sandor’s lips quirk at that. He watches you wipe away the blood, as gently as if tending to a child.

“It’s nothing.”

You only hum in response, following his previous order. The rug is wet and cold against the skin, relieving pain he has not felt yet. For once he doesn’t fight it.

“You should have let me kill ‘im.”

“I told you, the King would have your head.”

He snorts and it’s a sound you’re getting used to, “What it’s to you?”

“I have no wish for blood to be spilled in my name. Especially not yours.”

“You think of it so nobly, little bird. The blood is only in the hands of those who spill it. Guilt will get you killed, sooner or later.”

“So I’m not to hold myself accountable if you’re accused of attacking a fellow member of Kingsguard?”

The quirk falls from his lips.

“I’m not fucking Kingsguard.”

“You guard the King, do you not?”

You make him laugh and a sense of pride fills you. You gather it’s not something many can do.

Silence washes over you as you tend to his cuts, taking the bottle from his hands to pour wine on them plentiful.

“What the fuck are ye doing?

“I’ll get you more wine, but first I need to dress these.”

“They’re fine as they are.”

The look on your face gives away that you’re not backing down. Damn northern stubbornness.

You wrap his knuckles gently, a torn piece of fabric drenched in wine to prevent infections, the way your father taught you. You suppose it stings but Sandor makes no move to suggest so. When it’s done, you consider it, making sure there’s still blood flow. Your lips fall gently on the makeshift bandage in an almost kiss.

He pulls away like it burns.

“I want to thank you.”

“There’s no need, stupid girl.”

“Must you always interrupt me, my lord?”

“’m not your lord.”

“You’re my lord husband and I must address you some way. If not by title, then by name, but if you please, let me finish.”

He grows quiet.

“I want to thank you, Sandor, for everything, but I beg you, don’t fight for me. With what you did to Ser Meryn, all that Joffrey could do to you… I’m good as dead without you.”

There it is, your cards all on the table.

“I won’t turn into some cunt-proper lord just so your noble heart won’t be plagued with guilt, girl.”

“I never asked you to, I only ask that you don’t endanger yourself, certainly not for me.”

The man grunts and turns his gaze from you, which you take as a sign of agreement.

The table shakes when he moves to stand.

You grab his hand again, this time holding it in place.

“One more thing.”

“Spit it out.”

“I would be forever grateful if you could move back in. It’s my understanding that you’ve established a stay elsewhere, perhaps somewhere far more convenient…” He wants to laugh, the rat-filled room where he stays coming to mind, “…but I would feel much safer if you stayed here from now on.”

You can’t help but observe him, the deepest in thought you’ve ever seen him - good hand rubbing his beard.

“I can arrange for a second bed, or I can take the floor, it’s no issue. I only ask that you don’t leave.”

“Is fear worth your reputation, little bird? People will talk.”

“We are wed before the gods, let them talk. There are few things left for them to say about me anyway.”

At morning Nira arrives to find her lady awake, drinking at sunlight. A snoring lord continues his sleep undisturbed, boots half perched on the table while he rests, long and wide, on the uncomfortable armchair.

The stench of wine and sweat mixes with rosewater.

Her lady smiles.

“We are going to need another mattress.”

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇   

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Once again, I’m sorry for the names Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag.

Let me know if you want in or out the taglist!

[deerheadlights]

Chapter 2 of bearing the brunt of Alexander the Great’s conquest

333 BC

 It was the stench of a battle just ended: offal and dust that had not yet settled. Looking down from the vantage point of the small foothill in the Amanus range, Tydeus shook his head. He had been sure the battle of Granicus River was a fluke, that Memnon of Rhodes had handled it badly. But now Alexander the Macedonian had cut down the King of Persia! At least that was what it appeared had happened, a figure had slumped against the gold plated chariot, and suddenly the Persian cavalry had fallen into a rout.

“If only we had gotten here yesterday,” sighed his companion.  Tydeus grunted. He didn’t like Nothon’s accusatory tone. “I have a feeling he would have refused us anyway.” “Well the boss’ll be mad we didn’t at least give it a shot, so we better give him that story.” Together they had been traveling to join the embassy of Iphicrates the Athenian ask the Great King for resources to raise another army in Greece. “Is that thug in Tyrian purple really your boss? I was hoping to say that at least I served some Athenian politician.”

“He’s the one taking care of your interests with your girl, so I would say he’s your boss.” What is that supposed to mean? Tydeus rounded on the man, his shortness exaggerated by Tydeus’s own height. “Well we’re going to need some Persians to like us, or at least give us some gold. Let’s pick up one to ransom before the Macedonians start rounding up all of their prisoners.” He started to lope down the hill with surprising ease. Nothon had said he was a political exile of Athens living in Rhodes, but his manner made him seem more like a street cut-throat. Still, Tydeus reflected, he had helped him out of some tough spots in the past year. At first, He and Alkyone had managed to get their footing in Sardis. Alas, he should have known that the ancient proud city would not being able to resist Alexander promising independence from the Persian empire. After the battle of the Granicus river they had had to leave once more. However, by then the Athenians had gotten their bluster back, and sent an embassy to the Great King, complete with representatives from Thebes and Sparta. Seeing the desperation of the situation, Tydeus and Nothon had been sent with authority to give in to steeper demands of the Great King, if it came to that.

 Getting a hostage would be smart, as long as he wasn’t so injured he would die on them.

In the pandemonium of the rout, the horses of the Persian nobles had fanned out. Most of the troops that had fought were heading towards the enemy camp for loot; Tydeus and Nothon skirted the edges of the battlefield, to the high scrublands towards the headwaters of the Pinarus river. There, injured horses bugled and bit one another, gorging themselves with water. “We should take one, before they kill themselves drinking too much.”

“If you want to reach in there and drag a horse from water, be my guest.” It was by a more shaded glen of birches growing by the river did they start finding bodies. From the tracks Tydeus could see that on the way back to Issus to pick up their camp and start moving, some of the more injured men had fallen from their horses and been trampled by their fellows. He turned one with his toe. No, this one’s stone dead too. Ahead, Nothon, bent over one slumped against a birch “We’ve got a live one! He’s wearing some purple and scarlet too!”

His eyes were glazed over, and there was a dark patch of red across his chest to his left shoulder, but he was definitely alive. From his earlier years in Ionia, Tydeus knew his fur-lined cap held in place with a red ribbon was a mark of nobility, though to him the man’s yellow and indigo zigzagged trousers and fitted purple tunic with scarlet seams looked more gaudy and barbaric than a mark of high breeding. He looked like a young man, his beard was light and face unlined, though covered in dust. Tydeus pointed to the wound “Is it bad?” he said in slow Persian. He just looked back at him. Nothon peeled away his collar, “It’s ugly, but it seems to have knit up from him slumping like that. Too bad we don’t have a dog to lick it”

“So you’re a doctor now too?”

“Didn’t I tell you I was trained in the Asclepia?”

“It would be best if we could put him on a horse…” The horses drinking at the river were still stamping dangerously, but Tydeus heard a snort away from the copse. A few steps through some thorns and he saw the source. It was leggier than the Nisean chargers by the river, with bigger eyes and smaller facial bones. The horse’s reins were hopelessly tangled in the thorny brush, and it’s chest plate have been almost hacked off and was now thumping against its knees with each movement. It snorted again, giving a wild tug against the branches to no avail. “Shhhh, shhhh pretty lady,” Tydeus could see it was a mare “Got yourself all tangled up huh?” He seized the reins by the showy bridle with golden florette cheek pieces and cut off the knotted parts. Rubbing her neck, be bent down to remove the chest plate “There, there, nice Xanthe.” It wasn’t a creative name, the horse was yellow dun with dark points and mane. He looped the leftover leather into the bridle to make a crude lead rope. “Hope you’re strong enough to make it back to [Issus? Town name] with some dead weight.”

---

 Alkyone looked at the dust cloud through the courtyard window. One would think that only the gods would have the power to make something so large it could be visible from miles away, but it was only a human army. She was worried about Tydeus, he had supposed to meet with the King before the battle happened, but he still hadn’t returned. That Alexander was always at their heels! First they had gone to Sardis, where Tydeus and her father had contacts, people who handled the trade across the Mediterranean. For a few months they had lived comfortably, the Macedonian army was busy consolidating its hold on its northeastern border. Then when the news came that they were crossing into Asia, Alkyone was assured by the military parade when the troops had gone out with Memnon of Rhodes. It reminded her of the time before Charonea so much her heart squeezed, but they had more horse troops and lighter soldiers, unlike the heavy hoplites that had been crushed by the Macedonian cavalry charge, or so she had heard Tydeus and their host discussing one night.

But it was just a repeat of the past 3 years of her life. The news the battle was lost, the discussion of surrender to Alexander, and she and Tydeus were in exile from the exile once more.

At least on their journey south, they had met Nothon. He and his benefactor Lethos were just the sort of people her father would have loved, who wanted Hellenes to live democratically in their cities, not joined in tyrannical leagues or crushed under tyrants like Alexander. Lethos was an Athenian born, but he lived in Rhodes to manage his shipping routes better. When he’d heard their plight, he had set them up in Cyprus and given Tydeus his mission to help Iphicrates win over the Great King.

Cyprus was...alright. It was ancient and legendary, the birthplace of Aphrodite, so she told herself she should have felt a home. But it was strange compared to Athens and Sardis. Hellene was just one stripe of the fabric in Cyprus, it was underlaid with an Anatolian warp and bits of Babylonian and Phoenician woven in. Every Eastern style shawl, every curl-toed sandal, every round-ended accented word was a reminder she wasn’t home. Maybe she should check the docks today, Tydeus could have gotten back just at the nick of time. She would have to ask the steward.

Lethos owned the house, basically a glorified adjunct to a storage warehouse. It wasn’t much of a house, and all the “servants” were shipping slaves or the stewards personal staff, so once again Alkyone had no one to curl her hair well. At least the steward, an older Phoenician, was biddable, though he acted so nervous. At first it was nice to have all her requests obeyed with haste, but lately it was frustrating. She just wanted to talk, but everyone tiptoed around her. When she caught the steward in the stairwell, he nearly leapt into the wall. “Sir, I know I’m being tiresome, but do you think you could lend me an escort to check the docks this morning? I feel like there will at least be new--”

“Of course, of course, let me just send for Doru and Thrax” Ugh, not them. The two intimidating men had made her feel safe in the more unsavory sections of the dock, but lately she had noticed that their eyes weren’t looking for threats around her, but at her. At first she was going to complain to the steward about a lecherous gaze, but the looks on their faces… it was like she was muzzled dog that had to be kept on a leash and in sight at all times. Well no wonder, could you imagine how upset their master would be if I got lost? Stop being so paranoid.

 Alkyone put on a striped shawl with copper weights so she would tinkle like a local. If anything in the past year she had learned how to attract less attention. So much for being a beacon. The port in [town] faced the gulf of Issus, and had grown even richer supplying the Great King’s army at such close quarters. The market stalls had their goods arranged on the ground, wood was at a premium compared to the mainland. She strolled with her escort two steps behind, eyeing some cochineal dyed veils. It was so awkward now, living at the whims of a benefactor instead of having her own family’s money! But she wasn’t here to buy, anyway.

 The dock was awash with fishing boats and modest bireme transport ships, but a crowd was forming around one in particular. There was shouting “I saw it with my own eyes! The cavalry running away, the center crumpling! Alexander beat the Great King before his navy could come here to reinforce him!” What! Even the Great King? Alkyone had heard Tydeus and Nothon discussing their courses of action before they left, they were sure at best Alexander the Macedonian would manage a bloody tie that would set back his numbers enough for fighting back in Greece to become an option again. “How could this happen, I thought the Great King had all the best troops in the rest of the world?”

 “If we still had King Ochos or his son, this would have never happened” she heard a man sniff. She turned and saw an old Mede leaning against a terracotta wall. “Why not?” She wasn’t in the habit of calling out to strangers but these times called for less decorum. “They were true sons of the line of Darius the Great!” he said in the Phoenician patois that was the common tongue on the island, “When they died without issue, not everyone was willing to accept a distant cousin as heir. It’s hard to lead an army when all of the satrapies are half following and half considering how easy it would be to become their own kingdoms. Persians can never get transfers of power right, when the Medes ruled Babylon --”

“Uh, thanks for your wisdom,” Alkyone hurried along. Did they make it to the Great King in time? Does it even matter? What if they were captured? Her thoughts started to take a selfish slant. This man Lethos obviously wanted a capable man like Tydeus for help with his aims to liberate Greece, but what about her? If Tydeus never came back would she still be allowed to live in the storehouse? If it came to that she would have to convince him that she had good symbolic value as the daughter of the man who helped orchestrate Thebes rebellion. Her father had always seen that. She had been betrothed to another family, the son of a Boeotarch who was part of the Sacred Band. When he died at Charonea her father had declared that she was in mourning for Thebes’ lost freedom and would only marry again at the foot of the Kithairon after the Daedala. Before that happens, I’ll be an old spinster. I’m already 19!

A sail caught the corner of her eye. It was striped yellow and grey, it had many brothers strung up in the warehouse. One of Lethos’s transport ships, could it be them? It seemed maddeningly close, but it took all afternoon for the boat to finally sail into the harbor. By then Alkyone had worked herself into a panic that Tydeus was dead, convinced herself otherwise, fallen into despair that it was probably just carrying Egyptian grain and no news, and finally worked her hopes back up that Tydeus and Nothon were coming back. Thrax and Doru had just played knucklebones.

An old Tyrian jumped first off the ship to tie the moorings, then she saw Tydeus step off. Oh thank Hera, Aphrodite, Zeus, Poseidon, everyone! But what came out of her mouth was “Is it true that Alexander won and now the Great King is in flight?” He sighed, “Yes, it’s true. Soon the Macedonian navy will be here.” Her whole body seemed to sink a bit. “Get on the ship.” “What? You mean now?” Suddenly Thrax and Doru seemed to snap to attention. “She’s not going anywhere!” “We’re going to Rhodes you fools. Go tell your steward we will finally be paying his master a visit.” That cowed them straight away. “But can’t we eat something first?” It was lame, but Alkyone just couldn’t take another weary flight to a new place. “We’ve got kerkyon on the boat, come on.” Great, porridge… I should have bought some fish cakes while I had the chance.

 So she stepped onto the boat, with its disconcerting lilt. She had never even been on a boat until that day over a year ago, and she was hoping it was something she never had to get used to. The low-bodied merchant ship relied on its mast than the one bank of oars, which meant it had more room for cargo but that getting to Rhodes would take at least 2 days. A slick bireme pulled past them easily. At least I don’t have to share room with sweaty rowers.

 Besides Nothon, Tydeus and herself, there was only an old brown Tyrian sailor holding the tiller and -- “Is that a Persian?!” she squealed, pointing at a trousered man curled up by an oar bench. “You bet, Despoina,” Nothon chuckled, “right now he’s too feverish to be of much use.” Sure enough, in the sunny afternoon his teeth were chattering. “Make yourself of some use and get Alkyone some kerkyon.” That wiped the smile off of Nothon’s face. He threw a glare over his shoulder at Tydeus and went into the hold. “It’s good we have an alkyone with us, to protect us from fall storms.” the creaky voice of the old sailor intoned with a wink. At least it looked like a wink, years of squinting at the glare off the sea made his eyes seemed closed all of the time. The original Alkyone had had the god of winds for her father, but the old sailor seemed to forget that she had helped cause a great storm with her hubris before her redemption as a kingfisher bird. I’ll give you a goat in Rhodes, Aeolus and Poseidon, as long as we don’t have a storm!

Alkyone could see in the distance some larger ships converging onto Cyprus. She turned and saw Tydeus spying the same thing. “Nothon, get over here and row with me. I’d like to outrun the news to Rhodes, if possible.” Nothon had just emerged from the steerage, porridge in hand. She worried about Tydeus ordering him around so insensitively, since Nothon said he was also from a noble family back in Athens, but he didn’t act like it. His words said respectful things, but his tone always seemed to mock them. In any case, being sensitive wasn’t in Tydeus’s nature. Soon Alkyone was sitting with her back to the portage, eating kerkyon, listening to the old sailor beat out a rhythm for their rowing. She noticed the Persian had stopped shivering, thrown off his cloak and moved to the shade. His hair must have been naturally curled, because even in the damp it hadn’t lost its curl. His skin was darker than Alkyone’s, but not so tan it would have been out of place on a citizen of Thebes. He had the so-called Persian straight nose that pottery painters always drew on their works for barbarians. She waved her hand in front of his dark, unfocused eyes. In the basic Persian she had learned from staying in Sardis, she tried “What is your name?” He squinted at her like she was too bright, or maybe she had said “What is your cart?” by accident. After a beat, he answered. “Marduniya.” Was that like Mardonius?  Alkyone remembered from history [lessons?] that during the Persian Wars, General Mardonius had served King Xerxes until he was killed at Platea, only half a stage from Thebes. Though he had been reviled like all enemies, he had surprised the Hellenes when he had helped depose tyrants and set up democracies in Ionia. “I’m Alkyone.” He made an affirmative noise and continued to press the backs of his hands against his face, trying to cool down. The sun was starting to set, so it would cool anyway. Hopefully she would be able to sleep on the churning sea, the meager amount of grain porridge she had eaten was already threateningly heating the back of her throat. “Are we going to sleep at sea or beach?” “Do we have a choice of beaching in this country? Though I’d rather not sleep with the horse…” “We have a horse?!”

[bxcksdoll]

Reunion

ENDGAME SPOILERS AHEAD DON’T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE MOVIE!!!

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I warned you guys...

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Parings: Thor x reader

Summary: Y/N didn’t survive the snap in infinity war but now she’s back and reunited with, her boyfriend, Thor and the other avengers. (Also the reader has magnetic powers)

Warnings: endgame spoilers

A/N: endgame killed me and did my man thor dirty by ruining the whole new development he had in ragnarok like he developed into a true king and they just threw that away so I’m mad and needed to give him some happiness. I had great fun writing this so I hope yall enjoy it.

Walking through the portal from Wakanda to New York, you witnessed the ruin around you. The portal had taken you to the Avengers Compound but, instead of seeing the pristinely modeled building, all you saw around you were ruins of the place you once called home. Either side of you were people and aliens from all around the universe, teaming up to beat Thanos.

Your heart ached as you glanced around to search for Thor; you hadn’t been able to see him in, what felt like, years. He had gone back to Asguard for a ‘short trip’ and when he returned to the battle in Wakanda you had hardly said hello before you had turned to dust...

Suddenly, forks of lightning shot down from the clouds above, giving you as signal to where your boyfriend was. You couldn’t see him over the rows of Wakandan’s but felt a burst of pride in your heart when seeing his powers.

“Avengers!” the voice of - one dirty-looking - Captain America shouted. “...assemble.”

The battle had begun, both sides sprinted forward, knocking down and tearing each other apart. You stopped dead in your tracks, ripping metal imbedded in the ground and surged it forward with all your might, forcing some of Thanos’ army down.

“Nice one, girl,” you hear a voice from beside you. You glanced around to see Shuri, a proud smile spread across her face.

“Thanks,” you reply before seeing her expression change to concern. She shoot some sort of energetic waves, from her specially-designed blasters- behind you. The energy waves took down five aliens that were heading straight for you.

“Thanks, again,” you nod before running to your right.

“Hey, Y/N?” comes Tony’s voice from just ahead of you.

“Tony!” you shout, making your way over to him whilst clearing out herds of aliens with ease.

“You’re alive - it’s so great to see you!” he smiled, moving in to embrace you.

You embraced him back, “I hope I haven’t been gone too long, Stark,” you laughed. To your surprise, Tony let you go and stepped back; staring at you with a sad expression.

“You’ve been gone for five years...” he responded, quietly.

Shock hit your stomach like a knife. “W-what?”

“Look out!” you heard Steve’s voice say. Turning around, you saw an enormous, armoured alien coming towards you. Steve flung his shield at the back of its head and attempting to take it down.

You joined in, using your powers to telekineticly force metals bars around the alien’s legs - trapping him. With one final swing of metal, you were able to chop the head off the creature.

“Thanks...” Steve said, breathlessly. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” you gleamed, hugging him.

“Is Bucky here?” Steve asked, in a concerned manner.

“Yes, don’t worry about him, Cap. You’ll see him soon enough after we’ve finished this,” you answered, optimistically.

“I hope so, I just wanted to be sure. I saw Sam but not Buck...”

“Hey, Rogers, Y/L/N, there’s no time for chit-chat. Get your asses back into the fight,” Tony ordered, taking flight.

You flew the nearest sharp stick of metal closest to you; grabbing it and making a run towards a crowd of aliens. You swung it into the first creatures head, knocking it into three more creatures and proceeding to impale the others around you.

More and more began to surround you as you sent disfigured scraps of metal flying in every direction. Still, it seemed that your powers weren’t enough to hold the herd off.

Your estimation was that there were 50 of Thanos’ army surrounding you as you continued to fight for your life. You knew that more were coming every second and had to act fast.

In the distance you acknowledged that bigger, more powerful aliens were on their way to attempt to defeat you.

“Well, shit,” you murmured, pausing for breath before crushing some more creatures with, what you thought to be, a large flooring panel.

“If anyone...” you stopped to take another breath, “cares to help me here, I’d much appreciate it.”

A few seconds later, the sky turned even darker and a deafening sound of thunder boomed from above. Straight after, the brightest, most powerful group of lightnight blasts struck the herd around you. The estimated 50 of them fell dead to the floor, no longer anywhere near you.

Then, a large figure dropped to the ground, behind you. Turning, you saw him. The man you had been searching for. Thor.

But, this time, he was different. Your eyes grew wide in shock as you saw a scraggly-haired, bushy-bearded Thor before you. He had gained a lot of weight since you last saw him.

“Y/N, you’re-you’re alive!” he spluttered, charging towards you.

“Hey, big guy,” you smiled, tears in your eyes. As he approached you, Thor grabbed you close to him, sealing your reunion with a tender kiss. The kiss was passionate, longing. You broke free, holding his face in your hands.

“I’ve missed you more than you can ever imagine,” Thor cried, moving his head slightly to kiss your hand. “I failed you, I couldn’t defeat Thanos. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you say that, sweetie. We are here now and we can finish this. You didn’t fail me. I love you,” you replied, bringing his lips to yours for another tender kiss. “Now, c’mon,” you whispered against his lips, “let’s go win this.”

You stepped back from him and he sighed from the loss of contact. “Stay safe,” Thor ordered, seriously.

“I’ll stay safe if you do,” you replied.

“Deal,” was his final word before he flew to the sky.

Making your way over to another herd, you were faced with a group of taller, more muscular aliens. You stopped, suddenly, glancing around for traces of metal. None of it was in sight; you stepped back, forcing your powers to search while the giants stepped towards you.

Finally, you felt a source below the brickwork and painfully dragged the material up into view. You sent the pieces flying at them, however they skilfully dodged them.

From behind you, a figure came flying towards them. Sam Wilson. He shot misiles towards them as you continued to send every scrap of metal you could find towards their huge frames.

With non-stop amounts of effort, you and Sam took the group of them down.

“Thanks, dude!” you shouted up at him.

“Anytime, girl,” he replied, flying off.

Time passed and the group of you were still fighting Thanos’ army with all your might. Suddenly, you heard a scream come from your left.

You looked over to see Thanos above Thor. He had your boyfriend pinned down, forcing Stormbreaker slowly into his chest. Your heart sunk down to your stomach. You sprinted with every last bit of energy in you, over to him.

The sound of thunder surged through the sky as you breathlessly ran across the battlefield. Suddenly, Thanos was hit aside by mjolnir. Continuing running, whilst fighting off more aliens, you felt extremely confused as to how Thor could wield mjolnir as he tried to keep Stormbreaked from splitting his chest open.

Moments later, mjolnir flew past both Thanos and Thor and into the hands of Steve Rogers. Feeling extremely out of breath, you still managed to gasp. Steve proceeded with mjolnir by smashing it into Thanos; fighting him which gave you a perfect opportunity to help Thor.

“I knew it!” Thor shouted just before you fell on your knees before him. You were passing the infinity gauntlet between each other - keeping it away from Thanos.

“Thor!” you cried. He saw the heartbroken reaction on your face and pretended to not be hurt.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be this close to Thanos...” he grabbed your hand tightly. “Come on-” he tried to stand up but winced in pain.

“Thor, we had a deal to both stay safe,” you shook your head.

“I know, my love, and I’m sorry but I am safe now that I’m with you.” You helped him up, your eyes fixed on the fresh cut in his chest.

“Let’s get you away from here,” you murmured, helping him away from the fight between Steve and Thanos.

When you were in a safe-ish area you turned to him and ordered, “don’t go near Thanos again, Thor. I mean it. Stay safe.” He nodded in agreement and you kissed his cheek before running off to join the battle again.

Now, the avengers were passing around the infinity gauntlet; keeping it out of Thanos’ reach. Peter had it and passed it over to a woman with short blonde hair that you’d never seen before.

Peter warned that she wouldn’t be able to pass through the army alone. But she had help. You and all of the other female heroes worked together; fighting off Thanos’ tireless army.

The fight seemed endless but you were strong. You still had power and strength left in you. You fought with all your might while the woman flew through the army.

You weren’t able to see past all the creatures so you couldn’t witness what was going on. Even more time past and you were still pushing on - fighting endlessly. Thor had joined in moments later; helping to fight with you, side by side.

Suddenly the beings around you started to fade. Started turning to dust. You and Thor glanced around at the extinction of Thanos’ army.

“Did we win?” you asked, hopefully.

“Yes. We won,” Thor answered, unbelievingly.

You let out a sigh of relief, throwing your arms around his neck and nuzzling your face into his chest. He placed his arms around your waist, squeezing tight.

“Thank the gods you’re back,” he murmured into your hair.

“Yes, I’m back and I’m going nowhere,” you promised, hugging him tighter. “Thor,” you said, concern laced in your words.

“Yes?” he asked as you moved back a little, staring into his eyes.

“A lot has changed since I last saw you. I swear that back in Wakanda your hair was...shorter and I don’t remember one of your eyes being brown,” now you were addressing the elephant in the room, “and...what happened to your weight?” you asked, worriedly.

Thor broke eye contact, as if embarrassed.

“I, um-” he faltered. “When I was, um, in Asguard a lot happened...I met new people, my father died and I found out Loki was still alive-”

“What?! Loki’s still alive!” you interrupted.

Thor’s eyes began to gloss over with tears.

“Well...” he began. “He was alive...only...he’s dead now. Thanos killed him before he killed everyone else.” You exchanged a sorry look with Thor, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “I also found out that I had a sister but she was going to kill us all so...I had to kill her,” Thor nervously chuckled, “and she took out my eye - which is why I have this glass one.”

“Oh, Thor, baby, I’m so sorry all of that happened to you and that I wasn’t there to be with you. You lost so much...”

“Yes. That’s why I’ve changed so much,” he laughed. “I may have drowned my sorrows in liquor and food for the past 5 years but now I have you back,” he suddenly looked serious, held his hand against your cheek. “And I will never, ever let you go again.”

“I love you so much, Thor Odinson,” tears fell down your face as your leaned forward to kiss him gently. He returned the kiss, pressing you tightly against him.

Being back in Thor’s arms was all you ever wanted. You were elated, grateful and you were sure you’d never leave his side again.

[naferty]

So I’ve been writing a little something something during my spare time when I get the sudden urge for the au and it’s also an old writing style I’m hoping I haven’t forgotten. 

I won’t upload this anytime soon over at ao3. From just the draft alone it’s looking to be a pretty big piece, and with FP still going on I’m not about to have two working at the same time. I think I’ll fall into a coma if I try. 

I’m posting here a bit of a preview for the first chapter, setting everything up for the au. I kind of hope the writing style is distinguishable between my works, but I’ll let you wonderful readers be the judge of that. It would mean the world if you let me know if there’s any difference in the styles, or if this is sounding pretty much the same. 

A little info. This is a time-traveling au with Tony jumping back and changing everything. Thanos basically won and this is their last, desperate option. Many things will go into it, but the bottom like, Tony will end up living a new life with a new name and new appearance while trying to prepare everyone for Thanos’ invasion. His ship I haven’t fully decided. It’s looking to be stony, but could easily change to something else, depending on the direction it heads. Winteriron is close, and pepperony will always be referenced in it. Who knows, maybe even a new ship can be born out of this. 

There wasn’t much left in the world. Nothing but a barren wasteland. An empty shell of what had once been and what could have been. At least for Tony.

His world had been yanked clean from underneath him. Ripped at the seams with only withered and decrepit stitches hanging in a last attempt to keep whatever’s left together. Tony had half a mind to just yank those stitches and surrender to the inevitable. There wasn’t much left to do. He had already accepted that long ago. His hope crushed and buried along with the remains of what used to be his family.

It had been months since he last heard his name said in a tone of caring and desperation. Months since he had heard “I love you,” and even longer since he last saw the smile of youth before it was burned away in agony. The image of a body who had once been a happy man forever engraved in his mind.

The Mad Titan had come, had saw and had trampled with little resistance. Tony’s nightmare come true, and even after he poured everything he had, all his blood, sweat and fear, his soul, it hadn’t been enough. He only slowed. He never prevented.

The group of individuals who had been brought together to do the impossible, to fight the war nobody else could, to protect the weak and protect the future… had all been for naught. The idea as dead as the trust that had been broken.

Here Tony stood. In the remains of what had once been a beautiful city, carved from its people, its technology and in myth. Left as crumbled as the rubble by his feet. First to be attacked and one of the few places left standing. Wakanda became shelter to many, and yet so few.

He gazed at the landscape. Half the jungle and land scorched. Buildings shortened and lights that had once brought the city alive gone. It was cliche to say it housed the resistance, when they weren’t enough to even call themselves a force. It still stood, thanks to the leadership of a king, and warriors and allies that had managed to push back.

Tony had joined shortly after it became evident they weren’t enough to protect all of the outside world. The reunion as short-lived as the battle that had commenced. The army had been small, giving them false hope that would soon become their downfall. The wrench between them far bigger than they realized, unscrewing the remaining bolts and breaking down their foundation.

They had underestimated and believed themselves capable with only half the strength, when in reality they needed each other, but it had been too late. The holes had been far too large to fill, giving the Titan a chance to pick them off one at a time. Soon they became too few. So many lives lost with more added everyday. Hope dwindled until almost none was left.

Not all gave up, however. Whereas Tony had nothing to fight for anymore, weakened by the years and crushed by the death of his loved ones, others continued the battle. Pointing the direction and leaving him to follow. Should he wish to, all that required of him was to lie down and allow death to embrace him.

The king made sure that was his last alternative. Reminding him there were still lives to keep and allies that needed him. Sometimes requiring a firm hand in order to make him see reason. He has had worse.

So long as there were souls living, he fought. So long as souls lived, hope remained. That hope soon manifested into one last chance. Change the course before it occurred. To change the past for a chance of a future.

Stephen Strange had brought forth the possibility. With the Time Stone already at play what was one more, unrecommended, reality altering break? The threat of time and space collapsing couldn’t be worse than their bleak future brought upon them by a mad, death courter.

“What is to prevent the Titan from simply using the Stones to follow?” T’Challa had asked once Strange had finished explaining.

“This spell comes with faults. There’s a reason why I couldn’t find it until now. It’s only a miracle the book it resided in was still in one piece,” Strange said. “The spell doesn’t simply throw you across time. It cuts all connections. You won’t have a past and you won’t have a place. Your soul is ripped from space itself.”

Tony filed the information away. “What does that even mean?”

“In a sense, you don’t exist. You don’t get affected by any changes in the timeline. If you were to go to a time where you are still a child, get that child killed, you would still remain. You cut all connections to yourself. If you were to go you won’t be able to come back. You’ll no longer have a present and you’re no longer associated with what could have been your future. This spell will break you from the cycle.”

“I see.” This spell would be a one time deal.

“Breaking from time and space will prevent Thanos from tracking or sensing the change. Not even the soul will be found. Whoever agrees will become a ghost to fate.”

Whoever agreed, whoever took up the sacrifice, would erase everything they’ve ever been.

“Free of the consequences of the changes,” T’Challa reiterated, “and yet to forever wander aimlessly through fates plan.”

Tony shook his head. “Fate’s plan had big, tall and ugly come to destroy us all. If that’s what was meant for us I’d rather fate shove it back in their -”

“There are many paths set out for us all,” Strange interrupted. “Our choices decide for us which rode we’d follow. Changing one decision will lead us down a new road, but ultimately have similar or the same results. Someone outside the cycle might be able to cut through those roads with no consequences of the changes to themselves -”

“And lead us to a better future,” T’Challa said.

“Or at least give us a better chance,” Strange finished.  

That’s all I’m posting. Did it catch your interest? It’s a little on the serious side, but will be a lot fluffier than it sounds. Main focus is family, Tony learning to forgive and let go, and chances. While it’s fluffy, Tony is a little on the manipulative side, but only to those he hates at first. Then he grows to genuinely care. 

Do you see a difference? Or is it about the same style as the rest of my works?

[showandwrite]

19, 21, 46, 100 w/ Jon Snow? Very angst, but maybe at least a little bit of a happy ending? Thanks❤️

Jon Snow - “I love you. That’s my reason.”

The silence was almost deafening. Tension filled the air and even though winter had not arrived yet the hall of Winterfell was ice and ice cold.

Jon felt your eyes lingering over him, staring at his back. He knew that he owed you an explanation or at least an answer to all the questions you didn’t dare to ask but carried with you in your eyes. But he had no idea where to start without having to admit that he had fallen in love with you. He was King in the North now. He had sworn to defeat the night king and the army of the death that was marching towards the wall. If he would admit that he was in love with you, he would put your life in even more danger than it already was.

“I see that you’ve decided to try if you can ignore me?” Your voice echoed through the empty room. It trembled a little and even though you had probably practised those words a thousand times already, they were nothing but a soft whisper. “Can I ask you something? One question and then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”

“Don’t.” Jon turned around. He had his hands folded behind his back and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other while he ignored the constant headache he was having ever since he had started the battle against Ramsay Bolton that had lead to this. “You don’t want to hear the answer.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Jon.” You shrugged your shoulders. You were not even attempting to hide the tears burning in your eyes. “Sometimes not knowing the answer is worse than knowing it.” You bent your head and stared at your feet. “Can you please say it?” You looked up again. Your eyes were staring straight into his and his heart skipped a beat in his chest. “Just say it. I need to hear it from you. I need to hear from you that you don’t feel what I feel. I need to hear from you that my dream is not your dream. I need to hear from you that you don’t want me as your queen.”

“I’m not gonna say any of that.” Jon shook his head and he avoided your glance. Pearls of sweat covered his forehead, even though the air was already rather chilly. Winter wasn’t here yet. But it was for sure on its way.

“Jon…” You swallowed a few times. “What do you want?” You paused for a moment. “You don’t want to talk to me, but you don’t want to crush my hope either. What do you want?”

“I want you to leave.” Jon’s voice was nothing but a soft whisper. He didn’t want you to leave. He wanted you to stay with him. He needed you to tell him that everything was going to be alright.

“Why?” You stuck the tip of your tongue between your slightly parted lips. “I don’t understand any of this, Jon.” You crossed your arms over your chest. You were beautiful. You were smart. You were strong.

He was a fool for letting you go and he knew it. But he would be an even bigger fool if he would allow you to stay. “I love you.” He said the words before he realized what he was doing. “That’s my reason.” He took a deep breath. “I love you and I know that it will get you killed. You need to leave. You need to travel south, away from the wall, away from me.” He straightened his back and lifted his chin. “If this is all over and if somehow I survive it, I’ll find you. But I need to know that you’re safe.”

You didn’t move. You were just standing there, looking at him with both panic and relief visible in your eyes. All of a sudden you ran straight into his arms while you pressed your lips on his. “I’d rather die than leave your side.” You pressed the palms of your hands to his cheeks.

“I’d rather see you with someone else than dead.” Jon kissed you back for a short moment, but then he pushed you away. “I’ll send some men with you to keep you safe.” His lips were forming a straight line before he kissed you again. “You really have to go.”

[elliotbathory]

The End of the War

Part I: Introduction (An essay relating song lyrics to my mental health issues and addiction, written late 2017) Part II: Confrontation (A journal entry, written upon entering rehab) Part III: Resolution (A short story about ego death, written in rehab)

Part I: A Bigger Paper Bag

From Father John Misty’s album Pure Comedy. The album has had a deep impact on my life and I have an emotional connection with each individual song. Some view the artist as a contrived, self-absorbed, false prophet. I think he knows exactly who is and what he is trying to do. Pure Comedy touches me in a way that no other album since The Who’s Quadrophenia has. I identified with the protagonist, Jimmy, for many years. His depression, his recklessness, his desperate desire to ‘get out [his] head’. Father John Misty has created a sonic place in which I can rest with my deep despair about the state of the world. Dark, clever, occasionally very witty, and of course, real. What follows is an exploration into the many ways in which I, including my inner Jimmy, relate to 'A Bigger Paper Bag’.

“Dance like a butterfly and drink like a fish

If you’re bent on taking demons down with only your fist

And I’ve never known anyone who could lose himself in a bigger paper bag”

I am an Aries. I have a fighting spirit. Demons have plagued me for almost my whole life. The first, that of isolation and inability to communicate. The blockage in my head between thought and expression. The second, the very real and intolerably cruel voice of my mother, which informed the third: the person I became after I left the suffocating suburban reality that Jimmy and I both tried so hard to escape.

He said “My mother got drunk on stout, my dad couldn’t stand on two feet.” And yet when they found out he was using uppers, they kicked him out of the house. Desperate to escape himself, he turned to drugs and wild partying. At the age of fifteen I was so desperate to take speed I used to take 8 pseudoephedrine pills at a time and lay in bed for hours shaking with my forehead pressed to the wall. I was nowhere near cool enough to know anyone who could get drugs.

My mother also drank too much. But then, that was not the trigger for the abuse. It only amplified it. So, to “taking demons down with only your fists.” I’ve used almost every other drug over the years, some quite a lot. But my main crutch has always been alcohol, because as I discovered when I was sixteen, it made me feel normal. It taught me to communicate verbally rather than through writing. I am still not convinced that I can socialise without it.

Naturally, it does not end there. Demons have no courtesy. I’ve been drunk for a very large portion of the last four years. It makes things better, until it makes things worse. It in and of itself becomes a demon. You go from longnecks in the park, to two cheap bottles of red, to finding yourself inside a paper bag, the enormity of which you cannot know. There is endless supply in there.

And as for dancing, well, after a (a lot more than), a few gin and tonics, blue under the light, I used to be quite enchanting on stage.

“The weaker the signal, the sweeter the noise

Hunching over an instrument that you now employ

Like the Starvation Army needs a marching piano in the band”

You can tune those demons out, to an extent. The riot of blood rushing through your head after you huff amyl, their complete, albeit temporary erasure when I used to get lost inside 77 on pills, drunkenness and dancing and revelry and other sounds. Britpop, for example. I no longer know if I identify as a hedonist. What I truly was was an escapist. Not an escape artist, however. My attempts to scale the barbed wire fence of my mind and never look back were always cut short.

You come down. Then you wait until you know you can go back up again. Then you do. My partner gets cranky when I try to go out these days and can’t get into it. I am no longer starving for the things I have in life now, like love, understanding, and happiness. Those situations usually now just remind me of how I tried and failed to find happiness in shallow overcompensations. I always wanted to be fun and cool. I’m not.

“Are you feeling used?

I do”

Yes but let’s not get into that. I used myself and I am ashamed.

“Oh, I was pissing on the flame

Like a child with cash or a king on cocaine

I’ve got the world by the balls

Am I supposed to behave?”

For a few years the diagnoisis that suited me best was bipolar II. Soaring highs, or more commonly, crushing lows. There were times when I was on acid or mushrooms in huge crowds and genuinely felt that the entire situation had been constructed specifically for my friends’ and my enjoyment. Eventually, of course, I fell from that specific hallucinogenic throne in a spectacularly violent fashion and developed actue psychosis.

“What a fraud

What a con”

My specific breed of psychosis was as narcissistic as it was unbearable. I was convinced that everyone in the world knew who I was, and everyone hated me. Because how dare I pretend so long to be happy, to be fun, to be a legitimate person worthy of enjoying life. Jimmy also felt as though he was not truly cool enough to be a mod, and was eventually rejected and ridiculed, confirming his self belief. The film adaptation ends with a long shot of him riding his vespa along the sea cliffs.

I believed there was a global conspiracy against me and its end goal was my suicide. I heard passers by spitting insults at me for months on end. I wonder where I got the idea that anyone would do that?

“You’re the only

One I love”

I didn’t used to believe it was enough to love one person romantically. Or rather, I didn’t feel validated enough by the love of one person. I was suffering a massive defecit of love. I don’t hate myself so much anymore. So now self love has been added, it’s notso much a matter of begging others to throw endless amounts of love into the chasm of my starving soul, but rather being able to participate in the life long work of love.

“It’s easy to assume that you’ve built some rapport

With a someone who only likes you for what you like yourself for

Okay, you be my mirror but remember that there are only a few angles I tend to prefer

I’m only here to serve”

Those first two lines fucking floored me when I first really listened to what they are saying. I learned from quite an early age that all I was good for was my looks. And then sex. So I combined the two to forge an identity that I hoped people would like. An A grade slut, both in my personal life, and professionally. Sexy, easy, available, yours if you want me (please take me I cannot stand myself). Took me a long fucking time to grow out of that. I have never fought as hard against anything and I have come a long way.

“Oh, I was pissing on the flame

Like a child with cash or a king on cocaine

I’ve got the world by the balls

Am I supposed to behave?

Oh, I was dancing 'round the flame

Like a high-wire act with a "who, me?” face

I was living on nothing but water and cake"

Perilously close to oblivion at all times and dangerously self destructive but gosh, wasn’t I good at it? Wasn’t I cute? Didn’t you used to wank to me? I have no idea what kept me together, let alone alive. Natural talent, I suppose. That Aries fight. Against the bored, lonely, suffering person I used to be. Against death, to the death. And death hasn’t won me over yet, seductive bastard that he is.

“What a fraud

What a con

You’re the only

One I love

One I love

One I love”

This isn’t about you, baby. It’s about me, Jimmy, and Father John Misty. But then, we are kindred souls. So I suppose it is. A bit.

 Part II: Confrontation (A journal entry, written upon entering rehab)

17.4.18

I haven’t been remembering my dreams. They’ve been fading so fast. I got 10 hours of sleep after deciding not to attend the NA meeting and having to walk past it anyway to get to the smoking area. I didn’t want to encroach on an experience I don’t share but what’s the difference? Why would I care for legality? It’s strange being here in a ‘good’ patch. No withdrawals, only craving nicotine. Am I here not to get ‘better’, but ‘even better’? I’m not sure how I feel. A little alien. Just letting myself think and waiting for anything significant. Being here is symbolically significant. I’m here to learn coping skills and relapse prevention, that’s it. It doesn’t have to provide anything deeper or provoke feelings of profundity. It’s basic shit. I’m an alcoholic and I don’t want to go back to problem drinking.

Where is the fear and pain I felt yesterday? What was the purpose of it? Knock out a rehab stay while I don’t have work/uni commitments and hope I fucking learn for when I do. The best I can do is be present. I am scared that I still don’t know exactly what I’m studying towards. I’m probably not as smart as I presume. What is my lot in life going to be? A job I like and a husband I adore? God, spare me. I’m having a crisis of personality. Intensity and extremity are not useful defining characteristics. Yet being a good, switched on, and fairly interesting person doesn’t feel like enough. How can I relate person to person when I see my own character as lacking? If we are all fundamentally valid and complex as individuals this negative self-assessment automatically carries across to others. I am ashamed not by how boring I feel I am, but why this baseless critical judgement feels so important. My amorphous, superficially high standard insults everyone.

Why is suffering interesting? Why is ‘different’ interesting? Why can’t I conceive of the mid-ranges of reality as interesting, am I that lacking in curiosity and imagination? I’m used to being overstimulated. Or pissed. I am not attuned to subtlety. It is harder work to find wonder in the mundane. Such a vain conquest, so incredibly shallow to attempt to make my life interesting using self hatred as a form of performance art. No one is interested in the creative flair with which you can wield that. Being alive and burning despite things is not impressive if you’re purposefully making life hard for yourself. I don’t really know where I sit with that, though. My mental torment created the life I had. It’s not that I didn’t want to get better. I just took too much pride in how much I could relish in how fucked up I was.

The hereness and newness of myself is queer because it is complete but also completely lacking in drama. I don’t know what foot to start on if not shock value. I’m a recovering alcoholic, a reformed self loathing attention seeker. What am I inviting people to see if not a hot mess? A tepid, anxious 27 year old boy. My social stance is defensive. Find my projected self interesting but do not attempt to actually know me. I am too fragile, too sad, too boring. I don’t want these human frailties to be levelled with so I cast them up high, make an overexaggerated display of them. I’m not doing that anymore. Take me as I am, whatever that is, but also don’t because I don’t know what that is and I won’t make any efforts to help you find out either. So it seems like I want to be left alone but I have been alone on my plinth celebrating my vain, personal self loathing for so long I am starved for human connection. I was lying the whole time. I am one of you. It is still embarrassing to admit.

 Part III: Resolution (A short story about ego death, written in rehab)

30.4.18

So you arrive on your own doorstep one day, right? You would never come to yourself at a time like this, the you that suffers knows he’s not exactly wanted, but he is desperate. There is nowhere else to go, every safe haven is closed or gone. You’re tired, cold, and soaking wet. It’s pouring because of course it is. A few hours pass and your ego, comfortable inside, decides to take a chance and let you in. You’ve been screaming and pleading for hours. “Let me in, LET ME IN!” You collapse fully clothed in a hot shower while your various self conceptions tut and fuss, bitching about the decision. “Family,” some of them say uncertainly, “That’s what we’re for, right? People say that kind of stuff when they love irredeemable fuckstains, yeah?” They don’t actually know this, and the other parts of your ego are by turns confused and furious. “What the fuck, guys? He’ll be fine, he’s always fine, get him out of here!” “You fucking IDIOTS! WEAK! This is NOT what’s supposed to happen, this is not what we do!”

They’re all running around swearing, aggressively and resentfully caring. Like the first time you ever got drunk by yourself to make yourself feel better before your year 10 half-yearlies. How you remember sitting naked in the shower with your head lolling, parents freaking out. Meanwhile, you are there again. Bewildered. Overwhelmed, barely responsive. But you’re wide awake. Layers and layers of clothes, costumes, identities weighing your body down as the warm water soaks through. Something clicks and you realise it makes no sense to be fully dressed in the shower. As a token act to bring normalcy to the situation, you start to take the layers off. The process of removing them all takes a while, but once it is done you feel as though it happened in the blink of an eye.

“Huh.” You say, looking down at your own body. “Is this what I look like?” It’s a significant action in the symbolic world, taking off your clothes. It never felt like it was before. You didn’t understand the meaning of exposing yourself, of vulnerability. You just did it cos you had a malformed concept of fear. Scary things are good for you, they make you stronger. A seemingly contradictory belief that laying your flaws out on the table prevents people from abusing you for them. Nothing can hurt you when you are made of hurt. It is different completely, however, to reveal yourself to yourself. You’re there naked in the bathroom, looking at yourself as though you’ve never seen yourself before.

Your ego, anxieties, notions of your self that you’ve constructed are all pacing around frantically, fighting with each other about who’s right and what’s the best course of action. None of them ever had a contingency plan for acknowledging the hurt. Confronting the core of who you are. Their very existences are reliant upon dividing the self into these fragments. The elephant in the room of your life is in the fucking bathroom doing god knows what. He’s been in there for hours.

Back to you there. With all the layers removed, you turn on the light. It’s a lot like tripping. What you see in the mirror you know to be yourself, but the image feels so foreign. Stranger still is how separate the amalgamated pile of faces you used to wear looks there in the corner, apart from you. Not, as you believed so deeply, parts of you. They grow irrelevant as you trace your finger over your reflection. “Fuck. Is this who I am?” After a little while you start to think your time in there might be worrying all of the other selves, and they really didn’t want to let you in, so it would only be right to go and let them know you’re okay. You’re not going to cause any trouble. You’re grateful. None of the clothes on the floor are suitable to wear, so “Fuck it,” You think, and walk out. The exhibitionist, the slut, and the hippie were all naked anyway.

The place is empty, dead quiet. For some reason it feels like it has been for a while. You’re confused, are they playing a trick? After wandering around for a while you decide to make a cup of tea and have a cigarette. Make yourself at home, as it were. It’s nice to be out of the storm, relaxing and enjoying your own company. You don’t need the assistance of your ego selves to do that anyway. You are allowing yourself residency in your own mind, this overexposed, brutally hurt self. The hurt doesn’t feel very present though, strangely. You thought yourself to be the suffering person. That’s why they didn’t want you here. The situation leaves you bizarrely unphased. Things that should be scary tend not to be, right? You’re just rolling with it, acting like the place is all yours while the selves are elsewhere.

You can’t quite believe it, both that they actually relented when you were banging the door down, and that you got into a situation so fucked you needed to seek the help of the conscious collective. You usually just communicate via proxies. “I’m here, how weird.” You think. Perfume Genius is playing and the sound quality is fantastic. Walking back into the bathroom to pee, you notice the pile of clothes has vanished. The trippy feeling you had before settles on you again and you look to the mirror. Your eyes widen as you see all your selves, the shades of ego and anxiety, floating behind you, faint as ghosts. You see the Party Girl, the Masochistic Martyr, the Stubborn Whore. Their faces are passive and kind. Something you’d attribute to the relief of death.

You lived through them, they lived as you so you could survive. They panicked when you got here, begging to be let in. Because your arrival signified their exit. With your presence, in your self and reality, false constructs fall away. You are the spirit that persisted, the soul that endured. Their service was for one end, and that was getting you here. Everything they protected you through, all of the lessons they helped you learn are intact, part of you as a whole. You’re left staring at the naked truth of who you are. None of the people you’ve been fought in vain. The end game was always unity.

From the other room you hear the piano player playing “This Must Be The Place” and you think: it’s a miracle to be alive. You exit the bathroom into the rest of your life, hearing someone say “Pleasure to meet you!” It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. You are the resurrection, and you are the light you needed to let in. You could only bring yourself to hate yourself for so long. A spark, a flame, a bang, a phoenix. You see yourself rising in the vast and limitless universe. Within and without, at peace, as one.

[marcoacesabo]

Dad reflexes

It was like a war was in full swing when he arrived. All around him pirate and marine clashed, sword against sword, bullet against bullet and in a few cases fist against fist.

Boats were docked along a bank, pirate flags sailing through the air- the proud sign of the Whitebeards against a stormy sky.  men pouring out from each ship running along the ground with mighty cries. They resembled human tides, especially as they broke apart once hit with an another human tide all wearing the white and blue of the marines. 

He scratched his head. What was going on? Where was his son? Had it not worked?

Then his eyes landed on a figure crying on an execution stand and he saw red.

The day Portgas D Ace was going to be executed turned out to be the darkest day in marine history. Many of the marines felt it was wrong to kill the man due to his blood and not his crimes but for the name of justice, they kept their mouths shut. 

They knew Whitebeard would show up. Knew he would bring all his allies and throw a full-fledged war to get his second commander back.

They were prepared for it.

They were prepared when the forty-three subordinate crew ships first arrived. 

They were prepared when the pirates first struck.

They were prepared for the Whitebeard’s commanders strength  

Hell, they were surprised when that crazy Straw hat brat fell from the sky but they were prepared. 

They speed up the execution time just to make sure the Gol D. bloodline would never see the light of day again. Then that voice rung out, louder than the sounds of war.

“I thought you were a man of your word Sengoku?” 

At once everyone on the battlefield froze in horror as a man wearing a red coat casually strolled towards the fleet admiral, a  wide smile on his face. If it wasn’t for the wild and dangerous gleam in his eyes, one would think he was peaceful.  

Even if men fell at his feet.

Councour Haki was rolling off him in waves knocking both pirate and marine alike if they stood too close. Some that were old enough to have fought him, felt the horrible sense of deja vu, watching as he took out large parts of both armies like it was nothing. 

One particular officer, Tommy, fell to his knees clutching the cross around his neck. He was nothing but a cabin boy all those years ago, on that fateful day, when his commanding officer had tried to capture the man.

It was a slaughter. His whole unit wiped out in seconds, mercilessly and painfully while the target had laughed through it all. He never believed in demons until he saw one with his own eyes at the age of fifteen.

Tommy gulped as the man’s strong gaze fell on him. Again his lips were stretched into a wide grin, almost like he was fighting laughter. Just like that day.

Almost like he was hypnotized he whispered the monster’s name. In his stage of shock, he didn’t realize his voice carried, as no one, not even the wind dared to make a sound “Gol D. Roger.” 

The late- he’s dead, he should be dead!- Pirate King’s grin stretched even bigger, his famous mustache jumping with the action. Roger winked at Tommy (taunting him) but walked right past the shaking man without a backward glance. 

The pirate Kings’ haki slamming into him not a moment later.

The marine had only a few seconds of relief before his world turned black and he fell unconscious, grateful he would not have to see that monster kill everyone again. 

One trama was enough, thank you.

“If you come peacefully Roger, I will make sure no harm ever comes to them. Were those not your words Sengoku?”  Roger inquired, with a cheerful little hum. If they paid close attention they could heart the threat edged into his words.  “Let us make your death a public example, your crew and family would never be touched. Was that not the deal we made? I’m disappointed. Why don’t you, come down here to have a chat about breaking one’s word yeah?”

Akainu jumped down from his chair, lava dripping from his arm as he launched a surprise attack aimed at the back of the Pirate King. Roger tsked while tilting his head, looking up at the admiral with a frown.

The lava man’s eyes burn with hate. “Gol D. Roger! In the name of Absolute Justice, I will-” 

The next second he was sent flying, slamming through the stone wall they had trapped the pirates within. He landed in the sea with a large splash as the wall collapsed. No one even saw the King move.

“Shut up kid. Adults are talking.” Roger said waving his hand in the general direction Akainu landed. If wasn’t the fact that his leg was still in the air no one would know he had kicked him, in what could have been his chest. 

(Gol D Roger was short. How could they forget how tiny he was? After all it had been something that baffled many. How could something so small hold such strength?)

Roger fixed his coat, mumbling about “Kids these days. No respect.” before his eyes turn up , locking with three wide and shocked ones. His smile noticeable warms when he looks at Ace, staring at him with love and curiosity. 

The young man looks torn but eventually glares down at him. Roger chuckles “Got your mom’s spunk son. Rouge would be proud.” 

New tears fill Ace’s eyes and he bites his lip. Roger’s expression warms again, softly staring at him. 

 The look is gone in a flash as he levels a hard disappointed glare on Garp. The other man flinches back, lowering his head in shame. Roger’s smile turns sharp, accusation licking every part of it. “Been a good grandpa for my boy, like you promised you would Garp?”

The way the Hero shakes is an answer enough.

Sengoku, the fleet admiral, looked pale staring horrified at the figure getting closer and closer.  “Y-you...how are you here!?”

“Oh, you know. Us dads have reflexes for our kids when they're in danger.”Roger laughs cracking his neck.His hands are balling, and the ever-present smile he wore, even to the last minute of his life, is gone. 

 In its place is a sneer so terrifying many of the young turn tail and run. Regardless of which side they are on.  “Mine just so happen to involve a special stone that lets me come back when promises are broken. Hand over my son you lying snake. I’m going to gut you and some bitch named Sabo for taking my Ace’s first kiss.”

(Somewhere in the world, a blond feels a shiver run down his spine. Filled with dread, he looks over his shoulder as if the devil himself was after him.  His brown haired comrade looks at him in worry but he waves her off. They had a mission to complete.)

Roger’s eyes landed on the First Commander of the Whitebeards as the stunned crowd tries to understand the back-from-the-grave- man’s priorities.  The blond man flinched at the glare in a normally friendly- it had been some years but Roger looked the same as the day he died. 

His face paled as the D.’s eyes turn murderous. “Don’t think I don’t know about you, Marco. How fucking dare you touch my baby.”

Then the Pirate King jumped into battle and everything went to hell. 

The world was not prepared for the return of the Pirate King nor were they prepared for his overprotective tendencies about his sons. Turns out that Monkey D. Luffy was officially adopted into the Gol family after Ace proclaimed him his bother. 

Oh and he’s apparently been watching over Ace from the day he was born and did not approve of his boyfriend- Marco the Phoenix better fucking run- or his first crush- the same blond from before shivers again. 

The darkest day in Marine history was the day Gol D Roger took his first breath twenty years after his death.

[archergwenwrites]

ZM Day 14 - Beauty and the Beast

(A/N: Only it's not a Beauty and the Beast AU, even if it does involve beauties and brats and people acting like beasts. Fiddled with ages for convenience)

“I don’t want to hear your stupid bedtime story.”

“Well, little sisters who don’t listen to their brothers just have to suck it up and do as he says. And you are going to get a bedtime story.”

“I’m twelve, I’m too old for a bedtime story.”

Zuko, newly eighteen and feeling the crushing weight of responsibilities, glared at his sister. “Again, it sucks to be you. Dad left me in charge, so get comfortable.”

“Is this a kissing story?”

“No. Now listen.

“Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince. But all was not well in his kingdom, for his mother was missing-”

“Dead.”

“What?”

“Mom’s dead, Zuko, stop pretending she’s not, even in a fairy tale that is so heavy handed about being your life. If this is gonna be a dumb ‘beauty and the beast’ adaption, I hope you’re not trying to be the beauty.”

“Just shut up and let me tell the story. As I was saying, the mother was missing, and the prince’s father often left on long trips, trying to save the kingdom from certain destruction.”

“You hate Dad; why is he sympathetic in this story?”

“Oh my god, Azula, shut up!”

She pulled a face in response. “Just asking questions. Not my fault you’re a bad storyteller.”

“All will be explained. And if it’s not explained, it’s not important to the story. So, the prince has no parents ninety percent of the time. What he did have was a baby sister, who cried and cried, and even with an army of nannies and assistants the prince was expected to care for her and the kingdom as if he was his father.”

“Wow. Now I know how you feel about me.”

“Maybe if you shut up and listened, you could be a hero in the story, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, just get to the point.”

“One night, as his sister cried and cried, and the kingdom continued to flounder, the prince reached his breaking point. You see, what no one in the kingdom knew was that the Queen of Goblins had fallen in love with the prince, and given him certain powers. And so, at the height of his desperation, the prince fell to the ground before his sister’s room and cried: ‘Goblin Queen! Goblin Queen! Where ever you may be, take this child away from me!’”

Azula burst into laughter. "That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard! What happens next? The Queen takes him as her king in trade for his sister? Come on, Zuko!”

“No,” he murmured, heart sinking. “He saves his sister and spurns the Queen.”

Azula didn’t hear him, laughing as she was. Neither did she hear him mutter a goodnight and stand, leaving her room with the click of the door. She was still laughing when he turned in the hall to look back at her room.

He winced as another peal of laughter - high and cruel - sounded through the door.

“I wish the goblins would come and take you away.” He turned his back on her room. “Right now.”

Silence.

The world around him seemed to shift and that was what he was aware of first, the silence. He immediately ran back into Azula’s room, heart in his throat. Her covers were thrown back, and she was gone.

Zuko fumbled for the light switch, only it seemed like a useless decoration on the wall for all the use it was. He stepped farther into her room, glancing about anxiously.

“Azula? Azula, come out. This isn’t funny.”

“No, it’s not,” came an unfamiliar voice, and Zuko pivoted towards the window, one hand throwing a wild punch easily caught by the stranger’s hand.

She stared at him, blue eyes alight with mischief. Her skin, a warm reddish-brown not unlike the sepia-colored pictures his mother used to collect, seemed to glow with power as her brown hair fluttered about her face, almost alive. She was draped in blue, a richer blue than Zuko had ever seen. Her cape, black as night with serrated edges, billowed about her, almost as if it was reaching for him.

There was also a shower of glitter.

“Hello, Zuko. How are we this evening?”

“Give my sister back.”

“Such defiance. And straight to the point, too. Well, well.”

She began to circle him, having let drop his hand, and she resembled nothing but predator. “You wished her away. I cannot just give her back to you.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“What’s said is said, Zuko.”

“She’s my sister, not my child, so she’s not mine to give away.”

The Goblin Queen - for that’s all who she could be - laughed. “You said it yourself, Zuko. Your father left you in charge. He left you responsible for her, so you were her guardian and had every right to wish her away.”

With a twist of her gloved hand, a crystal appeared in her fingers. “I came to offer you a gift, your dreams. Nothing more. But it is not a gift for a little prince who cares for a spoiled brat.”

Zuko wanted to accept it. The crystal called to him with images of the family business safe, his father’s love, his mother returned. No bratty, better younger sibling hanging over him like a knife, as likely to cut him as to hug him.

“Forget about your sister.

Your sister. Your responsibility. You have to protect her.

His mother had never made it clear what he was supposed to protect Azula from, the world, their dad, herself. But he tried. And maybe he’d failed before, but now he clenched his hands into fists at his sides and repeated his demand again.

“Give my sister back.”

She sighed, the crystal vanishing with a pop. “Such a pity. Since you did not listen before, I will explain further in detail. Look there,” she began, moving to his side and pointing out Azula’s window.

Where usually there was a copse of trees and more suburbia, there was now what looked like a sprawling, labyrinthine castle on a mountain. Zuko realized he was now standing on a hill across from the gates to the labyrinth, the Queen still at his side.

“You see the castle there, at the center of my labyrinth? Your sister is there, waiting. I’m sure you familial bond will lead you to her eventually, only that’s no fun for me.” An orante clock appeared, hanging in the tree beside them, with one more hour than he was accustomed to. “You have thirteen hours to solve the labyrinth and get your sister back. Or else she becomes one of us, forever.”

The Queen vanished into thin air, leaving only her final, ominous words behind. The second hand on the clock began to move, and Zuko sprang into action, running towards the gates as fast as his feet would take him.

Katara re-materialized just outside of her throne room. She hated that part, interacting with those so callous as to wish away family members even if they did regret it immediately. There was an almost overpowering feeling that something different was at play here, so she leaned against the door to listen to her new charge before entering.

To her surprise, the young twelve year old was trying to martial her goblins and turn them against her. Strange, reconnaissance indicated the heir, the elder child naturally preferred by cut-throat business types, was the cunning one. However, it would not surprise Katara if in a family of snakes even the mostly-cast-off good one was a skilled manipulator.

Well, better to keep the child on her toes. The goblins were too simple and too loyal to be turned astray.

She transported herself onto her throne in an overly showy display complete with showers of glitter and a swirling blue and purple orb to announce where exactly she was arriving. While capable of appearing in total silence and stealth, if this new charge was determined to act as enemy, Katara would keep some secrets.

“And who are you,” the almost imperial twelve year old demanded.

Katara smiled, attempting to put her at ease. “Who else could I be, but the Goblin Queen?”

The girl’s jaw dropped. “You mean, that story was real?”

“It came as quite the shock to Zuko, too.”

She must process very quickly, for the twelve year old was only silent for a beat before scoffing, “I bet it was even a bigger surprise that you didn’t cart him off to be king.”

Katara raised an eyebrow. She hoped this was not a coping mechanism.

“So what’s my idiot brother doing with his freedom now that he doesn’t have to take care of me?”

Katara desperately wanted to share a tale of a callous older brother who abandoned her. It would chip away at the familial bond, and while Zuko would still be pulled towards the castle, the labyrinth would be a much harsher place. But, if he did manage to make his presence known, the surge of hope in her brother on the part of Azula could very well knock down all the walls in between them. The Goblin Queen also knew that to feel alone could very well break this already abandoned child.

“Look for yourself.”

She tossed a crystal to the young girl, who stared, transfixed, at the image of her brother kicking at the doors to the labyrinth, demanding they open. Her eyes glanced up at Katara.

“He demanded a chance to get you back, so I gave him one. It’s not a big chance, but he took it anyway.”

“And my father? He’s supposed to be home soon.”

“He’ll arrive home at midnight, yes? Just under three hours from now. He will find his children missing, and likely begin searching for them. And when your brother’s thirteen hours are up, I will return him home at midnight, unwinding your father’s panicked search.”

Azula raised an eyebrow, looking back at the crystal. “You don’t think he’ll get me back. You don’t think he’ll win.”

“No one ever does.”

Zuko had spent his first thirty minutes running to the gate and yelling at them. Hurling abuse did not seem the key to opening them, however, so he began to scour the area around the gates, trying to find the way in.

Instead, he found a short, black haired girl catching fairies, knocking them out with a spray and then putting them in a large jar on the ground.

“Um, hi.”

She whirled to face him, and Zuko realized she was blind.

“How are you catching them?” He blurted out before thinking.

“Magic.” And she wiggled her fingers at him for good measure. “Now who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“I’m Zuko. My sister’s in the castle, and I have to get her.”

The girl laughed. “I see. She stole your dolls one too many times? Kept coming in when you wanted to seduce a girl? Did she mess up your mint condition comic books?”

“No,” said Zuko, some negative emotion twisting his mouth. “She was teasing me again, and just being a brat, and it’s complicated. Look, how do you get in?”

“Huh. So she hurt you, - don’t think I’m not curious about the rest of that story - and now she’s got consequences you want to save her from? You’re quite the big brother. I’ll help you.” The small girl made for the gates.

“Thank you. I just can’t leave Azula with that lady.”

“The Goblin Queen? Katara’s not that bad. She actually cares about the children wished away. If you fail, she’ll find her a good family to adopt into, though if she’s old enough to tease and make it hurt, Katara will have her work cut out for her. Not many of the Summer Court would appreciate an obviously barb-tongued heir. Too bad things are a mess with the Winter Court.”

Zuko glanced around at the barren landscape, scraggly trees and pathetic bushes. “This is part of the Summer Court?”

“Oh no. The Underground is its own, no influence here. But you see, hold on.” She turned to the gates, rapped twice, and said, “open up, please.”

“That’s all I had to do?”

The girl shrugged. “It will probably help you to think of the Labyrinth as alive, as her own player.”

Zuko stepped into the maze with a careful look around. “Come with me? I’m still really confused about what you mean by Summer Court. And my sister isn’t going to be a goblin?”

The girl sighed. “I can’t. I have a job to do, and it doesn’t involve escorting confused young runners through the Labyrinth and explain Fae politics you’ll never have to deal with. You’ll wake up thinking this was a dream, win or lose. You seem honest though, like you got one of those faces people just tell their problems to.” She stuck her hand out to shake. “Name’s Toph. Good luck, Zuko.”

“Thanks.” As he ran off to the right, the gates closed behind him.

Toph turned to go back to her work, but her eyes widened as she remembered Zuko’s voice, and just what about him encouraged her to share so much. She had to get to the castle. Katara needed to know exactly who was in the Underground.

She took off running, then slowed, then stopped. What was she running for? The fairy jar was right over there.

Whistling, Toph returned to her work.

(This AU will return later. For now, I’d better stop before this grows to huge lengths)

[ecotone99]

[MF] The Prince of Atlantis

As I ran out onto the beach and grabbed my blue and black surfboard, I felt the cool sea spray hit my nose. Then, the salty smell of the ocean burned my nose. My dad, Nathaniel Antoniuo, grabs his board and we hit the water. I heard the waves crashing and I got excited. Once we get out pretty far, I tried to ask my dad about my mother. I said, “Alright, I’m sixteen now, you need to tell me what happened to my mother.” All he said was what he usually says. “She died in a shipwreck,” he explains, “off the coast of Morocco after you were born.” I asked him, “Well, can’t you at least tell me what her name was?” He said, “I don’t like to talk to you about her because I miss her, and I don’t want you to obsess over who she was, what’s done is done.” I sighed and we sat in a moment of silence before he says, “Diana. Her name was Diana.” We caught a few great waves, then I ask him, “What’s with my stupid name?” He said, “Dylan, your mother loved that name and we found it fitting since I had grown up by the sea. In fact, that’s what it means, son of the sea.” He then asked me, “Do you want to go on an expedition tomorrow?” He explained, “It’s off the coast of Morocco, supposedly where Atlantis was. We might find some valuable artifacts.” I asked, “What’s the point, we already have billions of dollars from grandpa and grandma’s company?” He said, “It’s not about money, it’s about history and you are getting a chance no other kids get. Also, I want to finally visit the place where your mother died. At least you will finally get to meet the crew.” We went back in to the penthouse, stopping at the garage to drop our boards off on the way up.

That night, my dad showed me a video presentation of the crew and their purposes in the team. Dale was an ex-Navy SEAL who served as the muscle and munitions expert of the team. He was there if we would encounter any dangerous sea life or environments. Next was Laura, who was the technology expert of the crew. She piloted submarine and controlled the computer systems. Lastly, there was Cassie, who is a marine biologist. She was there to catalog any new or rare species of marine life we could possibly encounter. I went to sleep in my bed down the hall, with thoughts of the trip tomorrow.

The next morning, we met at Miami International Airport, and got on my dad’s private jet. It’s usually around a 13 hour flight from Miami to Morocco, but my dad’s plane can make it in 3 hours because Laura created a special hyperjet engine. Laura also engineered a special fuel cell that is way more efficient than conventional jet fuel and doesn’t burn up at supersonic speeds. On the flight, I noticed that Dale was reading a book that I had read before. I asked him if he liked it and he said he did. We talked about that for a little bit, then my dad and I watched a movie.

When we landed in Morocco, the bright sun hit my eyes like a train. The heat burned my skin. After my eyes had adjusted, it was time for us to get to the harbor. I stared at the beautiful ocean on our car ride to the harbor. We got the sub ready for the expedition. It was different from most subs you would see in military films or submersibles like you would see in documentaries about the deepest parts of the ocean. Instead, it had four turbines in the back, a big clear polymer window in the front, and multiple levels. It was overall a cube shape. The top level was the bridge and computer level. The level below was the sleeping level. The next level housed the galley and a meeting hall with a high ceiling. The level down was an armory that also stored our diving suits, oxygen tanks, and dive helmets. The level down from that had small speed boats that could go under water for brief periods of time and could make it to the surface for escapes. The bottom level was the marine biology level that consisted of: a database of all marine life, an airlock for bringing marine life into the ship, cameras with an artificial intelligence that could recognize marine life that had not yet been catalogued, a tracker rack, robotic assistants with arms that would help hold down large animals and a large examination table.

The trip to the dive site was around an hour away from the harbor. During this hour, I pretty much just hung out in my quarters. I watched a little TV, and about halfway through my fourth episode, all of the lights and systems went dark. I went and asked my dad, “What’s up?” He explained that all of the systems had been shut down except for the emergency lights, pressurization, engine, and oxygen hoses for the dive suits by some sort of electromagnetic pulse. He then explained that we were only about a half a mile away from the dive site and that we would be there very soon. He then debriefed the crew an me on our mission: we were to go out with our suits on and search for anything. We were to look for ruins, artifacts, or statues. Anything we found would be proof that Atlantis exists.

When my dad finished the debriefing, there was a loud bang and we all lurched forward as the sub suddenly stopped. We had arrived and it was finally time to suit up and go out into the deep. Laura would stay back on the sub and try and get the sub’s systems up and running while the crew, my father, and me would suit up and get into the water. We entered the airlock and the sound of the door slamming behind us startled me. Then, there was a hissing sound as the air lock’s vents opened up,the air was let out and the water rushed in. After that, the outside door opened into the dark blue water. We turned on the lights on our helmets and swam out. We saw some ruins and decided to swim deeper. Suddenly, a large rock fell on my suit and crushed my helmet. My dad told me to hold my breath as he and Dale rushed over. They tried lifting the rock, but the only way to get me out was by pulling my helmet off. There was no way I would survive the pressure, let alone be able to see or breathe.

My dad decided to pull me out. What was he thinking? There was no way I would survive! I decided to close my eyes and hope for the best. Once I was out of the helmet, there was a bright blue flash of light that knocked back my dad and the crew. It also destroyed my suit. I was wearing only my small diving shorts, the length of basketball shorts, but skintight. My heart started racing. How could was I still breathing? What was that flash of light? How could I see this deep underwater? I saw thousands of statues of people. I thought about the theory they something similar to what happened to Pompeii had happened to Atlantis and was the reason for its disappearance.

Then, I noticed that in front of these statues was what appeared to be a trident. It was tarnished and covered in barnacles, but I was still drawn to it. I noticed that my birthmark on my back was glowing and with each step closer to the trident, it became brighter and brighter. As I got closer, I realized that the statues truly were statues and not people that had been encased in pyroclastic ash, for they were very detailed and their facial features had been preserved. When I touched the trident, I realized that my birthmark was actually a tattoo and it was starting to mark the rest of my body with tattoos. Then, I adjusted my grip on the trident and the rust and barnacles fell off.

Then, I heard a deep voice in my head, “I am the spirit of King Triton. Do not be afraid my grandson, for you are home. This is Atlantis, the birthplace of your mother. She is Diana, queen of the warriors. The people have gone through a process that combines both science and magic. It is to ensure that they do not age during the years when the royal head of the people is missing. In Atlantis, my daughter–your mother–ruled over the warriors of Atlantis while I served and ruled over my people. Then, I was killed by an unknown warrior from the surface world and Atlantis was forced to go into hiding and cut ties with the surface world. Eventually, we decided it would be time for a new heir to the throne of Atlantis, so I let your mother become flesh once more to carry the baby of a successful explorer of the mighty seas. She then returned to us and became a statue again, giving you father the impression that she had died in a shipwreck. The people went through a process called stuatization, where enchanted rock is bonded to their bodies, which will become flesh once Atlantis is restored. Also, the buildings of Atlantis shall be rebuilt. You have the power to do just that, by rising up this trident, you shall raise Atlantis.”

I raised the trident and Atlantis started to build itself up, almost growing like an organism. The people became flesh again and were overwhelmed with joy. Atlantis was lifted up by very large stilts that were pushing up against the ocean floor. A dome formed. Its purpose was to drain the water and be full of oxygen so that humans could come to Atlantis. The light shone over the throne of Atlantis once again. I finally got to see my mother. She was beautiful, just as I had imagined her as a child and seen in pictures. She brought my father over to us and then spoke with him. The crew would stay here, in Atlantis. Dale would join the Atlantean Army. Laura would learn about Atlantean technology and and magic. Cassie would modify our submarine with Atlantean parts to find more species and catalogue them, then stay at Atlantis for some time, then go on another expedition.

It had been a few weeks since Atlantis was raised to my coronation ceremony. I wanted to get the city up and running before I could have a fancy ceremony. The first thing I did was make sure the seaweed farm was ready. Algae would grow on the seaweed, which would then be eaten by snails. Those snails would be eaten by fish, and those fish would be brought to the Atlantean fish farmer to be fed to bigger fish. After that, we built factories and power plants for Atlantis. I then had Atlantis go public. We would no longer be secluded from the rest of the world. We declared ourselves to be allies of the United States, and even built an embassy. My father decided to stay in the Royal Palace of Atlantis with me and my mother. He donated his fortune to companies cleaning up the world’s oceans and to building various orphanages.

My ceremony was one of extreme joy. The Royal Band of Atlantis played. The palace was adorned with banners with tridents on them. My throne was covered in gold and my trident shone in the refracted sunlight from the dome over Atlantis. I walked up to my throne, sat, and the people–both human and Atlantean–erupted in applause. There was a gala following the ceremony. At the gala, there was the finest fish in the sea, fresh seaweed, squid, and various other traditional Atlantean dishes. I talked with an Atlantean girl for a long while. We planned to go out to dinner the following week. When the gala was finished, I explored the Atlantean Palace and went to sleep in my new bed.

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[hoopslab]

Game of Thrones S7 Ep 5 Eastwatch: What does annulment mean?

SPOILERS FOR GAME OF THRONES ON HBO, UP THROUGH EPISODE 5 OF SEASON 7. I said,  SPOILERS FOR GAME OF THRONES ON HBO, UP THROUGH EPISODE 5 OF SEASON 7.

"He (High Septon Maynard) issued an annulment for a Prince Rhaegar and remarried him to someone else at the same time in a secret ceremony in Dorne.” --Gilly

One of the fun yet maddening things about A Game of Thrones is how the writers can toss out something just to mess with the audience, that the characters on-screen completely miss because they have no reason to pay attention. They went back to that in a big way this week, with the whole scene where Gilly was just annoying the mess out of Sam with “unimportant” minutiae while he stews on whether or not to drop out of the Citadel. Of course, the writers had to tease us by dropping something important into the mix. But HOLY CRAP. They just drop info that changes the entire game, then have Sam completely miss it? I was yelling at my TV like it was a horror movie with that one.

So, not only is Jon the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna...which was confirmed last season, roughly 19 years after the R + L = J theory went crazy in nerd reader land. But now, we hear that Rhaegar had annulled his marriage with Elia Martell (sorry Oberyn), and that he actually married Lyanna...thus, not only is Jon the son of the late crown prince, he’s the LEGITIMATE son of the late crown prince. Meaning that, Dany has absolutely no leg to stand on as the “rightful queen”, as in every way that particular crown would go to Jon? Oh yes, Bend the Knee indeed! 

Bronn pulls Jamie out of the fire...and the water

At the end of episode 7.4, we saw Jaime Lannister charging Daenerys Targeryan on a horse, only to have Drogon the dragon catch him before he can get there and flame the whole situation. Just before Jaime is flambe’d, someone rides into the scene and pushes Jaime out of the fire and into the water, where Jaime’s armor sinks him like a stone. End scene.

This week, we got confirmation that, as expected, that last second savior was Bronn Stone. Bronn then doubled down on his heroism by diving to the bottom of the water and dragging Jaime, armor and all, back to the surface. Once back on land, coughing up water, Jaime and Bronn continue the verbal sniping of their bromance, with Jaime complaining that Bronn could have killed him and Bronn saying that, until Jaime gives him the castle he was promised, no one gets to kill Jaime EXCEPT for Bronn! He did make the exception that when Dany brings all three of her dragons into play, all bets were off because dragons are where their partnership ends. Speaking of dragons...

Drogon and Jon stare into each other’s eyes

As teased in the previews for the episode, upon their return to Storm’s End, Dany and Drogon confronted Jon Snow. However, in reality, it didn’t appear that Dany had any say-so whatsoever in the confrontation. She looked just as confused as the rest of us about just what was going on between her head dragon and her nemesis/bae that refuses to bend the knee.

The scene, which took about two minutes but didn’t have any words, was powerful. Drogon ran up on Jon like it was on, but Jon didn’t back down. Instead, they stared at each other for several seconds, then Jon reacted like one would when your friend has a giant dog that wants to get to know you. Jon took off his glove, let Drogon smell his hand, then started petting him. Now, outside of this proving once again that Jon has nerves of steel, this also was another confirmation that his Targeryen blood will likely let him eventually control a dragon. “The Dragon has three heads”, as the prophecy goes, and it certainly looks like Jon is on deck to join Dany as the second.

Also, as I saw someone point out on Twitter, there are now exactly three people in the show that have touched a full-grown dragon and lived. Dany, Jon, and Tyrion. Hmmmm.

Arya & Littlefinger: who’s playing who?

Littlefinger has been arguably the sneakiest player in the Game of Thrones universe, but Arya has trained as a Faceless Man and prides herself on being a good spy. In this episode, after clashing with Sansa about whether Sansa really wants to steal Jon’s crown, Arya decides to spy on Littlefinger. She sees him come into possession of a scroll, breaks into his room, and finds it. The scroll is the letter that Sansa wrote way back in Season 1, when she was held by the Lannisters and thought she would be marrying Joffrey. In that letter, Sansa reports King Robert’s death, names her father a traitor, and urges her brother Robb to surrender to Joffrey. Ouch.

The letter visibly horrifies Arya, who sneaks back out of Littlefinger’s room, apparently unaware that Lord Baelish is now spying her from around the corner. Put into perspective, it certainly seems that Littlefinger is playing Arya, letting her find the scroll to fan the suspicion between the sisters and keep them from working together. Will Arya be smart enough to catch it, or will she fall head-on into his trap? We should soon find out.

Bran wargs a million ravens and spies undead army

This section was self-explanatory. Bran sat at the tree, warged into a whole flock of ravens that he sent north of the wall, and spied the Night King’s forces...before the Night King looked up and broke Bran’s hold on the birds. Bran sent warnings out all around Westeros, including to both the Citadel and Storm’s End. The Citadel seemingly ignored the warning, prompting Sam’s frustrated conversation with Gilly from the opening paragraph and ultimately Sam’s departure from the Citadel. Jon Snow got triple-blindsided by the message, as he learned that both Arya and Bran were still alive at the same time that he got confirmation that his nightmare was on the march. This leads directly to later events in the show (below).

Ser Friend Zone & Ser rows-a-lot both return

Jorah Mormont was last seen in the Citadel, cured by Sam, so we all knew that he would be heading directly for his Khaleesi ASAP. He found her this week, and was welcomed back with open arms. The dynamics whenever he, Jon and Dany are in a seen together are interesting. Dany openly shows her emotion at Jorah’s return, but he looks at Jon before responding. And Jon quietly stares daggers at him too. 

Meanwhile, the bigger return in the episode was Gendry, Robert Baratheon’s bastard son that we last saw rowing away from a date with Melisandre’s flames after The Onion Knight freed him three or four years ago. It’s been a popular inside joke that, as the seasons were going along, Gendry was still somewhere rowing that boat. The Onion Knight even delivers a line to that effect, tongue firmly in cheek, as a nod to the fans. Gendry has been waiting for something to happen to give him an excuse to leave his life of building armor for the Lannisters, so he’s quick to bounce with Ser Davos. Along the way he shows off his skills with a hammer, crushing two nosy guards, and illustrating that he has at least some of his father’s fighting skills. 

The funny part of Gendry’s return (outside of his alarming resemblance to Ser Podrick) was his introduction to Jon. Davos warns him, repeatedly, to hide his past and use an assumed name so as to not bother Jon. Instead, Gendry marches right up to Jon, tells him his name, his lineage, and announces that since their fathers were friends, they would be friends too. Jon appears skeptical, especially when Gendry makes a quip about Jon being short, then suddenly he smiles and they become friends in a very meme-able way.

I’m a King

After Jon receives word from Bran that the Night King is on the march, he decides it’s time to leave Storm’s End and head home. Dany visibly doesn’t want him to go. Tyrion then comes up with the (IMO not that smart) idea that if someone can go North of the wall, capture one of the undead army, and bring that zombie south it could be used as proof for Cersei that they needed to be fighting the zombies instead of each other. As I said, to me it was far fetched. But, Jorah Mormont jumped on the idea with two feet, promising to bring back a zombie for his Queen. Dany looked semi-emotional, but then Jon jumps in that he’ll lead the expedition. First, he absolutely trumped Jorah’s I’m-going-to-impress-Khaleesi play. Second, Dany didn’t react well at all. 

OK, that’s an exaggeration. But barely. Dany’s face said it all, then she told him she hadn’t given him permission to leave. He then drops the TI line, “I’m a King”, so I don’t need permission. And proceeds to sweet talk her into nodding her head, when she clearly didn’t want to. This leads to...

Bronn matchmakes the Lannister brothers

To lay the groundwork for his big plan to convince Cersei with a zombie, Tyrion has Davos smuggle him into King’s Landing to meet with Jaime. This is the trip when Davos goes and finds Gendry. But while he’s doing that, Tyrion gets old buddy Bronn to set up the meet with his brother. Jaime’s still pissed the Tyrion killed their dad, and Peter Dinklage killed the scene because you can actually see him bleeding inside that his beloved brother hasn’t forgiven him. But he does convince Jaime to at least deliver the message to Cersei: upcoming queens meeting to discuss armistice because of the Zombies.

Cersei most likely to try to recruit the Night King?

Jamie goes to report to Cersei about his meeting with Tyrion, only for her to reveal that she knew about it all along and suggest that he punish Bronn for setting it up. She suggests that she’ll accept the armistice because Dany has the numbers and is currently winning, but she also doubles-down (triples down? quadruples down? What’s the highest number you can think of?) on the idea that she’s going to find a way to turn this to her advantage and find a way to defeat Dany, especially because Cersei is pregnant again. And this time she plans to tell the world that it��s Jaime’s baby. Twincest ick factor resurfaces a bit, but more than that, there is very little in the Game of Thrones universe scarier than motivated Cersei planning skull-duggery. I really wouldn’t put it past her to try to form an alliance with the Night King, if that’s even possible.

The Magnificent 7

The final scene in this week’s episode wasn’t a big battle sequence, like it’s been in several episodes this season. Instead, we journey up to EastWatch and get a reunion of seven badasses that are all going to go on this zombie expedition: Jon Snow, Jorah Mormont, Gendry, Tormund Giantsbane (huge readheaded wildling that loves The Big Lady), The Hound, Beric Dondarrion (guy with eyepatch that keeps dying and being reborn) and Thoros of Myr (priest of the Red Lord that keeps reviving Beric). 

It turns out, most of the seven have reason to hate each other, but Beric says that this doesn’t matter since it’s their destiny to fight together. The Hound keeps it real, curses all the talking, and says he’s ready to go. Jon delivers the final line, that they’re all on the same side because they’re all breathing (while their enemies don’t have to breathe). The show ends with a shot of the seven of them, beyond the wall, gearing up for what looks to be another action-packed next-to-last-episode of the season...a Game of Thrones specialty. 

Not mentioned above, but the showrunners keep teasing the fear that Tyrion and Varys, as well as others, have that Dany will become more like her father as another fire-loving tyrant. Will anything come of that? Will Arya fall for Littlefinger’s plots and go after Sansa? And what the heck can the magnificent 7 accomplish against the Nightking’s undead army of thousands? Can’t wait to check it out.

Other articles of interest

Game of Thrones S7 Ep1: Winter has been a long time coming

Game of Thrones S7 Ep2 Stormborn : Where is Ghost?

Game of Thrones S7 Ep3 The Queen’s Justice: Ice meets Fire

Game of Thrones S7 Ep 4 The Spoils of War: Stark Family Reunion