#family remains was partly inspired by home

[spnscripthunt-inactive]

"I haven’t been blind to the steady enshittification of Elon’s Twitter, but I’ve been telling myself that I still had a big platform — just under a half million followers — and the growing strength of misinformation on the platform meant I had a duty to stay and push back against it.

Except, as I slowly realized, I don’t have a big platform anymore. Engagement on all my posts is down dramatically under the new system, and a post that would’ve racked up a thousand RTs immediately is now lingering for days with a dozen or so.

I think my fellow (former) big accounts there need to realize that we’re experiencing a bit of a phantom limb syndrome. We still have a big number of followers, but they’re not actually seeing what we post and we’re not remotely having the impact that we once did (or at least thought we did)."

This is why we keep spamming you with fundraiser stuff in the hope of expanding our reach beyond our almost 3,500 followers here.

Our signed script raffle is $10/entry but, of course, you can donate without entering the raffle.

If you aren't interested in the raffle but you have $5 or $10 you can spare, please help us reach our goal of $5,000 so we can wipe out $500,000 in medical debt nationwide through RIP Medical Debt.

Our Fundraising Page:

Thank you.

[morbidology]

The Cottingley Fairies story is one of the most fascinating tales of deception in the 20th century, capturing the imagination of the public and even fooling some of the greatest minds of the time. What began as an innocent prank by two young girls in Yorkshire, England, grew into a phenomenon that blurred the lines between fantasy and reality, challenging people's willingness to believe in the extraordinary.

In the summer of 1917, 16-year-old Elsie Wright and her 9-year-old cousin Frances Griffiths lived in the village of Cottingley, near Bradford. Like many children, they were enchanted by the idea of fairies, inspired by the lush surroundings of the Cottingley Beck, a small stream near their home. Using Elsie's father's camera, the girls took a series of photographs that appeared to show them interacting with delicate, winged fairies. The first photograph depicted Frances with several small fairies dancing in front of her, while another showed Elsie sitting with a gnome.

The photographs were meant to be a playful trick, a way to amuse themselves and their families. Elsie had drawn the fairies on paper, cut them out, and used hatpins to secure them in the ground before posing with them. To the girls' surprise, the images turned out convincingly lifelike, and their parents, especially Elsie's father, were skeptical but intrigued.

The Cottingley Fairies might have remained a private family joke if not for the involvement of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the famous author of the Sherlock Holmes stories. Conan Doyle was a devout Spiritualist, deeply interested in the supernatural and the possibility of life beyond the physical world. In 1920, when the photographs came to his attention through a mutual friend of the Wright family, he was immediately captivated.

Conan Doyle saw the photographs as possible evidence of the existence of fairies, which aligned with his belief in the spiritual world. He wrote an article for The Strand Magazine, enthusiastically presenting the photos as proof of supernatural beings. The article, published in December 1920, included two of the fairy photographs and generated widespread interest and debate. Many people were fascinated by the idea that fairies might be real, while others remained skeptical, questioning the authenticity of the images.

The public's reaction to the Cottingley Fairies was mixed. Some embraced the photographs as genuine evidence of a hidden world, taking comfort in the idea of magical beings inhabiting the natural environment. Others were more critical, pointing out the suspiciously paper-like appearance of the fairies and the potential for trickery. Despite the skepticism, the fairies captivated the popular imagination, particularly in a post-World War I society that yearned for wonder and escapism.

The controversy over the photographs persisted for decades, with many debates centered on whether the images were authentic or a clever hoax. Despite advances in photographic analysis, the fairies' true nature remained elusive, partly because of the credibility that figures like Conan Doyle lent to the story.

It wasn't until the 1980s, more than 60 years after the photographs were taken, that Elsie and Frances finally admitted the truth. In interviews with The Unexplained magazine and in a book titled The Secret of the Cottingley Fairies, the elderly women confessed that the fairies were indeed cardboard cutouts, inspired by illustrations from a children's book. However, they maintained that they really had seen fairies in Cottingley Beck and claimed that one of the five photographs, the final one, was genuine.

Even with this admission, the allure of the Cottingley Fairies story persisted. The photographs had become iconic, not just as a historical curiosity but as a testament to the power of belief and the human desire for magic in the mundane.

[siren-sashimi]

Uchiha Petnames and PDA Headcanon list [Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Obito, Uchiha Shisui x gn!reader]

Contents and warnings: fluff, allusions to possessive behaviour, repressive behavior, mostly sfw but with allusions to mature themes!

Uchiha Sasuke Note: Public and private (meaning, only the two of you, and maybe in front of your children in the future) are two strictly separated spaces for Sasuke. Partly it's due to his upbringing in socially high standing family that taught him to not appear too lax in front of others. Partly it's him being uncomfortable displaying intimacy publicly. • He might warm up to some handholding or letting you holding on his arm in public. Keeps the fangirls at bay and you're close by his side. • Can and will possessively touch or put an arm around you when someone's mean or flirting with you. It's not your fault, you can't help being the best being with the prettiest smile in the world, it's others that can be trusted around you. • But please respect this separation of public and private space, that boundary's important to him. • In private Sasuke needs some time to let his walls crumble - like with everything that is a form of intimacy to him. • In private Sasuke will let loose for once. Be it leaning on you while you read, sew, cook, paint, or any hobby requiring you to sit down and barely moving. Wrapping his arms around you while you fold laundry or prepare your meals. Curling onto you when sharing your bed. • At home, Sasuke is a weird mix between Koala and cat. He isn't clingy but he enjoys sharing the same space with you, even if you don't talk all the time. Might lean onto or hug you without needing anything but your proximity. • If you're into pet names, you will have to lower your hopes with Sasuke. • Even in private it took quite a while before he could get comfortable with your first name combined with familiar honorifics. That will be the most you'll get out of him in public spaces. • In private he will address with first name without any honorific, even casually slip a "love" or "dear" when feeling cozy around you. • But between the sheets... Pet names are a perfect way to  tease you or to utilize for dirty talk. • More tolerant with you using petnames on him. But don't push it. "Honey" sounds sweet to Sasuke but jokingly ridiculous ones like "boobsie" or "Boo-bear" irritate him. • Once you playfully called him "Sa-chan", and weirdly he found himself enjoying you calling him that, even when you're going out. It's casually intimate. • Wouldn't address you with nicknames himself but doesn't mind with you use nickname variations for him. Uchiha Itachi Note: Similar to Sasuke, Itachi has a reputation to maintain, comes from a conservative family, therefore He won't be too explicit in his PDA but is less strict in this matter as his little brother. • Quiet a romantic, Itachi enjoys holding hands or you leaning on his side when going out. • Still he comes from a traditional family so PDA will remain chaste. Might let you get away with a quick kiss on the cheek if you're very quick and giving him innocent smile afterwards. • At home Itachi can get really gooey, peppering you with kisses or swiftly kissing any spot of yours when you just pass by. • Loves when you lean on him while he's reading or writing something. He likes to cuddle when you go to bed. • Usually he isn't raunchy but by times he might enjoy giving you a light slap on your ass or casually caress your arms when he's getting in the mood... • Loves when you play with his hair. Secretly, Itachi is quiet proud of his meticulously kept hair. • Even in public Itachi calls you "sweetheart", "dove", "lovely", "baby", "honey"and so on. He does it so casually, it feels casual and saccharine at the same time. • One petname for sticks in particular . It was inspired by running gag between the two of you. • Not much into nicknames. In fact, you can only use the short form of his name in the bed room when he wrecks you enough for you to be unable to speak coherently. • Itachi's use of nicknames is limited to maybe a shortened form of your name and only this one will remain. His Strict education is still engrained in him. Uchiha Obito • Obito has always been a bit of the black sheep of the family. So he's bold and open about PDA. • By times it can be more demonstrative to show that yes indeed, his relationship is very real, nobody could not not witness it. • Handholding in public is basically obligatory. At first it Obito's hands were terribly sweaty, more a demonstrative gesture. When Obito calms down from his first high of actually having scored a date, his hands become dry. • His hands are big. He touches your hands like something delicate. • Expect randomly receiving little kisses on your temple or on top of your hand. • So perfect to lean onto, Obito is like a cozy rock. • Take care to bring sunscreen and soothing cream for Obito's scar tissue when going out. He might be neglectful about that matter, having stayed for such a long time isolated from the outer world. • At the beginning of your dates, you were a bit unsure to continue dating because Obito was a too deliberate with PDA. The Public display part felt more important than the affectionate part. That was until you learnt that he's inexperienced, therefore he behaved like a hormone driven teenager. You need to talk with him first about boundaries. He does sulk for a bit but comes around eventually. Afterwards handholding, little public kisses are just as common although more natural, spontaneous, and less about going through all the cliché things to signal dating. • Calls you ridiculous nicknames just for the sheer fun of it. They aren't mean, they're just funny. You're totally free to come up with fun ideas too. • Saccharine terms of endearment are earnest moments or home. • When he addresses you with first name, no nickname, no honorifics, you know who wants to tell you something serious. • The moment Obito calls your name like this, you know that he sincerely, deeply loves you.

Uchiha Shisui • Addressed you in informal ways very quickly whereas you barely knew him, you still addressing him in an informal way. • He does this to get you flustered and nervous. • And yes, there is something sexy when you stammer "U-Uchiha-san" while he teases you cute nicknames. • It should be said, that he never does this when you aren't in the room. He wants to get your attention, not undermine your authority. • Calms down remarkably when you begin to date. Shisui has a way to speak out your first name like it was delicate. Somehow that feels far more intimate than his former impoliteness. • Only uses nicknames as a joke but usually simple variations of your name. • Pet names aren't particular either. Shisui likes to use simple ones like "honey", "dear", "love" like he would use your name in a conversation. • Just you wait until you use pet names on him. Being addressed as "sweetheart" gets his heart racing. • It should be noted that petnames are an intimate thing for Shisui. Even though he might seem to use them casually, he won't give anyone but you pet names because after all, he's an Uchiha, he can't get gooey with anyone else. Even if you call friends fun petnames he might get a bit hung up about it. • PDA might also seem very casual but is only reserved for you. • Shisui does public hand holding or putting his arm round your shoulders, or letting you cling to his arm. • Kisses  in public: Gives you kisses on the top of your head, letting you lean onto him or leaning onto you but lip kisses or cuddling is not something he will do in public. • Again, the Uchiha name comes with certain social expectation, even if he isn't from the mainbranch, Shisui has a reputation he wants to maintain. • In private Shisui is all kissy-kissy. Kiss on the shoulder, quickly grabs your hand to kiss your knuckles, kiss on the cheek, small kisses he can casually reach. In-between meals, while folding the laundry, when you wake up, when you go to bed, when you return home. • When he's tired all he longs for is leaning onto you or being hugged gently. • Surprisingly chaste with private touches. Shisui's touches are all about intimacy and comfort, it feels like being embraced in a warm home.

[byenycfm]

Sarah Cohen AKA Sher || 36 || #601 || Natasha Lyonne || Closed

Personality:

On the surface, sher exudes a cheerful, magnetic, and carefree attitude. in her prime she loved wearing extravagant outfits and makeup, and basking in the spotlight and adoration of her fans. Her music means everything to her. nature serves as her muse, and the changing seasons provide her with inspiration. Her belief in renewal motivates her to persevere, regardless of how bleak circumstances may appear. Although her single-minded determination and laid back demeanor can sometimes lead her to be preoccupied with her own thoughts and dismissive of others, her fans loved her for it. On the inside, she struggles to accept her new reality. She wanted her music to move and inspire people, but after the incredible success of her single, nothing has ever come close to that again, and she’s worried it never will. If shes not the laid back cheerful pop star that her fans loved then who is she?. It becomes increasingly difficult for her to maintain the carefree mask, and it's beginning to show cracks.

Biography:

Tw - drug use, death.

Sher was born into a middle-class Orthodox Jewish family in Brooklyn. Even at a young age, she loved going to the synagogue and listening to the cantor singing the Shabbat prayers. Tu BiShvat, the "New Year for the Trees," was her favorite holiday. She, along with her community, would go outside the city to enjoy a day in nature and plant new trees.

Her parents recognized her love for music and helped nurture it by sending her to vocal training and writing lessons. When she was 25 and just starting her music career, she married David Horwitz, partly due to her family's pressure for her to start a family; however, she insisted on keeping her last name for her career. Less than a year later, she had her big break with the single "Seasons," which became the number one song across all charts, went platinum, and won her a Grammy.

However, the one person who was supposed to be her biggest supporter, her husband, would not share in her joy, claiming that she loves her music and fans more than him and that he does not want to live in their shadow. The pressure of her failing marriage, which has now turned into a divorce, has affected her ability to write, and what used to be a dabbling in recreational drugs has turned into an addiction.

Her producer, who was under pressure to release a new hit, convinced her to go to rehab. However, while she was there, he went behind her back and had someone else take over her act. After that, she never publicly spoke about what happened and threw herself back into her work, hoping to return to the limelight, but it always remained just out of reach. She mostly played small gigs at shittty bars or streamed online from her home studio.

On november 1st Sher had spent the previous night partying a bit too hard at a Halloween party in Upper Manhattan and ended up crashing at her friend Hannah's place. She was awakened late in the afternoon, hungover and groggy, by a panicking Hannah, who informed her that there had been an accident at the docks and that the government stated it was the mutant strain of rabies initially identified in Asia.

Sher dismissed the entire situation, claiming that the news was exaggerating, as they always do, and assured Hannah that everything was under control, so there was no need to panic. Unconvinced, Hannah implored her to stay at the apartment for at least another day, and Sher, who didn't feel like going home hungover, agreed.

By nightfall, even the skeptical Sher had to confront reality: this was not rabies, nor was it under control. They waited in the apartment for a few days, hoping for good news, but conditions only worsened. By the fifth day, food supplies were running low, so Sher and Hannah had to venture out to gather some necessities. The hallways of the apartment building were empty and quiet, as were the streets outside. They found a grocery store that was almost picked clean, with no one inside, and scavenged whatever they could take back.

As they were leaving the store, they saw a figure approaching from a distance that appeared to be injured. Hannah insisted they should help and began to approach the figure, who, upon seeing Hannah, immediately started sprinting in an inhuman manner. Before Hannah had any time to react, the Chomper pounced on her. Sher froze in fear, bracing for the inevitable, but then she heard two gunshots, and both the Chomper and Hannah ceased to move.

Searching for the source of the gunshots, she locked eyes with the commanding officer of a military squad emerging from an alleyway. He demanded that she identify herself while she begged him to help her friend. In a cold tone, the officer informed her that they had shot her friend because she had been bitten. One of the soldiers recognized her and suggested to the officer that she might be eligible for evacuation. After scanning her body for bite marks, they escorted her with them to their temporary forward operating base.

Shocked and grief-stricken, Sher found herself in an impromptu refugee camp, where she spent the next ten days waiting for an evacuation that never came. On November 15th, all military personnel evacuated the camp unannounced, leaving the remaining refugees to fend for themselves. Fortunately, the camp was situated in a remote area and secured with barbed wire, with enough supplies to last through the winter.

During that time, Sher took on a leadership role; her lively personality helped keep people calm, and her songs warmed their hearts during the long winter nights. As winter came to an end, Sher finally allowed herself to relax and let hope fill her heart that things might be improving, but that optimism did not last long.

The snow that had accumulated on the roads during winter had melted, allowing travel once again. One night, while most people were asleep, the camp was assaulted by raiders. They killed anyone in their path, stole all the remaining supplies, and torched everything else. Those who survived scattered in every direction, including Sher, who returned to the camp in the morning after the raiders had left, only to find it burned and destroyed. She waited until the afternoon to see if any other survivors would return, and when no one else arrived, she decided to go back to the only other place she considered home: the Wexley.

Pre Outbreak Occupation: Retired Musician Previous Zombie Experience: Sher saw one up close before they were shot and that was enough, when she was walking to the wexley she’d hide from sight taking the long route in order to avoid any confrontation with chompers. Marital Status: Divorced Children: N/A Residence: Studio #601 Years residing at The Wexley: Pre Outbreak 6 Years Connections: tbd

[ascendanceseriesveteran]

'I am Prince Jaron' - Short Fanfic 👑

*Set at the end of TFP with an alternate ending*

What if Imogen found out slightly earlier than in the books? What if she didn't wait for Tobias and the crown? What if Imogen was there to support Jaron when he confronts his past for the first time in years?

Even though I actually felt some inspiration, I feel like this cut off abruptly. Ran out of ideas. Sorry for any spelling mistakes as always

⚔️⚔️⚔️

I looked directly at Mott. “Go now.”

Mott nodded and took Conner’s arm. “Sir, Prince Jaron will be there. Let’s go.”

“I will get there in time,” I told Conner. “Have Mott secure the kitchen for us.”

They ran ahead and Imogen knelt beside me, asking, “You knew about Roden and Cregan. How?”

“It was their last chance to make Roden the prince.”

She reached for the hem of her skirt, intending to tear off strips for bandages. “Where are you hurt?" 

“Nowhere. Everything is fine. Really.” I smiled and held out my arms to prove it to her. “I just needed a reason to get separated from Conner. Do you think Mott has secured the kitchen yet?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand — you faked that injury?”

“Yes.” It was the first time her confusion could have been mistaken for distrust. I stretched out my hand to help her up, “I’ll explain on the way.”

“But what about Tobias? What about the crown?” Even though nobody could hear us, she still whispered the word.

“The crown will gain him entry, and I won’t need it.”

“Sage—” She tugged me back as I started walking, searching my eyes desperately.

I squeezed her hand, “Trust me.”

Although she didn’t seem all that convinced, she allowed me to lead her until we saw light pouring  into the tunnel and a figure taking up too much space to be anyone but Mott. I let her climb the ladder first and followed soon after.

“How bad is it?” 

He was obviously asking about my injury, so I just grinned at both of them, “Practically nonexistent.”

Imogen’s frown deepened just as Mott understood, “Unbelievable.”

“I thought it was rather clever.”

“You think everything you do is clever,” This time it was Imogen, still looking as though I was some puzzle that had been scattered and she had to put together again.

“And since when can you talk?”

She gave Mott a pointed look just as I spotted Cook, my favourite chef who always kept silent about my midnight escapes through the trapdoor and into the world. And suddenly, I felt very hollow. I was home. I was prince. And yet I felt like neither. I longed for my family, but they weren’t here. Only Cook. Still, as if drawn to her like a echo from the past, I needed to see her. I needed someone to know I had come home before the entire kingdom knew it. I tapped her on the shoulder before Mott could stop me.

“Did you get the potatoes I asked—” The plate she held shattered at our feet and her mouth hung open. She was looking at a ghost, I realised. It was best to act as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. So I just grabbed a pastry from behind her and winked. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I knew the tears I had caused weren’t out of grief. 

I strode back to my friends with a grin, “Time to come back to life.”

Mott just shook his head with a smile but promised to remain at the sewer entrance to wait for Tobias, nodding once at me as though he knew my plan without my telling him. Perhaps also in good luck. I generously left him the rest of my partly-bitten pastry and exited through the staff door.

Imogen followed me in silence. Up the curving stairs I hadn’t stepped on for half a decade as I ran my hand along the stone walls, each bump and crevice unearthing memories from deep within me. And dread, and sadness. I pushed the last two emotions aside and dared to glance back at Imogen.

She no longer looked suspicious, only nervous.

“I have something I need to tell you.” I said as I stopped and pushed our backs against the wall. A guard was walking by, armed heavily in anticipation of the coronation. My old room was almost in sight. I knew how to get there unnoticed. 

“Yes?” She whispered.

“I—” She looked at me with such trust in her eyes. Trust that would be broken in an instant when she found out who I truly was. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You don’t have to be. I know why you’re doing this now. I understand.”

“No, you don’t. Not until I tell you everything.” I gently ushered her across the walkway and into the royal quarters. And with a wave of nausea, I realised nobody would be here. 

She noticed my distress apparently, “Sage, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I—” The door to my parents room. I gasped, seeing myself caught by them sneaking around. But that wasn’t real, of course. Just my own ghosts. “I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me.” This time she squeezed my hand.

And quietly, because the words seemed to seek refuge in my throat, “I am prince Jaron.”

“Yes, I know.”

“No,” I looked directly at her, “I am him.”

“Sage, I understand if you want me to call you that, and I will. But what’s really going on?”

It’s better to show than to try convince her of the impossible. I nudged open the door to my old room and walked in. The smell of pine and dust thick in the air. Everything was just as I had left it. 

Imogen froze as the door shut behind her, hissing, “Sage, why are we in a royal’s bedroom?”

I took exactly three steps, knowing which floorboard I needed but still waiting for it to creak and then knelt down to tear it free. 

“Sage!”

There, sandwiched between two loose pieces of wood, was the inspiration for Conner's prized replica. I lifted my up my sword and watched it glimmer in the moonlight. The leather warming in my palm. Rubies sparkling. 

It was like the world quietened around me. Enough that Imogen's sharp inhale was just as loud as her back hitting the door. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No. Stop talking,” her eyes widened, “Wait, no. Forget I said that.”

She looked impossibly small when I stood back up, and suddenly she bowed low.

“Please rise,” I said. “It’s still me.”

She obeyed but shook her head, avoiding my eyes. “No, I don’t think it is, your Highness.”

I frowned at my sword as if it had personally ruined everything. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Her voice was almost imperceptible. 

“I have everything to apologise for.” I allowed myself to really look around. A melted wax candle on my bedside table. The sheets tucked carefully into the bed like a treasured memory. Blue and yellow drapes canvasing the bedposts and pot of rotted flower stems, the petals long disintegrated. Forgotten, much like I was. 

“Are you alright?” The words seemed to take on a new meaning.

“No.” I swallowed. Throat burning with unshed tears. But I had a job to do. “I don’t think I ever will be.”

I didn’t notice her walking up to me until she touched my wrist, getting my attention, “I understand.”

That was all I needed to hear. I was breathing again. Where Cook saw a ghost Imogen must have seen a complete stranger. And the thought of my closest friend no longer sharing that sentiment was a nice addition to the pain that was already crippling me from inside out.

"How much time do you have?" She was speaking quietly now. And, to my surprise, studying my face.

"The regents would have started their proceeding. Connor would have made it just about now. I expect another ten minutes until I have to make a grand entrance."

She giggled, "I'm not the least bit surprised you want it to be grand."

"I want Conner to think he's won."

"I forgot about that part. He has no idea, does he?"

"And he won't know until I have him arrested," I looked at her through blurry eyes, "He killed them Imogen. He murdered them all."

Her eyes widened and a look of horror flickered in her expression. "What?"

"It was him. I figured it out."

"You're saying--"

"He murdered my family."

I hoped that darkness made the tears invisible. Though I suspected the tremor in my voice didn't help me be inconspicuous. For days I had been filled with such unbridled rage, such resentment. Briefly I thought that I should poison him with the same vial myself. But an emotion I hoped I could withstand was haunting me. Loss. I lost my family once again... only this time permanently.

And then, like a bandage holding me together, Imogen wrapped her arms around me and placed her ear above my pounding heart. "I can't pretend to know what you're going though. But I want you to know that even though your life is about to change, I will be here if you need me to be."

"As a subject or a friend?" I sniffed.

"You don't have to order me to be your friend, Jaron."

I sighed. My name sounded so nice when she said it. I was longing to hear someone say it and know it was real. So I couldn't help myself, "Imogen?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you say that again?"

She chuckled slightly and looked up at me, her own brown eyes a bit glassy, "What? Your name?" When I nodded she smiled and repeated it almost reverently, "Jaron."

I tightened our embrace slightly. "Thank you. It has been years since I heard that."

"You should prepare to hear it more often. Or Your Majesty."

"As long as you don't end up calling me that."

"What, by your title?"

I raised my eyebrows and leaned in, "Yes. Or else I'll start calling you Lady Imogen."

She threw her head back and laughed, "That would be a sight. You'll have nobles turning over in their graves."

"Well they better start turning. Because when I'm crowned, it will be my first decree."

She stepped away, "What do you mean?"

"I already planned it, back at Fathernwood. As a thanks for all you did for me."

She was silent for far too long, "Jaron, I can't repay that."

"You already have. Several times over." I stepped close to her, "I would be dead without you, Imogen. Of that I am almost certain."

"It was just some cleaning alcohol, anyone could have done it."

"I'm not just taking about my wounds, Imogen."

And it was almost a whisper when she replied, "Thank you."

I cleared my throat, and with it, reined in my emotions, "Well..." I re-gripped my sword, "I think I should probably go. But I'm going to miss this. Being Sage was one of the best things that ever happened to me, and also the worst."

"You've lived the life of a royal and the life of a peasant. You know your people more that any ruler before you. And from what I know of you already, you are going to be the greatest King that Carthya has ever seen. I can't wait to see who you'll become." She bowed her head once more and looked up with a smile, "Now go and take your kingdom back.”

I kissed her cheek and headed off to take my throne, feeling, for the first time in my life, like I was where I was destined to be.

- The End

[introverted-imagineer]

A Land Across Seas (Requested)

Leif Erikson x Reader

Requested: I really liked your writing and was wondering if you could do a story on Leif Style where she is a strong warrior and does not mind killing anyone, but begins to sympathize with Leif and his way of being

Warnings: Violence, Language, Murder, Death, Conflict, Themes of Trauma, Stress (Please take care)

Author Note: This story was requested by one of our lovely fellow Imagineers. Thank you for the inspiration!

'Your anger gets the best of you child' Jarl Haakon announces from the sidelines of the private training grounds buried deep within Kattegat's woodlands. We're Vikings, we're supposed to be fierce, strong, and unstoppable. What did she want me to be? Joyous while slinging axes at tree trunks? I could feel a fire in my stomach as heat traveled to my cheeks, contending with the cool layer of sweat that covered my forehead. I dropped the axe at my feet, bringing my hands up to my head to gel back the loose strands of hair that unwound from my long braids. Partly from annoyance, but mostly from frustration. Jarl Haakon slowly strode over to the tree trunk that had endured the brute of my thrashing. She gently lifted her hand to the trunk, brushing her hand down, following the rough concave fixture I had ingrained within the short hour we had been here. I don't know why she seemed so taken by my target, a few more throws and she would probably have firewood to last the week.

She stared back at me, a smirk, raising her left eyebrow. I lifted an eyebrow back in confusion, taking in my surroundings to see the few other people causing just as much havoc as I had. The only difference was their strikes on their tree trunks were slick, and clean, their bases still sturdy. Mine, however, a gentle push and the tree would probably fall. 'Y/N, I chose you to join the shield maidens because you come from a long line of victorious and honourable warriors. Your father, your mother, and their mothers and fathers long before, but you are troubled too easily'. Naturally, I rolled my eyes in response. I had heard this speech growing up my entire life. 'Don't get involved in other people's fights'. 'Why is your first instinct to always punch someone?'. 'Y/N come outside and apologise to this person'. 'Why can't you be more like your sister?' .'For the love of the Gods Y/N, you've really done it this time'. I came from a lineage of fierce warriors who spent generations fighting for Kattegat, all I was told and taught growing up was that I was going to be the same, one way or another.

It was always an ongoing issue. The new ways versus the old ways. I was stuck in the old ways. Uncontrollable, rage driven, provokable. The new ways, although still true characteristics to being a Viking somewhat, being new Vikings meant having a logical outlook on revenge and warfare. A trait that I clearly didn't have. By the end of her speech, the few other occupants of the training grounds had directed their attention to our conversation. I could feel the veins in my neck press against the surface of my skin as I took deep breaths. 'Fuck off' I mumbled to the other shield maidens, storming off down the hill back toward Kattegat, leaving the Jarl to continue her training session.

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

Mornings in Kattegat were always busy. The ports especially were always the centre of livelihood. With a constant revolving routine of merchants travelling in and out of Kattegat to trade and sell their goods, like expensive silks, weaponry, food, thralls, and loot; There was never a dull moment in Kattegat. Within the walls of Kattegat however, even with the frequent influx of visitors, the population remained the same. Most families had a history here that drew back generations, most of us living in the very same homes our families had always lived in. I knew Kattegat and its people like the back of my hand, everything had always been a constant.

I wearily peeped my head around the longhouses that populated central Kattegat. I could hear the familiar sound of sizzling hot metal as it was dunked in pales of cold water to cool the carefully moulded metal. When there was no exploration, no war, no fighting, he made weapons. Fixed them, created new ones, and restored old pieces. Father's blacksmith shack was located a few doors down from our longhouse, and I didn't want him to see me. When the banging of his hammer against metal could be heard, that meant it was safe to pass because his back would be turned. So I waited in the shadows until the clanging of metal sounded from the shack again. I made a point to tip-toe down the path, as the centre of Kattegat was mostly deserted at this time of morning as everyone was either inside breaking fast, or down at the ports where the markets were. Mother would likely be at the port's trading for the freshest catch before the fish sat there too long and warmed with the warming sun in the rarely sunnier months in Kattegat.

As the clanging of metal continued to sound, I approached our home quietly. 'Ah the infamous daughter returns' a gruff, winded, familiar deep morning voice sounded from behind me. I let out a loud groan of defeat as I slung my arms down by my sides, turning around with my head down in shame. 'You're back early, what did you do this time?' He questioned with comical value. 'I…thought I'd come to help you?' I wearily, almost too cheerfully stated, unsure of my confidence in the lame excuse. His shoulders shook as he lowered his head, shaking it trying to stifle a laugh. 'I know you all too well Elskan'. I crossed my arms, huffing at the annoying nickname I had harboured since childhood. Elskan, meaning my darling, sweet one. Something everyone had no trouble making sure I knew I was anything but. The clanging of metal ceased momentarily as the perpetrator of the sound directed their attention to me 'Y/N' Baldr called, waving his hammer above his head in greeting. My sister's husband. The only person father actually trusted to help him in the shack. 'When did Baldr get in?' I questioned confusingly. 'This morning, they are only staying for the day before going back to Kjorseyrr. Your sister and the kids are at home with your mother' he almost lectured. 'And don't expect any breakfast Elskan, you're meant to be home when training actually finishes…NOT WHEN YOU LOSE YOUR TEMPER' he yelled as I stormed off toward the house. At the very least, my nephews would be pleased to see me.

As soon as I stepped in the door, I was on my backside as two small bodies jumped on my front. 'FOR KJORSEYRR' Ulrik shouted, whilst Vali prodded his small wooden sword into my stomach. Yanking the toy from Vali's grasp, I reached my arm around their waists, rolling over onto my stomach pinning the giggling pair beneath me. 'You will be blood eagled for your treason, Kjorseyrr is still part of Kattegat' I proclaimed in a coarse, deep growl. 'Oh Y/N why such dark threats' my mother barked as the boys continued to giggle. 'It was just a joke mother' I groaned back, making faces behind her back as the boys stifled more laughter. 'Don't speak of such things in front of them when they are so young Y/N, they don't need to know of such things' Yrsa lectured, which always uncomfortably penetrated my very core. 'Well dear sister, they do come from a long lineage of warriors….' I snarked back, imitating the Jarl's voice. My mother turned around, giving me that look that mothers do. 'They also come from a family of triumphant and skilful farmers' Yrsa retorted. 'Yes, but you should be embarrassed your sons go around screaming for the victory of a small peninsula like Kjorseyrr' snorting at my wit. Yrsa huffed, rolling her eyes. 'Come give your big sister a kiss'. I walked over, hugging her from the side, placing a quick kiss on her puffed cheeks. Her stomach was full, too large now to be able to hug her from the front. 'This little one seems ready to come out' I joked poking at her stomach, feeling a gentle kick back. 'Well if this little one is as active out here as she is in there, you may just have a new best friend Elskan.' She retorted displeasingly.

Kjorseyrr was a small island off the coast of Kattegat's shore, a short row away. Mostly an island for farming families, which Yrsa became part of when she married Baldr. Yrsa and I certainly didn't agree on much, nor were we alike in the slightest. The gentle and the vicious ones everyone always referred to us as. But at its core, we were very close. Visits with them were always confined to the space of a day, once a week at least so Baldr could help father in the shop. But also so we could see Yrsa and the boys.

The morning daylight turned to a blue sky, a warm breeze engulfing Kattegat. The day passed with lively conversation, not without lectures directed at me every so often, cooking, fishing, and playing. But days with Yrsa were too short and passed quickly, as the blue sky slowly emitted an orange hue, meaning it was time for Yrsa, Baldr and the boys to return to Kjorseyrr. 'Are you coming to the ports Y/N?' father questioned, his hands resting on his portly belly as he finished digesting the evening stew. 'I better stay and get an early rest, the Jarl will probably be extra hard on me tomorrow morning' I moaned. With a quick goodbye kiss and cuddle, the lively hut turned to utter silence.

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

As I lay in bed lightly dosing off, an unfamiliar horn emitted from afar. I sat up, listening as the horn continued to roar from afar. I got up from the straw mattress, peeking my head through the curtain divider to see my parents sleeping quarters unoccupied. Walking outside, the sun had almost set, but similar to myself, other people had their heads poked out to see where the commotion was coming from. The horn sounded from the ports. I grabbed my father's coat, threw it over my sleeping dress, and walked down the path toward the ports, getting closer to the sound. Some people followed, and most went back to their evening undisturbed.

I stopped on the outskirts of Kattegat's walls, I could see my mother walking toward the gate, whilst my father stood on the edge of the port, handling the heavy rope to dock the small sailing boat that came into Kattegat's harbour. As mother wrapped her loving arm snugly around my waist, she began to slowly walk forward back toward the port, my body unwillingly stumbling along. 'Who is that?' I questioned. 'And why are they blowing their horn so loudly in the evening?', a slightly obvious irritation in my voice. 'I'm not sure Elskan…'. Their unfamiliar accents could be heard, asking about how many boats had arrived before them, while one of the figures shouted orders at the few other members of the crew. They were dressed in heavy, thick grey skins, held together by thick frayed stitches. They seemed friendly enough, they weren't causing any fuss, asking my father questions politely. But they weren't unloading any goods. It was too small to be a trading boat, or grand enough to harbour anyone of significant status. These people…were unfamiliar.

The bodies slowly made their way up the port toward land. The smell of sweat and salt emitted from them. They slowly nodded in greeting as they passed, walking toward the gates of Kattegat. One stayed behind, talking to my father as he busied himself with the ropes to secure the boat to the dock. Father said something, pointing in our direction. The stranger nodded, lifting his hand in a polite thank you, before turning his stature, and making his way toward us. He had brown shoulder-length hair that had tints of gold, likely a consequence of being in the sunlight too much. His beard was short in length, unlike that of the Kattegat natives who took pride in growing out their facial hair, braiding and beading them. His eyes almost naturally squinted, eyebrows busy, his nose slightly upturned. He stopped in front of us, his legs almost jelly-like on the solidarity of land.

'Hej Matron' he greeted, directed at mother, with a slight bow of his head as a respectful endearment. 'Hej' he nodded as he locked eyes with mine, flicking his irises down my body quickly. 'Hej…' I replied uncertainly. I could feel my mother's fingernails dig into my side as a warning, I knew what she was saying, behave. 'Your husband said you might be able to show me where my crew and I might be able to find resources to refresh ourselves' he politely enquired. His eyes flicked to mine twice in his short sentence. 'Where have you come from son?' My mother questioned, acknowledging his youthful stature. 'We have come from Greenland…my name is Leif Erikson' directing his gaze toward me when he said his name. 'Well Leif Erikson, from the looks of your appearance, you have had an eventful journey' she said, almost mothering the young stranger. 'Most people have retired for the evening, but you and your friends may come to our home for a hot meal'. 'That would be most appreciated' he sighed in relief, bowing his head again as a sign of respect.

My mother's arm unwound from my side, walking toward the seven others who stood at the gates of Kattegat. He nodded at his peers, then directed his gaze toward my own. 'I am Leif' he said, locking his gaze with my own, his mouth slightly ajar as if he expected to say something else. But nothing came out. 'You just said that' I retorted. 'You must have a name also?' He questioned, again his eyes flicking up and down, taking in the details of my face…as if he wasn't close enough already. I answered with silence, taking him in, and squinting my eyes back. 'TAKE HIM BACK TO THE HOUSE ELSKAN' my father called from the ports. 'Elskan' he repeated, giggling at the pet name. I turned on my heels, stalking back toward the gates of Kattegat. 'Come on Greenlander' I called, pacing at least ten feet in front of him.

The Greenlanders slurped greedily at the hot stew, as they sat close to the fiery pot, basking in the heat it omitted. It was as if they hadn't eaten in days, they just seemed to eat more and more until the wooden spoon was scraping the edges of the pot. 'Please excuse our gluttony, I hope we have not eaten you out of house and home' Leif kindly stated. My mother chuckled 'Not at all, we are happy to help'. I sat on one side of the iron pot, as Leif sat opposite. I watched intently as he ate, his eyes simply staring back at me, occasionally smiling to himself as he scooped more of the steaming stew into his mouth. His lips slightly curled upward. 'What?' I said, shrugging my shoulders. 'Y/N' my mother hissed. Leif raised his eyebrow, humour, and satisfaction in his expression. 'Y/N…pretty name' he said. 'Twas my mother's name' my mother said satisfied at the compliment, her cheeks a slight blush to them.

The main door creaked open, and Jarl Haakon walked into the house, skin glowing a gentle orange tinge with the evening candlelight. 'Jarl Haakon' my mother fussed, standing up as she entered the room. 'Do not let me disturb you Estreya, I'm not here because of Y/N, I have come to meet the visitors' she said, striding into the room, yet still giving her coat to mother as she walked in. My mother visibly relaxed at the fact that the Jarl was not here for me…this time. The Greenlanders stood to attention, noting the Jarl's grand stature. 'Please, let us sit'.

The candle wax slowly melted to nubs as the Greenlanders told a tale of their voyage across the dangerous seas. But their tale did not answer what the Jarl truly wanted to know. 'Why have you come to Kattegat?' She questioned. Leif flicked his eyes to mine, before reaching down into his coat, unravelling a piece of paper to reveal a drawing, handing it to the Jarl, directing his gaze back at her. 'We are looking for a Viking who wears this cross' he said. She inspected the piece of paper, the Greenlander with long golden locks particularly eager to hear what the Jarl made of this information. Jarl Haakon sighed…the blonde girl's shoulders dipping low in disappointment. 'I do not know of anyone, but Kattegat is a place that worships the Pagan Gods, the true Gods. Anyone wearing something like this will certainly stand out from the crowd' she said, giving hope to the Greenlander's quest.

The Jarl Rose from her stool, walking toward the door. 'Who did you say your father was?' She questioned, directing her gaze at Leif. 'Erik' he said. 'Erik is my father also' the blonde girl stated. Jarl Haakon turned her attention back to the group, satisfied by their answer. 'Your father was once a great friend to me. A very strong warrior, but a very lively temper…' she smirked, directing her gaze at me. 'Freydis, my half-sister' he motioned, introducing her to us Kattegat natives. 'I hope you are both as skilled in combat as your father?' She questioned. 'Freydis is the more talented shield-maiden, I myself am more of an explorer, I am more comfortable on a ship than I am with a weapon' he humbly spoke. The Jarl particularly took interest in the first part of his sentence. 'Well Freydis, you must come and show me your skills' she said, a slight giddiness in her voice. The Jarl dramatically raised her arm slowly, her mouth forming a satisfied smile, then pointing her finger at me. 'Y/N, here, will bring you to my private training grounds for training in the morning, you can show me your skills then'. Freydis directed her gaze toward me for the first time, like her brother, glancing up and down my figure as if assessing her competition. The Jarl walked toward the door but turned to make one more announcement. 'If you are anything like your father, you may one day be a great leader for the shieldmaidens.'

I could feel my mother's gaze burning into my soul, telepathically trying to communicate 'BEHAVE'. But my relaxed figure visibly turned tense, my shoulders moving deeply, my chest rising and falling. Freydis let out a slight chuckle at my change in demeanour. 'We should go' Leif quickly announced, the tension in the room obvious. 'Where will you go?' Mother asked concerned as Leif rushed to put his thick coat back on. 'We will sleep on our ship' he said, grabbing Freydis by the forearm, ushering the Greenlanders out the door before mother could protest. 'Thank you for your hospitality' he said, shoving the other Greenlanders out the door in front of him. 'Freydissss' I heard him hiss, an undertone of growl, as they walked back toward the dock.

'You will be nice to that girl' mother retorted as she gathered the empty bowls. A scoff emitted from my mouth followed by a groan of displeasure. 'You have caused the Jarl enough trouble as it is, please Y/N, for me, just do as you're told' she almost begged. 'Urgh, fine' I groaned, taking the bowls from her hands to put them in the water pale to soak. I never meant to cause my family so much trouble, nor the Jarl Haakon either. Growing up, I was always destined to be a warrior. Not like I had a choice in the matter, it was something that was always expected of me. Mother and Father were triumphant, but they settled down after we were born. The Jarl however always said she wasn't going to let that talent go to waste, and so she always made sure that I knew that I was going to be a shield maiden. Offering private lessons, making me clean weapons from childhood until an age where I was old enough to wield my own. I had become what they made me. Why was everyone always so annoyed with me? What they made me?

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

'Hej' an unfamiliar voice spoke, prodding at my sleeping side. 'Get up' the voice demanded, now rigorously shaking my shoulder. I grabbed the wrist of the person, digging my thumb into its centre 'ah, stop' the voice hissed. 'You have a lot of nerve coming into my home and demanding things' I snarked as my eyes fluttered open. 'Yeah well your Jarl wants us both to go train with her, opportunities don't appear like that in Greenland, and I'm not letting some anybody ruin that for me' she stated, ripping the blanket from my body. I sat up, my back and joints clicking loudly, slightly alarming Freydis. I smirked, holding her gaze 'this is what hard work sounds like Greenlander' I remarked. Freydis stood at the bottom of my mattress, throwing the clothes from my stool at me. 'Really? I wouldn't have been able to tell' she retorted. 'But then again…your Jarl did basically call me the more talented shield-maiden, and all I was doing was eating stew' she snarked.

My stomach turned to fire.

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

The training grounds were relatively quiet this morning. But then again, for once I didn't have Jarl Haaken yelling and barking orders at me. Instead this morning her time and attention were being taken up by Freydis. I kneeled in the corner, sharpening my axes as I tried to ignore the praises Jarl Haaken directed at the Greenlander, and that of her father.

The morning continued relatively peacefully until a young boy came running up the hill bounding towards the Jarl. 'Jarl….Haaken….' He said in between deep breaths as his pink cheeks rose and fell in exhaustion. 'The King of Denmark….lots of boats….he's here'. The puzzled look on the Jarl's face indicated her surprise at the arrival. 'Freydis, Y/N, you both will stay here, everyone else is to follow me' she said, her cloak swishing at her feet as she turned around, taking the young boy by the hand with her down the hillside.

'What does the King of Denmark want in Kattegat?' Freydis questioned. 'Well seeing as you are the Jarl's new best friend, why don't you tell me?' I sarcastically snarked back. 'Well, well well, the little Elskan is jealous' she taunted. It wasn't her comment that got to me, it was her annoying laugh, satisfied at her own, unoriginal, wordplay. 'Tell you what, why don't we fight right here, right now, and we can put this jealousy behind us' she said, a hint of excitement in her voice.

The swing of my axe thrust from my arm as I swung my weapon toward her body. She jumped back, taken by surprise at the immediateness of movement. She ducked to the ground, swooping her leg underneath my feet. My bottom shattered against the ground as she reached for a discarded sword. I stood up immediately as did she, circling one another. She roared, her feet moving as if it were a meticulously choreographed dance, moving from my front to my back skilfully, thrusting the hilt of her sword into the small of my back. My body arched forward in response to the stinging pain. With my axe in hand, I dipped back, bridging my back as my legs stayed sturdy on the ground. Skilfully I swung the axe in a circle above my body, tactfully thumping the blunt poll of the axe against her thigh. Another roar emitted from her, this time, a painful cry. I put my hands down, kicking my legs back, tumbling over so I was now on all fours. The sound of her sword clanging against the rocks as her body slammed into mine. Hair pulled, kicks, punches, tumbling on the ground, desperately crying to get the upper hand. As I pushed my body atop hers, mounting my weight to pin her down, Freydis's arm reached to the side, and within seconds, a blade was at my neck. I quickly reached into my boot, pinning my pocket knife to her neck. 'Give up Elskan' she spat. 'You'll be dead before I give up Greenlander' I hissed back, my saliva spitting droplets down at her face.

Without warning, a pair of arms looped around my waist, pulling me back from Freydis. She sat up laughing as I struggled against whoever had me nestled into their chest, holding me for dear life. Freydis picked up her blade, chuckling menacingly to herself, before letting out a triumphant yell and running toward me. As quickly as I was whipped away, my body was now thrown to the ground. 'FREYDIS STOP' Leif's familiar voice yelled. 'MOVE BROTHER' she demanded. Leif grasped her wrist, holding her armed hand, not moving as she struggled slightly against him. She finally dropped her weapon. He sighed in relief taking in both our appearances. Her hair had mostly fallen out of its braid, a bruise forming on her temple. I could taste the metallic blood pouring from my split lip. We both took in deep breaths, almost huffing at one another. 'Jarl Haakon has sent me to get you both, she requests our presence in the great hall' he stated.

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

The docks of Kattegat were fuller than usual, boats docking boats, the port almost struggling to keep them all in the water as the gentle swell of waves got rougher. The great hall was packed full, many of whom were unfamiliar to the usual population of Kattegat. Many of these people bearing symbols of Christ. Making our way to the front of the room, Jarl Haakon sat on her throne next to a man, his eyes as dark as his raven hair. 'Jarl Haakon' I announced. She stopped mid-conversation, her and her counterpart's eyes directing toward us, she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. 'I don't even want to know what happened Y/N' she stated bluntly, ignoring Freydis in a similar state of being. Muddied, bloody and bruised. 'Please, pay your respects to our guest, King Canute of Denmark she gestured. I gave a slight bow, but I couldn't guess what she wanted. Canute gave a slight nod of the head in response, but his gaze focused on the two Greenlanders in their unique style of dress.

'You are not from here?' Canute says to the Greenlanders. 'We are from Greenland' Freydis says, men in the hall gathering in, taking great surprise in her beauty. 'Their father was one of the greatest warriors I have ever met' Jarl Haakon stated, almost bragging to sell a prized pig. Canute nodded, his face taking great interest in the facts. 'And who is this?' Canute said, asking Jarl Haakon instead of the person in question standing right in front of him. Behave Y/N, Behave. 'She is one of my shield maidens in training' she answered. In training…that made me angry. I wasn't technically a shield maiden, but my labours had long since been exploited since childhood to serve the shield maidens with my every waking moment. I could hear a deep chuckle emit from Canute. He leaned forward in his seat, his forearm now resting on his knee, his other hand firmly grasping the armrest of his chair. 'this one' he pointed laughing 'this one has a fire in its belly' he chuckled.

Fuck this. I wasn't going to take this shit from some Christian. I rolled my eyes, turning on my heel, brushing my shoulders violently with Freydis. Canute continued to chuckle. 'Y/N' the Jarl shouted across the room, making the crowded hall silent. 'You will do for me a job' she demanded. I rolled my eyes, slowly turning around as the sea of Vikings parted like the tale of Moses and the red sea. I didn't step forward, instead simply crossed my arms in defence. Jarl Haakon took in a deep breath, clearly displeased with my attitude, which wasn't improving as Canute and Freydis exchanged smug looks. 'One year ago, to this day' she announced, addressing the entire room. 'A trust, an agreement, a sacred bond created BY THE GREAT RAGNAR LOTHBROK' she yelled, emitting cheers from the Vikings as they basked in the glory of their great forefather. 'Saint Brice's Day, a day of celebration, turned into an unjust and vicious murder of Vikings on the Saxon Land! Bloodshed, Murder, but…not a defeat' she mustered, earning more cheers from the crowd. 'We will gather Vikings across our seas, WE WILL BUILD A GREAT ARMY! WE WILL AVENGE OUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS AND TAKE BACK WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY OURS' she exclaimed. The Vikings cheering louder than before. But I stood silent, tense. What did this mean for me?

'You Y/N will go to Kjorseyrr and gather all those who are able and willing to fight'. I could feel my stomach drop. 'Why can't somebody with the right…skill…go to Kjorseyrr?'. It was no secret, I was a warrior, I was not a sailor by any means. But when it was expected you would become a shield-maiden, why bother learning any other skill? She lifted her hand, and then took a moment to reflect before a satisfied smile came to her face. 'You will take the Greenlander with you' she answered satisfied. Fuck my life.

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

'Just think of the positives Elskan' mother said soothingly as I lay on my straw mattress. 'At least Yrsa will be there when you get there' again trying to find anything to make me feel better about the whole situation. 'When do they want you to go?' She inquired. 'First thing in the morning' I responded in a mumble.

Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. Father opened the door timidly, poking his head inside. 'Leif Erikson is here to see you' he said. I groaned. The last person I wanted to see right now or hear from was a Greenlander. 'If you don't come out, I'll send him in' father threatened. My mother gave a gentle but loving swat to my bottom like she did when I was a child. Like a person does to a horse as a way to say hurry up. I dragged my feet along the floor, making sure the Greenlander knew of my displeasure at seeing him. 'Hej' he said. I nodded in response. 'The breeze outside is going to get stronger, a dark cloud comes from the west' he explained, all three of us listening intently. 'We should go today, now even, so we get as smooth a ride as possible' he explained. 'W..why don't you just go' I questioned, standing firm in my spot, crossing my arms in front of me. 'Well I don't know anyone on this Kjorseyrr island you speak of' he said humorously, taking pleasure in stating the obvious. 'You'll get there in time for supper' mother emitted cheerfully, grabbing a thick coat from its hook on the wall, and thrusting it overtop of me before pushing me toward the door. 'We will see you very soon Elskan' father said shutting the door behind us. I stood by the door, stomach aching. Leif stood staring, his lip curling up into a slight smile. 'Coming shield-maiden?'.

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

The dock was deserted as Kattegat had gone home for the evening. The boats and ships were docked in the port securely to protect them from the oncoming bad weather. 'Maybe we should just do this another day' I said seeing the rip of the waves roughly spit upon the shore. 'Come on, it shall be a quick trip' he turned to the west pointing at the sky 'see those clouds. There will be a short break of rain before the rain comes, we will be fine coming back, it will be a relatively smooth trip' he said, satisfied with the departing of his knowledge.

'If anything happens Greenlander, just know I have no issue at all killing you' I said sternly. He seemed to smirk at the threat, before really looking at me to realise I was completely serious. 'Well, we best get a move on' he said uncomfortably, walking down the dock to a small row boat. 'Why don't we take a bigger vessel?' I questioned. 'This will be perfectly fine' he said as he jumped into the row boat, it wobbling underneath him. The unbalanced rock at his feet did not at all seem to phase him. I stood at the edge of the dock, my feet firmly bound to the floor as I inspected the blackened clouds that slowly moved across the sky. My body, before was fine, but now breaking into a cold sweat. I could feel the anxiety rising to my chest as my breaths became deep and shallow, not seeming to reach my lungs at all. 'Coming?' He questioned, his eyes squinting up at me, unsure of my stature. I looked back at him, nothing but a blank stare. He stood below, still unfazed by the motions beneath him, simply holding his hand up, palm outstretched as an invitation for my hand to nestle in his. I stared down at his hand, gently reaching to grasp my palm in his.

But it was not to be, I could feel my fingers shake as they gently brushed against his own, but everything in me told me to pull away. I knew I couldn't do this.

'You're afraid' he said in a questioning manner, but more matter of factly. I didn't respond, instead turning to face away from the tiny vessel against the wavy seas that sent shivers down my spine. 'The vicious shield-maiden is afraid of water' he cautioned. 'Everyones afraid of something Greenlander' I hissed through my teeth. 'Yes but most people who do value life, whereas you don't seem to' he remarked, almost correcting me. 'Who said I didn't value life?' I scolded in retaliation. 'Well…you tried to kill my sister, you threatened to kill me, I saw you at training. You're vicious, a cold-blooded killer…Viking' he retorted. I turned around, a gaze to kill as my nostrils flared. 'Everyone who lives has to die…what's the point of trying to challenge that? What's the point of caring' I forewarned. Leif responded with a smile, a short laugh emitting. Most people found the topic of death dire, so why was he laughing? He shifted his weight, putting his hands on his hips as he shook his head. 'What?' I forewarned. 'If you do not fear or care about death, then why will you not just get in the boat? You're afraid of something, which means there's something you value' he teased. I turned around, my eyes fixated on the movement of waves that swooshed loudly, threateningly. My heart was beating so loud, Leif could probably hear it over the swells. With one of his feet firmly placed in the boat, he reached his arms up, lightly crusted palms, the roughness of its touch evident. 'Fuck' I groaned, leaning into his touch as his hands wrapped cautiously around my waist, lifting me with ease, placing me close within his grasp as I landed on the boat. Our eyes flickered, as our noses nearly brushed against one another. A nervous squeal escaped as the boat rocked at the new distribution of weight. Leif's arm wrapped around the small of my back, pulling me closer into his firm hold. My chest pressed up against his as his other hand reached for the ore. His eyes flickered down my body once again, so I took a step back distancing myself from his touch.

'Your fingers will bleed if you keep gripping the sides of the boat like that' Leif said aimlessly. I could feel every swoosh of every bumpy wave beneath us, splinters digging into my fingers, and the smell of salt against the wood. The salty water splashed at the already salty cold sweat that bore from my cheeks. Nauseous at the feeling of an empty stomach, but as Leif continued to row, more kept coming up. Leif, however, was not phased by my sickness, nor alarmed by the movement of the boat. 'There's no need to panic shield-maiden, we can still see land' he said as if it were meant to be of comfort. 'I can't swim' I sternly yelled back. He brought the ores into the boat, relaxing as he leant back against the side of the boat, his arms resting outstretched across the frame. 'W..wh. why have you stopped?' I managed through chattering teeth. He smiled 'there's no use, the current is going where we want it, it will take us there. No use wasting energy'. His body locked on mine, his eyebrows raised in concern. Without hesitation, Leif stood up, and walked across the boat, sitting on the seat next to me. His legs thigh pressed against mine as he nestled himself into the small space. His body pushed mine slightly more to the side as I sat frozen. A gentle brush of fingers pulled the loose strands behind my ear as I averted my gaze to the puddle of water at my feet. 'So' he said, leaning forward so his forearms rested on his thighs, trying to catch my gaze in his. 'Why are you afraid?' He asked quizzically. I shook my head in response.

'I'll tell you what I'm afraid of if you'll tell me why you're afraid of water' he gently offered. I didn't respond, simply took in a deep breath to try to combat nausea. 'I'm afraid of being like my father' he stated, looking toward the horizon. I just nodded, enough to acknowledge his attempt at conversation. My body still shaking. 'He was a very vicious man. No mercy, no guilt, no fear, his anger got the better of him a lot' he said, almost as if confessing some dark secret. 'I don't see life the way he did, how people still do' he said with a smirk, gently pushing his knee into my thigh. 'But you have fear, he didn't, which means deep down… there's a good heart in you too'. 'Well as you said, I tried to kill your sister' I retorted, scared and frustrated with the conversation. 'See you and Freydis hate each other because you are too alike' he said. 'We're both merciless killers?' I exclaimed breathlessly. 'You're both strong shield-maidens, but you have a fear, you care about life and death more than you think you do'.

I scoffed at the notion. I didn't want to be known as a merciless killer. I wasn't. I was just a shield maiden, a Viking who was serving their purpose. 'You seem to know so much about me when I've said so little' I frustratingly yelled. 'What gives YOU people, AND NOT JUST YOU GREENLANDER, ANYONE! THE RIGHT TO TELL ME WHO I AM'. Leif leaned back, putting his hands up in defence. 'I'm sorry…I didn't mean to offend you' he said apologetically. Before I could respond, the fire in my stomach turned to churn as I leaned over the side of the boat, the contents of what was left in my already empty stomach pushing its way out of my body. A pair of hands came to my ears, pulling my hair back loosely as my hair was scrunched back. A gentle rubbing up and down my back. I liked that feeling. Yrsa always used to get me to sleep that way when we were young and shared a bed. It was the feeling of home…of safety…of love.

'I wasn't always like this you know…' I almost whispered. Leif nodded in response, enough to show he was engaged in conversation, but smart enough to realise that listening would be better than talking at this moment. 'When Yrsa and I were younger…she developed much quicker, and she got a lot of attention because of her looks'. As I concentrated on the memory, nausea began to cease. 'One night, when our mother and father were at the council meeting, Yrsa and I were in bed, when someone came into our room and ripped the covers off us.' I could feel my breath shaking 'Yrsa had rejected a young man's advances, very publicly, and he didn't like that. He came in and demanded that Yrsa either accept his proposal or be forced to'. Leif tensed, possibly more than I did. He nodded his head, waiting for me to continue the story. 'I was afraid, she was screaming. Nobody came. Even before, when I was young and innocent, people still told me that I was going to be a fierce shield maiden…that I was destined to protect Kattegat and its people.' I felt a gentle squeeze to my knee as my voice became shallower the more detail I told. 'There were so many people I didn't want to disappoint…I was scared but even in a private space, my actions felt so…so public…If I did nothing, then people would call me a coward, and I wouldn't be what everyone wanted me to be. If I did, then I would be…so I grabbed one of the weapons from my father's chest…and that's when I stopped putting so much value on life and death'. Leif nodded, simply sitting there as he processed the story. 'You're not a monster Y/N' he said as he sat contently staring at the sea ahead.

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

With Kjorseyrr in sight, I finally felt like I could breathe. I was comforted to see Baldrs boat securely tied on the rickety makeshift dock. It had been years since I had been to Kjorseyrr, and for obvious reasons, I never could bring myself to visit. I could almost kiss the ground. Land, sweet sweet land.

As we approached the farmland, the place seemed unusually deserted. The sky turned a dark grey as the strong gusts of wind blew over the crops. Kjorseyrr was usually busy as farmers spent all waking hours of their days tending to the crops. Only something really bad was enough to make the farmers justify leaving their farms unattended. All the doors to the huts and homes were firmly bolted shut…this was certainly an unnatural sight. Baldr and Yrsa's home lay on the other side of the small peninsular off the coast of Kattegat. Like everyone else on Kjorseyrr, their farm was deserted and the door was firmly shut. I looked back at Leif to see him giving me the same confused glare back. I clutched the handle of the hunting knife in my grasp, which visibly made Leif uncomfortable. 'Calm-down shield-maiden' he whispered. I turned around knife in hand with the blade facing his direction. 'This is not normal.' I stated, finalising the quick conversation. I wearily pounded on the door of the hut, but there was no answer. I pounded on the door again, only to hear the loud cry of an infant, quickly being muted. 'YRSA' I yelled, continuing to pound on the door. 'El…Elskan?' Her voice cried through chattering teeth. The door flung open, Baldr quickly hurrying me inside, only to grip his sword at the hilt at the sight of Leif. 'He's fine, Baldr, he came with me'. Baldr looked at Leif, still unsure of whether to let the stranger in. 'We were sent together by Jarl Haakon'. This was enough to convince him, but he still had his eyes locked on the stranger from across the seas.

Yrsa sat tucked in the corner of the hut, both Ulrik and Vali protectively tucked into her sides, and an infant clutched firmly in her grasp. 'When?' I asked curiously. 'Last night' she said, but instead of a smile or joy at the new babe, she shed tears of distress. Her body shook slightly, and she clutched her children tight to her, Baldr protectively guarding the door. 'What's its name?' I asked. I wish I could show more enthusiasm, but life was life, and death was death. 'Her name is Edda' she said, her voice still shaking even at departing the happy news. 'What's going on?' I asked slightly loudly, only to be shooshed by Yrsa. 'Where is everyone?' I asked in a whisper.

'Some men came last night, just moments after Edda was born' Baldr explained in a hushed tone, either to keep the children from hearing, or it was distressing for him to talk about it. 'Who?' I asked eagerly, anger beginning to wash over me. 'Christians' he whispered as if it were a forbidden word. 'Christians?' Leif repeated, taking great interest in what Baldr had to say. Leif reached into his coat, hurrying to gather whatever it was. 'Did anyone bear this cross?' He eagerly questioned. 'I can't be certain, they all wore things similar, but it is possible one did' he exclaimed with a shaking breath. 'What did they want?' I asked. 'Bloodshed'.

The Christians had come to Kjorseyrr, self-proclaimed Vikings, but they had not come for peaceful reasons. Similarly to Kattegat, Kjorseyrr was populated mostly by Pagans. Kjorseyrr, however, did not have the protection or security that Kattegat did. Kjorseyrr had always existed as a peaceful farming settlement, visitors were regular, but trouble was not. They came in the night, no less than 10, no more than 20. They came with vengeance, with sticks of fire, threatening to burn down people's entire livelihoods if people did not accept the will of Christ as their lord and saviour. A crazed man, bald with a long beard, bushy eyebrows with eyes that had nothing but darkness to them. But his intentions were not peaceful as the Christians so readily preached. A soulless man, a vengeance for murder. He was not looking to battle, he was looking to kill. Across the way, many houses had been burnt, the smell of crisp sordid maze fields that had once been blooming and plentiful in crop now shed to nothing. 'Life is life, death is death' that's all I had to say.

'What did the Jarl send you both here for?' Baldr questioned. 'The King of Denmark has arrived with an army in Kattegat' Leif explained, sitting around the fire pit. 'King Canute? He's a Christian, what does he want from us?' Baldr questioned. 'Vikings from all over are going to the Saxon land, to avenge the Saint Brice's Day massacre'. Leif seemed uncomfortable talking about the King's plan to avenge the death of those in England, while Baldr nodded, Yrsa kept silent. 'Was there anyone out there?' Yrsa whispered, but I shook my head. She looked at Baldr, they exchanged a look of relief but at its core, there was still fear.

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

Yrsa and Baldr stood close, walking across Kjorseyrr, to check on their community. Leif held my hunting knife, Baldr a sword, my trusty axe. I was clearly the more confident of the group, keeping a few paces forward. Kjorseyrr was still barren. Crops were destroyed, some structures partially burnt, and one even completely to ash. Discarded pales and the rotting flesh of a few animals let out a putrid stench. Across the peninsula, however, things were far worse. In the distance on the sandy shore of the seafront, multiple large wooden crosses had been erected. Raindrops began to spit from the grey skies, there was no going back to Kattegat tonight. The waves violently brushed up on the shore, crashing against the newly decorated beach. We continued closer to see what the Christians had left.

A piercing scream emitted from a woman standing by the beach. The four of us ran, Leif swiftly getting to her as she fell back distraught at what she had seen. The rockpools and sand by her feed ran red, painting the beach scarlet. The blood ran down the sand, pooling at the base of each cross. Baldr and Yrsa wearing stood next to the inconsolable woman as she cried and screamed. I followed the trail of blood, circling around the crucifix pillars to find the source of the blood. I looked up, squinting my eyes through the heavy rain at the multitude of crosses. Bodies of men, women, and children hung on the crosses, held up by large metal pins whacked tightly into their palms. I had seen death, I had seen bodies, I had been at the hands of someone's life…but I'd never seen anything so gruesome.

This was more than bloodshed, this was evil.

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

Peaceful fucking Christians my arse. A Christian Viking, really whoever of our forefathers would have let such a thing happen. Peaceful, merciful, charitable, passive, CHRISTIANS. I let out screams through the howling whistling wind as my axe blew off course, missing the tree trunk again. Yrsa, Baldr and Leif retreated into the hut at the signs of boiling anger that rose from within me as we walked back to the hut.

Never had I felt such hatred for anyone. An inconsolable rage, after a feeling of guilt, hopelessness and sorrow washed over me as I first saw those innocent people. Pagans were murdered and crucified. Children. Looking up at those young faces pinned to the crosses, all I could see were Ulrik and Vali's faces. But these were people I did not know but for once the fragility of life…innocent life…

I could see Yrsa peeping through the crack of the door, watching my cold, damp body, drenched by the storm that finally settled over Kjorseyrr. Flashes of light and cracks of thunder raged in the distance. Thor's mighty hammer cracked over the seas, the wind whistling as it swirled. Another throw of the axe, another miss. I screamed in anger, frustration…I couldn't get the image out of my head. 'E..Elskan' her weary voice sounded, frightening me as I turned around, the clutch of my fist colliding with the side of her face. Yrsa thudded to the ground.

'Y..Yr…Yrsa…I I I, I didn't mean to' I repeated, desperation in my hollow voice. I dropped to my knees in front of her, axe still in hand, her body flailing as she backed away. 'Y/N YOU CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE' she desperately yelled. A weight sunk down on my shoulders, forcing my hands down on the ground as hot tears streamed down my face, a cry so sullen, so pleading. Yrsa gathered her drenched self from the ground, and stormed into the hut, slamming the door behind her. I stayed on the ground…I hadn't cried so much in my life. Not only was I some merciless Viking, but I had hurt the one person closest to me in this world.

⊰ ……………………… ⊱

'I used to fight with Freydis like that…still do from time to time' a voice sounded from behind. The sky was now black, the rain easing to a misty coat over Kjorseyrr. 'I didn't mean to' I whispered. I could feel the tears, now dried on my cheeks, my lip bleeding at the intensity I had bitten down on my bottom lip. Snot hanging from my nose. I could feel Leif's presence as he kneeled down next to me, taking a seat on the muddy ground. 'I don't want to be like that' I whispered, almost begging. 'Everyone thinks I am, so I just became what everyone expected of me…and now I've just seen this…' my voice cracked, tears falling again. My body shook at the intensity of the feeling. I couldn't tell what this emotion was, but for once…it wasn't anger. 'Hey…hey, hey' his voice comforted as a gentle whisper, I could feel his arms wrap around my body. I leant into his touch. His thick coat swiped across my nose, cleaning my face with the sheds of fabric from his jumper. 'Why don't you just run away like everyone else?' I choked out. I could feel a slight chuckle emit as his chest pressed against my body. 'Because you care, you're not like what they say Y/N…you're not some Erik the red or Ivar the Boneless' he said as he stroked my hair down with his enormous hands. 'What those Christians did, that will never be you'. I sobbed at his touch, his grace, his forgiveness. 'Christians did something bad to Freydis once, long ago, she is filled with hate and seeks justice' he explained as if relieving a heavy weight off his chest. 'But, when the anger is gone, and the hate is replaced…it is hard to say if she will be truly content' he sighed. 'I am not like my sister…but do you think I am weak?' He questioned. I shook my head furiously. Leif was a fearless explorer, he didn't need to kill or fight to prove his worth as a Viking. 'You are chasing the legacies of people before you…your mother and father do not fight as much anymore, do you think they are weak?'. Again, I furiously shook my head. 'Yrsa doesn't fight, is she weak?' My answer the same.

He leaned down, cupping my hot, flushed cheeks in both his hands, forcing me to look at him through glassy eyes. 'Then Y/N, we will not be what people want us to be. We will make our own destinies' he whispered. His hot breath breathed onto my lips. The tip of our noses touched as they brushed against one another. Everything in me told me to pull away…but I didn't want to.

So I didn't.

[scotianostra]

December 4th 1423  saw Treaty of London, releasing James I from his 18 years captivity in England.

Not so much a treaty, the actually treaty releasing James was The Treaty of Durham,the following March. 

James had been captive in England since pirates boarded the ship carrying him to, what was meant to be the safety of France in 1406, his father Robert III, decided to send wee Jamesie to France – for his own protection, not from the English, but from his uncle Robert, Duke of Albany who was already involved in the death of James brother, David, Duke of Rothesay. So this “treaty” was merely the negotiation of the marriage of James I, King of Scots, to Miss Jane (or Joan) Beaufort, daughter of the Earl of Somerset.

That’s not so say there isn’t a lot to say about it, the background is a great insight into the politics of the time.

James’s progressively increasing importance in England from 1420 accelerated rapidly after Henry V’s death at Vincennes outside Paris on 31st  August 1422. James, who had remained with the English king after the successful capture of Dreux and foray to Beaugency, was in the escort of honour that conveyed the the body back to England for burial at Westminster.

In England, the regents for the child-king, Henry VI, were increasingly concerned for the security of the English grip on their French conquests and news that the earls of Douglas and Buchan were planning further campaigns was deeply worrying. Taking James on campaign to France had clearly done little to deter the Scots from fighting against the English army there, so they looked to a new strategy to neutralise this threat. From early in 1423, they were actively seeking to open negotiations with the Scots to arrange his release. Having James home in Scotland was surely the most effective way to end active Scottish participation in the French wars.

Initially, the Scots seemed little inclined to engage in meaningful negotiations, especially since control of the administration was exercised by James’s cousin, Murdock Stewart, 2nd duke of Albany. Like his father, Duke Robert, before him, Murdock had no reason to hand his rule in Scotland over to James. Unfortunately for him, as political relationships within the kingdom began to shift, with senior nobles ranging from Archibald, 4th earl of Douglas, to Donald MacDonald, lord of the Isles and his son (and from 1423 new lord), Alexander, in direct communication with James and building support at home for a serious diplomatic effort to negotiate his release. In August 1423, they secured agreement in a general council held at Inverkeithing for the appointment of envoys. It was now no longer a question of if but when James would be released.

Back in England, the powerful Beaufort family was manoeuvring to make the maximum from the negotiations. The family’s most influential figures, Henry Beaufort, bishop of Winchester and chancellor of England, and Thomas Beaufort, duke of Exeter, played a leading part in framing the treaty which led to James’s release and secured within it provision for the Scottish king’s marriage to an English bride. It was no accident, of course, that the bride should come from within the Beaufort family.

The choice fell on Bishop Henry and Duke Thomas’s niece, Joan, the daughter of their late brother John, earl of Somerset, and his wife Margaret Holland. It is likely that Joan, who had been born in 1404, was well known to James from his recent years of life at court, but he might well have known her earlier, if she was indeed the muse who inspired his love poem, The Kingis Quair. James seems to have agreed readily to the marriage, no doubt partly because of her Beaufort connections, which he knew would give him a degree of influence within England or, at least, an ear amongst those in power there, but she was also reckoned to be of great beauty and accomplishment, so a catch in many ways.

On 12th February 1424, the couple were married in a splendid ceremony in the priory-church of St Mary Overie, the Beauforts ensured that all expense was spared on the marriage, for rather than provide their niece with a dowry to set her up in style as queen in Scotland, they instead arranged for a discounting of £6,666 of the £40,000 agreed as the cost of James’s release.

Within weeks of the marriage ceremony, James and Joan were heading north for the final negotiations for the king’s return to Scotland. On 28th March at Durham, the treaty – with its dowry deduction – was finally ratified and sealed personally by James. Just eight days later at Melrose Abbey, near the border between Scottish territory and the still English-occupied district around Roxburgh and Jedburgh, the king and queen at last entered their kingdom.

[heroic-endeavors]

Karou Kobayashi [Early Years / School Life / Family Relations]

Birthname is Kokoa Kobayashi.

The middle child of three children.

The father has a high position in a company that manufactures support items. So Karou could be considered a rich kid.

Up until high school would put a lot of work into his studies as well as take up aikido hoping to impress his father.

Karou's father was rarely at home. Choosing to spend the night at the office or at a nearby hotel and only really come home during weekends. Even then he'd be distant and disinterested in any of the kids.

By the time Karou would begin attending high school he'd slowly become disinterested in getting close to his father and would adopt a more laid-back attitude while at least keeping up with studies so grades didn't slip too much. He was partly inspired by one of the hero course students [Hizashi]

Despite not being able to get into the hero course he would fair well enough during the school's sports fest.

The only gifts he would ever receive from his father would be money. Most of it would be saved to be saved for later since he'd usually received enough in allowance for everyday use.

The final gift was given upon graduation which was to be used to get into an apartment and to start his transition.

Karou would start working at a nearby bookstore while attending college. Even after graduating would remained at the store and would take a second job at a bar.

Not too long after he'd become a vigilante going by the name Vanilla Extract.

[lettersfromcharlotte]

Learning to get over myself

As I'm removing all of my social media accounts I wanted to create this blog in order for me to have some sort of digital outlet. It feels impossible not to. Recently I realized that I've spent my entire adult life (and most of my teenage years as well) on social media and it's honestly frightening to think that I can't imagine what my life is like without it.

I was sixteen when I created my first blog, and I did so to share my experiences with traveling abroad with my three best friends and my family back home. My old tumblr blog (where I only reposted things) lasted from May 2014 and on and off until 2019 when it finally went silent. It all feels like forever ago. Lately the words of T.S Elliot has been living in my mind:

Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future And time future contained in time past. If all time is eternally present All time is unredeemable. What might have been is an abstraction Remaining a perpetual possibility Only in a world of speculation. What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden. My words echo Thus, in your mind.                                    But to what purpose Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves I do not know.

I'm trying to remember the things that was important to me when I was younger, but it feels far fetched to do so. If the way we interpret any art from the past is affected by our thoughts and opinions of the present, is same true for our own thoughts and the way we view ourselves and the world? Ten years ago I was obsessing over my own identity, trying to figure out who I was. I still do that, but I'm slowly coming to terms with not identifying with a fixed image of myself. Charlotte the actress, Charlotte the writer, Charlotte the twenty-something. Charlotte the young woman. If I'm not those things, or if I strip all of that away, who am I then? Am I ok with just being a souI, or even going so far as to think I'm "just" a part of the universe? I want to adjust my thoughts from thinking that life happens to me, to thinking that life happens through me. Like we're all one living, breathing organizm, constantly responding to each other kinestheticly. I don't know. Maybe this sounds super pretentious. I probably shouldn't care if it does. All is vanity, or something like that. Like every therapist or mentor I've had lately has been telling me: Be curious about those feeling (like shame) when they show up. Easier said than done! I will try to use this project as a way for me to journal my thoughts, and perhaps use it as a creative mood board as well. I might go through my old reposts and see if I view them differently today. Or share some books or movies or any art that inspires me at the moment. I had so much inspiration when I was twenty, I think partly because of my tumblr blog, partly because i was twenty and my self image was so fixated on becoming something great. I have not yet deleted facebook, although that is my goal and it might happen sooner than later. I know the thought of it makes me happy. I feel this urge to buy an old address book and only stay in touch with the people I really want or need to stay in touch with.

Either way this is a new chapter and I'm looking forward to it. Being in my late twenties is strange. Almost being thirty feels uncanny. Twenty nine years on this planet, as they say. Twenty nine years and almost two months around the sun. I'm trying to come to terms with the whole life happening through me-thing. I'm getting older, but does it matter? Maybe it does, but when I try to think about this mantra I have, "Quiet the mind, open your heart", it makes me feel present in a way that feels selfless and not at all vain. Like I'm looking at life from an outside perspective. Not in a destructive or dissociative way, but like looking at the bigger picture, which feels like nothing at all. Feeling present is the only thing I'm really trying to get a hold on at the moment. It comes and goes in waves.

Take care, whoever you are reading this. Maybe it's just me. Love, Charlotte

[daryfromthefuture]

McFly July 5 - "lightning never strikes twice"

Thanks @randomlithuanian for partly inspiring this story!

Marty was sweating heavily as he pressed the gas pedal of the DeLorean deeper into the ground. Why didn’t this damn car go faster? It had just stalled for almost a minute, causing the boy a panic attack that could’ve easily been spared had he and Doc looked over the ignition earlier. But he was on his way now, that was all that mattered.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, taking a deep breath as he approached the town square. Now or never. If he didn’t make it home now, he’d never get a chance ever again. 

The speedometer hit 88, and lightning struck the clock tower. 

Just a second before the vehicle would’ve reached the cable.

Marty’s eyes widened in shock, and he made an abrupt full braking. Or, he tried to. Next thing he knew he crashed into the theater with a loud noise. Pain spread in his body. Everything went black.

Marty awoke with a gasp. He immediately shot up, trying with all of his might not to scream. 

He looked around, in an attempt to comprehend where he was. The boy was lying in a smaller bed in a relatively small room. The moonlight shone through the opened curtains in front of the window, eliminating the brightness the night sky possessed during summer nights like this one. 

He was at the Brown’s house. It was the fifth of July, 1986. He was far away from well-timed lightning plots and automobile accidents. He was far away from 1955.

Yet, his mind had ultimately decided that reliving this memory and giving it an unfavorable twist in the midst of his peaceful sleep was a good idea. He shuddered, giving his best to calm himself down and go back to sleep.

Nightmares resembling this one have been, unfortunately, a common thing for Marty in the past months. He had dreamed about every kind of scenario already - him being erased from existence, Biff killing him, or worse, his father, Doc being shot to death by the Libyans or Buford Tannen and bleeding out as Marty kneeled next to him, sobbing uncontrollably. The dream about him getting stuck in the 50s was harmless compared to the ones available in the mind’s choice options. He hadn't told Doc, and he wasn't eager to do so. Emmett, in his few visits to Marty, hadn't been able to figure out that Marty often didn't get even a half night's sleep. And after the Browns had officially moved to the 20th century towards the end of April, the intensity of the nightmares had significantly decreased. There was no need to bother Doc. 

Despite him waking up already ten minutes so ago, the teen was unable to decompress. In reality, the plan had worked. But this nightmare about remaining trapped in 1955 forever - with only Doc by his side to lead him through life - he had been reminded of something that had happened in the process of timing the acceleration with the lightning bolt. Doc - hadn't he been struck while holding the cable together? 

Marty knew the scientist had survived the shock. After all, he was alive and well now, with a house and a family. And Marty also knew that Doc hadn't been seriously hurt. The teen would've noticed that while spending time with Emmett's 35-year-old self before departing to the old west. But what if it had been a minor injury that Doc had easily been able to hide? What if the lightning had caused long-term consequences?

Marty slapped himself on the forehead. Why was he pondering about the smallest things?

But then he crept out of bed and opened the door to the hallway, slowly descending the squeaky stairs. He went out the front door and ran barefoot across the lawn down to the family's garage, which Doc also was using as his laboratory.

The lights were on even though it was after midnight. Emmett Brown never had been and never will be the type to go to sleep early. Marty opened the door and cleared his throat.

Doc spun around. "Marty! What are you doing here at this hour, you should be sleeping!" 

"Yeah, Doc, I could ask you the same thing. Shouldn't sleep keep oldies like you healthy and fit?" 

"Now, young man, who are you calling old?", Doc said, outraged. But then he grinned, causing Marty to grin as well.

"Oops, sorry, I didn't mean it!", Marty shrugged jokingly.

Emmett grew serious again. "But, Marty, let's get back to the subject. It's-", he quickly checked one of his watches, "it's 1:04 am right now. What are you doing up and about?" 

"I- well. I wanted to talk to you about something." 

"Right now?"

"Yeah. Um, I maybe should've talked to you about this a long time ago, but-"

Marty looked at his older friend, who had raised his eyebrows in curiosity and concern.

"The lightning strike on November 12th…you weren't hurt when you connected the cable, were you?"

Emmett was taken aback by the question. "Why, no. I was wearing gloves, Marty. I knew what I was doing."

The teen sighed in relief. The sigh came out louder than he would've liked because Doc walked over to him and set a hand on his shoulder.

"But something tells me there's more to it than just random questions popping into teenagers' minds sometimes. Am I correct?"

Marty thought for a moment. He should tell Doc, shouldn't he? Not only would Doc never buy a lie, but the kid also desperately wanted the issue off his chest. "I, uh, keep having nightmares?"

"What do you mean, 'keep having'? How long has this been going on for?"

Marty looked at the floor, before muttering, "Eight months…"

Doc's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Eight months?! Great Scott, Marty! What on earth convinced you to keep this to yourself? You must be extremely exhausted!" 

Marty waved a dismissive hand. "Nah, the dreams got better over the months. But sometimes, well…sometimes they're still pretty terrifying." 

The inventor locked his eyes with Marty's as if searching for a hint of deep mental exhaustion or hidden sadness. "I can assure you that your family is alright, Marty. You are alright." He paused. "I am alright."

"I know, Doc. But I can't help it. Or, my brain doesn't. Today, it pretended I got stuck in the 50s because I missed the only predictable lightning bolt." 

Doc knew no better than to gently pull Marty into a tight hug. "I promise both you and me are right when we belong, on July 5th, 1986." He rubbed Marty's back for a couple of seconds until he could feel Marty relaxing in his arms. Then he backed away. "And you promise me that the next time something like this comes up, you'll talk to me."

Marry nodded, reassured and in a much lighter mood. "Promise, Doc. Can I sleep on the couch here today?" 

[the-empress-7]

I don't get it. Being half-in, half-out means that even partly they are representing the Queen and they are not.

But they sell themselves as if they continue being part of the RF and even in the website, the RF continue having the duo with this:

As announced in January, The Duke and Duchess have stepped back as senior members of The Royal Family. They are balancing their time between the United Kingdom and North America, continuing to honour their duty to The Queen, the Commonwealth, and their patronages. Frogmore Cottage in the UK remains their family home.

Following the announcement that The Duke and Duchess will be stepping back as senior members of The Royal Family, their roles will continue to reflect their sense of duty and allegiance to The Monarch and her legacy in the world, as they transition into the new working model. The Duke attaches great importance to his role in the Royal Family's public service to the UK and around the Commonwealth. He has been inspired by the example of duty and leadership of his grandmother, The Queen and his father, The Prince of Wales.

People who don't follow the drama, will look at this and will think they continue representing the Queen or whatever, specially with their attendance to the Jubilee.

They are living their half in and out , and when they win their court case, they will have the security they were demanding on The Megxit manifesto.

People these days get all their information from sound bytes and headlines. No one bothers to read articles or actually research a topic before forming an infallible opinion on it.

You wanna talk about optics? The optics look like Harry and Meghan are still very much an extension of the Queen and the in effect the BRF.

[lestcat-de-lioncourt]

Okay sooo I have some OC characters in the mix as I’m focusing on getting my mind creativity flowing some more this month and I’m feeling inspired at the moment so I’m going to take it by the horns.

Each and every member of this universe are either gay men, lesbian, queer, hetero trans or gay trans.

Let me introduce 2 of them today! I might post some more later, I have a 3rd person coming along but I’ll leave it at this for now. I’ve partly drawn some of Zaph but if anyone wants to feel free to have a go at drawing them if they peak inspiration.

Rosen Lovell

She is 42 and lives a happy life married to her wife, I’ve not met her wife yet but this will be the plan for her. They own a one bedroom ground and first floor house, one room for each floor.

She’s known to be a little bit of a comedy queen, laid back and yet serious with a good work mind head on her, though, she’s pretty unkempt and doesn’t care much from keeping up appearances particularly aside from her casual chosen clothes that have a bit of flare in colour and detail. She’s also not much of an owner of a filter and can be judged for being rude within her way of talking, but honestly she just swears a lot and isn’t interested in manners which aren’t necessary, like wasting time holding the third fork on a table rather than just getting on with eating the tasty meal she would scarf down.

With that mouth of hers she does mess up social time with people but the friends she has love her for her brashness and honesty. Though don’t get too close to her or she’ll trip you or her up pretty fast as she’s rather clumsy. She’s terrible at planning anything but nothing makes her more happy that polishing up metalworks she enjoys creating at home before opening her market stall she occasionally opens to sell her wares on to make money for the family. Her wife will not be working for she is signed off for having depression, but she likes going to the market or the seaside sometimes with Rosen and enjoys gathering herbs as she’s a ferocious forager.

Favourite food? A good Cornish pasty, but vegetarian, as she remains not a fan of meat.

Rosen typically wears a yellow long shirt sleeveless tunic with red ruby buttons going up the middle. The tunic length just falls below the waist with a white billow sleeved shirt underneath. She wears blue skin fit trousers and brown shin high boots with a silver single buckle button on them on the foot.

Her voice is deep, her body muscular but slim with wide set form shoulders. Her hair is light brown woven into a crown braid with white ribbon. Her eyebrows are dark and firm set, serious.

Her eyes are pale blue, as light as the sky or baby blue pastel, her eyes surrounded by dark kohl liner with small swirling spirals for the decoration sweeping across the areas of skin set next to each eye. She wears no other makeup aside from this. With a wide set sharp jawline, she’s the envy of men who may believe themselves to be on par with her strength, and she could honestly cut a slab of wood with her jaw if she tried. Her wife certainly loves tracing her fingers across it in moments of loving marital affection.

Zaph

Zaph is 26 and a trans man. He’s currently single and does not wish to get into a relationship of marriage with anyone, but he does sometimes enjoy the company of women and men mutually. He’s not particularly keen on caring much for the people around him and is a loner but has a good and strict work ethic in which he succeeds in and does his job well.

He is talented at strategy and practices every day for at least 30 minutes with his live in housemate Locke, he enjoys dancing with a good sword or dancing for entertainment which is the only thing he doesn’t find boring about attending social parties or aristocratic balls he must attend until “marriage”, which is a knot for him as he never plans to get wed. Nonetheless, his fighting proficiency is high, even though he is slim, he is dreadfully strong, and his height aids well. He still cannot win against Rosen and admires her abilities and she regularly spars with him. He’s a big fan of her metal work and gets all his metal pieces and weaponry from her directly, they are good friends.

He enjoys witnessing the misfortune of others, and is vain and enjoys keeping his appearance up to scratch to his own liking, you won’t catch a hair out of place on his darkly dyed long slicked back purple hair. You can guarantee he has a mirror in every room and whilst being vain he is incredibly self conscious and often gets obsessed with making sure his hair and clothes are clean, plucked of flint and run away hairs set back in place.

Favourite food? Roasted trout with a side of roast potatoes, broccoli, parsnips, gravy, and a small side portion of turbot or cod. He loves fish and can’t get enough of it. He enjoys a good flask of honey and apple rum, but is happy being treated to an ale at a bar.

He enjoys playing tennis in leisure time and owns a set of professional rackets and equipment and plays with the local men from the Goths United Regional Tennis Club.

He’s agnostic and sees to remain that way, he’s very focused on work and doesn’t have any beliefs at the moment but he is a descendant of human and elves. He doesn’t follow his families elven faiths.

His voice is deep and lulling, his partners enjoy hearing a soothing lullaby of song for them to drift off to sleep and he is an accomplished singer but never had any interest in pursuing this. He’s not particularly considerate but this is a small area where this shows a little.

He wears a modest amount of rings on his fingers, but they do contain precious stones in them, and his attire is mostly purple garments with a high collar and brown shin high boots. He also wears a thick silver chain necklace around his neck.

His cheeks are powdered with rouge and lips painted with grey lipstick. His eyes are rimmed with black eyeliner and dark eyeshadow. His irises are white.

[justforbooks]

This house, called “Maison de Jeanne” (“Jeanne’s House”), located at 10, rue de la rue Belvezet, Sévérac-le-Château, is one of the oldest houses in Aveyron, France. The house was built some time in the 14th century.

According to Le Figaro, “some people are surprised by the corbelled structure which is getting wider and wider until it was explained to them that at the time, the French already wanted to pay as little tax as possible and that they were relying on the floor surface of the building... Moviegoers see it as a set from the Game of Thrones series or the home of the Weasley family in Harry Potter. Finally, many dream of discovering the interior or even spending a night there...”

The “Maison de Jeanne”, named after its last owner, a painter, is a two-storey house, with half-timbered walls, partly made of cob, with its kitchen or “cantou” that has remained intact and its superb vaulted cellar that has preserved its wooden feed troughs, proving that in the Middle Ages, the inhabitants of the towns fed their animals in the heart of the houses before letting them wander through the town’s alleyways.

In July and August, it hosts medieval events and opens its doors on this occasion. The place, with a capacity of twenty people, is open to the public for free or guided visits.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[hvbris]

𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

After winning the 10th Hunger Games, Lucy Gray is “asked” to remain in the Capitol. The Dean and Dr. Gaul find it safer to keep her at arms’ length, to make sure she doesn’t talk about the whole debacle to anyone.  She finds refuge at Pluribus Bell’s club and starts singing there once he reopens it to the public.

𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

After surviving her final encounter with Coriolanus Snow, Lucy Gray returns home to the Seam, where her family helps patch up her wounds. They go into hiding by the lake, and now forbidden to perform, avoid returning into the District unless they need to. 

𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

Shot to death by Coriolanus Snow, Lucy Gray comes back as a ghost. She can be found haunting District 12, the Arena, and sometimes even the Presidential Palace. If a tribute sees her in the Arena, she will usually sing to them, and try to help them. 

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟑 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

After Coriolanus shoots her in the woods, Lucy Gray is left for dead. However, a rebel finds her, laying there unconscious, and decides to bring her back to 13 with him to try and save her.

She wakes up a week later in a hospital bed, lost and confused. The rebels explain to her where she is, that District 13 was never destroyed. She joins the rebellion, partly because she can’t go home anymore.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐔

Lucy Gray is a daughter of Apollo. She moved to New York with her mother and step-father when she was very little, but her older siblings took care of her after they passed. She was home-schooled, which made it hard for satyrs to find her. But she met one while singing outside, to earn some money, and had to follow him to camp after they got attacked by monsters.

𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 inspired by this post

Lucy Gray had spent a long, happy life hidden in the Seam. After surviving that day in the woods, she got married, had children and grandchildren... And she was planning on going on like that, until the Quarter Quell was announced.

She couldn't have said why this one time, she wanted to step out of the shadows. Maybe because she was old! She'd led a long life. And the girl on fire? Well, she was just a kid. And Lucy Gray certainly knew how it felt, to be a kid in that arena.

Maybe it was a little bit out of spite, too. Just to see Coriolanus' face, when she'd appear on his screen. Like a ghost returning from the grave just to haunt him.

So she got her affairs in order, and she said her goodbyes to her family, and on the day of the reaping, she waited in the crowd. When to no one's surprise Katniss' name was picked out of the bowl, she walked towards the stage, calmly, and volunteered as tribute. There was chaos for a moment, this reaping was for victors only! But here she was, district 12's first victor, in the flesh. Lucy Gray Baird.

[fannishcodex]

How does Shadow Weaver factor in your Spacebat Adora AU? Is she still a terrifying influence over Adora and does she control her by using her ability to hurt Adorda's childhood friends over her - to secure her compliance? Or is her influence minor, only as a shadowy scary lady in the background?

I've been brainstorming a third option. :3 @soranis-sunshadow

Thanks for asking! I have been writing up a longish post sharing more of my current brainstormed thoughts about the Spacebat!Adora AU and how it further diverges from canon, but I think I want to share part of it now, the part that concerns Shadow Weaver in the AU (though this is a big AU-specific change so I'll just bring up some other aspects that relate to it).

Shoutout to @revasnaslan for inspiration from her great take on Hordad AU. (Will link below in a comment.)

More under the cut:

Due to Mara's DNA, Adora has a sort of high magical power level that Shadow Weaver can sense. Instead of canon where Hordak (disappointed that the portal wasn't a chance to go home--I more think that deep down Hordak just wanted to go home to Prime and his other brothers [tbh I keep thinking of season 1!Lapis from Steven Universe] and earn Prime's acceptance/love/permission to live and not be sent to the frontlines to die--and with his other issues) at first intends to leave baby Adora in the infirmary and then just lets SW have her when SW essentially volunteers to take her in--instead of that, Hordak keeps Spacebat!Adora along with Imp in the AU. But SW still wants Adora in the AU, she can still sense the potential of great power from her.

So while Spacebat!Adora's still a baby, SW tries to kidnap her, and is willing to try to overthrow Hordak and take over the Etherian Horde for this. SW in the AU is also backed up by the fact that in another divergence (probably part of her plotting to kidnap Spacebat!Adora/overthrow Hordak) she actually manages to find and take the Sword of Protection from the Whispering Words in a lone excursion (on her own, she's able to get into the forest), and then manages to extract power from the Sword/the Sword's runestone like she does with the Black Garnet, increasing her power.

With power from both the Sword of Protection runestone and the Black Garnet, along with her own manipulation/intimidation of a number of Etherian Horde members, private recruiting/manipulation of other dissident Mystacor mages, etc. in her planned coup, SW is actually pretty successful--she seizes control of the Etherian Horde, but fails to kidnap baby Adora. Hordak escapes with baby Adora and Imp, prioritizing his younger clone-hybrid kin before everything else when push comes to shove. Some Etherian Horde members reject SW and escape with Hordak, chief among them Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt, who escape with a very young Scorpia (I have specific thoughts on my fix-it for timeline with her, but that's another post). Huntara also joins them. (I headcanon that in canon, it's actually partly SW manipulation that drives Huntara away from the Horde. But this doesn't happen in the AU because Hordak is sent into exile before that can happen.)

So, an internal civil war splits the Horde apart when Spacebat!Adora's a baby, and it partly started because Hordak wanted to keep Adora along with Imp, SW still wanted her and the power she sensed from her, and SW decided to try kidnapping her and seize control of the Horde:

-The Shadow Horde: The larger part of the Etherian Horde SW now controls. They stayed in the Fright Zone, and possess both the Sword of Protection and the Black Garnet. They continue the major fighting against the royal kingdoms of Etheria and also attack the rival Horde faction that was forced out with Hordak. SW still wants Adora. SW and her Shadow Horde are the ones to launch a major assault on Castle Bright Moon, and sooner. SW's assault is more successful--both Micah and Angella are exiled to Beast Island, SW captures the Moonstone and takes a baby Glimmer. SW raises Glimmer as her own, and later C*tra too. In this AU, it's Glimmer largely in part of canon!Adora's situation, and C*tra fixates on Glimmer instead, especially when Glimmer eventually abandons the Shadow Horde after she gives the Sword to Spacebat!Adora.

-The Renegade Horde: The part that rejected SW and escaped the Fright Zone with Hordak, Imp, and baby Spacebat!Adora. They largely flee to the Crimson Waste (since in canon Huntara was an ex-Horde member that fled there, and it seems like a place where a lot on Etheria escape to; also again draws inspiration from @revasnaslan 's take on Hordad AU, even with SW's role). They fight more with SW's Shadow Horde than Etheria's royal kingdoms. (Tbh got the idea for using "renegade" from some old original '80s She-Ra promo material----it mentioned the "renegade Horde"----I found online somewhere, think still have the link somewhere but I'd have to find it ^^;)

Hordak does a lot of rethinking/revaluating, as does the Renegade Horde in the Crimson Waste. Hordak continues to prioritize the safety of his younger clone siblings, and starts questioning his past life under Horde Prime more and sooner (e.g. how will Prime really react to Adora and Imp?). Hordak's vulnerabilities are more exposed to Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt, and rather than them rejecting him/taking advantage like he feared, they prove truly trustworthy.

Power and command between Hordak, Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt becomes more balanced both in public and in private among the new Renegade Horde. And they really do become friends. (Headcanon that in canon Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt had more power and sway with Hordak, but they actually thought maintaining Hordak as a more singular authority would be better in the long run, and Hordak feared exposure of his physical weakness to them and others/had his giant Prime issues.) Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt advise going back to techniques pre-"things escalated" (going back and forth on my own internal view/fix-it AU of how past events went, like if Hordak was actually there for this part or not)--more effort to negotiate/more efforts at diplomacy to recruit people/get allies.

The Renegade Horde's more focused on surviving in the Crimson Waste, and eventually actually start improving the Crimson Waste overall and uniting the region more as a community. Again, the Renegade Horde end up fighting more with SW's Shadow Horde than Etheria's royal kingdoms. This does eventually lead to some reluctant partnerships with the Etherian Royal Alliance against the Shadow Horde, and it's a relationship gradually changing and in flux for a while.

Spacebat!Adora largely grows up in the Crimson Waste with her brothers Hordak and Imp. In this AU, Adora and Imp are like equivalent to Hordak meeting Entrapta sooner--his Prime-induced views are challenged sooner and he's exposed to something more positive that he ends up prioritizing more. (But Hordak and Entrapta do get to meet sooner when the Renegade Horde has a diplomatic mission in Dryl.) Protecting and caring for Adora and Imp becomes the first priority for Hordak. Adora and Imp are very close as the younger siblings in their clone family; they were playmates since they were very young and have become close companions as the years pass, even if Adora is the only one to visibly age/get taller. (But Imp is happy to point out she can't fly.) Adora and Imp both love Hordak dearly, and he reciprocates with them. Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt are even more uncles and aunt to Imp and Adora. She and Imp make friends with Scorpia, who's largely raised by Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt. Adora hero worships Huntara, and Huntara remains a part of the Renegade Horde. There's no SW or C*tra in her childhood and they're not there for most of her life until she's in her late teens. SW's just a distant danger Adora is warned about; Adora is unaware of C*tra's existence for a long time. Spacebat!Adora largely grows up happier and more free/less restricted.

Spacebat!Adora knows the Crimson Waste well and feels that it's beautiful and a wonderful place to explore--I keep seeing Spacebat!Adora in the changing Crimson Waste with vibes of the games Sable and Journey, even Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (and those vibes are still just felt throughout other parts of the AU still, especially Nausicaä which I need to rewatch/reread).

A devastated Castaspella is wary of anything Horde-related, but over the years becomes a more stable ally with the the Renegade Horde against the Shadow Horde, and grows very fond of Spacebat!Adora and Imp. Castaspella likes sewing toys for Imp and desert clothes for Adora. Castaspella is relieved when she finds Glimmer, and hopes she can become friends with Spacebat!Adora and Imp.

[standingonnewgrounds]

Considering it’s an FNF AU blog, it’s a crime that I didn’t include little Boyfriend in this, huh.

…

Name: Boyfriend Hatsune

Species: Purebred human

Age: 20 (post RFM)

Pronouns: He/Him

Height: 5'0 (Ignore the 7 feet post. It’s most likely a joke by the devs.)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Birthday: October 5th

Headcanons

Has four siblings: Older Bro, Big Brother, Miku, and Ritz.

He is the second youngest child in the family.

Will definitely take you down to the point where your parents will make fun of you for that behind your back (canon).

Probably skilled as Hank J. Wimbleton himself.

He learned how to fight (and how to deal with bullet wounds) from Pico.

He doesn’t like to fight, however. He doesn’t like killing unlike Hank.

Is interested in psychology thanks to his friend Loki.

Wants to be a rapper though. Psychology isn’t his hyperfixation, music is.

His singing style is inspired by Daddy Dearest. In fact, he idolized him.

Because of his rap battle with DD, he popularized the style to the point where other decided to get into it.

His comprehension when it comes to English gets better the stronger the bond gets

Since he will go beep boop towards strangers

If that bond is severed, then his speech will degrade alongside it.

Blunt as fuck if he does say something.

Definitely dumb as bricks.

Despite this, he is a nerd when it comes to music.

Knows most of the music terms; including the obscure ones.

If he decided he should, he could probably learn Italian.

Half-Japanese half-American.

Japanese is his second language.

Literally watched the Bee Movie in Japanese just to memorize the opening speech so he can troll people without the others knowing.

Maybe even the entire Japanese script.

For the meme.

Was bullied in school for his blue hair.

Pico saved him from the bullies, and they became friends.

It’s partly the reason why they dated later in life.

Boyfriend got a fever at that fateful day when… Pico’s School happened.

He was glad that he wasn’t there, but he felt bad for Pico.

Eventually, they realize that they weren’t for each other so they broke up.

Whether or not it was good or not remains to be seen (apparently the answer is at the full-ass game, but I’m betting that it didn’t go well)

At this point, he moved on.

While yes, he did used to make clickbait videos to buy cigarettes, seeing Garcello’s final moments put a stop to it. He put out an apology, deleted all of the clickbait, and is now uploading music of his own on his YouTube channel.

Understandably, he is pretty ashamed when someone mentions his clickbait-y past.

Because Miku is very busy doing her idol shenanigans, and thus, rarely comes home, he thinks about her sometimes. He misses her.

Friend magnet. Holy shit, is he a friend magnet.

Consequences

Favorite game is Smash Bros, not Newgrounds Rumble.

Mostly because that game is an equivalent of a fighting game that includes the most notorious serial killers (and a few innocent celebrities) if that was put in this universe without any alterations

Met Hank after the improbability drive had a brain fart of sorts and spit him out in Nevada one day

When Hank was wearing his Antipathy outfit

They trained to survive the hellhole until Boyfriend finally went home

Wishes to dismiss everything as a dream.

It wasn’t.

And he had proof.

Is he disturbed? Used to, but now, it doesn’t bother him that much.

Gives him a few nightmares sometimes.

Once upon a time, it got so bad that Boy and Girl had to intervene every single day to relieve him of his nightmares under orders of the Maker, in expense of other kids.

They do not regret it, as Boyfriend needed their help the most.

Boyfriend is grateful towards these two deities as a result, even to his adulthood.