#capitalism is the enemy of rest and health | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanficapologist · 1 year ago

Text

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Nineteen

Maera had come to appreciate the new routine she had established in her life at the Red Keep. The early morning sparring sessions with Aemond, the quick return to her chambers for a change of clothing with the help of Thena, and then the rest of her day dedicated to assisting Queen Helaena in her various duties. Her days were a whirlwind of tasks, but Maera embraced them wholeheartedly. She stood by the queen's side through courtly affairs and diplomatic meetings, always ready with a reassuring smile or a whispered word of encouragement. Some days she would attend to the twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, whether the role be tutor or entertainer, her time with the children brought her immense enjoyment.

Aemond's absence during his duties in the Riverlands, quelling rumored rebellions and ensuring loyalty to the crown, became a recurring pattern. When he returned, Maera noted a slightly better mood about him, likely a reflection of his success in managing the realm's affairs. It was a welcome sight, even if their interactions remained punctuated by their shared history and the complex emotions they both harbored. Maera couldn't help but admire his dedication to his responsibilities, even if it meant sacrificing his own peace.

During his time away, Maera found herself missing his presence. Their time together, though centered around sparring, had rekindled some of their past camaraderie, and Maera appreciated the moments of connection she still shared with him, even if fleeting. She often pondered the fact that Aemond seemed to handle many of the duties that were typically expected of a king. Yet, Aegon, the reigning monarch, spent most of his days in revelry, indulging in drink and pleasures of the flesh. It was probably for the good of the realm that Aemond took on these responsibilities, Maera mused.

A recent role, assigned to Maera by Queen Alicent, involved overseeing the preparations for the upcoming Harvest Moon Ball, taking place in ten days. The women had been meticulously coordinating every detail together to ensure the event's success. Managing these affairs helped keep Maera focused and occupied, a necessary distraction from the continued deterioration of Queen Helaena's mental state. With the combined efforts of Queen Alicent, Maester Orwyle, and Maera herself, they managed to keep Helaena's fragile mental health under control. It was a delicate balance, one they maintained with great care, for the sake of the queen and the realm.

One day, as Maera supervised the delivery of Dahlias and Violas, flowers destined to adorn the grand hall for the upcoming event, a letter arrived at her chambers. The wax seal bore the emblem of House Wylde, and Maera's heart raced with anticipation. She eagerly tore open the letter, her eyes scanning the contents with a mixture of excitement and longing for her family's news.

Dearest Maera,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits amidst the splendor of the capital. It brings me great joy to inform you that our family is well, our fortunes ever favoring our endeavors. The days at Rain House pass with a tranquil swiftness, but a hole has been left in your absence, and we miss you deeply.

There have been some changes since your departure. Guston’s wife is with child for a third time, and he is hoping for another son. Dermot has written from Essos and tells me his travels are going well and does not intend to return to Rainwood any time soon. Our younger sisters, Brienna and Delfine have taken up an interest with the sword, just like you. At least we can get them into the courtyard, unlike Cedric, who remains cooped up in the library. I think he will ask father soon if he has his permission to join the citadel, like our three elder brothers.

I also must let you know that your presence in King's Landing has not gone unnoticed. Your closeness with Queen Helaena has allowed father to establish connections with many other Lords in Westeros. It is with a mixture of pride and bittersweet resignation that I convey to you that our Lord Father has found advantageous marriage pacts for two of our dear sisters.

Wynni has found herself betrothed to Lord Tarly. His house holds influence and respect, and it is with hopes for a prosperous future that this arrangement has been made. Sabine, our fiery spirit, is to be wed to Lord Tarbeck – a union that Father and Guston believe will forge alliances both unyielding and formidable.

I understand the weight of this news, Maera, and the shock it may elicit. But it is due to your hard work that such advantageous matches have been made, and I have been reassured by Guston that Wynni and Sabine’s intended husbands are kind souls of a similar age.

Though distance separates us, please know that your influence and guidance have not been in vain. Our hearts remain connected, and I eagerly await your response of stories from the capital.

Faran

Maera's breath caught in her throat as she read the final words of the letter. Her thoughts raced, a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions surging within her. Shock, disbelief, and a profound sense of loss mingled together, threatening to overwhelm her. She clutched the parchment tightly, as if seeking solace in the ink-stained words.

The news that her younger sisters, Wynni and Sabine, had been betrothed without her knowledge left her seething with rage. Lord Wylde had not only made her available for marriage but had also done the same for her beloved sisters. It was as if he considered them all mere bargaining chips in his quest for power, and Maera couldn't bear the thought of her sisters being treated that way. Feeling deceived and hurt, she couldn't hold back her anger any longer. She stormed into her father's chambers, her eyes blazing with fury. Lord Jasper looked up from his work, surprised by his daughter's sudden entrance.

"Father," Maera began, her voice carrying a tone of unwavering resolve, "I cannot remain silent on this matter. The betrothals you have arranged for Wynni and Sabine... they are far too young to be bound to such alliances."

Lord Jasper's gaze remained stern, his eyes cold and unyielding as they met his daughter's unwavering stare. "Maera," he responded curtly, his tone laced with an underlying frustration, "you underestimate the responsibilities and duties that come with our station. It is our duty as lords and ladies to secure alliances that will benefit our house."

Maera's hands clenched at her sides, her frustration mounting. "But they are children still, Father! They have never stepped foot outside of Rainwood. Sabine has just had her sixteenth name day, and Wynni cannot possibly understand the complexities of this world as a fifteen year old girl!”

Lord Jasper's gaze bore into Maera's, his voice sharp and unforgiving. "They have both flowered, Maera. It is time for them to take on the roles they were born into. It is a tradition that has been upheld for generations, and it is not for you to question."

A flash of anger ignited within Maera's eyes, her resolve strengthening. "I question the haste with which you seek to marry them off to lords in distant lands. Is their happiness not of any concern?"

Lord Jasper's face reddened with a mixture of anger and frustration. "Happiness, Maera, is often a luxury we cannot afford. Our duty to our house and our people must always come first. And speaking of duty, let us not forget your own. Had it not been for vile rumors tarnishing your virtue, you too would have been wed by now."

Maera's cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation. The words struck a painful chord, a reminder of the rumors that had swirled around her name in King's Landing. She took a step back, her voice quivering with emotion. "Those rumors were baseless lies, Father, and you know it. I have dedicated myself to our house and our family's honor. But I cannot stand by and watch my sisters' lives dictated by politics and alliances."

Lord Jasper's eyes narrowed, his voice cutting like a blade. "I won’t sit here and tolerate your disrespect, Maera. You have no say in this matter. My decision is final."

The room fell silent, the weight of their confrontation hanging heavy in the air. Maera's breaths came quick and shallow, her heart pounding against her chest. With one last searing look, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the hall, her footsteps echoing through the corridors as she retreated from her father's presence.

Tears welled in her eyes, a mix of frustration, sadness, and a deep-seated determination to protect her sisters. But her father was right, it was their duty and as their elder sister, she had no say in the marriage pacts that were made. Like many women before them, their futures be dictated solely by the whims of tradition and politics.

Under the shade of the ancient Weirwood tree, with its crimson leaves and haunting carved face, Maera found a semblance of solace. The holy book, "The Seven-Pointed Star," translated into High Valyrian, lay open before her, its pages filled with intricate characters. Her eyes scanned the chapter of The Maiden, her lips silently forming the unfamiliar words. As she tried to immerse herself in the religious text, attempting to improve her grasp of the language, Maera hoped it would provide a welcome distraction from the turmoil within her. Her mother's necklace hung around her neck, a comforting presence against her skin, and she silently prayed to the gods that Lady Gael was watching over her and her siblings.

The footsteps approaching were unmistakable, and Maera recognized them as Aemond's. His presence, even without looking up, was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, and she had grown more vigilant since their sparring sessions had resumed. Maera called out to him in High Valyrian, a hint of playful admonition in her voice. ��Nyke daor hae nāqopsir naejot tyvagon nyeshka gō, dārilaros.” I'm not as easy to sneak up upon as before, my Prince

Aemond, dressed in black riding leathers, acknowledged her with a wry smile. His presence carried with it the subtle scent of dragon, a reminder of his recent return from the Riverlands. He leaned against the Weirwood tree, his arms crossed and his white hair cascading down his back in long, straight locks. His presence offered a welcome distraction from the overwhelming thoughts that had plagued her since reading Faran's letter.

“Skoro syt se raqagon jaes tembyr?” Why the sudden devotion to religious texts? Aemond inquired, genuine curiosity in his voice.

With a sigh, Maera held up the letter from her brother for him to read. It was a small act of trust, one that revealed her vulnerability in the midst of her turmoil. Aemond accepted it and read the contents, his expression unreadable.

"Well," he began, his tone measured, "your hard work in the capital has not gone unnoticed. These matches are a testament to that, particularly ones beyond the Stormlands. That's commendable.”

His words were meant to comfort, but they couldn't dispel the cloud of sadness that hung over Maera. Aemond returned the parchment to her hand before she could reply, her voice, tinged with sadness. "Nyke emagon qringōntan hāedars." I feel like I've failed my sisters.

His reply was measured and surprisingly understanding. "Skorkydoso sīr?" How so?

Maera closed her book, leaning against the Weirwood tree, her gaze averted from his so that Aemond couldn't see the tears that had crept into her eyes.

“Nyke se mandia,” I'm the eldest, she began, the words heavy with emotion. "Nyke yenka emagon issare idīntan ēlī . sytiotāpagon zirȳ va skorkydoso naejot sagon sȳz ābrazȳrys se muña. Y…” I should have been married first. So I could guide them, advise them on being good wives, good mothers, on how to navigate the wedding night. But instead I… Her words trailed off, alluding to matters unsaid.

Aemond didn't respond with his usual sarcasm or indifference. Instead, he listened attentively, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. After a thoughtful pause, he hummed softly before breaking the silence.

"Many women face this fate, my Lady. Duty often outweighs personal desires. You must do what is expected of you and fulfill your role."

His words struck a chord, and Maera couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment. "And what about you, Aemond? You speak of duty, but I do not see your intended Baratheon bride here. You're free to pursue your own desires."

Aemond's expression remained unreadable as he regarded her. "My duties lie elsewhere, as do my ambitions. I may not be confined to a marriage, but that doesn't mean I'm free from the demands of my name, or my blood."

Maera absorbed his words, feeling a mix of emotions. His perspective offered a glimpse into his own struggles, ones that were different but just as significant. She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. "I understand. It's just... difficult."

Aemond's voice held a rare gentleness. "I know it is. But you have the strength to navigate this path, and your sisters will need your support, Maera. Write to them, tell them you are genuinely pleased for them. Ease their fears, for they are likely more frightened for themselves than you are for them."

Maera nodded slowly, appreciating his unexpected empathy. Perhaps in this moment, despite their complicated past, she found a kindred spirit who understood the weight of expectations and duty. The prince extended his gloved hand downward towards her, silently offering her assistance with standing. As their fingers met, a subtle but electrifying sensation coursed through her. It was as if a spark had ignited between them, a sensation she hadn't anticipated. The heat in her cheeks grew as she rose to her feet, grateful for his support.

His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary before he released her, his fingers slipping away. He broke the spell with words, his voice holding a touch of sincerity that she wasn't accustomed to hearing from him. "You're a good sister, Maera. Not just to your own siblings, but to Helaena as well."

Maera met his gaze, her emotions a swirl of conflicting feelings. She nodded in acknowledgment, her voice slightly unsteady as she replied, "Thank you, my Prince. That means a lot."

He nodded, his expression inscrutable as he turned to walk away. Maera watched him go, the echoes of their conversation and the lingering touch of his hand creating a turmoil within her. She was left alone with her thoughts and the weight of her responsibilities, both to her family and to her duty at court.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #hotd helaena #house targaryen #house wylde

55 notes · View notes

creature-wizard · 1 year ago

Note

Why do new agers insist that even the physically disabled and chronically ill choose victim mentality blah blah blah blah? It's so ghoulish

While it's not unique to or even universal among New Agers, many of them have come across ideas like the Law of Attraction and the Law of Assumption, which both of which derive from New Thought, an early 19th century movement that proposed that the state of your health and wealth depend upon the state of your thinking.

But moreover - and this part is very important - shit like the Law of Assumption and the Law of Attraction are being pushed by exploitative businesses (including but not limited to multi-level marketing schemes!) to make workers feel like they're at fault when they can't succeed within a system designed to overwork them and keep the vast, vast, majority of them trapped in shitty positions.

Of course, the nature of capitalism is such that a few people do improve their situations, and these few people really do think the LoA was the reason for it; they end up thinking that they just did it better than the rest, rather than being the lucky winner in the lottery of capitalism. They tout themselves as proof that the LoA really works - failing to realizing that they're falling prey to survivorship bias.

So yeah, as it so often happens, the real enemy is capitalism here.

#answered #new agers #law of attraction #law of assumption #loa #worker exploitation #capitalism #labor exploitation #ableism #victim blaming

20 notes · View notes

dailyanarchistposts · 3 months ago

Text

I.5.12 Would an anarchist society provide health care and other public services?

It depends on the type of anarchist society you are talking about. Different anarchists propose different solutions.

In an individualist-mutualist society, for example, health care and other public services would be provided by individuals or co-operatives on a pay-for-use basis. It would be likely that individuals or co-operatives/associations would subscribe to various insurance providers or enter into direct contracts with health care providers. Thus the system would be similar to privatised health care but without the profit margins as competition, it is hoped, would drive prices down to cost.

Other anarchists reject such a system. They are favour of socialising health care and other public services. They argue that a privatised system would only be able to meet the requirements of those who can afford to pay for it and so would be unjust and unfair. In addition, such systems would have higher overheads (the need to pay share-holders and the high wages of upper management, most obviously, and not to mention paying for propaganda against “socialised” medicine) as well as charge more (privatised public utilities under capitalism have tended to charge consumers more, unsurprisingly as by their very nature they are natural monopolies).

Looking at health care, for example, the need for medical attention is not dependent on income and so a civilised society would recognise this fact. Under capitalism, profit-maximising medical insurance sets premiums according to the risks of the insured getting ill or injured, with the riskiest and most ill not being able to find insurance at any price. Private insurers shun entire industries as too dangerous for their profits due to the likelihood of accidents or illness. They review contracts regularly and drop sick people for the slightest reason (understandably, given that they make profits by minimising pay-outs for treatment). Hardly a vision to inspire a free society or one compatible with equality and mutual respect.

Therefore, most anarchists are in favour of a socialised and universal health-care system for both ethical and efficiency reasons (see section I.4.10). Needless to say, an anarchist system of socialised health care would differ in many ways to the current systems of universal health-care provided by the state (which, while called socialised medicine by its enemies is better described as nationalised medicine — although it should be stressed that this is better than the privatised system). Such a system of socialised health-care will be built from the bottom-up and based around the local commune. In a social anarchist society, “medical services .. . will be free of charge to all inhabitants of the commune. The doctors will not be like capitalists, trying to extract the greatest profit from their unfortunate patients. They will be employed by the commune and expected to treat all who need their services.” Moreover, prevention will play an important part, as “medical treatment is only the curative side of the science of health care; it is not enough to treat the sick, it is also necessary to prevent disease. That is the true function of hygiene.” [James Guillaume, “On Building the New Social Order”, pp. 356–79, Bakunin on Anarchism, p. 371] The same would go for other public services and works.

While rejecting privatisation, anarchists also reject nationalisation in favour of socialisation and worker’s self-management. In this we follow Proudhon, who argued that there was a series of industries and services which were “public works” which he thought best handled by communes and their federations. Thus “the control undertaking such works will belong to the municipalities, and to districts within their jurisdiction” while “the control of carrying them out will rest with the workmen’s associations.” This was due to both their nature and libertarian values as the “direct, sovereign initiative of localities, in arranging for public works that belong to them, is a consequence of the democratic principle and the free contract: their subordination to the State is … a return to feudalism.” Workers’ self-management of such public workers is, again, a matter of libertarian principles for “it becomes necessary for the workers to form themselves into democratic societies, with equal conditions for all members, on pain of a relapse into feudalism.” Railways should be given “to responsible companies, not of capitalists, but of WORKMEN.” [General Idea of the Revolution, p. 276, p. 277 and p. 151]

This was applied during the Spanish Revolution. Gaston Leval discussed “Achievements in the Public Sector” in his classic account of the collectives. Syndicates organised water, gas and electricity utilities in Catalonia, while the trams and railways were run more efficiently and cheaper than under capitalist management. All across Spain, the workers in the health service re-organised their industry on libertarian lines and in association with the collectives, communes and the unions of the CNT. As Leval summarised:

“For the socialisation of medicine was not just an initiative of militant libertarian doctors. Wherever we were able to make s study of villages and small towns transformed by the Revolution, medicine and existing hospitals had been municipalised, expanded, placed under the aegis of the Collective. When there were none, they were improvised. The socialisation of medicine was becoming everyone’s concern, for the benefit of all. It constituted one of the most remarkable achievements of the Spanish Revolution.” [Collectives in the Spanish Revolution, p. 278]

So the Spanish Revolution indicates how an anarchist health service would operate. In rural areas local doctors would usually join the village collective and provided their services like any other worker. Where local doctors were not available, “arrangements were made by the collectives for treatment of their members by hospitals in nearby localities. In a few cases, collectives themselves build hospitals; in many they acquired equipment and other things needed by their local physicians.” For example, the Monzon comercal (district) federation of collectives in Aragon established maintained a hospital in Binefar, the Casa de Salud Durruti. By April 1937 it had 40 beds, in sections which included general medicine, prophylaxis and gynaecology. It saw about 25 outpatients a day and was open to anyone in the 32 villages of the comarca. [Robert Alexander, The Anarchists in the Spanish Civil War, vol. 1, p. 331 and pp. 366–7]

In the Levante, the CNT built upon its existing Sociedad de Socorros Mutuos de Levante (a health service institution founded by the union as a kind of mutual benefit society which had numerous doctors and specialists). During the revolution, the Mutua had 50 doctors and was available to all affiliated workers and their families. The socialisation of the health care took on a slightly different form in Catalonia but on the same libertarian principles. Gaston Leval provided us with an excellent summary:

“The socialisation of health services was one of the greatest achievements of the revolution. To appreciate the efforts of our comrades it must be borne in mind that they rehabilitated the health service in all of Catalonia in so short a time after July 19th. The revolution could count on the co-operation of a number of dedicated doctors whose ambition was not to accumulate wealth but to serve the afflicted and the underprivileged. “The Health Workers’ Union was founded in September, 1936. In line with the tendency to unite all the different classifications, trades, and services serving a given industry, all health workers, from porters to doctors and administrators, were organised into one big union of health workers … “Our comrades laid the foundations of a new health service … The new medical service embraced all of Catalonia. It constituted a great apparatus whose parts were distributed according to different needs, all in accord with an overall plan. Catalonia was divided into nine zones . .. In turn, all the surrounding villages and towns were served from these centres. “Distributed throughout Catalonia were twenty-seven towns with a total of thirty-six health centres conducting services so thoroughly that every village, every hamlet, every isolated peasant in the mountains, every woman, every child, anywhere, received adequate, up-to-date medical care. In each of the nine zones there was a central syndicate and a Control Committee located in Barcelona. Every department was autonomous within its own sphere. But this autonomy was not synonymous with isolation. The Central Committee in Barcelona, chosen by all the sections, met once a week with one delegate from each section to deal with common problems and to implement the general plan … “The people immediately benefited from the projects of the health syndicate. The syndicate managed all hospitals and clinics. Six hospitals were opened in Barcelona … Eight new sanatoriums were installed in converted luxurious homes ideally situated amidst mountains and pine forests. It was no easy task to convert these homes into efficient hospitals with all new facilities.” [The Anarchist Collectives, Sam Dolgoff (ed.), pp. 99–100]

People were no longer required to pay for medical services. Each collective, if it could afford it, would pay a contribution to its health centre. Building and facilities were improved and modern equipment introduced. Like other self-managed industries, the health service was run at all levels by general assemblies of workers who elected delegates and hospital administration.

We can expect a similar process to occur in the future anarchist society. It would be based on self-management, of course, with close links to the local commune and federations of communes. Each hospital or health centre would be autonomous but linked in a federation with the others, allowing resources to be shared as and when required while allowing the health service to adjust to local needs and requirements as quickly as possible. Workers in the health industry will organise their workplaces, federate together to share resources and information, to formulate plans and improve the quality of service to the public in a system of generalised self-management and socialisation. The communes and their federations, the syndicates and federations of syndicates will provide resources and effectively own the health system, ensuring access for all.

Similar systems would operate in other public services. For example, in education we expect the members of communes to organise a system of free schools. This can be seen from the Spanish revolution. Indeed, the Spanish anarchists organised Modern Schools before the outbreak of the revolution, with 50 to 100 schools in various parts funded by local anarchist groups and CNT unions. During the revolution everywhere across Spain, syndicates, collectives and federations of collectives formed and founded schools. Indeed, education “advanced at an unprecedented pace. Most of the partly or wholly socialised collectives and municipalities built at least one school. By 1938, for example, every collective in the Levant Federation had its own school.” [Gaston Leval, quoted by Sam Dolgoff, Op. Cit., p. 168] These schools aimed, to quote the CNT’s resolution on Libertarian Communism, to “help mould men with minds of their own — and let it be clear that when we use the word ‘men’ we use it in the generic sense — to which end it will be necessary for the teacher to cultivate every one of the child’s faculties so that the child may develop every one of its capacities to the full.” [quoted by Jose Periats, The CNT in the Spanish Revolution, p. 70] The principles of libertarian education, of encouraging freedom instead of authority in the school, was applied on vast scale (see section J.5.13 for more details on Modern Schools and libertarian education).

This educational revolution was not confined to collectives or children. For example, the Federacion Regional de Campesinos de Levante formed institutes in each of its five provinces. The first was set up in October 1937 in an old convent with 100 students. The Federation also set up two universities in Valencia and Madrid which taught a wide variety of agricultural subjects and combined learning with practical experience in an experimental form attached to each university. The Aragon collectives formed a similar specialised school in Binefar. The CNT was heavily involved in transforming education in Catalonia. In addition, the local federation of the CNT in Barcelona established a school to train women workers to replace male ones being taken into the army. The school was run by the anarcha-feminist group the Mujeres Libres. [Robert Alexander, Op. Cit., p. 406, p. 670 and pp. 665–8 and p. 670]

Ultimately, the public services that exist in a social anarchist society will be dependent on what members of that society desire. If, for example, a commune or federation of communes desires a system of communal health-care or schools then they will allocate resources to implement it. They will allocate the task of creating such a system to, say, a special commission based on volunteers from the interested parties such as the relevant syndicates, professional associations, consumer groups and so on. For example, for communal education a commission or working group would include delegates from the teachers union, from parent associations, from student unions and so on. The running of such a system would be, like any other industry, by those who work in it. Functional self-management would be the rule, with doctors managing their work, nurses theirs and so on, while the general running of, say, a hospital would be based on a general assembly of all workers there who would elect and mandate the administration staff and decide the policy the hospital would follow. Other interested parties would have a say, including patients in the health system and students in the education system. As Malatesta argued “the carrying out and the normal functioning of public services vital to our daily lives would be more reliable if carried out … by the workers themselves who, by direct election or through agreements made with others, have chosen to do that kind of work and carry it out under the direct control of all the interested parties.” [Anarchy, p. 41]

Needless to say, any system of public services would not be imposed on those who did not desire it. They would be organised for and by members of the communes and so individuals who were not part of one would have to pay to gain access to communal resources. However, it is unlikely that an anarchist society would be as barbaric as a capitalist one and refuse entry to people who were ill and could not pay, nor turn away emergencies because they did not have enough money. And just as other workers need not join a syndicate or commune, so doctors, teachers and so on could practice their trade outside the communal system as either individual artisans or as part of a co-operative. However, given the availability of free medical services it is doubtful they would grow rich doing so. Medicine, teaching and so on would revert back to what usually motivates people to initially take these up professions — the desire to help others and make a positive impact in society.

Thus, as would be expected, public services would be organised by the public, organised in their syndicates and communes. They would be based on workers’ self-management of their daily work and of the system as a whole. Non-workers who took part in the system (patients, students, etc.) would not be ignored and would also play a role in providing essential feedback to assure quality control of services and to ensure that it is responsive to users needs. The resources required to maintain and expand the system would be provided by the communes, syndicates and their federations. For the first time, public services would truly be public and not a statist system imposed upon the public from above nor a system by which the few fleece the many by exploiting natural monopolies for their own interests.

So Public Services in a free society will be organised by those who do the work and under the effective control of those who use them. This vision of public services being run by workers’ associations would be raised as a valid libertarian reform under capitalism (not to mention raising the demand to turn firms into co-operatives when they are bailed out during an economic crisis). Equally, rather than nationalisation or privatisation, public utilities could be organised as a consumer co-operative (i.e., owned by those who use it) while the day-to-day running could be in the hands of a producer co-operative.

2 notes · View notes

subtile-jagden · 2 years ago

Text

Rudolf Berthold (Part 3)

Disclaimer: Now starts a part of German (and European) history that is highly controversial. The period shortly before the end of the war and the years afterwards were a mess of revolutions, fighting, terrorism and murder. Opinions of how good/bad it was depend on political/ideological convictions. For the sake of keeping it short, I will simplify and only mention events that are necessary to tell Bertholds story.

During the last month of the war Berthold still had hope that he will be able to return to the front: “I want to go back out to the frontlines! If only I had my healthy bones – but I can still do it. As long as the battle rages everyone with experience belongs out there.” But his health was too unstable for even his iron will to make a return possible. He returned to his home and waited. For what he wasn´t sure.

In November the situation at the front and in Germany worsened and Marine troops started mutinies. Revolutions broke out, inspired by the Bolshevik revolution in Russia. Berthold was a fervent monarchist and held on to his Kaiser and the established social order. “Overthrow! Constitutional change! In a few days, what strong men have built up over centuries will be destroyed. The people have been seduced. Doubts are cast on the army. We're still far in enemy territory and we're supposed to surrender? Madness!”. Bertholds opinion on all that was happening is clear.

After the Armistice in November a semi-civil war broke out in the bigger German cities. Communists, Socialists, Bolsheviks on the left; Nationalists and Monarchists on the right; Social Democrats in the middle. Mix in some Anarchists and foreign agents and the disaster was perfect. The soldiers returning from the front were being pursued by all sides to join. By many they were not treated well, their uniforms were ripped and they were called to throw down their weapons and join the fight against militarism. But many soldiers were still loyal to the emperor and did not want to accept the looming Republic.

Especially at the end of 1918 to early 1919 the communists were very powerful. The left-wing Spartakus movement tried to overthrow the government in Berlin and took over Munich. Separatists in Western Germany called for independence of the Rhineland.

Berthold spend the rest of 1918 depressed at home. He felt angry, devastated and useless but he stayed true to his convictions: “The oath of allegiance I once swore I keep for life. A life that now lies so dark before me!”. But his mood and his perspectives changed when more and more Freikorps units (mostly right-wing paramilitary units, used by the Social Democratic government to defend itself and suppress the communist/Bolshevik uprisings) were established. He saw that there was still fight in some men.

The newly formed Reichswehr (official military of the new German state) offered the Hauptmann an active duty posting at Döberitz Airfield. He soon was back in uniform, training men. His charisma and leadership ability enabled him to even get along with the Worker´s and Soldier´s Councils (that caused a lot of trouble in other places). But shortly after, Berthold was ordered to close the Airfield and dismiss his men. Berthold worried that the ever rising number of unemployment would drive the men towards the Spartakus and similar movements.

When Munich, capital of Bertholds home region, was taken over by Communists in April 1919 and proclaimed a “soviel republic”, several Freikorps from all over of the country came to free it. For Berthold this was a turning point. He saw a purpose again. He now saw an opportunity to keep fighting for his country. He put out a call for young men to join him and form their own Freikorps. Soon he had gathered around 1,200 men for his “Eiserne Schar Berthold”. He trained the mostly very young farmers boys and in August they answered the call to go to the Baltics to fight the Bolsheviks there.

Berthold and his men travelled to Mitau, Lithuania to join with the Eiserne Division (Iron Division). There, Germans and anti-Bolshevik Russian were fighting the Red Army side by side. But also local troops that wanted complete independence and both Germans and Russians out of their country. It was a brutal fight from all sides. Bertholds right hand was still paralyzed, he was not able to join in the active fighting but he rallied and motivated his men with great success. They came into the suburbs of Riga but then it was over. Pressure from the German government to cease fighting and return home as well as strong resistance made it impossible to keep fighting. The Freikorps did not get any new supplies, be it food or weapons; something that even Bertholds iron will and dedication could not substitute.

Starving and their numbers greatly decimated Berthold and his group returned to Germany in December 1919. There it was demanded that the Eiserne Schar be disbanded. Bertold did not agree to this, knowing that there was nothing waiting for him or his loyal fighters. They were ordered to report to several different locations, finally ending up in Harburg (near Hamburg), which was governed by Independent Socialists. During this time a military-backed putsch (“Kapp-Putsch”) to overthrow the Government in Berlin was about to be carried out, with support of Lieutenant-Commander Hermann Erhardt, with a Freikorps of his own.

Berthold was accused of wanting to come to its support and ordered to give up his weapons. Harburg officals ordered the officers of the Reichswehr stationed in the town to be arrested. Tensions rose and Berthold met with town representatives who promised safe accommodations and later on transportation for his troops. He and his men went to make camp in the local school. Local union trade leaders demanded of the Reichswehr soldiers to subdue Berthold but they were ordered to stay out of it. The trade leaders then called for their workers to take up arms against the Eiserne Schar Berthold. The men in the school readied their weapons, including machine guns, to defend themselves against the advancing lynch mob. A fight broke out (it is unclear who fired the first shot). Bertholds men were outnumbered and being fired at from all sides. Many died inside the school. After a while a cease fire was called. Berthold managed to come to an agreement with the local authorities: His men were to give up their arms and then be allowed to leave the city unharmed. But that deal was broken the second a disarmed Berthold and his men stepped out of the school. Some local sympathizers warned Berthold that he will be attacked and should try to sneak out on his own but he refused to leave his men. That was his doom. The men were attacked from all sides the second they stepped out of the school and soon lost sight of their leader. Shortly after one of the attackers called out tauntingly: “There lies your great leader”. The men of the Eiserne Schar Berthold looked towards a street corner where an unrecognizable body lay in the gutter.

Autopsy results:

The captain's blue tunic was completely torn open. There were severe scratch wounds to the neck. Terrible piston blows had shattered the entire top of his skull. Seven shots in the head, left and right chest shots, all from behind. The spine was completely separated.

Bibliography:

Iron Man – Rudolf Berthold: Germany´s indomitable fighter ace of World War I, Peter Kilduff

Kamerad Berthold, Thor Goote

Rudolf Berthold, Ludwig F. Gengler (this book consists mainly of Bertholds diary)

Die Geächteten, Ernst von Salomon

#Rudolf Berthold #Poor Rudi you deserved better #y´all the way I cried when I first read about his death #fuck communists #Weimarer Republik #Weimar Republic #Freikorps #wwi

19 notes · View notes

fzzr · 2 years ago

Text

Let me tell you the story of why Morrowind remains my favorite game of all time. When you start out in Morrowind, the first thing you're expected to do is rob the customs office where they're not done processing you for release from prison. The first two quests you're likely to get are giving an elf dude back his ring and then robbing him blind on behalf of a dude he owes some money to. As soon as you walk out of town, you hear a bloodcurdling scream and a dude falls out of the sky and splats to his death right in front of you. On his body are scrolls that buff your jumping skill to 1000 (ten times the natural maximum and enough to let you jump so high the ground starts to recede from your view distance) but only for 7 seconds, meaning that if you use them, you suffer the same fate he did (unless you stall your fall in some way). The wildlife is nuts, all dinosaurs and giant mushrooms. The first cave you find is full of cat people slaves you can free and an asshole wizard who will probably kill you in the first encounter. All this just sets the tone.

A decent number of levels later, I was feeling pretty confident in myself. I had gotten some okay equipment, done some quests, killed some dudes. I was given a quest to go out into the wilderness and meet some folks. They gave me a starting point and some directions and left the rest to me. There are no quest pointers in Morrowind. There is a map that you fill in by exploring. I headed into the wilderness lightly stocked, confident that like before, I'd be able to live off the loot of the land and come back laden with goodies. One of the first things I met was an alligator demon. It took a huge chunk out of my health and I ran the hell away.

Shortly afterward I realized I was lost. I tried to follow the general directions, but I was in the middle of a more or less landmarkless wasteland by this point. I headed north, tried to guess if my bearing was right, decided to head east for a bit, decided I was nowhere near where I was supposed to be, and decided to just follow the first thing I saw that looked like a road. I was still poking my head into every cave to check for easy enemies or loot, but I was run off as often as I ran off with new potions and gear. I gained levels. I slept in the field. I ran out of repair hammers for my armor. I found better armor on a guy I just barely managed to kill and discarded my old armor for his (I didn't have room to carry more stuff at this point anyway). I was in the east half of the island by this point, which I'd never explored before. I decided to head south, toward the nearest city I knew about.

Eventually I got out of the wastelands and into some vaguely green terrain. I came across a massive stone fortress. I charged in, slaughtered everyone, chugged potions and looted more off the bodies of the dead. My sword was damaged so I dropped it and picked up a lesser one in better condition. When I killed them all, I was able to replenish most of my supplies. I dropped loot I'd carried halfway across the map in order to take more repair hammers, I'd learned that keeping gear in shape is not a joke. I came across a road sign. Balmora it read in one direction, Vivec in another. All I had to do was follow those signs, that road, to safe and familiar cities.

Instead, I kept on heading south, to the closer-as-the-bird-flies city I'd initially set my sights on. The path led over more mountains. There weren't many caves to raid. I fought off Cliff Racers. I killed a demon just like the one I'd run from at the beginning of my trip. I climbed down the side of a mountain toward my target, a town I'd first visited by paying someone to take me there. I reflected on how boring towns were compared to the field. I sold what little loot I had left. I didn't need to replenish my stores; I'd returned better supplied than I'd left. I took another look at the map, and thought about how much faster it would be to pay a few gold for a quick trip back to the capital. I decided to walk instead.

tl;dr: Went from Maar Gan to Suran by way of a loop around Red Mountain and Falensarano or Marandus, not sure which. Left a boy, returned a man. I post this on reddit all the time and I figured it was time to move it to tumblr.

#the elder scrolls #morrowind #story time #video games #original post #my favorite

3 notes · View notes

ineedtobeheardnotseen · 25 days ago

Text

Well the propranolol works like a charm

Even though my depression has reached abysmal depths, I have very little anxiety

Which is great, because the anxiety is the part that makes me want to kill myself

The depression just makes me want to make decisions that will bomb my life

Like quitting my easy, steady job

It's hard not to view my job as the enemy even though I work for a government service that helps kids and families

After all, they still force us to work a full 40 hours per week on a regular 8-5 schedule, which scientists have repeatedly established is basically torture

I think I need to stop watching or reading the news for the sake of my own health because it doesn't help

My depression really just makes me tired and clouds my thoughts, it's all the awful news that makes me feel hopeless on top of it all

I read something about the fact that earth's water cycle is being disrupted, and the article was framed in such a way that it only really talked about the financial repercussions of such a thing, such as the impact on various countries' GDP and the agricultural industry

It said virtually nothing about how rising prices of both food and water due to this scarcity will impact communities and add to our suffering

Because the people who could fix this problem don't care about that

But honestly, presenting it the way the writers did just makes the situation look ideal to people who have stock and interest in water and agriculture because they will be able to raise prices and quote this article as an excuse

It's not going to drive them to make any sweeping and emergency policy changes

Rich people are playing a game of elimination, the point is to destroy as many of their peers as possible and steal their resources until there's only one man left holding all of the cards

The increasing disasters of earth only speed the game closer to its eventual conclusion

Those of us that aren't viewed as competitors in the game are instead viewed as managed resources, expended or conserved by our owners only as necessary to defeat other players in this game

They aren't kidding when they call capitalism a death cult

And we're powerless to stop them without risking both our lives and the lives of our loved ones

All we can do is live our day-to-day and hope for small joys to outweigh our suffering

You can imagine how thinking about all of that might impact my depression

It's Sunday

I have tomorrow morning off, and I'm supposed to go back into work for the afternoon

I hate going into work depressed, but I need to get used to it

My job is easy, my coworkers are kind, and I have plenty of opportunities to rest

I just have to do what I need to in order to get through each day

A friend is coming from out of state to visit me at the end of the month

A family member from out of the country is coming to see me at the beginning of next month

I have enough to look forward to, just gotta manage my mood in the meantime

0 notes

pawneol · 1 year ago

Text

Cybercity wanderer | rangers subclass

what day are we on again? i wanted to take a few days off to make this better... 6/14 i think?

Wandering the waste lands has made you a significantly better hunter, but has also taught you what it means to be prey. Civilization has reverted back to what it began as, group persistence hunting. If alone, you’ve been conditioned to hide in the shadows, never fighting unless you outnumber the enemy. You specialize in turning the odds of a fight into the party's favor, doing better against stronger enemies than early game creatures. Some abilities have a different effect depending on if you are above or below half health, making this a significantly harder subclass to play.

Perseverance hunting

Starting at 3rd level, you begin to slowly dwindle at your enemies, never allowing them a break. If they try to strike back you simply retreat before returning from the shadows, never allowing them a fighting chance.

When you start a combat and are above half health, you choose a target. If you go back above half health after dropping from half health you may choose to select a new target or stick with your old target. If your target dies by one of your actions, you may select a new target an equal amount of times to your proficiency bonus. Your movement speed changes to match the targets, and you roll to hit on this enemy with advantage. If you have hunters mark on this enemy and they take the dash action you gain a free action dash on your turn. If you fall below half health, you drop your target and all bonuses that come with it.

If you start the combat at below half health or fall below half health during a combat, you are compelled to flee. Your movement speed doubles, and you can disengage as a bonus action. At the start of every turn (while in combat) you heal Xd8, where X is equal to your proficiency modifier divided by two rounded down. This healing has a limit of 3 turns per combat, and can be used in an amount of combat equal to your proficiency per long rest.

Hunting eye

Starting at seventh level, you begin to learn to hide in the crevices and track down prey later after being badly hurt. You begin to become feared among your prey, knowing that even if they escape it will only be a matter of time before you hunt them down. Hunter's mark is no longer a concentration spell for you, and can last as long as you want it to. You no longer have advantage on tracking the enemy afflicted with hunters mark, instead always knowing where it is. When you take the hide action (or bonus action), you roll with advantage. If the target you have hunters marked attempts to find you, they roll with disadvantage. Whenever you attack with hunters' mark against a favored enemy, you can choose to make the bonus for hunters' mark not a flat damage dice. Instead roll a percentage dice, then do that percent of their health. If this is above 30 percent, immediately become 30 percent instead. If you roll lower than a 30 percent round the damage down, if you roll a 30 percent or higher round the damage up. You can use this an equal amount to your proficiency bonus per long rest.

Precision strike

You begin to see openings in your prey's escape, them stopping to drink water, or to catch their breath. You capitalize on this weakness, allowing your strikes to be more powerful.

Starting at level 11, Whenever you have hunter mark’ attached to an enemy and are above half health, any attack with a base roll to hit of 18 or higher against them gives them a point of exhaustion. Any roll to hit with a base roll of 15-20 while above half health does 1.5x damage rounded down.

Whenever you have a hunters mark attached to an enemy and are below half health you can take the disengage action for free whenever you strike said enemy. Every successful attack gives you five extra feet of movement speed as well as healing you 1d12+CON.

Ranged defiance

Your strategies tend to fail when they can fight back from a distance, you must not allow this to continue before they evolve.

Starting at level 15, you begin to use shields at your advantage. When using a shield, you are immune to piercing damage, and can collect any arrows shot at you for no action in the middle of combat. When not using a shield, you are much more adept at dodging, always taking half damage from spells. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

your honor, in my defense i missed a bunch of days because i was working on one of my campaign and a few of its systems. anyways, how does one ranger? I've played ranger exactly once... and it was a one-shot. i hope i did a better job balancing this due to me looking over it a million times and taking my time. the only thing i'm questioning is the ranged defiance ability, it isn't broken as I've seen it in other homebrews, but its got me raising my eyebrows at it due to i eliminating one of this classes counter plays.

#5e #d&d #dnd 5e #dungeons and dragons #homebrew #ranger dnd #ranger #subclass #my creations

0 notes

zipmartini · 10 months ago

Text

I live in a state that has effective one-party rule. You probably do, too: three-quarters of the United States have one political party in control of both its governorship and its legislature. And I can tell you, as an anonymous minor government apparatchik working in that system, the only thing uniting a party's various factions together is the enemy of their enemy being their friend.

I've talked before about how the Republican party is really three parties glued together, with very few overlapping interests: the Finance party, the Bible party, and the Tea party. One cares about capital gains, one cares about abortion, and one cares about immigration. There are slivers of color on the Venn diagram: the Finance and Tea parties both care about income tax, for example, and the Bible and Tea parties care about nationalism. But they all agree on one thing: the Democrats oppose their aims and goals, and they cannot defeat them separately.

(The marvel here is how Donald Trump dominated all three wings of the Republican multiparty by not only being a Tea Party guy but convincing those in the other two wings that he's a also a pious billionaire, neither of which are true.)

(Actually, ha, no, they do not believe that, but they are very, very, very afraid of the Tea Party guys, and will therefore pretend that they do believe it, to ludicrous effect every time they have to act it out, out loud.)

Absent the Democrats, these three wings would eventually be unable to co-exist. They would splinter into Finance Party and Christo-Fascist Party and that would be what we'd be voting for in our elections. That's the thing about having a winner-take-all election system, by the way: it always comes down to two parties. Not three, and not one.

The same thing would happen — in fact, I'm going to say "will happen," if demographics do win out over fascism — if and when the Republican Party is reduced to a historical afterthought. The Democratic Party will splinter into its socialist and centrist wings, and will fight it out for the will of the American voter. Debates will pretty much go like this:

Centrist Democrat: "We should pay for universal health care by consolidating the populace into a single payer, taking advantage of the levers of the capitalist system that I love so much to create a monopsony, spearheaded by the federal government, to keep prices within current entitlements." Democratic Socialist: "We should have a complete government socialization of health care in the United States; doctors and nurses should be like postal workers, and hospitals should be like the DMV. We're going to up your taxes 30% to pay for it, but it's not like you're going to have to pay for shit like ambulance rides and nursing homes anymore. Most people will probably come out ahead, unless they make eight figures." Third Party Weirdo ("Republican"): "Well, I don't think there should be universal health care at all... every individual should have to pay cash money for their own health care, thank you very much."

This, to quote 2017, is the future that liberals want.

The problem with a certain kind of liberal (many of which are on this very website) is that they want to have this future today and skip the step where they dump the Republican Party into the dustbin of history. They are invariably Democratic Socialists very eager to get about the business of having that schism with the Centrist Democrats right here and right now. The "Joe Biden is as bad as the rest" types, as if he's in a completely different political party. He isn't. Not yet.

The business of today is doing whatever it takes to keep the country out of the hands of the members of this deeply, deeply weird cult (and I say that as a former Catholic, and a former Libertarian). There's your common ground. Those bizarre cultists are within a fingernail's width of climbing back in... and if they do, they'll never leave, because they know they were lucky to have this last shot and it'll over the minute they're back out again. They'll never forget that they were sliding off the roof to meet their Third Party Weirdo destiny, but grabbed the gutter and somehow survived. They'll climb back on and make sure no one else ever gets near the place again. See, they know this is existential. That's why they're freaking the fuck out so hard about it. That's why they're cheating. They know that — if US society evolves naturally and they're powerless to impede — in ten or fifteen years, it's Gary Johnson-ville for those guys. They can't have it.

But, yeah, tell me you've never spoken to a Democrat, without. They don't want one-party Democratic rule. Those two wings cannot wait to be rid of each other and duking it out on the big stage. They're so anxious to get on with it that they're already getting started, about one to two decades prematurely. They might end up going down together.

fuck this guy and everyone who supports him

#us pol #us politics #long post

2K notes · View notes

child-of-the-cataclysm · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter Nineteen: A Moment of Rest

Metka was resting, packed into a bed in the medical tent in the hopes of our relatively minimal medical crew nursing her back to health. Riota had been sitting at her side nigh-constantly since Metka had returned, leaving only to attend to her basic needs. I’m sure she would have eaten by Metka’s side, if the medic hadn’t ushered her away the first time she tried.

Our new Silver Hand was weak, compared to the other two factions in this war. Morati’s Kadien Empire - small as it was compared to the grandiose name - had nevertheless come into existence with a ready-made army, built up during the time of the old Silver Hand during their march towards the capital. Since then, they had managed to capture at least two villages and one of the Crown’s outposts, building a powerbase to operate out of. Rumours had spread that Morati had even hired foreign mercenaries - groups of skilled soldiers from the other slices of the Crown’s holdings. Given that the Kadien Empire apparently held the ravine crossing over to one of those other holdings, it seemed feasible.

The Crown, on the other hand, was the indomitable power at the centre of it all. The capital alone would have been enough to give them the edge in this war, but they had soldiers and civilian supply lines spread throughout the entirety of the shattered kingdoms. Even before they had brought in their iron wagons and the strange new fire-belching weapons which were mounted atop the Capital’s walls, they would have been my pick to win most battles.

This new form of the Silver Hand, compared to both enemies, was quite small. We had maybe five total medics, and our total military was made up of about 100 people - many of whom were injured quite seriously from previous battles by this point. In terms of civilian support, many of those who had been harmed by the Crown or the Kadien Empire provided what little support they could, but it remained minimal.

Our best source of support so far was, shockingly, the Leamin family. Not Rahkor himself, of course. Splintering idiot had joined the Bloody Hand just to get the chance to kill me. The rest of his family were merchants, for the most part, based out of the capital and trading with several of the other slices of the shattered kingdoms. Every so often, during a trade caravan through our slice, some of their goods or money would ‘go missing’ and turn up in the hands of one of our operatives. It was a small blessing, and one of the few things keeping us going.

The other thing that kept us going was a bit simpler - while the Crown’s soldiers would fight back if we attacked them, the king had apparently made some executive order preventing them from making the first move. It was baffling to think that even after all I had done to make it clear that I wouldn’t side with him, the king still refused to make me his enemy openly. Nevertheless, thanks to his refusal to initiate attacks against us, the Silver Hand was essentially only at real war with Morati’s people.

So, we kept our core forces on the move. Our medics had two stable locations, one in Chester and one in a small town called Bemric. Two of the medics stayed at each of those stable locations, with one staying with the rest of us on the move. Right now, we had 76 soldiers with us. The rest stayed at one of the stable medical locations - whether for care or as guards - for the most part, with a few strays out gathering information. It was far from an ideal layout, but our stable locations were unmarked, and keeping the rest of our forces on the move kept us all safer than we might be otherwise.

Of course, being on the move constantly was what I was used to in the first place - my time with the old Silver Hand had driven that into me. Flick was less gung-ho about it. He complained constantly about wanting a proper bed, or a quiet room, or even just a real meal, but ultimately he stuck it through. He was still darker than he once had been. When he and I first left the Capital, most of Flick’s family had come with us. Flick had managed to convince them of the danger they would face if they stayed in the capital while he went on to become a rebel of sorts. Some of his family had stayed behind - most notably his older brother, who had recently been sighted in the uniform of an officer in the Crown’s army.

What really made things worse for Flick, though, didn’t come until about two months into our little campaign. Back then, we had tried to stay in one place, using a stationary hidden headquarters built into a cave system near the edge of the wyldlands. The Bloody Hand found them, somehow, and swept through the headquarters in a flash. When it was all over, most of Flick’s family was dead, as were a large number of our other members and civilian support.

That was the conflict that had led to Metka and Riota abandoning Morati’s new empire, disgusted by what had been done. During their escape, Morati himself had cut off Riota’s arm. It had ingrained in all of us the idea that Morati really had become something… different from Nileas. Something monstrous.

Flick’s mother, the Lady of Roses, was the only member of his family (of those who had left the capital with us) who had survived that assault. She was even darker than Flick, after that. Thinking to use that, I had put her in charge of our spy network, but had to put her back to traditional military work after I found a soldier of the Kadien Empire who had been tortured to such a state that I could barely recognize him as human.

Fortunately, the Lady of Roses took to the role of military commander quite a bit better. She was still brutal, but without the excuse of information gathering, her cruelty was… slightly more restrained, and generally only directed against those who were actively trying to kill her. It was still less than ideal, given our attempt to be something better than those we were fighting, but it worked.

(~)

I was jolted from my reverie by the sound of metal striking metal. Warily, I stood, peering out from my tent, looking for what might be creating the noise. Just outside my tent, the Hand had formed a loose circle. Sighing, I cracked my back and stood straight, then pushed through the circle. In the centre, as expected, two of the soldiers were circling each other, blades outstretched.

“Oi!” I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth to emphasise the word. “We don’t have the medics to get you idiots patched up if you poke each other full of holes! Drop ‘em!” The crowd groaned, and I flipped them all the sign of the lady. “Oh sod off, you lot! Find something less deadly to entertain yourself!”

The two who were at the centre of the circle tried to fade off with the rest of the crowd, but I fixed them with a glare, and they awkwardly stood still. “Alright. One at a time, what’s going on here?”

They glanced at each other, then one of them - a short woman with body hair approaching that of a wyldling’s - spoke. “Well, beggin your pardon miss, I was mindin my business, choking down some of that slop what the quartermaster’s been ladellin, when this one came along and swiped m’damn bread!”

The other, a blank-faced man who looked so generic that I half-forgot his face every time I blinked, snorted. “Pigshit! Your ladyship, that bread were rightful mine! She took the last damn loaf right afore I would have had it myself!”

The woman and I both stared at him incredulously, and after a moment I picked my jaw off the ground and shook my head. “My good man, do you mean to say you feel the bread was yours because you would have had it were she not ahead of you?” He nodded firmly, crossing his arms. Throwing my hands up in exasperation, I glanced apologetically at the woman. “Well, man, in this unit, every soldier has equal right to every piece of bread. If she was ahead of you, that bread was rightful hers, you hear? If you want to fight someone over that judgement, I’m right here.” Stepping forward, I puffed my chest out, shaking out my hands and folding them into fists. “Well? What think you, soldier?”

Awkwardly, the man stepped back, pushing his sword into its sling at his side. “No miss, I… It were rightful her bread, it were my mistake.” He bowed to me, then awkwardly to the woman, then turned and ran off. Sighing, I shook my head, then glanced over to the woman.

She gave me a sly grin, then pulled out two loaves of bread from a small bag at her side. Stunned, I let out a full-chested laugh, and she grinned bigger, then held one of the loaves out to me. “For that wondrous judgement of yours, miss.”

Shaking my head again, I grabbed the bread and took a bite out of it. It was no wonder she had taken two of the loaves. The quartermaster, bless his heart, couldn’t make an edible stew to save his life, but his bread was truly remarkable.

“What’s your name, soldier?” I asked, once the bite was down. She dropped into an over-dramatic bow, flinging her arm out to one side as she did. “Well miss, I’ve been known by one or two names in my day. Right now I reckon the one most are callin me by is Liara.”

I nodded, hooked a crate with my foot, drew it over, and sat atop it. “Well, Liara, you have a clever way with words. How are you with that sword?”

She mimicked me, pulling her own crate to sit on, took a bite of her bread large enough to show off a mouthful of shark-like teeth. After a moment or two, she grinned over at me. “I reckon I’m good enough. I’d do better with a rifle, but by the seemsways of things, I’m not right sure you’ve got those here, so the sword will do just fine.”

Intrigued, I leaned in. “A rifle? I’m not sure I know what that is, right off. Where are you from, Liara?”

Liara leaned in herself, mimicking my posture down to the fingers I had steepled in front of me. “I reckon you wouldnae have heard of it, miss.” She dropped the mimicry of my posture and grinned, leaning back and stretching. “Across the ravine, suffice to say. Then a few more crossings additional, if I have my bearins about me right!”

Raising my eyebrows, I nodded. “Well. I find myself curious what leads someone who has travelled so far to join up with our outfit - and what a rifle might be, of course.”

Liara slapped her knee, taking another chunk out of her loaf of bread. “I willnae lie to you, miss, I didnae rightly intend to join you when I came. Right out of your depth, you are!” She grinned ferociously at me, and I nodded, smiling slightly. “By my reckonin, though, you an those Bloody Hand fellers are maybe the only ones out there fightin the Crown right now, and that Bloody Hand seems like a gathering of right gits.”

I snorted and nodded. “Aye. That they are.” She winked at me, then continued. “As to what rifles are… I imagine we’ll be seein the Crown use them afore too long… Think of them as the next step forward from crossbows. Dangerous blighted things, too. Relics of the old days, for the most part, although some places have started in on makin their own.”

Groaning, I settled my face into one of my hands. “Of course. Old world weapons. Just what we needed to make this fight even less possible.” Liara kicked at my foot, and I looked up at her. “Dinnae worry ‘bout it, miss,” she said, giving me what would have been a comforting smile if it weren’t for the jagged shark-like look of her teeth. “In my experience, once one side starts in on usin them, both sides end up with em quicklike.”

(~)

After our first meeting, Liara quickly weaselled her way into being one of my top lieutenants. It only took a few days for me to convince the others of what had been immediately evident to me - she had a lifetime of battlefield experience, and quite a few of those experiences had been in kinds of battle we couldn’t quite imagine from our own limited experience.

She wasn’t quite what you might want out of an advisor, with her seeming inability to take anything too seriously, but she was adept with strategy, had a keen mind for logistics, and was a remarkably solid commander. Once she had carried out a raid on a Crown supply caravan with only five soldiers behind her, the others quickly accepted her at the head of things with us.

With Liara included, the head of the Silver Hand as it stood now consisted of myself, Riota, Flick, Metka (at least once she was healed up), and her. We were still one shy of having a proper Hand in the fashion of the old one, but that was hardly a major problem. What was a problem was the news we received from one of our spies shortly after Liara was officially accepted as a core member of the Hand - Morati had received an envoy from the Crown at Ketwin.

There were quite a few things that such a meeting could actually mean. An offer for a prisoner exchange, for instance, was relatively common these days, from what we had observed. Every time it happened, though, we feared that the envoy would bring news of the Empire being officially accepted by the Crown, and the eyes of Morati turning solely towards us. It seemed unlikely, but each time the Empire won a victory over the Crown, it became ever-so-slightly more plausible.

Even if it wasn’t that dreaded news, we needed to know what it was the envoy had gone there for. So, after giving our spy a good meal as thanks for his work, I sent him back out. Gathering information from the area directly around Ketwin was about the most dangerous assignment one of our spies could be given, but it was deeply necessary. Actually going in to Ketwin and finding out what was going on in the central hall of the Empire was even worse. It was a sign of the spy’s immaculate character that he agreed to do so regardless of the danger, simply because it was information we needed.

Of course, he would be rewarded on his return, assuming he survived. Any spy who could get into Ketwin and retrieve information from Morati’s court was worth a bonus. If I had the choice, all of the Hand’s membership would be getting bonus pay all the time, but we didn’t exactly have the funds for that. Rewarding outstanding work would have to do.

Waiting for the news of what had gone on in Ketwin was harrowing. I found myself spending much of the time with Riota and Metka, holding Metka’s hand and praying to whatever forces governed this world that she would recover. The only religion I had ever known about at that point was the Lady’s Will, which made the idea of praying somewhat alien to me, but I knew it was something people did, and I found myself doing it as well.

After a few days, the spy returned. Metka was just barely well enough to sit up in her bed, so the core members of the Hand received the spy in the medical tent. She might not have been capable enough to talk much, but she was still one of us, and if nothing else she deserved to know what was going on. Besides, she was the only one of us to have spent any significant time under Morati’s… care. That experience might have ended up relevant.

What the spy told us was, fortunately, not that the Crown and the Empire had made an effort at peace. Unfortunately, what he had brought back from his investigation wasn’t that much better; the Crown’s envoy had brought a request for ceasefire. Apparently, some coup had been enacted at the highest levels of the Crown’s leadership, and the new leaders were willing to make some concessions to Morati’s Empire in exchange for some time to gather themselves.

The spy had been unable to discern what Morati’s response had been. He hadn’t made it into the Kadien court proper, of course. I wouldn’t have asked him to try, unless he thought there was a way to do so completely safely. From the talk outside of the court, it was clear that there had been some commotion around the time of the envoy’s arrival, and it had tainted the negotiations, but very little about the outcome seemed to be floating to the surface of things.

Thanking him, I told him to get his bonus from the quartermaster and take a nice, long rest. Sitting around Metka’s bed, we all looked more than a little glum. It was impossible to say for certain how Morati would have responded to a request like the envoy had sent, but concessions and the opportunity to have a period of time in which they could focus their efforts on just one of the thorns in their side seemed like it would probably go a long way towards making the offer seem appealing.

Voice crackling and pained, Metka asked if we had any idea what the commotion before the envoy’s arrival might have been. Looking around the group, it didn’t seem like any of us had heard from any of the spies we operated. Whatever it was, it must not have gotten very far out of Morati’s hall. We would have to hope it was nothing important. For now, we had bigger worries on our minds.

#CotC

0 notes

childofthecataclysm · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter Nineteen: A Moment's Rest

(~)

I nodded, hooked a crate with my foot, drew it over, and sat atop it. “Well, Liara, you have a clever way with words. How are you with that sword?”

Intrigued, I leaned in. “A rifle? I’m not sure I know what that is, right off. Where are you from, Liara?”

Raising my eyebrows, I nodded. “Well. I find myself curious what leads someone who has travelled so far to join up with our outfit - and what a rifle might be, of course.”

(~)

#CotC

0 notes

willowdarcyartist · 2 years ago

Text

Voices

CW: Suicide

One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice –

Mary Oliver’s words from her poem “The Journey” whisper in the back of my mind. They are spoken in the voice of David Whyte, from a recording that was given to me by a counselor when I was not yet 20. A recording of poetry intended for people in “late-ish middle age”. It was a tape copy she had made herself. I listened to it constantly. I guess I was some kind of “old soul” because this recording of self help poetry for middle aged people has stuck with me for decades now. (You can listen to it here. I highly recommend it.)

I’m full of voices. Most of them distinctively unhelpful. I lay on the couch, still in my robe and pajamas even though it’s late afternoon, and the voices weigh me down. A variety of voices that have come to me explicitly and implicitly over the decades from peers, teachers, friends, enemies, family, strangers, bosses, books, tv shows, advertisements, memes. Voices I trust and respect have said some of the most hurtful things, and voices of strangers have said some of the most helpful.

People give advice, good, bad, helpful, thoughtful, insightful, thoughtless, meaningless, empty.

though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop.

I’ve been thinking about quitting being a professional artist. I’ve literally been trying for 27 years, and guys, I’m tired.

I’m tired of the social media circus, jumping through hoops of algorithms, making videos, screaming into the void. Twitter is failing, Facebook is dying, Instagram is bloated, TikTok is ridiculous. Maybe Tumblr will get me an audience. The rich are siphoning money from the rest of us. Nobody can afford anything. Everyone is stressed, depressed, overworked, underpaid. Discourse is toxic. People are scared and angry.

I have multiple health issues, some physical, some psychological, that I battle every single day which make it hard to get out of bed, and when I do get out of bed, I make coffee and breakfast and then end up on the couch, but this time I laid down because sitting up on the couch hurts my back. I’ve had this back injury for months.

The voices are so loud.

“You’ve been doing this for decades, I don’t know why you keep trying. It’s just a pipe dream.”

“It’s OK to give up! You don’t have any spoons!”

“You manifested failure with your bad attitude. If you think positive, you will succeed!”

“Thinking you could succeed is just confirmation bias and probably other logical fallacies! For every successful artist you see, thousands have failed!”

“It’s all moot, late stage capitalism and climate change are going to bring everything down. You’ll be lucky to have food in a few years.”

“Draw more cats! People like cats!”

“There’s really no point. It’s meaningless.”

“Getting your hopes up isn’t worth it. Failing hurts more than it’s worth.”

“Seriously, you have ADHD, depression and anxiety. You aren’t going to make it in this dog-eat-dog world!”

“Don’t talk about this. It’s blood in the water. The public are like sharks. They smell weakness. They will chew you up and spit you out!”

“You aren’t even that good.”

“I don’t get it…”

“YOU?! You aren’t going to make it. I don’t know who you think you are.”

“You are so privileged! Other people have it so much worse! I don’t know why you are complaining.”

“Getting an art degree was so stupid! Now you just owe a lot of money, and for what? Absolutely nothing.”

“I know someone who is successful and it’s because they were rich and they knew people…”

“It’s not what you know, it’s who you know!”

“I knew a guy who went down to the dock and painted rich people’s yachts, and then got commissioned. You should do that!”

“You are leeching off of other people and society. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Those are the nice ones. The helpful voices. The people who care about me. Voices from people I love and respect, whose opinions I listen to because I know they care about me.

You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible.

The crueller voices, the darker voices sit right on my chest.

“You are lazy, a space cadet, a loser.”

“Failure. You keep trying and it has never come to anything.”

“Weirdo! Loser! Stupid! Nobody likes you! You are fat and ugly and you have a fat butt.”

“You are a slob, a gluttonous fat gross disgusting slob. Nobody cares what you have to say.”

“Get a job, loser! Nobody wants to work! You just want handouts!”

“Everyone is laughing at you. Judging you.”

“You are so arrogant! You think so highly of yourself! You need to be taken down a few notches!”

“Libtard! Commie! You are destroying our country!”

“Your work is so stupid! What is this? Furries? Hahahaha!”

It gets worse. One persistent voice, a deep one, wrapped in barbed wire and dripping with acid. It courses through my veins. It comes from deep inside. It is all the other voices coalesced into one resounding chant:

“Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself.”

It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones.

These thoughts aren’t occasional. They don’t just arise on bad days. They ebb and flow, like tides, but they never really go away. Some days, it takes so long to get up and work because I have to argue with each and every one, and each one, even in my own head, has a comeback. Nobody even needs to say anything anymore. It’s all in there. But people still say stuff, and it magnifies these voices. My own brother very recently said something like “But you’ve been doing this for 10 years…” when I told him that businesses rarely make a profit before 2 years. (Actually I’ve been doing it for 27, but thank you for the encouragement.)

I listen to loud music or podcasts or watch TV when I work to drown them out.

But little by little, as you left their voice behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds,

Somewhere inside, though, another voice, calm, clear, a bright star in a black void says

“Well, maybe. But hey, here’s another art idea!”

When I make art, the voices start to quiet. My brain starts to calm. I remember a few times in my life, I stopped making art for a few months, and my mental health deteriorated. I have to make art. Some people don’t. I don’t make it to get attention. I make it because something in me requires it.

Despite all of this. Despite surviving trauma, poverty, stress, illness. Despite having to take care of my ailing mom for over a decade. Despite being bullied. Despite my multiple mental health acronyms, despite over a dozen different physical ailments, I have made so much art I don’t even know where to store it.

I’ve filled hundreds of sketchbooks. I’ve done hundreds of paintings, thousands of drawings and sketches. A lot of it is terrible. Some of it is pure garbage. Some of it is mediocre. But it’s mine. I made it. I made so much of it, I am seriously going to just have a big giveaway some day, because maybe it will be in better hands than rotting in a storage unit.

If I lose my hands, I’ll make art with my feet. If I end up as a slave in a factory, I’ll sneak 10 minutes of drawing on a napkin. If I lose my eyes, I’ll make some other kind of art.

If the world is turned to ash, I’ll make art with the charcoal.

and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world,

The fact that I haven’t given up after flailing and falling and failing for nearly 30 years is not a sign of stupidity or weakness. It isn’t a sign that I’m a stupid loser. It certainly isn’t a sign of cowardice or laziness.

Making art is simply as much a part of who I am as the color of my eyes. My creativity is a gift, even if it doesn’t do anything but make me and a few people smile along the way in this brutal world, while the machine grinds us into dust. The only thing for me to do is to amplify the helpful voices, and to just keep making art. My art, not yachts or whatever “people buy”, because that defeats the purpose. It doesn’t matter if I get an office job or not. I make art BECAUSE none of it matters. Because the only philosophical conclusion that ever really stuck for me is that we make our own meaning in this world, and that’s one of the ways I do it.

My art may change. Maybe I will stop drawing for awhile. I’m not just a visual artist. I have a ton of other projects that nobody really knows about. Maybe I’ll finish the book I’m writing, or finally learn how to sing so I can share the songs I wrote, or make a book of all my old poetry. Maybe I’ll make a short film. Maybe I’ll write a play.

Even if I do stop some day, it will be because I find meaning and joy in something else, and that’s OK too. Identity is fluid, life is fluid.

But art cannot and should never be seen through the lens of capitalism. I have not reached economic success from my work. I have no awards. I am not well known. I have generally spent far more than I make. I’m not a failure because my work isn’t paying my bills. I’m not a loser because I don’t have 100k instagram followers. It would be really nice to make a living on my work some day, only because then I’ll have more time to work on it, and I won’t have to do a job that I don’t like. But you know what? I also like teaching, so if I end up making a living on that instead, that’s OK too.

I haven’t failed at all. I’ve literally made hundreds of successful pieces of art. Some of them nobody has ever even seen, and that’s OK. They are successful for the sole reason that I was happy with them, and nothing else. I am a successful artist because I make art. I’m even luckier because I make art that I like.

determined to do the only thing you could do -- determined to save the only life that you could save.

Mary Oliver The Journey

PS: It’s always worth watching Neil Gaiman’s “Make Good Art” speech. I’d like to add that I don’t agree that the art has to be good.

PPS: This is one of my most recent works. I’ve been making art about trash since 2003. This has everything to do with what I just wrote. There is something about being unapologetic about who you are, even if others perceive you as garbage or vermin.

1 note · View note

bubheart · 2 years ago

Text

Secrets left for the moon.

Characters: Keith Howellx"you"

For: @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady ccc different universe, same love. ♡

Prompt: D-3 Enemies or Soulmates? Yes.

Words count: approx 900-1k

Notes: Banner is my fanart…

I have loved you from the very beginning. Long before I knew what to call it, I knew its taste in my mouth. I have loved you without words, without sounds. It was you and I, not yet us but it was happiness.

Or so I used to believe.

Tonight, a ball is held in the castle to celebrate the start of the noble season, when aristocrats gather in the capital. Nothing too unfamiliar, nothing too genuine either. Picture here the stiff smiles of men, there the copious perfumes of women as they all try to conceal the face of their putrid avarice.

Some of them approach me, hands rubbing against each other, eyes scrutinizing every one of my movements. They say “Your Highness, I am most pleased to see you in good health!” with their mouths, thinking “How boring! This prince is a ghost.” in their hearts. And they laugh. Mocking my lack of charisma and drive.

My head spins from embarrassment. Still I can feel the corner of my mouth splits into a smile and my throat rips itself to reply “Thank you very much.” My own hypocrisy lingers on my tongue, like the stinging acidity of a lemon. So I let my body rest in the warmth of the chandeliers and drown my consciousness in the clamor of the violins. Slowly. Painfully. Erasing my very existence in the shadows of the illuminated ballroom.

Thump thump…thump thump…thump thump

Aah, there you are.

The rhythmic pounding of your heart resounds in my head. It has always been. On sleepless nights, I try to follow its song in my dreams where I would chase the faceless image of you. A fog with no form and no warmth when you slip through my fingers.

But the sun is a jealous god. It rises in the sky from the other side of the world too fast, too early, pushing the shy moon relentlessly behind the horizon. It burns the last whispers that remained unsaid on my lips. My love, our secrets are left for the moon.

Yet this time is different. This time, your heartbeat continues to grow louder and louder in my head while my own heart tries to reach it. Harder and harder, crashing itself against the cage of my ribs like waves on the shore. The heat rises in the room. I can feel beads of sweat dampening my shirt making it stick to my skin.

“Ah!”

In a jolt, my hand clutches at my chest, my breath catches in my throat.

It hurts!

A sharp pain like I’ve never felt before pierced me. A dagger had found a new home in-between my ribs. Did my heart finally break free from its cage? I can’t say. My head is a swollen water balloon ready to pop and spill its content all over the ballroom floor. The heaviness of carrying a water balloon as a head seems almost too much for my neck and in a flash of delirium, I wonder if it will not simply snap under the weight.

It’s hot.

It’s burning.

I’m on fire.

Before I realize it, my feet are already dragging my body towards the balcony, desperate for fresh air. It’s a cool spring night outside yet the soft breeze that gently rustles the leaves on the trees doesn’t chill my scalding skin. My ragged breath echoes distantly with the muffled sounds of a walz. The clicking of heels and a voice brings me back.

“My apologies but I saw you looking unwell. Should I call for someone?”

I whirl into the direction it comes from. I see you standing before me. Finally. The warm orange light of the ballroom candles meets the softer blue light of the moon on your skin. The golden beads that constellate your clothes shine like stars. And suddenly, I’m an astronomer longing for the skies. Everything comes into focus again, a calm reassurance settles in me.

I have found you. My soulmate.

“…Yes. I’m alright. Thank you for your concern.” a man replies in a low, confident voice. “I wanted a bit of fresh air and we have such a pretty moon tonight.”

He smiles at you without making any abrupt movements. Embarrassed, you almost fumble over your words to apologize for interrupting his contemplation.

“Would you do me the honor of joining me?” he continues, always charming.

Don’t do it. Don’t get closer to him, I beg you! But I can see your cheeks flush at his proposal. Shyly, you move towards his outstretched hand. Until you grab it. I have never cursed my own passiveness as much as now. I can’t even talk! I can’t warn you about the light that glows in that man’s eyes when he looks at you. I am here but my lips are tied! All I can do is hear you both sing the melody of love in canon. You smile unaware that my heart breaks a little bit more each time you look at him that way. He is not who you think he is!

Anger builds up in me. I was burning before but now my body is growing numb from the cold that took over. The grounds are shaking under my feet as I silently watch, standing at the border of insanity. I want to break this man’s hand as he brushes your hair behind your ear. It takes everything in me to not rip his heart out as he slowly touches your cheeks. Murderous urges are gnawing at me from the darkness.

He leans in, his lips a breath away from yours. However right before he kisses you, as you await it with your eyes closed, he turns his gaze towards the French window but you and I are the only ones reflected in it. The man’s eyes meet mine. His face distorts in a wicked smile then I understand.

I am him and he is me.

Keith and his alt and a soulmate. That was the concept…I did my best to convey it. I hope that you liked it and that there wasn’t too much typos. Oof…

#ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen prince keith #ikepri keith #keith my man ❤️#different universe same love ccc

80 notes · View notes

mommymooze · 3 years ago

Text

A Cleric and a Prince

Dimitri x Reader

Cannon typical violence, deep splinters, personal threats

Being a healer at Garreg Mach is a challenging job. Working with Manuela in the infirmary is a mixture of emotions. Happy to help others, sad that she has so many personal issues, anxious when someone arrives with serious wounds, hilarious when the students tell you exactly how they become (not seriously) hurt before arriving in the infirmary.

You have not yet been instructed regarding the fine points of battle. If the students need healing battalions, you are part of the Seiros Sacred Monks, helping Mercedes. Your group frequently accompanies the Blue Lions in battles as well as working with them in the monastery, being available to heal them after rough sparring sessions and general needs.

Eventually, a few members of your battalion are assigned to specific members of the class. You are assigned to Dimitri and Dedue. You cannot handle Felix’s antagonistic personality. Sylvain, well, he was given a male healer so that he will focus on what is hurt versus being Sylvain.

After a few battles Dimitri and Dedue realize that you are their assigned healer. It is not announced to the troops, however they notice the same healers heading to assist the same team members. Dimitri asks you to sit with him and Dedue during meals quite often. Dedue speaks with you frequently during your time together in the greenhouse. Healing herbs don’t plant themselves.

You’ve become good friends with both of them. Cheering them both on when they enter the lance tournaments. Joining them in the training grounds, healing their injuries, or the injuries of their opponents more likely, after a long sparring session.

Things fall apart after the battle that occurs in the Holy Tomb. Dimitri is acting strange and distant. Dedue shields you from him at times. Dimitri’s health is suffering, you can tell that he’s not eating and sleeping properly. You help Dedue mix other herbs into the prince’s tea, hoping to get him to sleep occasionally. You find out about Dimitri’s ageusia and load up on the sleeping herbs. Dimitri is a big guy and there are enough herbs in this batch to knock out a horse. He finally sleeps for a night, Dedue cannot force the tea on him every day, he gives it to him as often as he can.

The battle when they lose the Professor is devastating. Dimitri is seriously injured, you keep him from the brink of death. As soon as he is mobile, Dimitri disappears with Dedue following him.

Remaining with the Knights of Seiros you are trained to fight like everyone else. Nearly five years are spent searching for Rhea, fighting Imperial troops, and thieves. Returning to the monastery after the anniversary of the millennium festival, the place is a mess, in worse condition than when you marched away with the rest of the Knights. The Blue Lions return. Dimitri is with them, at least the shell of him is here.

You attempt many times to speak with him while he keeps his vigil at the base of the shattered statue of the goddess.

“The Dimitri you once knew is dead, only this repulsive blood-covered monster remains!” he screeches at you as you enter with a tray of food from the kitchens.

You have learned to bring things that can survive his rage. Any food or drink you bring near him is immediately upended or thrown against the wall. In times of true hunger, the Boar forages, grabbing the chunk of sausage or meat skewers, now stale bread and raw vegetables from the floor.

The times that he is lucid are few. Infrequently, the Professor can have a partial conversation with him. If you catch him while he sleeps or as soon as he wakes, he may let you approach to clean a few wounds and heal him.

Felix scoffs at you, telling you that you are wasting your time and effort on a beast, a worthless animal. Yet Felix is there, every day, just like you, watching over him.

The army heads for Ailell, obtaining additional troops and Rodrigue joins them. Rodrigue can have a few conversations with Dimitri, however Dimitri’s anger still controls him. It is only when they take over the Great Bridge at Myrddin that a change is sparked in him, when Dedue rejoins the Blue Lions.

Now, when food is brought, it is handed to Dedue, who will not allow his highness to throw the trays. Dedue directs the prince not to use his rage upon those that come to aid him. He even convinces Dimitri to remove his armor, a few pieces at a time, to be cleaned and repaired. Dimitri allows the Professor or you to approach, assisting with cleansing his wounds, healing, and clearing his infections.

The army marches for Gronder Field. You stand amongst the troops in his battalion, waiting for the order to proceed. Suddenly it is time to advance. Dimitri and Dedue sprint far ahead of their battalions, they are immediately surrounded by enemies. The battalions fight their best, you alongside them. Perhaps nobody will notice if you cast physic on Dimitri. Dedue is a brick wall, or at least is made of stone, he does not get injured often. The Blue Lions fiercely move forward, Dimitri is determined to reach Edelgard and end her life.

Dedue assists by clearing the last armored Imperial fighter in Dimitri’s way as the leaders of the opposing troops battle. You are fighting Edelgard’s battalion members, preventing them from attacking Dimitri and Dedue. A sudden roar comes from Dimitri as Edelgard is warped away by Hubert. His prize taken from him, Dimitri lashes out at her remaining battalion members, crushing heads and ripping off arms, rending flesh.

The sounds of battle dissipate. You are called to the medical tents to assist with healing. Suddenly the word spreads around camp that Rodrigue has fallen. You cry, not just for Rodrigue, but for Dimitri, whose rage was calming due to Rodrigue and Dedue’s work, and for Felix, who is now alone.

Dimitri solemnly returns to Garreg Mach, Dedue at his side as they escort the body of his dear departed friend.

After the funeral, you march to the Cathedral, arms full of bandages and cleansing cloths. Dimitri would not let you treat his wounds after the battle, during the march or the service. Dedue convinced Dimitri to bathe for the wake. You approach them both as Dedue helps you undress Dimitri from the waist up. As you clean his wounds to avoid further infection, heal him, apply salves, and bandage him, Dimitri looks at you for the first time in forever.

“I am sorry for your loss. I know Rodrigue was like a father to you.” You tell him softly as you wrap a bandage around his left arm.

“He told me I should live for my ideals.” Dimitri swallows, his voice trembles, “Rather than stay shackled by the ghosts of the past.”

“Learn from the past, live for the future.” You smile at him, smoothing some salve to his left ribs. “I know you can do it. Rodrigue believed in you. I do too.”

“My apologies for any problems I have caused you.” He says then hangs his head.

Tying off the bandage on his chest you hug him. “All is forgiven. Rest easy.” You whisper.

He’s not sure what to do, he lifts you into his lap and surrounds you with his arms lightly touching your back, fearful of his great strength. He sobs into your shoulder as you softly whisper comforting words to him patting his back and rubbing his shoulders.

When his tears end, you ask Dedue to get a small towel wet. You place it on Dimitri’s face to cool his forehead eyes and nose. While pressing it to his face, you cast a faith spell to reduce the pain and swelling from crying. After a few minutes you peek underneath the cloth over his good eye.

“How’s it going?” You softly ask.

His blue eye looks at yours. “Better.”

You climb from his lap and he stands, taking a deep breath. “I should probably speak with Byleth.” He coughs into his hand. “Thank you.” He says bowing.

“I’m always at your service.” You smile.

The battle in Fhirdiad is awful. You had not been to the capital of Faerghus too frequently, it is painful to see so many lives ruined, buildings and homes demolished. The citizens are rebelling against the Imperial army, doing their best to help. Although the commoners are brave, you cannot help but feel grief-stricken when they are killed. The people are not trained fighters, however they feel so heart strong for their land and kingdom.

The battle against Cornelia is harrowing, under the tactical eye of Byleth and strong will of Dimitri, the Blue Lions are triumphant. Bells ring throughout the city proclaiming the victory. Citizens are jubilant, dancing in the streets. A celebratory feast is held in the castle.

You are in the infirmary, healing and patching up anyone that comes for treatment. Working long hours into the night, you collapse into an empty infirmary bed for a well-deserved rest. The morning comes quickly. Dedue arrives asking for assistance with Dimitri’s wounds. The serious injuries for soldiers have been addressed, ensuring that the soon to be King is healthy is the next item on the priority list.

“Thank you for coming to my aid.” Dimitri humbly addresses you as you enter his room. “I did not see you at the feast. I was told you were working with the other clerics, healing those that could be helped. I feel guilty asking for your assistance.”

“We need you to lead us.” You smile. “It makes no sense to let you become ill from infection.”

As you treat his wounds and bandage him, you tell him stories of his brave people. How they worked together to aid in the fighting, putting out fires to save buildings, pulling other citizens away from the battles, and how all of them support him.

Dimitri again lets his thoughts go back to when he was lost and out of control. You reassure him that the people have forgiven him. They cannot lead themselves, not yet anyway. Everyone can heal together. Rebuild the city, rebuild the people. Put people into place that are good rulers, good people to look up to and respect.

The conversation goes on, you did not realize that the two of you are talking for hours. It is quite late, he should probably be asleep.

“Come Dimitri, it is time for you to go to bed. Get dressed and I will tuck you in and tell you a story.” You grin at him. He holds you to your word. He calls to you after he is dressed in his nightclothes and under his covers.

You gently tuck him in and blow out all the candles but one. You tell him a fairy tale about a boy, magic beans, an evil goose, and a giant. Your hand is on the bed next to him. Gently he places his on top of yours before the story is done. You take his hand in both of yours, rubbing it warmly between yours as you tell him another story about silly animals that think they can sing and their adventures. When you know he is asleep, you take the candle with you as you leave.

The rest and recovery time in the capital is short lived as the army heads out to Derdriu to assist Claude, the city is under siege. Byleth leads the troops just in time to rescue them. The army turns south to head to Enbarr. One last attempt in negotiating for peace is held with Edelgard, however neither side would give in. Battle is the only way to finish the war.

The battle goes through the streets and heart of the city. So many dead, so much blood everywhere. Everyone gave their all. Edelgard refuses to stand down and her life ends. Dimitri, Byleth, and the rest of the army claim the final victory in the war.

You hound Dimitri for thirty minutes before Dedue steps in, helping remind him that he is injured from the battle and needs treatment. Taking him to a quiet and safe room inside the castle you cleanse his wounds, stitching what he would let you and healing him. You then force him to drink water.

“May I finally return to my duties?” He grumbles.

“Yes, now that I feel like you will not fall over in the middle of them.” You answer. Turning to Dedue you instruct him, “Do not let him stay up all night. He needs to try to eat and sleep.”

“As you wish.” Dedue nods as he follows his liege.

“Wait, you have not been healed as well. Sit and show me your wounds.” You direct him to a chair. Soon Dedue is allowed to follow Dimitri to the multiple destinations on the agenda for the evening.

You head to the temporary infirmary, healing and tending to all the injured, be they from your army or citizens of Enbarr.

Finally, the army leaves for Fhirdiad at the beginning of the Verdant Rain Moon. Everyone is happy to be in the cooler temperatures in the northern part of the continent. You settle in the castle, working in the infirmary, staying in the residence for the healers. In your spare time you volunteer healing the hurt and ailing citizens, working alongside them to help rebuild and recover.

Dimitri’s coronation is a grand affair and a healing event for the city. It is a celebration that proves things are well and that prosperity is just around the corner. You sneak out of the infirmary to watch Dimitri be crowned as King. The cheering of everyone brings tears to your eyes. Their hopes and dreams are now resting on his shoulders.

Finishing work, you arrive at the celebration long after the food has been served, someone had been kind enough to send trays of food to the infirmary and it was shared with the patients that remain there as well. Even the spirits of those still suffering injuries are high and in a celebratory mood.

You clean up, wearing clothing proper enough for a meeting with the king, not really fancy enough for a royal party, it is enough you think as you arrive at the festivities that are ongoing. Dancing, singing, drinking and toasts will most likely continue for the entire night. You look over the crowd, finding Dedue is not difficult, he towers over everyone. You wind your way through the other happy celebrants to stand by his side.

“Good evening, Dedue. Is everything going well?” You ask him.

Dedue leans toward you, whispering. “I am well. His Highness has been quite swept up in the events of the day and should move to retire soon.”

“I agree. It looks like he is being cornered by quite the crowd of potential dance partners, let me see if I can intervene.” You answer with the slightest bit of a grin.

Walking up to the King with an air of authority, you bow and wait for the opportunity to address him. Dimitri appears happily surprised at your presence.

“I am pleased to see you are able to join us. Is there anything I can do for you?” Dimitri smiles, but it appears to be a bit weary.

“My King, as your personal physician, I must remind you that your health is quite important and request that you retire. Your schedule is full of meetings tomorrow and will need your complete attention.” Your attitude and stance are such that nobody wishes to question your authority.

“My apologies, ladies. But I must leave the festivities for now, healers orders.” Dimitri smiles sincerely as the women surround him groan in disappointment and disburse, looking for another noble to taunt.

Escorting the King to Dedue, the three of you leave the venue, proceeding toward the King’s residential area of the castle. Once the three of you are far enough away, he stops.

“Thank you so much for rescuing me.” Dimitri gasps. “I felt like the last piece of meat at a butcher shop.”

“Living up to your name, Di-meat-tri.” You succumb to the terrible pun.

He laughs as you head to his quarters. You excuse yourself as you reach his door.

“No, please, come in.” Dimitri opens the door for both of you. He heads straight for a chair and holds his leg up for Dedue to pull his boots off.

“Ahhh!” Dimitri gasps. “My feet are killing me! I have been on them all day.”

Pain? He has pain?! We can’t have that. You procure a stool and sit at his feet. Grabbing a leg you place the king’s foot on your lap and massage it, noticing the slight swelling at his ankle from being on his feet all day. Using a bit of faith magic and expert fingers, Dimitri is content. You turn and take his other foot in hand for some healing and muscle manipulation. When you are finished, you look up to see one very asleep Dimitri.

Dedue smiles and you let yourself out the door as he takes Dimitri to his bedroom.

The castle calms down over the next few days, a comforting routine takes over. Dedue unexpectedly calls you to the King’s quarters, there was an accident in the training grounds when Dimitri was sparring with Felix. Dedue advises you of the situation and you bring the necessary tools to come to the King’s aid.

Entering his room, you find Dimitri seated by the window at his desk, looking over paperwork.

“My apologies for having to summon you. It is a trivial matter, however Dedue is concerned about infection.” Dimitri looks embarrassed. He is in his undershirt, his left shoulder and upper arm covered in dark streaks, debris, and blood. Imbedded under his skin are many long and deep splinters.

“This doesn’t look like it came from a weapon.” You observe.

“No, Felix knocked me over and I fell into the wall. I did not know the wood had weathered and well, here I am.” Dimitri says sheepishly.

“A steady hand and some antibiotics will take care of this.” You nod, unrolling the pack of sharp tools and tweezers.

Beginning with a bit of faith magic to numb the area, you take into hand a sharp scalpel, cutting along the length of some of the deeper splinters to make it easier to remove them. A tool in hand with a needle like point lifts the imbedded wood while the other hand manipulates the tweezers pulling at a large piece of wood. The easier pieces to remove are no problem as you place splinter after splinter on a piece of cloth on the table. Next it is time to work on some that are deeper in his flesh.

“Come on, nice and easy. You can do it. Mmmmmm” You softly say, coaxing the splinter from his shoulder. “Yessssss.” You mutter with satisfaction as it comes out in a single piece.

Laying the bloody wooden spike on the cloth you look up at the King, rubbing his forearm. Dimitri listens raptly to your chatter as you work. You are talking to splinters, but some of the words and how you say them are…sultry.

“How are you doing Dimitri? Need me to take a break?” You look into his blue eye that is staring at you, not paying any attention to his papers.

“I’m…I’m fine.” Dimitri stutters as he grabs a paper, holding it up to read, hiding his blush from the enticing words you are using to help coax out the splinters.

You nod, getting back to work. “You naughty thing, stabbing our King. Right there, yes, come out.” You beckon the splinters out as you dig them from his shoulder. Giving a happy sigh you place another large piece of wood onto the cloth.

“I’m going to tear apart the training grounds and find every splintery piece of wood and give them a piece of my mind.” You grumble as you go after a smaller splinter. Moving Dimitri’s shoulder and arm, you place his hand on your knee, giving the right flex to his arm to get to the next splinter.

Dimitri turns his head and coughs a few times. “Ahem.” He is quite embarrassed. He tries very hard not to think about his hand and where it is. Papers…supposed to be reading papers, right.

“Are you feeling okay?” You lean forward to rub circles on his back. “You’re not coming down with a cold, are you?” Your voice is terribly concerned.

“No.” Dimitri shakes his head trying to clear his thoughts. It’s hard to think while his back is being rubbed. “You can continue.” He holds the paper closer to his face so you cannot see the pink tint return to his cheeks.

You continue to verbally coax the splinters from his arm, occasionally giving a squeal when you successfully remove a piece without it breaking. Applying an antiseptic salve, you rub it into the wound.

“I don’t want to heal it quite yet. I’d like to check later and see if anything is left in there. I’ll bandage it for now and check before you change for bed.” You announce as you pick up his arm and place his hand on your shoulder.

“Hold it right there so I can bandage you.” You demand as you begin rolling the bandage around his arm several times to keep the salve on his wounds and prevent it from soiling his clothes. You sit down and slowly move your hands down the rest of his arm, lightly massaging it as you go. Massaging the center of his palm you are satisfied that you have removed them all.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Dimitri?” You stand and slightly bow to him.

He clears his throat, “No, that is all.” He says in his normal deep voice. Then adds a soft, “Thank you.”

Later that evening you knock on Dimitri’s door, beckoned in you see both Dimitri and Dedue looking at the King’s already unwrapped arm.

Dedue stands behind his arm as you approach. Dimitri is seated in a chair pulled close to a large candelabra providing sufficient light. Dedue points out two areas that are redder than the rest, some deep hidden splinters as you had feared. Dimitri’s shoulder is a bit warm to the touch, another sign of an infection brewing. You hand Dedue your tools, there is no table nearby. Casting numbing faith magic, you take your scalpel and cut a small slit into one area that is bright red. Holding the flesh apart with the scalpel and edge of the tweezers you see a black bit that must be another splinter. Quickly you grasp the end with the tweezer and pull out an inch long piece of wood.

“That would have festered into a terrible mess. Let me flush it with some antiseptic.” You pour some liquid from the bottle onto the wound, wiping the excess with a cloth to not cause a mess.

The second irritated spot is more difficult to see. Changing the angle of Dimitri’s arm helps, you take his hand and place it around your right hip.

“Keep your arm there, Dimitri. Don’t move while I have this knife in hand.” You warn as you cut into another deep area where you’ve already removed some splinters.

Dimitri doesn’t move, he’s frozen to the spot. So close, his arm is wrapped partly around you and your hip.

You hand the scalpel to Dedue as you carefully pull with the tweezers. This splinter is not as long, but already showing signs of infection, a pocket of pus surrounding the bloody wood. Pouring antiseptic in again to flush it clean you dab the spot.

“I hope you don’t mind a couple stitches.” You announce to Dimitri as everything happens at once.

Felix slams the door open to the King’s chambers, asking the boar if he ever got the splinters out.

Dimitri panics as his arm is around a woman when Felix enters the room, thus he stands up, pulling his arm into you knocking you backwards. Dimitri and Dedue both lean forward to reach for your falling form at the same time, smacking their heads together, hard. Dedue stays on his feet. You fall onto your back onto the carpet, followed by Dimitri who falls crosswise across your chest grabbing his head and preventing it from hitting the ground.

Felix stands with his mouth agape as you ask him, “Did you get any splinters, Felix?” looking up at him from underneath Dimitri’s prone form.

“Tch. No. But you may want to check to see that he didn’t hit his head as well.” Felix grumbles as he backs out of the room, closing the door behind him.

After a moment you heartily laugh at the whole situation. Dimitri and Dedue join in as everyone scrambles to their feet. You make them take a seat as you feel the bumps on their heads. Healing their heads first then stitching and healing Dimitri’s arm you ask if there is anything else needed this evening.

“No, that will be all.” Dimitri says with a soft smile.

You smile widely back at him. “Thank you for letting me serve you, my King.” You bow and leave the room.

The next day you are up early in the training grounds with two carpenters and their wood planes, smoothing every visible piece of wood in the grounds. Returning to the infirmary you continue healing those injured in mishaps around the castle. A young page knocks on the door and hands you a note and a bouquet of flowers. You are invited to tea with Dimitri this afternoon. You advise the page you accept the invitation.

The infirmary workload is light today. Things are slowly settling down after the coronation. Visitors have left and reconstruction is not as desperate as before, thus less injuries. Leaving the infirmary you head to your room, changing into a nice dress and fixing your hair a bit. You are eager to find out what business the King wishes to speak with you about. Heading to his personal wing of the castle, you knock at his door.

Dedue answers, inviting you in. As you enter, Dedue exits, closing the door behind him. Dimitri is dressed casually, no coat or jacket, simply in his shirtsleeves. As you enter the room, he stands to greet you.

“Please, join me.” Dimitri smiles, holding out his hand as he sits at one end of the settee, a large table with a tea service and sweet treats piled high on a tray. You take a seat on the other end, Dimitri pours tea for you.

“I believe Bergamot is a tea you favor, is that correct?” He smiles as he gently and carefully hands you your cup and saucer.

“Yes. It’s my favorite.” You return the smile as you reach for the honey, letting some drip into your cup, leaving the tea on the table as the contents are still too warm to drink.

Dimitri clears his throat. “I suppose I should get straight to the point. I am sure you are wondering why, out of the blue, I have suddenly invited you to tea. Things have been quite busy with ending the war and then plans for the coronation and the coronation itself. Of course, things are always busy as one is trying to set up the government again after so many years of chaos. It seems like there is a never ending list of meetings and consultations and conferences. And I’m rambling, aren’t I?” He coughs into his hand and swallows, taking a deep breath.

You reach out and touch his hand that is sitting on the settee between you. “Dimitri, we have known each other for years. We have fought together in a war. I have seen you at your worst. I am so happy now seeing you at your best. You can tell me what is on your mind.” You smile at him warmly.

Dimitri relaxes a little and takes a deep breath. “Yes. We have known each other quite some time. You have been by my side, helping me and supporting our efforts. You were there when I was so terribly lost. I thank you for that very much. You believed in me when I needed it the most. Now…” He takes your hand, softly as he can between both of his, staring at you intently, his hands begin to tremble.

Time stops as you look at each other in silence. His voice is soft and low as he speaks, “Would you…would you allowmecourtyou?” He sighs heavily, searching your face desperately for your answer.

First you smile, then you nod, he still looks at you. Figuring he wants to hear your answer you lean forward a bit.

“Yes.” You gasp, bringing your other hand over his hands that still hold yours.

“Yes? Oh yes! Thank you.” He grins happily. If he were a puppy his tail would be wagging hard enough to knock everything off the table. He had been expecting a no, so the yes took a few seconds to register. His cheeks are red, his eye sparkles and he laughs a bit with glee. “I’m just so happy. I don’t know what to do with myself. I had been worried and fretting over your answer, I had no idea what to think if you actually said yes.”

“Well, right now we can sit and chat and have some tea. Perhaps you can tell me of some things that you would like me to do to help you. Your day is filled with doing everything for the country. Perhaps some time can be carved out for doing things for you.” You reach for your teacup, taking a sip.

“Going outside sounds amazing. I’ve been cooped up inside the castle every day. I want to get on a horse and ride. To no place in particular, just feel the wind on my face and sun on my back.” His look is far away with a relaxed smile.

“If it is a nice day, we can take tea together in the gardens. The King should have the ability to make time for a ride at least once a week, if it is a nice day. If they give you too much trouble, I’ll ask your clerics to write a note prescribing a required amount of sunshine for your health.” You smile then take another sip of tea.

The next few days both of you take tea in the gardens together. You are happily surprised when he identifies several different plants.

“My interest in plants came from Dedue. He is always gardening in his free time. I insisted that we include some flowering plants from Duscur in the gardens. I would love to see plants from all over Fodlan here, growing together, just like the country.” He holds out his hand so that you can take his. He is still too cautious of his strength to touch you on his own.

The Harvest Festival calls for the city to be decorated in oranges, reds, yellows, and gold. Many displays and booths line the streets to celebrate the great harvest now that the land is at peace. Dimitri invites you to the event and you arrive alongside him in the royal coach. The path before you is cleared by soldiers surrounding the king for his protection.

Dimitri graciously offers compliments and accolades to all that have worked so hard providing food for everyone. His eye goes wide at the size of some of the pumpkins entered in a competition to see who could grow the largest. Often the two of you stop to admire a street performer entertaining the crowd. One of the rear soldiers drops multiple gold coins into each of the receptacles of the performers.

Suddenly you hear a shriek followed by a wailing cry. You dash off into the crowd, your medical instincts taking over. At the base of a tree, you find a woman crying over her son. The rambunctious six year old had climbed the tree, much to his mother’s dismay, to have a look at the King as he walked past. Unfortunately, the boy did not know the branch he was standing on was weak, it broke sending the child tumbling to the ground. Mother and child are crying as you kneel next to him.

“What is your name, young sir?” You ask him calmly.

He stifles a few tears enough to answer. “Jakob.”

“May I see where you are hurt?” You smile a bit, holding out your hands.

He points to his arm, his wrist is already swelling. He tries to lift it and lets out a wail.

“Shhhh. Hold still.” You hold the arm and wrist in yours as faith magic works into his injury. You hold his arm straight and begin ordering anyone nearby to provide splints and bandages. Immobilizing and wrapping Jakob’s arm, you give instructions to his mother. As you stand, you notice Dimitri is at your side.

“King Dimitri, may I introduce you to my newest friend, Jakob. Jakob, this is King Dimitri.” You smile.

Jakob has the biggest smile across his face as he stands and bows before the king. “It is my pleasant honor to meet you King Dimitri.”

The King bows to Jakob, “It is my pleasure to meet you as well. I suggest you heed your mother’s warning when it comes to climbing trees.” He smiles as he ruffles the boy’s hair.

“Yes sir, King Dimitri sir!” Jacob stammers.

“Please bring him to the castle tomorrow morning so I can check his arm.” You tell his mother. She thanks you several times.

You return to walking along the street with the King, admiring the displays and visiting with the people. A street vendor hawking his booth loudly calls out your direction.

“Oi! Your Kingship! Have a try at me booth! Just one throw is all I ask!” The man’s voice calls out over the crowd as he stands juggling coconuts.

You bump your shoulder into his and giggle as Dimitri shakes his head and concedes. “What is it that you ask of me?”

The man bows so deeply his head nearly touches the ground. “Ahh, Your Kingship! So wonderful to be graced by your presence. I only ask that you throw one of these coconuts at the stack of milk bottles at the rear of my booth. Should you knock them all down, you win!” The showman raises his hand to the target with a practiced flourish then both hands in the air as a sign of victory.

“Go on.” You nudge him again. He looks so cute when he’s put on the spot.

“Very well.” King Dimitri takes one of the offered orbs, staring at it for a moment, then hurls it at the stack. Milk bottles fly in six different directions, most of them landing far from the booth as the target is destroyed, the coconut breaks open on the rear wall of the booth and falls to the ground, shattered.

“What an arm! Your Majesty! Congratulations!” The showman scampers over to a special box and removes a beautiful hand crafted stuffed blue lion in all its majesty. A collar around its neck proudly displays the shield of Blaiddyd. “Me wife crafted it herself, she did. She said if you see the King, you must gift it to him, she said.” He bows as he offers the regal stuffed beast.

King Dimitri bows and thanks him for the beautiful gift, handing it to a nearby soldier to monitor while he continues his stroll. At the end of the lane where the festival ends, the King gives one final wave, thanking his people for their faith and hard work.

Returning to the castle, Dimitri must attend meetings, leaving you to your own business. Taking the stuffed lion in hand you dash to the servant’s quarters, asking for a few specific items. You then head to the infirmary to notify them to find you when Jakob arrives tomorrow so that you may personally check on his wellbeing. You trust your replacements in the infirmary, you had chosen them yourself, however Jakob is a special patient.

Returning to your quarters, which now are close to the King’s own rooms, you find the requested items. With a bit of assistance, you complete the project and request it be delivered to Dimitri’s chambers.

Joining the King and the current guests in a large meeting room, representatives of the former Alliance region are here to discuss their budgets and new laws for the expanded Kingdom. There is a break for dinner followed by discussions continuing until late in the evening. The conversations finally wind down and you know that Dimitri is quite exhausted.

“I believe everyone has made great progress today. Let us all sleep on this and take this up again in the morning.” You announce.

Everyone in the room nods as you escort Dimitri to the exit. Walking down the hallway, your hand in his, Dimitri yawns not once, but twice from exhaustion. Dedue opens the door for the both of you. Following you inside the three of you sit and enjoy a cup of chamomile tea, a lovely habit you have incorporated to get him to wind down before bed. You must leave soon, his eyelids are getting heavy, you hope he sleeps well this night.

“Come with me.” You smile as you take his hand and lead him to his bedroom. Dimitri blushes and looks quite confused as you lead him inside the doorway. You point at his bed and then he notices the stuffed blue lion. It is adorned with a small crown, eyepatch and a cape that resembles his.

“It’s adorable!” he exclaims as he puts his hands on your cheeks and plants a sudden kiss on your lips.

“Come again?” you gasp, your eyes wide.

Dimitri stops and blushes in his sleepy stupor as you pull on his collar and place a brief sweet kiss to his lips. Dimitri’s cheeks are a bright red as you step back and bow.

“Good night, my sweet.” You tell him before leaving the room.

“The tea was lovely, thank you Dedue.” You announce as you leave the king’s quarters, walking normally. This is a normal pace? Right? Sure it is. You see yourself out the door. Running into your room you fall on your bed and scream into your pillow. He finally kissed me!

The next morning you stop Felix on his way to bang on the King’s door wishing to drag him out for a morning spar. You require his assistance in accompanying you on a trip to the harvest festival area. He complains the entire trip switching between arguing that he is wasting his time doing this and you must stay closer to him, any madman with a blade could try to attack you. Once your mission is complete you purchase three heavily spiced meat sticks for him to enjoy while you head back to the castle.

Upon your return you are delighted to meet with Jakob and his mother in the infirmary. Jakob chatters the entire time that he is bragging to all his friends that the King had messed up his hair and he is going to grow up to be a knight to protect King Dimitri. Changing his bandages, you are pleased with his healing progress, he can take the bandages off in two weeks as long as he behaves. Before they leave, you had a large basket to his mother, filled with fruits, smoked meats, bread, and cookies.

“Share the cookies with all of your friends and neighbors.” You remind him as you wave goodbye.

The visitors with the king leave after a final meeting, heading back to warmer territory as quickly as possible before the snows cover the land. Certainly, it is not today as the sun is warm and the weather is beautiful. You work on a few projects when there is a familiar knock at the door. Dedue has arrived to fetch you for lunch.

“It is so nice out, I thought Dimitri would want lunch in the gardens today.” You mention.

“His Highness said he prefers to have it in his chambers today.” Dedue answers. He opens the door so that you may enter, then closes it behind you as he remains outside of the room.

Dimitri is immediately on the other side, looking a bit flustered.

He reaches for you, ever so lightly placing his hands on your shoulders, his eye searching yours. “Tell me, I cannot remember if it was real or a dream. Did we k-kiss last night?” His face flushes red.

You nod as pink dusts your own cheeks. “Yes.”

“May I kiss you again?” He asks as he pulls you close. His voice is so deep, with your chest pressed against his, you’re not sure if it is the vibration of his words or the shudder of a thrill racing up your spine.

“Please.” You beg him, your hands sliding up his chest around his shoulders pulling him down to meet your lips. It is a bit awkward, slightly messy, and the best kiss you’ve had since the night before. You hold him tight to your chest as he slowly wraps his arms around you as lightly as possible, resting his cheek on your forehead after the kiss. You sigh happily into his chest.

You try to step back, however he has no intention of letting you go.

“We should eat a bit.” You suggest.

“I am hungry for your lips.” He mumbles into your hair.

“They are not very nutritious.” You tap him on his back.

“You would deny a starving man who has just had a small taste of the most delicious thing he has ever had in his life?” He chuckles.

“You are always negotiating. Would you agree to lunch then perhaps kisses for dessert?” You look up at him and grin.

“One now, then lunch.” Dimitri brings his lips to meet yours once again.

After the most hurried lunch you have ever eaten, you find yourself on Dimitri’s lap exchanging kisses.

A knock on the door alerts the both of you to Dedue’s presence. “Your highness, you have a meeting to attend.” He announces.

Dimitri sighs heavily, “The duties of a King are never done.” He bemoans.

You giggle as you clamber from his comfy lap. “Let me get a comb to make you more presentable.” You offer. After combing his hair and straightening his clothes, you send him off to be bored for the remainder of the afternoon.

Things are busy rebuilding the kingdom. There is always another emergency, an urgent need or any excuse for a meeting. He has been in meetings from early dawn, only returning now very late in the evening. He eats little, his head is pounding from the stress of the day. He hesitates to call you, however he has another meeting filled day tomorrow and must try to get some rest.

You ask Dedue to please prepare tea for the three of you this evening. Directing Dimitri to sit on the couch, you stand behind it and apply gentle faith magic to relieve some of the pain in his head and jaw from being so tense. You then place the footrest at the far end of the couch, coaxing him to lie back and place his head in your lap.

You ask for his right hand and massage the point just above the thumb where the index finger would be carried down. Applying pressure first, then rubbing circles with your thumb in each direction. Placing his hand on his chest you do the same with his left hand.

Next you squeeze the spot on each side where the bridge of his nose meets the bridge of his eyebrows. Applying steady pressure there, then releasing and repeating. Finally reaching around to the base of his skull in the parallel hollow areas between the two vertical neck muscles, you press upward to the top of his head briefly release and repeat.

Removing the hair tie from his hair you run your fingers through it, gently scratching his scalp. You watch his face visibly relax and a soft smile is on his lips as you continue to card through his hair.

“Better, sweetheart?” You softly coo.

“Mmmm, yes. Thank you.” He relaxes.

Dedue brings in the tea service, placing the cups and saucers for three at the table.

You tap Dimitri on the nose. “Diiiimmaaaa. Tea time!”

He sighs then sits up. “Whatever you did was amazing. My headache is gone and I think I should be able to sleep some tonight. Thank you.”

Dedue pours tea for everyone.

“Thank you again Dedue, for a wonderful tea.” Dimitri smiles.

“You’re welcome, your Highness.” Dedue answers.

You take a cookie, taking a bite. “Oh, did you make these Dedue?”

“Yes, I had the time this afternoon.” Dedue nods.

“They are delicious. Hmm, anise, cinnamon, nutmeg, pecans, ginger, clove, molasses. An amazing group of flavors mixed in with love. Thank you so much, Dedue.” Your appreciation shows in your smile and warmth toward the man.

Teatime is very much enjoyed. Dimitri looks like he is relaxed enough to go to sleep peacefully and without a headache. Dedue looks away so you can give Dimitri a sweet good night kiss.

Sunday is the lightest day of work for Dimitri. No meetings if there are no visitors in the castle. The weather is beginning to cool a little more every night. It won’t be long before snow covers everything. Dimitri wishes to take a long horseback ride and invites you to join him. You’ve never really learned the skills of being on a horse, Dimitri is more than excited to educate you. Lifting you up straight into the saddle, he climbs up behind you. Accompanied by a few knights on horseback everyone rides out past the city and into the countryside. His destination is a small area of woods that has a cliff overlooking some of the lands of Fhirdiad. Dimitri discussed the location with Dedue, this spot would provide some privacy, enemies could only approach from one side and the guards could stay far enough away, yet still protect their King.

Dimitri dismounts, lifting you from the saddle. He then unties a picnic basket from the back of the horse and tethers the steed to a tree. Spreading out the blanket you unload the basket to find a delicious lunch, complete with sweet tea.

“This is beautiful, sweetheart.” You smile at him as you place food on your plate. “A gorgeous view and beautiful scenery too.”

Dimitri blushes once he realizes the compliment. His mind then heads straight to places it should not go at such a lovely scene. “I am a beast. I have done horrible things. How can you trust yourself to be alone with me?”

Placing your food on your plate you reach out to cup his cheek. “I have seen you at your worst. I have seen you at your best. You are not a beast. You have come so far making amends for what was done and you will continue to improve. I will be here for you as long as you wish, to help you become the best you can be.”

“Why? Why would anyone want to help me? Some days I feel so useless, that I can’t be the King everyone expects me to be.” He is trembling under your touch.

“I help you because I love you. I know you are a great King, Dimitri. We all know.” You smile, using the thumb that is close by you wipe a tear from his eye.

“You…love me?” Dimitri is shocked.

You fold your hands into your lap and look at them. “I must not be doing a very good job of showing you that I do.”

“Wait! Please, take my hands.” Dimitri begs you. You reach out to hold his hands in yours.

You look into his eye, confused.

“I never thought I could be loved. You have always been there since we met, haven’t you? I have been a monster to you, yet you still came to feed me and heal me. When I had asked permission to court you, I thought you would decline. Every day I wake up and think you would reject me this day. I can’t believe you are still here, with me.”

Dimitri bends forward and pulls you close. Placing a sweet kiss on your lips. Your lips are barely touching his as he whispers. “I love you.”

The next few kisses are not as chaste as the previous one. Plates and food are scattered about the blanket as you hold each other close.

Dimitri’s stomach growls loudly, causing you both to laugh.

“I think we should finish our picnic before you begin digesting your internal organs.” You laugh.

“Can that happen?” Dimitri innocently asks with a look of surprise.

“No. Just joking!” You laugh.

“You are a cleric and an expert on those things. I suppose my sense of humor needs a bit of work.” He smiles sheepishly as he helps you straighten out the food. Finishing the picnic lunch, he packs the basket onto his mount.

“Wait. I need to get on this thing without your help.” You announce.

Placing your foot on the stirrup you attempt to hike yourself up onto the horse. Mentally you remind yourself you need to do a lot more squats. The third hopping jump you manage to jump/haul yourself up and stand with your left foot in the stirrup, you haul your right leg carefully over the horse and sit crookedly on the saddle, gently moving and wiggling yourself to center while trying not to upset the steed. Dimitri’s long legs are great for having the stirrup low, but then you had to overcome the length of your legs versus his. Maybe if you had a horse of your own it could be shorter. Maybe a pony? You suddenly notice a snickering man next to you.

“What?” You snap at Dimitri.

“Nothing.” He smiles at you, easily getting up and into the saddle as if he flew on wings.

You turn around to look at him again, he still has that silly grin on his face. “You look like the cat that ate the canary.” You frown.

“It is just that when you have your mind set on something, you can be very stubborn.” Dimitri whispers in your ear. “It is very endearing, my beloved.”

Those two words at the end send a shiver down your spine, followed by a second when he kisses the top of your ear peeking through your hair.

Winter in Fhirdiad is cold, nobody can deny that. Early winter the snow falls, then melts and this repeats as the weather has not quite made up its mind. By the end of Red Wolf Moon, the snow is here to stay for a while. Wagon wheels get stuck, so sleighs are used to cart things around in the northern parts of the kingdom until the snow is too high to move anything.

Although it is cold outside, with enough warm blankets, perhaps a warming box under the seat filled with live coals to keep your feet, legs, and posterior warm, you agree to go on a sleigh ride with Dimitri. Wearing your fluffiest warmest winter hat and coat, you are surrounded by blankets and your boyfriend as Dedue drives the horse drawn sleigh through the city and countryside. Dimitri entertains you with stories of snowball fights and building forts and snow houses with his friends.

Dedue even joins in, sharing his experiences growing up. With the water surrounding Duscur, the snow would be so deep that they had doors on the roof of the house so people could get outside and carry on business or shop or just leave the house to play. Winter is also a time for handcrafts, baking, soups and savory stews. Before the end of the ride, he promises to make a Roasted Root Stew for dinner in the next day or two.

The sun sets quickly in winter, the moonlight giving a bluish tint to the snow as it sparkles all around. The trees look like they have their own coats of white covering every branch. A rabbit scampers across your path, its fur turned snow white to help with camouflage. The most amazing thing about snow is the quiet. Not many birds stay around in the winter. Once it is night everyone goes inside as the little bit of warmth from the sun is gone. The only sound is the horse tromping through the snow and the swwishhhh sound of the sleds sliding across the snow. The quiet is peaceful, beautiful and filled with the air of calm.

The snow piles higher and higher around the castle. Time marches along as the citizens and lands rest, healing from the war. The King is healing as well. His nightmares are not nearly as frequent, he does not seem on edge and full of angst by the end of the day.

Dimitri’s birthday is tomorrow and a small celebration is planned. Several of the other Blue Lions will be attending, easily able to traverse the snow. Dedue is pouring chamomile tea as you review what has happened today.

“I was called to the kitchens again this morning,” You dribble some honey into your tea. “The cook’s new apprentice burnt her fingers again. That is the third time this week.” You frown.

“Perhaps you can provide her some training?” Dedue offers.

“I would like to sew gloves permanently on her hands!” You chuckle. “Perhaps we can set up something to develop her awareness.”

“The meetings were light today. Not too many complaints when people have difficulty making it through the snow.” Dimitri muses.

“Tomorrow is the big day, not everyone will have problems getting here tomorrow, I hope.” You smile taking a sip.

“Felix and Sylvain will have no trouble whatsoever. Mercedes and Annette will arrive with them.” Dimitri’s eye shines brightly as he goes through the list. “Ingrid will be on Pegasus, so no issues there. Of course, Ashe is a knight here, so the only concern would be Byleth’s arrival in time.”

“Am I spoiling you if I want to be the first to give you a birthday present?” you ask him just before he must go to bed.

“Sometimes, my beloved, I have noticed that you are not the most patient of women.” Dimitri grins. “I will allow this, only for you.”

You happily pull him to his bedroom door and open it so he can see it.

Normally the proud kingly lion sits in the center of his bed, awaiting his return. Tonight, he sits opposite a beautiful female lion. She is adorned with a circlet of flowers around the top of her head and ears, long ribbons down her back and a clerical cape like yours. The lions face each other, touching noses.

“They are adorable.” Dimitri smiles.

You bend down to the bed patting the lioness on the head. “Oh, what is this? I think she has a present for you.” You softly say as you get down on a knee to reach and obtain a box that is sitting between her front paws.

Dimitri comes closer to join you, only for you to stay on one knee and turn to face him with the box in your hands.

“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, will you marry me and make me the happiest woman ever?” You ask, your eyes welling up with tears.

Dimitri gasps and falls to his knees in front of you. “What? Oh yes! Of course, yes!” He declares as he takes you in your arms and kisses your lips and face urgently. Eventually, the two of you have to break apart to breathe.

“You definitely have an impatient side to you.” He laughs, placing his forehead against yours.

“What? I have the patience of a saint.” You giggle. “Saint Cethleann was very impatient.”

“I suppose you are entitled to this.” Dimitri walks to his desk and opens a drawer. He brings a small box to you. “Just to be certain, will you marry me?”

“Let me think.” You chuckle. “Yes. Without hesitation.” Pulling him close you kiss him again.

The day of Dimitri’s birthday is a joyous event for everyone in the castle. Guests arrive and are settled in their rooms. Felix, Sylvain, Annette and Mercedes make it without incident.

“Come on Boar, spar with me. We have time before dinner.” Felix grunts as he shoves Dimitri in the shoulder

You have a cup of tea and cakes with Annette and Mercedes in your parlor, catching up on the latest gossip. You are relieved that they are wearing gloves, you have not had much experience in the high circles of society. It is cold in the hallways, and they certainly help.

“Teaching at the School of Sorcery full time really keeps me busy.” Annette says as she places her teacup down. “It is fun to see the wide eyed new faces get excited about casting their first spells.

“Annie, that is so sweet.” Mercedes laughs softly. “Things are going very well at the new orphanage we started in Fraldarius. We have a huge building and a room for each individual child. We really appreciate the help from Dimitri and Felix. The children are going to write thank you letters soon. I hope you get to see them.”

“That is wonderful to hear. I am sure Dimitri will be well pleased with the news.” You thank them. “Getting the country back on its feet and prospering is his main goal, of course. I hope to see some of these places myself when it warms up in the spring.”

“That would be awesome if you can come visit!” Annette gasps excitedly. “We could have the students show off their talents. Many are working hard to take existing spells and making them useful in every day life.”

“Can someone look into a spell to cast on ordinary items that resist breaking?” You giggle. “I know someone that would appreciate that spell for sure.”

The table erupts in laughter. Girl talk continues as Ingrid joins you. Byleth’s arrival is announced, and everyone heads to one of the comfortable dining rooms that is prepared for the lavish feast the cooks have prepared.

Dinner consumed, the reunited Blue Lions retire to the King’s wing of the castle in a parlor fitted with plenty of furniture to accommodate everyone comfortably. Chairs, lounges and couches are scattered about the room as well as bowls of fruit, trays of cheese and sausage for snacks. A well-stocked cupboard carries glasses, wines, ciders and hard alcohol.

Sylvain makes himself right at home pulling out a large bottle of brandy and filling a few glasses. Annette picks out a fruity wine made with blackberries and between the two everyone has a glass.

“May I propose a toast?” Byleth spoke up and everyone shushed. “Happy Birthday to Dimitri, King of United Faerghus. May he have many happy and peaceful birthdays to come.”

Sylvain let out a whoop, most others give a respectable cheers! Everyone settles into little groups chatting amongst themselves. You lean on the arm of a comfy sofa, talking with Byleth about what is going on in the monastery.

“The rebuilding and repairing is going well.” Byleth shares. “The classrooms are functional, and all of the dormitories are repaired. We are rewriting the curriculum to teach mathematics, reading, writing and other necessary classes for the public. We want it to be a school for the children to learn, leading into better careers than just becoming knights or fighters.”

“That is wonderful to hear!” You excitedly clap your hands together. “A well educated people is a boon for everyone.”

Dedue is on the left side of the room with Ashe and Mercedes discussing recipes. Ingrid, Felix, Dimitri and Sylvain are discussing some recent merchants that arrived in Fhirdiad offering impressive and finely made weapons from Dagda and Brigid, the styles of weapons being the main topic of conversation.

Mercedes sits next to you for a while, speaking with you and Byleth about a recent idea you are testing. Setting up healing clinics in the city in several areas to assist in keeping the people healthy. Byleth approves of the idea and may test some clinics in areas around Garreg Mach.

Sylvain has been keeping everyone’s glasses full. He notices that he really hasn’t had to fill your glass much, however the glass of water next to your wineglass is nearly empty. Leaning over the back of the couch he starts massaging your shoulders.

“Hey.” Sylvain bends over and speaks softly close to your ear. “If you don’t like the wine we have other drinks. Loosen up and have a good time, beautiful. Get relaxed. “He grins at you and then winks.

Before you can turn your head to tell him no, Dimitri marches over and sits next to you on the couch removing Sylvain’s hands.

“Refrain from manhandling my fiancée.” Dimitri growls at him. He then gently places his hand on top of yours that is sitting on the couch cushion between the both of you.

You blush at him as several gasps utter in the room.

“Fian- you’re getting married Dimitri? Congratulations!” Sylvain nearly shouts, slapping him on the shoulder. “Didn’t know you had it in you! When did this happen? Tell us all about it!” He runs around to the front of the couch to take a seat in the chair directly opposite Dimitri so he can watch his friend’s every move.

“I-well. It just happened. We aren’t quite ready to announce it, but then Sylvain…” Dimitri hangs his head down, shaking it while blushing profusely.

You decide to swoop in to save him. “You see Sylvain, when two people like each other and get to know each other well, spending time together, sometimes something special happens. We have been courting for quite a while you know.”

“I know, yeah. But he’s Dimitri! He has no idea how to flirt or capture ladies’ hearts. Has he even kissed you?” Sylvain looks quite shocked.

Dimitri’s face is red all the way to his neck. You take his hand in yours and squeeze it tightly.

“We have kissed. He kissed me first and everything else is our business. Change the subject.” You give him your evil eye look.

“Wow.” Sylvain laughs. “Wah-hah-how.” He stands up and walks to the alcohol cabinet. Felix gives him a punch in the shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up, idiot.” Felix mumbles.

“Felix, do me a favor.” You smile slyly. “Take Sylvain to the training grounds with you early tomorrow morning and give him a good workout. I’ll even tell them to lock you two in there so he can’t escape.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Felix gives a courteous bow and Sylvain a side eye.

“Speaking of sparring,” Byleth says loudly. “I have a few new swords I’ve brought if you want to have a look at them Dimitri. Fantastic workmanship. I hear this weapon maker has some amazing materials that are being shipped in from Dagda.”

You get up to move about the room, talking with Ingrid about improving farming techniques in their territory.

“We always thought Galatea had poor soil because certain fruits and vegetables would not grow well there.” Ingrid sips her wine. “We kept fighting with the land, trying to make it grow what we wanted. Finally, we’re growing what the land wants, what grows in our type of soil in the first place. This is the third year for cranberries and the bushes are loaded. Rethinking our ways has improved things a hundred fold.”

“I love cranberries.” Annette croons. “They make a really tart sauce that is great with bird meat.”

“I like the juice for breakfast, it certainly is an eye opener!” You add.

The conversation quietly moves to anything and everything except for the engagement. Annette heads over to speak with Felix, Ingrid heads to Ashe to discuss something.

Sylvain stands close, but not too close to you. His grin is full of mischief. You dread what is going to come out of his mouth.

“So, when you planning on having kids?” Sylvain not so innocently inquires. “The council has been dogging him about heirs since the day after his coronation.”

“One more word from you and I will have Felix take you to the training grounds now, followed by Byleth, Dedue, Ingrid, Ashe and myself. Am I making myself perfectly clear?” You give a smile through gritted teeth that makes him cringe down to his toes.

“Yes Ma’am.” Sylvain whines as he backs up and heads to the farthest side of the room, only to find Dimitri there, so he splits the difference and heads to a corner furthest away from the both of you.

Sylvain stays in his corner. Ashe approaches him, asking a question. As he opens his mouth you stare at him. Sylvain dutifully closes his mouth and only answers by nodding yes or no. His voice is not heard throughout the rest of the evening. It is a fine party indeed for Dimitri’s birthday.

#fe3h #fe3h fanfiction #fire emblem three houses #fe3h x reader #dimitri alexander blaiddyd #blue lions #fe16

87 notes · View notes