#fetid king

[starheart-blog]

FNF - VS CARTOON CAT V2 - ALL CHARACTER INFO

[cartoon2cartoon]

More like fetish king lol

(fetish means love or something else idk)

[aurianavaloria]

KoH - To Rival Eden (Baldwin IV x Reader)

Fandom: Kingdom of Heaven

Pairing: Baldwin IV x Fem!Reader

PoV: Split (Baldwin - Fem!Reader)

Length: Short (<4k words)

TW: Vague mentions of leprosy

A/N: Well, here we have it, the much-anticipated sequel to "What Good May Come"! I took your feedback into account regarding Y/N's preferences, as well as circumstances and relationships, and created another chapter in this little romance. As in the previous story, I've done my best to keep Y/N as generic as possible with a personality that seemed to fit what is currently popular. I hope you enjoy it as much as the first, and once again, thank you all for being awesome! 🤗

Baldwin could hardly believe his good fortune.

Tiberias had spoken truth: she loved him.

He hadn’t slept a wink that night after she left his chambers. Had barely paid attention to his physicians’ work as he’d given his failing body to their care for the hundred-thousandth time in his short life. Whilst his mortal shell continued its slow and endless march towards inevitable disintegration, his heart and mind were soaring above the clouds, his spirit filled with a fire he hadn’t felt in years.

Lady Y/N loved him.

He lay in his bed, eyes staring up into the canopy’s shadows, yet unseeing of anything that was actually there. Instead, he saw her sitting before him as she had that evening, the smile dancing across her lips, the color in her cheek…

Thus lost in his thoughts, all he had to do was close his eyes to still feel her warmth in his arms, the touch of her hand upon his own… still smell the sweet perfume that cloaked her in its allure. Even as his fears screamed at him that every moment he spent near her was a risk he was selfish to take, that the poison coursing through his veins could destroy her like some fetid rot devouring a perfect flower, all he desired was to hold her again… to imagine what her hair would feel like slipping between his silk-gloved fingers…

These visions of her swirled in his mind all night long and into the next week, until he thought he might go mad with them. He had never thought much of the songs of the troubadours before, dismissing their melodramatic lyrics as nothing more than mere fantasy.

But now he had tasted that very pain of love of which they sang, and he knew they were right.

Love was insanity.

Unfortunately, it was an insanity he had to endure through nearly a week’s worth of increasingly-numerous duties that forbade his interaction with anyone other than his advisors and court petitioners. Conversation on such matters proved his only respite, for when he was finally left alone once more, she haunted the depths of his mind.

And as his quill slowly glided through the practiced motions of his signature upon his latest letter, his aching heart wondered if he haunted hers the same way…

He hoped and prayed she had not taken offense to his exclusion of visitors outside his immediate council. It was all such ill-timing, and yet the administration of his kingdom could not wait for courtship. He could not afford the distraction of anyone else’s presence amidst such delicate matters, and there were some things that he refused to delegate to others.

That he could not trust to others.

The thoughts of sharing those tasks with a queen he truly loved and adored above all else, however…

Plunk!

He abruptly sat back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut.

That was it. It was time for some fresh air.

Rising slowly to his feet, he reached for his hooded cloak where it hung nearby. Without even being asked, his servant Ihsan wordlessly appeared from the shadows to help him don it, moving with quiet grace.

“Shall I accompany His Majesty?” the Christian Syrian asked, aiding Baldwin in pulling the hood over his head. Jerusalem’s sun was bright today, and harsh on the ill king’s eyes.

“No, I shall walk alone, I think.”

“As you wish, sire.”

And loyal Ihsan melted into those shadows once more, as quickly as he had emerged.

With that, Baldwin began making his way to the palace gardens, keeping his pace measured as he followed the long halls, close to the wall should he need it for support. Alas, his numbed foot would allow for nothing else. Yet, even so, he didn’t wish for this stroll to be a hurried one, crammed in between the endless sessions of his work. He needed time to center himself – to clear his mind and ease his heart.

His hood low over his mask, he still squinted against the sun as he emerged into the palace gardens. The strength of its rays had only seemed to intensify in recent years, even as their warmth had faded; his body hardly felt it, now, beaming down upon him, as if he had already hovered between the land of the living and the dead. But his eyes most certainly did, and he kept his head dipped low, his mask half-shadowed by the hood of his cloak.

Anyone else who had chosen to wander the gardens the same as he soon found themselves departing, as usual. The king was instantly recognizable, even cloaked like this, his presence garnering immediate notice by his courtiers. Their dread of his disease they always attempted to cover with pretense – the courtesy of yielding the space to their liege-lord as they offered deep bows and curtseys. Yet they always slipped away with the hiss of whispers swirling in their wake…

His lips twisted in amusement at the thought that his experience behind a mask had made it easier to see past theirs.

Thus, he largely ignored them as they bestowed upon him their customary greetings, their well-rehearsed gestures of obeisance. And the answers he gave in reply were just as superficial. They deserved nothing more. Little by little, they left as he slowly made his way along those meandering paths, bordered by every plant native to these lands, flowering or not…

All but one.

At the end of one of the paths, perched upon a bench before a towering hedge, was Lady Y/N.

She sat with a small book open in her lap, her garb a simple green bliaut with a matching embroidered belt. A brilliant white veil over her hair, pinned to the barbette that looped beneath her chin, shielded her downturned face from the sun. Even from this angle, he could see the slight smile that played across her lips, and he felt his own mimic the expression beneath his mask.

The sight of her thus made him pause his stride, and he considered backtracking to the previous fork in the path and leaving her to her peace. Yet another part of him desired nothing more than to speak to her – to self-indulgently converse, even if only briefly, with this sweet angel of a woman he’d neglected for the sake of his divinely-mandated duty.

What resulted then, was an indecisive hovering, a prolonged pause at the bells of the lovely flowers that brushed his silken sleeve – blossoms whose aroma was now all but lost to his dulled senses. But none of the velvet-petaled jewels gracing this paradise of a garden now compared to the one he could not tear his eyes from, yet hadn’t the heart to approach…

================

Jerusalem’s palace garden was a sanctuary as peaceful as the cloister of any church you’d seen and perhaps twice as beautiful. The open air was filled with the scent of the exotic flowers that had been meticulously cultivated there, surrounding visitors in an alluring embrace. The cool shade beneath the towering hedgerows and elegant palms had been too tempting to resist, and, with a new book of poetry in hand, you’d made a beeline for an empty bench in the farthest shadowed nook you could find.

Gardens such as these were haunts for lovers, or so you’d been told. Some had even been designed in such a manner that encouraged clandestine trysts – a convenient niche here, a cleverly-planted bush there…

Alas, there were no such surreptitious visits in your near future. No, you’d merely come to the gardens this day for some fresh air and relative peace and quiet.

It was with great eagerness that you had rushed to the bench, sweeping your skirts beneath you and opening the book upon your lap. It was a loan, in fact, from Sibylla; the princess had been spending more time with you in the past week, indulging in light conversation mostly revolving around scholarly interests and pastimes. During the course of one of these discussions, she mentioned having received a few books from France and, quite unexpectedly, asked if you would like to borrow one of them.

Such a generous offer had been impossible to refuse, and your eyes had lit up as the princess passed you the small, leather-bound book of poetry, which you handled with utmost care.

The plan was to spend an upcoming evening sharing what the two of you had enjoyed most about the tomes over refreshments.

It was something you rather looked forward to.

Now, you were fully immersed in the book, your eyes drinking in the copyist’s hand as it swirled across the delicate vellum pages; it was a work of art in and of itself, to say nothing of the words it held within. So engrossed were you that, for a long moment, you failed to notice you were being watched…

But then, suddenly, a slight movement from the periphery of your vision caused you to glance up, and for a brief second, you thought you saw an angel. You quickly realized, however, that it was not.

The awestruck smile that tugged at your lips was perhaps a bit uncouth, but you couldn’t help it. Angel he was not, and yet the king was still radiant enough that you wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see a pair of wings upon his back or a fiery halo ringing his head. The hooded cloak he wore, trimmed in gold, was such a blinding white in the midday sun that it almost blurred his outline, and the half-concealed silver mask with its perfectly-chiseled countenance could easily be mistaken for the face of a saint…

“Your Majesty!”

On reflex, you stood, abandoning the book on the bench before starting to dip into a curtsey, but the upwards flash of his gloved hand stopped you mid-movement.

“I require no epithets or courtesies from you, Lady Y/N,” he replied as he wandered down the path towards you. “I should hope that I may abandon such performance in your presence.”

The warmth in his voice heated your cheeks. “Very well… Baldwin.” This was only the second time you’d dared to speak his name without a title preceding it, and it felt oddly right on your tongue. “If that is the case, then I must also insist that I am simply Y/N.”

His hooded head dipped. “Of course. Y/N.”

Something about the way he said your name made your heart flutter, and you glanced away briefly even as you sidled nearer to him. “It is good to see you again. Baldwin. You are well, I hope?”

“I am now,” he replied softly. Now you could look up into his silver-clad face and see the glitter of his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. In their impossibly-blue gaze you found a softness that belied the sharpness of their hue.

“I… missed you,” you breathed at last, your voice lowering. “I must admit, I’ve worried for you. Lord Tiberias assured me all was well, but… well, you’ll forgive me for being a bit distrusting.”

A low chuckle emanated from him. “If there is anyone you may trust with his honest assessment of matters, it is Tiberias.”

A chuckle of your own escaped you in response to his jesting remark before he continued in a far more serious tone, “I must offer you my sincerest apologies, Y/N – here you’ve given me the most beautiful gift anyone has ever bestowed upon me, and I’ve done nothing but neglect you in return. Already, I fear I must seem a poor partner in courtship.”

Your mouth opened a little in shock at that. “Absolutely nothing of the sort! I understand you are busy. I know you wouldn’t have isolated yourself like this otherwise.” A light smile played upon your lips as you met his eyes again. “I’m just glad to see you again now.”

It was then you reached forth, brushing his nearest forearm lightly in reassurance. The damask silk of his sleeve was so very soft and smooth beneath your fingertips. And warm. Though from his body heat or the sun, it was difficult to tell…

Suddenly, another movement out of the corner of your eye had you glancing past the king at a visitor on the garden path: a small tabby cat – silver with stripes of black – trotting along the hedgerow towards you.

“Oh, look!”

You pointed, and Baldwin half-turned to follow your gesture, another quiet chuckle following once he realized what had caught your attention. “Ah, a palace mouser, I see. Either that or a street cat has managed to breach the walls.”

His choice of words elicited a light laugh from you. “Perhaps he is a scout, then. Come to assess our defenses.”

The two of you watched as the cat slowed a few paces away, looking up at the both of you.

“Mrow?”

It was a questioning little sound the tomcat made as he hunkered close, sniffing first at the toe of Baldwin’s shoe before doing the same at the hem of your skirt. For a moment he merely stood there, his banded tail a waving S in the air as he continued to take in king and lady with shining green eyes.

“Mrrp.”

A quiet trill followed as the cat proceeded to bump up against your shin, tail curling about as he wound his way behind you before bumping against Baldwin’s calf in the same manner. He paused, staring upwards, and then he repeated the pattern, his path creating an infinity knot around both your feet.

“Aww, I think the darling wants attention,” you cooed, bending at the waist towards the little feline as you held out your hand. You were rewarded with another bump up against your palm, whereupon you happily scratched behind the cat’s ears, a grin plastered to your face.

“I would greet him as he wishes,” Baldwin remarked beside you, “but I fear I’d lose balance and keep going.”

You glanced up at him. “Well… we can’t have His Majesty tumbling face-first into the roses, can we?”

“No, I do believe that would tarnish my reputation for being upright.”

A snort escaped you at that. Baldwin’s sense of humor never ceased to amaze you – that he could find humor at all amidst his terrible suffering was a testament to his fortitude.

Confident that the cat was comfortable with you, you then reached for him, moving to pick him up, which he allowed with surprising ease. Palace mouser indeed, and obviously used to human company; you were certain no street cat would allow such familiar handling so soon…

“Oh, look, he has little gloves, like you.”

Your observation of the cat’s stark white mittens, curled as they were overtop your arm, had Baldwin chuckling lightly once more, and he nodded in reply, his own gloved hand slowly approaching. “So he does. Alas, I fear his bear weapons mine do not.”

He paused long enough for the cat to sniff again at his fingers – which he did – before gently stroking the top of the creature’s head between his ears. Almost immediately, a rumbling purr emanated from the feline’s throat, his eyes half-closing. Despite the near tentativeness of Baldwin’s movements, the cat seemed quite satisfied with the attention, though a part of you wondered how much the king himself gleaned from it…

“Can you feel that?” you heard yourself ask.

“Barely,” was the quiet reply, a lengthy pause following before he withdrew and added, “I relish moments like these while I can. There will come a day when I shall feel nothing with these diseased hands, glove or not.”

His words shot like an arrow straight to your heart. As much as you both tried to ignore it, to look past it, the truth of the matter was that Baldwin was slowly being eaten alive from the inside out, and it was only a matter of time before it utterly consumed him. Just this simple encounter with a sweet palace cat was enough to bring reality crashing down around both your ears.

And you hated it.

Swallowing, you cleared your throat and then bent to set the curious feline back on his feet. “Let’s let our intrepid little friend here continue on his way now, to do the noble work his kind has been mandated to do, yes?”

Once released, you gave the cat one final pat on his head and he was off, trotting away down the path before promptly disappearing under a bush.

“Y/N?”

The softness of your name upon Baldwin’s lips suddenly brought your attention back to him, and then there was his hand on your cheek, cupping your face gently as his eyes searched yours. You could feel the concern in their depths, his gaze probing your own for answers. No doubt he sensed the shift in your mood – you never had been the best at keeping your emotions hidden…

“I wish I could do more for you,” you whispered before he could ask. “I wish I could… I wish…”

There were so many things that you wished. You wished for him to be healthy again. You wished you could lift the many burdens from his shoulders. You wished you could rid his court of the treacherous vultures just waiting for his final breath to tear apart the corpse of his dream. You wished you could send his enemies running for their lives beyond the desert sands. Alas, you could do none of that.

But you could do this…

Without a word, you swiftly closed what gap was left between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace.

Instantly, he stiffened, his hands clamping to your shoulders on reflex, their grip tighter than you anticipated.

“Y/N…”

“Hush!” you hissed, interrupting any warning he felt impelled to give you. “Let me do this… let me do it, and let yourself have it!”

You could feel him tremble in your arms, his breathing uneven. For a harrowing moment, he was naught but a statue, indecisive – no-doubt waging a war in his own mind, if you knew him by now as well as you thought you did…

Whichever side flew the banners of Propriety and Precaution, though, evidently lost the battle, as a shaky sigh escaped him at last, a quivering hiss of breath between the lips of his mask.

“God forgive me.”

And then, in a move that made your heart flutter wildly again, his own arms slid around you, pulling you into him and shrouding you in sun-soaked silk. The pungent scent of herbal salves alongside crisp linen followed, piercing past the exotic fragrances of the garden flowers, although you detected the distinct note of roses rising amidst it all – perhaps from the oils the physicians applied to soothe his ravaged flesh. He cocooned you in this warmth, the hardness of his mask as it rested atop of your head a sharp contrast to the softness of the rest of him. And thus he held you tight, tighter than you had expected him to, your ear pressed to his chest where you heard the quickened thumping of his heart.

For one blessed moment, nothing else existed. Perhaps he was an angel after all, just awaiting the wings set aside for him in Heaven. For here he held you in earthly Paradise amidst a garden to rival Eden, shining bright as the light of the sun that enveloped you both in its purifying rays, and you knew peace…

You heard the raggedness in his breath, however. The unsteadiness of his hold. Pulling back from him, you promptly swept his hands up in your own, tugging him towards the bench. “Come. Sit. Stay with me a while and forget your troubles, if only for a few moments. If you can spare them, at least.”

His regard held an almost painful tenderness as it met yours, his voice dropping to a silken timbre. “That and more, should you but ask.”

Your eyes never left his, then, as you led him with ease to your chosen perch. Scooping up Sibylla’s book, you made room for him to sit beside you there, and as he slowly settled himself, letting out what sounded like a sigh of relief, you were keenly aware that your legs were touching, hip to knee…

“Do you like poetry?” you inquired, choosing to ignore how your heart continued to race a little at his continued close proximity.

He glanced sideways, his eyes flicking downwards towards the book in your lap. “As much as the next person, I suppose. Is that a new acquisition?”

You grinned up at him. “Princess Sibylla loaned it to me, actually. We’re planning on discussing it in a few days.”

He nodded slowly at that, seeming to approve. “My sister is in need of good company. I am glad to hear you are getting along well with her.”

“She terrified me at first,” you admitted with a laugh. “But I think she truly wishes for us to be friends.”

Baldwin’s gaze leveled at you behind the mask. “And you were not terrified of me?”

The question was a soft one, wavering slightly, though from recent exertion or emotion, you couldn’t quite tell.

A gentle smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Never.”

For a long moment, his eyes searched yours, and you couldn’t help but let them. Their color, their shape, their intensity… they were so beautifully expressive that it didn’t matter that his mask concealed everything else. When they looked at you, you were almost certain you could feel what he felt in your own heart. And what you felt now was more warmth. This time, though, it blossomed from within as those eyes relaxed into a half-lidded stare that was so much like that of the cat you’d just found…

Aware of the blush heating your cheeks at such a look, you finally tore your gaze from his and cleared your throat. “Would you like to hear a bit of this? It’s rather good…”

“Yes, I very much would,” he answered, his tone an almost distant one.

With that, you opened the book where you left off, taking a breath before beginning to read aloud. You hoped he didn’t mind romances, as that was precisely what this one was – a chivalric tale of doomed love…

Any self-consciousness you possessed about the contents was banished, however, the moment you felt his hand curl around your waist.

It was so light a touch it barely registered at first. But then you saw the flash of white out of the corner of your eye, bright upon the green of your gown. Felt the slight weight of that hand upon the curve of your waist. Almost instinctively, you leaned into him in response, and his grip tightened a little.

“I am not hurting you, am I?” you asked quietly, concerned about the effects of any weight against his fragile flesh.

“You could never hurt me,” he replied in a whisper.

And that was the moment you felt his head rest against yours as you continued to read.

Thank you all very much for reading! 😊I hope you enjoyed! ✨ And if you have any other ideas for Y/N, I'd love to hear them!

[anyarose011]

You're a Mean One, Miss Hunham {Angus Tully x Reader}

Summary: Four days into being stuck in an all boy's school for Christmas break, and you're on the brink of insanity. If it's not because of Angus Tully still trying to one up you in history lessons, then it's Teddy Kountze getting a hand on something personal of yours (prick).

Part 2 of ?? (Masterlist)

Warnings: Swearing, period typical sexism, mentions of pornography, blackmail, minor physical assault, and as always, Teddy Kountze.

You guys don't get to escape being an awkward af teenager just because it's fanfiction, so enjoy! Also, thank you all so much for the love already shown just from the first part alone!

Word Count: 5.0k

You always knew to put a pillow over your head when you heard your father get up from his bed.

“All right you fetid layabouts, it’s daylight in the swamp!” He smacked two metal basins against each other, waking the boys up if they weren’t already, groaning. “Arise!”

It was funny the first day, but by the fourth, it was unbearable. Still, a part of you was grateful for your father; you never had to get up early and run with the boys in the cold, Massachusetts air. Call it nepotism, call it sexism, you were just glad he didn’t want you to interact with them (physically, that is).

The second day you were there, he called you in during afternoon study hall (leaving you on a minor cliff hanger in Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre; forget that it was your third time reading it, it pissed you off). Just like he had done months ago, Paul Hunham hosted a trivia game (whether that was to show you off, or get them to study, you had no idea).

What idea you did have, was beating every single one of them.

For Alex and Ye-Joon, they were babies in your eyes, so you would give them more time to think on their answers whenever they were up. Alex got close on one, but overall, they didn’t do so well.

Oh, the boys your age? Yeah, you didn’t show mercy, even towards Jason.

“When was the last king overthrown?” Your father questioned.

You smacked the desk before Jason could even process the question. “509 B.C.”

“What planets are named after Roman gods?”

“Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn.” You recited it perfectly.

Teddy scrunched his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

Your father pursed his lips. “That was the easiest one I have, Mr. Kountze.”

Angus Tully…Angus. Fucking. Tully.

“What emperor temporarily restored peace to Rome and the cost of-?”

Angus hit the desk before your father could finish the question. “-Diocletian.”

“At its peak,” your father eyed you. “how large was the Roman Empi-?”

“2.3 million square miles.” You answered, keeping your eyes trained on Tully.

“Nero had five spouses in total, what was the name of the slave boy he-?”

“-Castrated and married,” you finished for him. “Sporus.”

Back and forth you both went like that, rapid fire at first, and your own levels of exhaustion were catching up to you. After perhaps five minutes of this (maybe ten, twenty, who gives a shit, you were tired), it was one damning question that would haunt you.

“True or false, the Pantheon was built before the Coliseum.”

“True.” You said, slapping the desk with the confidence of a mediocre man.

There was silence in the room, and your father sighed. “False.”

It wasn’t a big deal, it shouldn’t have been a big deal; to literally everyone else but you, it wouldn’t be a big deal.

But it was.

Oh, it was.

It was the second time you lost to Angus Tully overall, the first time from an easy question. Still, while Kountze’s grin made you want to rip out his teeth, it was Tully’s outstretched hand that caused you to snap out of it.

“Good job.”

Two of the most hurtful words in academia, whether it meant for it to be or not. Still, swallowing your pride, you shook his hand, and left the room gracefully.

Then started crying as you walked down the darkened hallway.

It wasn’t like you were weeping, you were just frustrated. Thankfully, by the time your friend Elise came to pick you up, you were fine and had a fun day simply walking around town with her.

You bought cigarettes and chocolate at the drug store, then spent the rest of the day at her house, laying on the floor and listening to records in her room while answering her prodding questions.

“Who’s the cutest one?”

“None, they’re men.”

“Okay,” she rolled her eyes, smiling. “I know that, but if you had to choose.”

“Like, ‘if we were the last man and woman on earth’ I had to choose?”

“Sure.”

“A very tall bridge.”

She laughed, shoving you playfully. “I’m serious!”

“So am I.”

“Really.”

Sighing heavily, you thought for a moment, before smiling. “He’s a football player.”

“What?!” She sat herself up. “You and a football player?!”

“Shut up!” You laughed with her, sitting up.

Elise shook her head. “What about the one you went head-to-head with in trivia today?”

“Ew,” was your immediate reaction. “he’s maybe your type, but not mine.”

“So, you don’t want a smart one?” She questioned. “And that’s mean of you.”

“I’m mean to everyone.” You laid back down on the floor. “And yes, of course I want someone who’s smart, but not smarter than me.”

She mirrored you, laying down and leaning her head against yours. “So, he’s out for the count?”

“One hundred percent.”

“If you say so.” Elise reached up onto her nightstand and handed you a letter. “Also, my aunt left something back at the faculty housing and said she found this in you and your dad’s mailbox.”

You looked at your name in the center of it, and then at the stamp: a toy train.

It took everything within you not to sit up in shock. All you did was smile, say thank you, and slip it into your coat pocket.

You gave Tully his chocolates and cigarettes and didn’t have a problem. It was the fourth day when your father had given them just another ounce of freedom outside of the school, allowing them to walk around the wooded area of campus. You still had your books, but you were also feeling lonesome (the only time you really interacted with any of them was during mealtimes, except for Teddy…fuck Teddy), and you had talked about almost every single thing you wanted to talk about with Mary (God bless that women for letting you read to her too).

So, on December 20th, you laced up your boots (not too tightly), pulled on your mittens, and zipped up your jacket to go on a miniature adventure with the five boys.

“I’m gonna teach you how to play football.” Jason teased you as the six of you walked two by two (you and him at the front).

Shaking your head, you smiled more so at the thought of what you’d look like than his obvious flirting (was he even flirting or just being nice? Decades pass, and you still aren’t sure). “Please no.”

“Come on, it’s easy.”

“Roman history is easy.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not; you’re just smart.”

“It’s easy to me. Football is easy to you, see what I’m getting at?”

Jason shrugged. “Suit yourself, Teddy?”

“Say no more.” He responded, brushing past you and running up ahead as Jason threw the football to him and he caught it.

That left you by yourself for just a moment before seeing Angus walk beside you. You turned your head over your shoulder to see Ye-Joon and Alex lagging behind as they talked.

“Boys,” you called them. “try and keep up!”

They responded with a chorus of ‘Yeah’s and ‘Sorry’s.

“So what, you’re like their mother now?” The second most irritating voice belonging to a boy asked.

You looked over at Angus, hands in his pockets as he gazed down at you. “You’re not exactly the nurturing type.”

“You don’t know that.”

Humming, you stepped over a log in the middle of the path. “So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Jason’s here because of his hair, Alex and Ye-Joon’s family are in other continents, I don’t care nor want to know about Teddy, why are you here?”

He didn’t respond right away, before then saying. “I was supposed to go to St. Kitt’s with my mom and stepfather, but then they decided to say it was their honeymoon and ditch me.”

Your gaze turned to him and saw him pick up a stick, dragging it behind him to make a line in the snow. Even just from his profile, you could see the anger withing his eyes; bubbling more violently than a volcano about to erupt.

“That’s despicable.” You stated plainly.

“That’s one way to put it.” He scoffed.

You didn’t know exactly how to follow up such a personal conversation, but you wanted to make him feel better (at this point during the break, only because it was the decent thing to do), so you just said.

“You beat me fair and square both times.”

Angus looked at you. “Did I? At your dad’s bullshit trivia?”

“You did. Well actually, it was just me versus five of you, and I do believe the more I talk to Kountze, the more braincells I lose, so-.”

“-Don’t sell yourself short.”

You gave him a quizzical look. “I know, I was just telling you why I lost to you both times.”

He shrugged. “The first time you had to go against fifteen of us.”

“I’m sorry,” you chuckled, genuinely not believing it. “are you suddenly saying that you think I’m smart?”

“I never said you weren’t.” He gave you a look.

“Last time, you looked me in the eye and said you knew more than me.”

That’s what silenced him, and when he nor you said anything after that, you simply walked ahead of him. Hell yeah, you had the last word and made him feel like an asshole (you honestly didn’t know that was possible).

The six of you all caught up with one another, and you spoke with the freshmen boys more about meaningless things (but perhaps that’s what made it so meaningful). Angus, still carrying the stick like he was a child, and it was his favorite toy, said to Jason after talking about if there was anything else to do in Barton.

“What about your car? We could take it, go somewhere, Boston maybe?”

“Nah, we’d get in so much trouble.” He shook his head, nudging you. “Little miss perfect here would snitch on us.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “I would not. Besides, it’d be easier to say you all kidnapped me, and everyone would believe me.”

“Face it,” Jason passed the football back to Teddy. “we’re stuck.”

 “If we just had some way to get out of here.” Angus kicked a patch of snow. “Just split.”

Jason pointed towards the quad. “Well, you could put a chopper down right in the quad.”

“A what?” Angus furrowed his brow.

“Helicopter, dumbass.” Teddy mocked. “His old man’s the CEO of Pratt and Whitney.”

Jason nodded. “Yeah, he’s go his own bird. He takes it from Stamford to the city every morning. Lands right in our back yard. Pilot’s name is Wild Bill.”

“Wild Bill?” Ye-Joon asked, amused.

“Yeah, flew to Haystack with it. Took the presents and everything. Minus me.”

“Flying with presents,” Alex spoke up. “like Santa Claus.”

That was perhaps the first time you smiled out of geniuses that day.

“Yeah. Just like Santa Claus.”

Jason whistled, and Teddy immediately dashed ahead of him and caught the ball once Jason threw it. The two drifted off playing catch, leaving you and Angus with the freshmen. Alex spoke just as whimsically as he did about Santa.

“If I was back home right now back in Provo, it would be really warm inside, and my mom would be making baked apples, and the whole house would smell like cinnamon and brown sugar.”

Ye-Joon smiled. “That sounds really nice.”

You nodded. “During finals week, I helped Mary and the other cooks bake cookies for you guys. I still think that’s one of my favorite smells of all time.”

“You helped out with that?” Angus asked.

Dropping your smile, you said. “Yeah, and if I knew which one you’d have taken I would’ve spat in it.”

Before he could even come up with a response, Teddy ran up to Alex and yanked the glove off his right hand. “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for ratting me out, you little Mormon!” He laughed before throwing it into the river.

You marched up to him immediately. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Like, what the actual fuck?”

Teddy only stuck his tongue out like a child before running back to catch up with Jason. A part of you (somehow) foolishly believed he would’ve berated Teddy for the obviously asshole act; but he didn’t.

Rolling your eyes, you went down to the river with Alex, hopefully trying to find the glove and be able to fish it out. Though, to no avail, you couldn’t find it.

“It’s gone!” He yelled back up to Angus and Ye-Joon. “My glove’s gone!”

“Twisted fucker orphaned that glove on purpose!” Angus responded. “Left you with one so the loss would sting that much more.”

Alex looked down at his hands before tugging off the other glove and throwing it into the river as well. You glared at Teddy as he had a fun time, still laughing and throwing the ball with Jason. Sighing, you looked back down at Alex and pulled off your mittens, handing them to him.

“Here.”

He glanced up at you before staring back out at the water, rubbing his nose. “I don’t need them.”

“Your fingers are frailer than mine.” You continued even when he gave you a look. “That’s not an insult, that’s a fact. It’s alright, I have pockets.”

Alex, after a moment of debating, took them from you and slipped them on, smiling. “Thanks.”

The six of you were on your way back to school when you felt someone slip their hand into your coat pocket.

“Now what do we have here?”

You turned on your heel, seeing Teddy’s face light up as he waved the letter in his hand. Your face dropped, along with your voice.

“No!”

Immediately, you began to chase him around the small, snowy clearing as if you were a dog and he was a car.

“Theodore fucking Kountze, give that back!” You commanded.

He ripped open the envelope. “Or what, Hunham? You’re gonna tell your dad on me?”

“Just give her the letter, idiot.” Angus rolled his eyes.

Of course, Kountze ignored him, taking the letter out, and money falling from the paper. That’s when he stopped in his tracks and so did you. For the first time since…a while, you were frozen, and you had no idea why.

The rest of the boys caught up to you two, and Teddy picked up the money that fell from the letter; a twenty, a ten, and a five-dollar bill. After the initial shock wore off, he read the letter aloud to everyone.  

“‘My dearest girl, how are you? It’s been a while, and I just want to know what you’ve been up to. Merry Christmas, here’s my gift to you. From, Daniel. P.S. Please send another picture of you if you could.’”

Shame crept in like a shaking animal from the cold, and you couldn’t even look at any of them. Still, that didn’t stop Teddy from taunting you; hell, it probably spurred him on.

“The hell kind of business are you running if you got a someone paying you thirty-five bucks?” He laughed, looking back at the guys. “You think she’s in a skin mag or something?”

“Hey, man, shut up.” Jason rebuked.

“No, I’m serious. They take pictures without showing the face sometimes.” He looked at you now. “Which one is it? Penthouse? Modern Man?”

“Leave it, Kountze.” You hissed, not looking at him.

Teddy laughed. “Don’t tell me it’s Playboy; you?”

 “Are you fucking deaf?” Angus asked. “She told you to cut it out.”

“Piss off Tully, you probably saw her tits this morning in study hall.”

You whipped your head around and couldn’t control the face you made; to this day, you still have no idea if it was pure rage, a form of betrayal, or both at once. Still, you watched as how Angus avoided your gaze like he’d done something wrong; he did, but still. Teddy opened his disgusting mouth to speak again.

“Shit, if I were to line up every girl in Barton, you would’ve been the very last one I-.”

“-I’ll let you take the picture.”

All eyes were back on you, and you looked right at Teddy’s; once confident and sly, now widened with surprise. Who knew it would take just six words for him to shut up?

“What?” Was all he responded.

You swallowed thickly, clutching your hands into fists to keep yourself calm (and to not cry). “I’ll let you take the picture of me, but we have to be alone, and you need to promise me you won’t tell anyone else; especially my father.”

This was not what you had envisioned or wanted to happen on your first outing with them away from the adults in your life. You prayed to whatever god above, Christian, Roman, Greek, Buddhist, it didn’t matter, you prayed that Teddy would grow a brain and take the deal.

“Alright.” Was all he said, shrugging with an excited smile on his face that made your skin crawl.

You nodded. “I’ll take my letter and money now.”

He tilted his head, walking closer to you. “Please.”

Taking a deep breath, you said. “Please.”

Teddy’s grin only deepened, then handed you your things. “You know, Hunham, maybe you’re not a total prude after-.”

Your fist met his eye, and the both of you stumbled backwards; him clutching his face, you your hand. Needless to say, you were both cursing. Still, you managed to gather your bearings and push him over.

“Fucking bastard.” You spat before trying to make a run for it.

Teddy grabbed your left foot, causing you to fall into the snow, your teeth sinking into your lip once you hit your chin on impact of the ground. You struggled, then managed to quickly wiggle out of your boot before getting back up and running like a girl (anyone would run like a girl if they were being chased by a man like Teddy Kountze).

You honestly have no idea how he didn’t catch up to you at the time, but you were on the steps of the main building when you turned back. There they were, just five, not-so-little specks that stood out across the valley of pure white snow. It was only when you slowed down did you notice how cold your left foot was. Your sock was dripping wet from the snow, and you then pulled off your other boot, leaving it on the stairs before entering the school.

Taking a deep breath once you closed the door, you wiped your mouth; specks of blood colored your hand, but thankfully, not that much. Sighing, you walked through the halls of the school, trying to make your way back to the infirmary and hoping that your father wasn’t there.

You ran into Mary instead (a fate worse than death).

“Where are your shoes?” Was the first thing she asked once she saw you in the main hall (you got lost; hey, you’d only been there a few times in the past, don’t be too hard on yourself).

You shrugged, smiling. “We were playing a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“Hide and seek tag.” you leaned against the wall, hands in your coat pockets. “First one to get to the school wins, I hid my shoes under a bush, so they thought I was there, and I made a run for it.”

“You take a fall then? Your mouth’s bleeding.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never slipped on ice?” You managed to joke.

She arched her brow, placing her hands on her hips. “Do you know how long I’ve known you?”

It actually took you a few moments to think back on it; it felt like you’ve known her longer, but no. “Since I was nine?”

“And do you think, in the last eight years, I haven’t been able to tell if you’re a bad liar or not?”

“…Well, am I?”

“Did one of those boys put their hands on you?” She asked the question you both knew was coming. “Was it that shitass Kountze?”

Even with it being a serious question, you laughed (both from surprise and discomfort). “Well like, you should see the hands I put on him. Mary, we were just playing, it’s fine.”

The main door opened before she could say anything else, and you saw the same five boys walk in; Ye-Joon holding your boots. You smiled, approaching them as if nothing was wrong, and you took your shoes. “Thank you.”

He nodded, quickly looking away.

“You all should be ashamed of yourselves.” Mary spoke up behind you, and your heart dropped for a moment as well as all of their faces. “I get that you were playing a game, but you don’t need to be so competitive.”

They turned to one another, obviously confused about the whole thing (you were as well). Still, she continued. “Yeah, little miss Hunahm told me everything. Hide and seek, tag, I don’t care what it was, you all need to be just careful with each other. Poor girl over here took a fall, and I see you did too, mister Kountze.”

At his name, Teddy turned away. Angus spoke up. “We’ll be careful next time, miss Lamb.”

“Please, we’re on vacation; just Mary.” She looked at you. “You’re gonna help me with dinner later, right?”

“I will.”

“Good, stay out of trouble.”

“No promises.”

With that, Mary left through one of the doors leading to the teacher’s lounge. The moment she did, Teddy hissed at you.

“What the hell was that?!”

Rolling your eyes you said. “Didn’t you hear? We were playing a stupid game.”

“You mean you punched me in the face.”

“You blackmailed me into doing something I wouldn’t have wanted to do; we can keep going.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a-.”

“-A what?”

He stopped to your surprise, then changed his tone. “I just don’t think your father would be proud of the choices you’ve made.”

On one hand, damn, those words cut deep enough to almost make you bleed; but on the other hand…

“Are you gonna tell him?” You asked, trying not to sound like you gave a shit.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “I mean, unless you’re gonna say sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You laughed. “Beating the shit out of you? You started it. Besides, who’s he going to believe?”

Silence was what you were met with. Even at the sight of his face, you only continued to grin. “Teddy, come on, you start ‘not fights’, we all know. It’s not a hard question, I thought you were smarter than this?”

He sighed. “You.”

“Exactly; you’re my bitch, Kountze.” You walked backwards, a little skip in your step. “Don’t you forget that.”

Turning away, you retreated to the infirmary, grabbing your books and escaping to the library in hopes of not having to see any of them for the rest of the day.

Men…so exhausting.

You managed to disappear into the world of The Yellow Wallpaper (not necessarily lighthearted reading, but it was still interesting) and a chapter of The Two Towers before Mary called you down to help with dinner.

After another strange but not so subtle comment from her (“You know you can be honest with me, right? I am with you.”), it was quiet between the both of you. That’s what you always loved with cooking and baking; the quietness, even if you were with one other person. You both just worked in tandem and it was almost frightening how you would both know to move out of the way of each other without saying a word.

Dinner was uneventful; somehow, your father hadn’t noticed the slight bruising on your lip, or Teddy’s eye (the color would probably start to show as days went on, but that was a future problem for you). Not one of the boys your age talked to you; even then, the freshmen kept to themselves a lot too.

So, it was quite a surprise to you, as there was “supervised leisure time” in the library, when Jason Smith sat across from you at the table.

“Hey.” He said softly.

You looked up from Jane Eyre. “Hello.”

“So…” He almost looked nervous (initially about what, you will never know). “you really gave Teddy shit today.”

Tilting your head to the side, you went. “Yeah? Well…he kind of threatened me.”

“No of course. Just…wow.” He chuckled. “You really held him off.”

Nodding, you honestly had no idea what to think. Was he complementing you? In shock? All you were doing was staying silent at this awkward exchange when he asked. “You okay?”

“Huh?”

“Just that, I can’t really read you right now. Did I say something weird?”

“No.” You shook your head, then said. “Well, yes. Sorry, I just…” You tried again. “Thank you, I think? But um…do you want me to be honest?”

“Sure.”

“I’m kind of…no, I am mad none of you stepped in. Maybe not mad but…I don’t know.”

“Well,” he began. “we told him to stop.”

“So did I, but he didn’t.” You wanted to say, but you only knew saying something true would make it worse (this is why you couldn’t be outnumbered by men; it’d make you scared). Instead, you settled on.

“I know, and thanks, but it still would’ve been nice for some help.”

He shrugged. “You seemed to have it handled.”

Six words you thought (and prayed) you’d never hear again; and he said them with a nonchalant shrug. As if, by now, he was already bored and annoyed with a conversation he had started. Perhaps you were reading too much into that last part, perhaps he didn’t mean to come off as callous; but he was still oblivious at the end of the day.

“Look,” he interrupted your overflowing mind when he saw how much it was affecting you. “if it helps, he tried to run after you when you punched him, but Tully and I held him back.”

You took a deep breath as his words sunk in. Then, you chuckled bitterly. “How nice of you to not let him beat me to a pulp.”

He shook his head. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Angry? Pissed off?”

“Irritational.”

Your jaw actually dropped. “What?”

He said your name, shaking his head and lowering his voice as if you both hadn’t been quiet already. “Look, Kountze is a dick, we know that. But come on, he said some horrible stuff, and you punched him. That doesn’t really add up.”

“…He threatened me.”

“You basically invited him to take a picture of you alone. I mean, yeah it was to bate him, but still.”

No further questions, you picked up your book and your jacket. Without another word and ignoring how he tried to call you back with a soft tone of voice as he said your name, you walked out of the library without another thought.

Your father asked you about it of course, but all you said was that Jason spoiled a book you were looking forward to reading. He believed you and wished you goodnight, leaving you to lie in your bed and be stuck in your thoughts until snoring reached your ears.

You waited a few more minutes before you stood up, gathering your blanket to wrap around you. As you walked down the hall, the nagging thought of ‘Do I even feel safe in there?’ invaded your mind when you only realized that you were going to be in a room with both Jason and Teddy. You were outside of the hall for longer than you would imagine, when you heard quiet voices on the other side of the wall.

“…I had an accident.”

“Yeah, you did. Shh, stop crying. If they hear you, they’ll crucify you. Which would be ironic, since you’re Buddhist.”

You had to cover your mouth from the unexpected line. How…strange it was to hear Angus Tully be this comforting. You heard the smaller voice again and heard that it was Ye-Joon.

“I know it’s an excellent school, and my brothers went here. But I miss my family, and I have no friends.” His voice broke at the end, and so did a piece of your heart.

Then, Angus with his words of wisdom, said. “Yeah, well, friends are overrated. I’ll help you hide the sheets in the morning, all right? In the meantime, find a dry spot, and try to get some sleep.”

“Thank you.”

You gave it a few moments, still reeling over the gentleness of it all, before entering into the light of the infirmary room. You knocked lightly on the door frame not to frighten anyone.

Angus turned over his shoulder, and somehow didn’t jump when he saw you.

“Hi.” You greeted.

“Hey.” He responded, trying to act like his common, moody self.

You wanted to acknowledge what you heard; tease him (but not in an unkind way) about him being nice, ask him why, in the dead of night, was he like this and not in the daytime? Still, all you could manage was the basic.

“Is everything alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah, just nightmares, you know.”

“No,” you shook your head, deciding to lighten and grace the room with your sarcasm. “I’ve never had one in my life.”

Angus seemed to catch on, and it surprised you greatly to see him actually smile. “Nobody likes a bragger.”

“So that’s why you don’t have any friends.”

…Too much; too much sarcasm.

Both of your smiles fell, and you wanted nothing more than to shrivel up like a leaf and die in front of him, then have someone sweep out the crumbs of your body and then them on fire in the snow before burying the ashes.

You still can’t believe you came up with that metaphor quicker before you could say. “I’m just gonna…”

He nodded. “Yep.”

“Goodnight.”

“’Night.”

You scurried into the other room and under the covers of the bed. The fear of Teddy and Jason no longer was the thing keeping you up at night in that room; it was the worst possible thing you could’ve said to Angus Tully of all people.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

[disgruntledexplainer]

Deltora, a subversion of fantasy tropes (or perhaps more accurately going back to it's roots)

@yellow-eyed-green-crocodile OK, here we go.

Deltora Quest is a children's book series. It consists of 16 books, though it exists in an expanded universe which contains another 12 books, not counting Tales of Deltora, Secrets of Deltora, and Monsters of Deltora (as well as the little-known extra book The Land of Dragons, which contains about half of what's in Tales of Deltora plus 3 additional stories which you can't find anywhere else).

The books were written during that time when Scholastic was doing it's darnedest to get kids to actually pick up a book and read. You know, the era of Animorphs, Secrets of Droon, and other books like that. Pre-harry-potter stuff. But deltora always stuck out as somewhat... odd.

For one thing, the setting. Deltora is a land absolutely INFESTED with horrifying monsters. we're talking lovecraft-level stuff. indeed, these things are so powerful that going toe-to-toe with them in conventional combat is laughably absurd. I mean, just look at this thing:

each of those little globes is a stomach the size of a PERSON. a sword ain't doin SHIT against that thing. and it wasn't even the primary monster from the book it came from. do you know what was? THE SAND IT'S STANDING ON. YES, THAT ENTIRE DESERT IS A SINGLE MONSTER.

there are also dark sorcerers, capable of, for example, turning an entire town into a fetid swamp in a split second, and deflecting any weapon directed at them. the main villain is a sorcerer of such incredible power that he makes zeus and odin look like chumps.

in order to defeat these creatures, the main characters are consistently forced to use their wits instead of their weapons.

but this isn't what I am writing this post about. every fantasy book has monsters of some kind. probably. no, what REALLY stands out about the Deltora Quest series is the BELT.

this is the Belt of Deltora, a composite magic item formed from 7 gems, each linked to the power of the land, bound together by a belt made by a simple blacksmith who united the seven tribes of deltora and became it's first king. it is considered the single most powerful mystical object on the continent, and uniting it is Deltora's only hope for survival.

except from a generic fantasy perspective, it kinda sucks.

in most generic fantasy settings, the characters are attempting to accumulate magical power which they can use to engage their enemies directly in combat; alternatively, they may be trying to build a big enough army or something similar. but the gems don't work like that. lets take a look at what the gems can actually do, shall we?

the Diamond: Gem of Strength or Fortitude, can give physical strength, fortitude, and courage to the wielder, as well as the ability to cure diseases in the person who touches it. it punishes those who attempt to take it in a dishonorable manner with misfortune. It can allow the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal Diamond Dragons, and a nearby dragon of it's type boosts it's power, and vice versa. it also has this weird synergy with the topaz where the topaz can summon the strength of everyone who believes in the wearer (in a metaphorical sense) and the diamond transforms that belief into physical strength.

the Emerald: Gem of Honor, dulls in the presense of evil or at the location of a broken vow, is a remedy for sores and ulcers, and is an antidote to poison for whomever touches it. It can allow the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal Emerald Dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa. Note that out of all the dragons, emerald dragons are arguably the biggest and most powerful. It might have other powers as well, as it's potential isn't as well explored as the other gems.

Lapis Lazuli: Gem of Luck or Providence, protects the wearer from evil and brings good fortune. also may have some subtle effect on the weather, though that hasn't been confirmed. it is arguably the most powerful of the gems for the protection it provides, but the nature of it's power is ill defined, and certainly outside of the wearer's ability to control. It also allows you to detect the location of the Opal as if it were a compass, and is more powerful when in close proximity to it. It can allow the wearer to telepathically communicate and heal Lapis Lazuli dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa. If the opal has it's power boosted by a nearby opal dragon, the Lapis Lazuli's power is also boosted if they are close to each other.

Topaz: Gem of Faith, can allow the wearer to make contact with the spirit world during a full moon. the character can see ghosts, and sometimes the spirits of the hallowed dead (those who are in heaven) will appear to the character and given advice, those this is extremely rare. It also clears and strengthens the mind and protects the wearer from the terrors of the night (also ill-defined). It's powers are all strengthened during the full moon. It can allow the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal topaz dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa.

Opal: Gem of Hope, has the power to give glimpses of the future and can enhance the wearer's vision, and it can also fill the wearer with hope for the future (which helps counteract the panic that the visions of the future often produce). It can detect the Lapis Lazuli like a compass, and is more powerful when in close proximity to it. It allows the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal opal dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa. If the Lapis Lazuli has it's power boosted by a nearby lapis lazuli dragon, the opal's power is also boosted if they are close to each-other.

The Ruby: Gem of Happiness or Love, it grows pale in the presense of evil, or when misfortune threatens it's wearer. Can be used in conjunction with the emerald to fully distinguish between danger, evil, and vow-breakers, since their powers overlap a little. It wards off evil spirits (also ill-defined) and is an antidote to snake venom, and also apparently repels snakes and venomous creatures in general. It allows the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal ruby dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa.

The Amethyst: Gem of Truth or Wisdom, changes color in the presence of illness, pales near poisoned food or drink, and guides the wearer toward sincerity, security and peace of mind (AKA calming the wearer when touched). It also boosts the power of Toran Magic. By A LOT. It allows the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal Amethyst dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa.

True, this is a lot of variety in powers, but with the exception of the Diamond most of this is pretty useless in combat. Especially given that the sorcerers in this world can do things like call lightning down from the sky, or create and control thousands of soldiers made out of goo. And compared to the combat capabilities of end-game weapons of other setting? it's chump change. it should be noted that the gems DO NOT allow the wielder to control dragons, only telepathically communicate with them, meaning that the King of Deltora must still negotiate to get any help, and the Dragons are rarely cooperative, even in the face of their own extinction. The gems don't give you the ability to control the elements, warp space and time, kill with a thought, fly, or turn into a glowing giant (whatever the anime adaptation might say to the contrary).

No, what the gems allow the user to do is: keep a level and clear head, detect potentially dangerous situations, and heal people of ailments.

but here's the thing; given what I said about the monsters in deltora, any of the spectacular kinds of magic would be pretty much useless. The Shadow Lord is beyond anything any mortal is capable of fighting; he has integrated his twisted will with the spirit of half a continent, and has experimenting with new and more twisted kinds of magic for thousands of years. Frankly, even by the standards of most "dark lords" like Sauron, Melkor, and Galbatorix, he is unimaginably powerful. a direct confrontation with him is laughable.

so then, why is the Belt considered one of the most powerful objects on the planet?

Well, because what it grants isn't power.

it grants FREEDOM.

freedom is defined as "the power, rooted in reason and will, to act or not to act, to do this or that, and so perform deliberate actions on one's own responsibility. By free will one shapes one's own life. Human freedom is a force for growth and maturity in truth and goodness[...]" -Catechism of the Catholic Church section 1731

in other words, Freedom, properly defined, is not the ability to do what one wants; that is power, not freedom. Freedom is the ability to do what one NEEDS to do. Freedom to protest. Freedom to preach. Freedom to worship. Freedom to defend oneself both physically and legally. These are freedoms.

Now lets look again at what the belt enables one to do. It allows one to clear and calm one's mind and strengthens one's will, heals, protects from certain kinds of danger, and allows one to heal others. These are not powers, they are FREEDOMS.

oh yeah, and I forgot one more of these freedoms:

WHEN ALL THE GEMS ARE PUT IN THE BELT TOGETHER, THEY PRODUCE A MAGICAL SCREEN WHICH BANISHES DARK MAGIC AND THOSE WHOSE SOULS ARE TAINTED BY IT.

it is not combat power, but it is a power FAR GREATER THAN ANY COMBAT POWER COULD EVER FEASIBLY BE

In a sense, this subverts normal fantasy tropes by going back to its roots. When JRR Tolkien wrote the Lord of the Rings, he wrote a book about simple working class and middle class people defeating an evil by DESTROYING POWER (with a One Ring being a kind of stand-in for power itself in all it's forms). yet, it seems that every writer since has taken a look at his work and gone "look at all this cool world-building and monsters and magic! but the protagonists and themes are kinda lame. I KNOW, i'll REPLACE those complex and nuanced themes with EDGY GRIZZLED WARRIORS AND POWER-HUNGRY SORCERERS, and make the story all about CONSOLIDATING AS MUCH POWER AS POSSIBLE TO DEFEAT SOMEONE WHO HAS ALSO CONSOLODATED AS MUCH POWER AS POSSIBLE, BUT IN AN EVIL WAY. sometimes they even have their characters performing actions which are completely morally bankrupt (razing cities, killing civilians or surrendering enemies, etc), and justify it because "main villain is worse". because in other words, most fantasy writers decided to completely rip off all of tolkien's world, down to the very creatures that inhabit it, but HORRIBLY INVERT the themes

Meanwhile, Deltora seems to do the opposite. It doesn't copy Tolkien's world. there are similarities; the Shadow Lord is kinda like Sauron if you squint a little. but the world is populated with plenty of creatures that don't line up at all, and even those that are similar are only superficially so. meanwhile, Emily Rodda (the author) took a look at Tolkien's themes, smiled and nodded, and proceeded to ELABORATE UPON THEM. The kingdom of deltora fell because the rulers detached themselves from the needs of the common man and physically separated themselves from them out of cowardice. the shadow lord twists and destroys nature to produce his horrific experiments which mirror in many ways modern genetic engineering. the battle is won not through force of arms, but through planning, cleverness, and uniting the tribes under a common cause.

there are other things, like how each gem corresponds to one of the seven virtues, or how so much emphais is put on using logic to solve problems, and similar things, but this post is long as it is, so i'm going to stop here.

[terresdebrume]

I'm going to be greedy and ask for more 😽😽😽

[Make me write]

Hehehehehe please do feel free to be greedy! I'm enjoying the writing time and procrastinating at work so it's double win for me xD

🔗 Story tag 🔗 Part 1 🔗 Part 2 🔗Part 3🔗Part 4

He considers walking back to the office, but dismisses it as a coward's attitude. Edwin may not be the strongest fighter there is, but he does pride himself on his ability to face the world as it is rather than as he wishes it were. The current situation with Charles is untenable, and the only way to resolve this, one way or another is for them to talk it through. With that in mind, Edwin takes a deep breath and phases into a furniture shop to jump through the nearest mirror he can find.

The office is quiet when he steps in. There is a sort of stillness to the air that Edwin hopes he is simply imagining, the sort that settles at the back of his neck like the fetid breath of a hell hound and brings all sorts of questions to Edwin's mind. The first of them is: where is Charles? There is no trace of him Edwin can see or hear. Crystal was on her way up when Edwin panicked, is it possible she took Charles out for some sort of conversation? If so, whether she will take Charles' or Edwin's side is something of a toss up, and not one Edwin cares to resolve today.

He must talk to Charles, though. Yes, he is distraught by the turn of events and can admit, if only to himself, that his heart still bleeds just to think of what he saw earlier. But the longer he stares at the empty office, the longer he is left to wonder whether Charles will even be willing to hear him out, the more Edwin realizes he will gladly take the wound if it means keeping Charles by his side. He will make peace with his friend's new relationship. He will endeavour to be civil to the the Cat King, and he will keep his darker thoughts to himself forever, just so long as he can--

Someone sniffles.

The sound is so faint it is almost a miracle Edwin hears it over the hum of traffic creeping in through the window, but it makes Edwin's heart triple its size with hope anyway.

"Charles?" He asks the empty air.

[weshney]

DP Writing Prompt

Lich King AU

Imagine, if you will, a grand, witchcraftian circle carved into the floor of a dungeon, toxic green light crisscrossing in precise geometric patterns and inlayed with delicate, looping symbols. The air is damp and cold, the atmosphere murky and dim. A team of heros approach an alter wafting fetid smells, its top and sides dripped in flaking, dried blood. Rotting corpses shamble in from the shadows, a glowing skeleton or two quick to dart in for a strike as screams echo from a back room. A heavy door slams shut with a thunderous weight, and the shrieks abruptly cutting off. The rattling, raspy sound of worn burlap and bare feet drag lurchingly across aged stone, heralding the approach of a single mummified beast trolling a dirty, half-concious human behind. The heros surge forward, frantically trying to intervene as the teenage girl is dropped with a sickening crunch onto the raised, bloodied quart. Thinking fast, one of the heroes blasts the floor, breaking the circle. The viridecent hue that illuminates the lines fades out.

Only...the summoning continues.

And the undead start to panic.

But how?! The circle was broken! And what could make such horrifying monsters so terrified?! Was the worst yet to come? Had they royally fucked things up by destroying the circle?

"Funny you should think that. You might not have royally fucked things up," a haunting chuckle echoes about the chamber as the newly arrived Lich King taps his skeletal crown, "but I'm about to."

A smile straight from Uncanny Valley splits his lips.

Then, eyes of green coal pan across the room's occupants, instantly spotting the primed sacrifice splayed limp and ragged-breath over the alter.

The king bares his fangs and the grotesque creature that towers over her takes a half step back. Then frost creeps like timelapsed vines over stone and it quivers. One heartbeat. Two. Its composure shatters, and it pivots, sending a thick-ended saber clattering to the floor as it lunges into a four-legged sprint toward the back room.

The clawed skitters only barely just begin their scritchy click-click-click-clacks when all hell breaks loose.

Turns out, that wasn't a summoning circle. It was a warding circle. Those undead? Yeah; they weren't trying to call their king to battle. They were trying their best to keep him out. Because they knew, if he got in, he was gonna beat aaaall their asses.

(Because it fits the vibes so well and I'm still wowed by this artwork years after I first saw it, make sure to reblog @pengold 's Drow Warlock Danny!)

My take on the idea that it'd be kinda fun to see Ghost King Danny begrudgingly find out he also rules the undead. He just gets stuck with a bunch of rotting, smelly, evil subjects that he's just disgusted by and can't get rid of. And to make matters worse, they are constantly doing vile things in his name that he has to put a stop to. As far as humans know, he's all about accepting sacrifices, spreading plagues, and destroy life in general, all because of some goddamn fine print and a horde of asshole servants.

[drconstellation]

i'm sorry i'm a bit slow when it comes to reading comprehension...i thought crowley saves the goats because he doesn't want to kill them, not because they're associated with demons? or did i get that wrong? 🙈

Angelic Sheep and Demonic (Scape)Goats

[Just for reference, the question above was prompted by another meta: Goats, Crows and The Flood]

Thank you for the question. This gives me a chance to write up a sheep and goat meta at length - but I hope you're not going to regret asking it, because its not a simple answer. While I am always saying "it never is in the GOmens AU" I have to admit this one took off with a life of its own (the metas do that sometimes) and has ended up much longer than I thought it would and went to places I didn't expect it to go, but sometimes that is the joy of writing these.

Crowley doesn't want to kill them because he thinks they are innocent and blameless, just like the children of Job - and by extension, we are meant to see he thinks he was unfairly blamed and condemned to be a demon as well. That's it at its most simple level, but by understanding why there is an association between demons and goats will give you a much deeper insight into Crowley's story and why he would act this way. S2 of GOmens is like an onion, you need to peel that thin dry skin off and then slice through several more juicy layers to get the full depth of flavor into the complex meal that has been created for us. Its worth the tears that the chopping of the onion releases in the end. Are you brave enough to find out?

Take the conversation above, between Sitis and Bildad/Crawley. Sitis is a parallel-character to Aziraphale here, wearing the angel's signature teal green, and she questions the demon about the children being threatened with destruction. Then let us put these two parallel scenes side-by side: Sitis vs Bildad and Aziraphale vs Heaven

AZIRAPHALE: Oh. So just his worldly goods. MURIEL: Exactly. Oh, nothing important, no. Just his farm, his camels, his goat, his oxen, his children, his geese… AZIRAPHALE: His WHAT?! MURIEL: His geese. You know, big cross ducks.[flaps arms] AZIRAPHALE: His children?

So we have Sitis looking in horror at a demon at the potential death of her children, and then we have Aziraphale looking in horror at Heaven acting demon-like, not caring if children are destroyed in pursuit of victory over Satan. "Trust in God's plan, Aziraphale. Always," admonishes the shoulder-demon Gabriel (he is so often a shoulder demon - I have words to say about this! - in another meta) In other words, be a good sheep, Aziraphale, and have faith in the Almighty. Don't worry about the goats, or kids. They aren't important.

If you listen carefully during the Job minisode, A Companion to Owls, you'll notice Gabriel prefers to emphasize the number of sheep that will be returned to Job in the end. The Christian church is very big on the sheep imagery! Sheep are considered to be modest, humble, obedient (because they follow one another - you need to be a good follower!) and patient. They follow their shepherd's voice and goes where he directs. (Uh huh...) Followers are described as being part of a flock.

Goats, on the other hand (ah, yes, we'll talk about that in a moment) are considered to be a bit on the nose. Literally. A rutting billy goat is described as having a 'fetid' smell, they can be promiscuous, capricious, devious (wily?) and contrary. Their strong-mindedness, singleness of purpose and leadership qualities (!*) make them the opposite of sheep. While going your own independent way is frowned upon by Heaven, this leading quality of the goat is sometimes used to lead the sheep.

"There are three things that are stately in their stride, four that move with stately bearing: a lion, mighty among beasts, who retreats before nothing; a strutting rooster, a he-goat, and a king with his army around him." Proverbs 30: 29-31

Did you get a good whiff of that sinister archangel, Shax?

(oh boy, some of the stuff I found researching this for more detail...such as "going your own way creates disunity...this leads others astray..." wtf! Looking at this in context with the show makes it kind of, well, some things make more sense to me now? I guess that's a big reflection on the kind of culture I personally grew up in, because I know there are cultures where unity and togetherness is looked upon as happiness and harmony.)

In the tv show, we know the scene blocking - where the characters stand - has great importance. Standing on the right-hand shoulder of another character makes them a shoulder-angel (the dexter side), standing on the left a shoulder-demon (the sinister side.) By watching who stands where usually tells us what moral stance they are taking in that scene.

If we take the example from the Job minisode below, we can see quite an interesting dynamic from the scene blocking. On the left, we have Sitis and Job, who is crouching down. They are an Aziraphale-Crowley parallel-pair, and they are even colour-coded with their colours! Sitis, in Aziraphale's teal on the angelic right of yellow tunic-wearing Job, who's modelling Crowley's suffering for sin but without understanding why. Job has crouched down to highlight Crowley's entrance. On the right the glowing angels are arrayed - Michael on the angelic right shoulder, Gabriel in the middle (more often than not he stands on the demonic left) but this time Aziraphale is taking the far left demonic position, and we know why - he's about to lie like a demon! But even on a grander scale, Sitis, Job and Crowley all stand on the angelic RHS of the visiting angels, making the archangels and Aziraphale all collectively LHS demons in this scene. And Gabriel thought they'd won the bet...*snort*

You should all take a moment to appreciate this piece of Art. Go on. Do it.

Sheep and goats had this right- and left-handedness meted out to them long ago in the bible. The sheep belong to the morally righteous right-hand side, of course, the side of angels, and the goats to the demonic left.

But when the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. Before him all the nations will be gathered, and he will separate them one from another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left. Matthew 25:31-33

This passage and the following lines from Matthew describes how Jesus will judge the righteous from the sinners, and those who have been deemed good will be saved, but those who are deemed unworthy will be treated like goats: "Then he will say also to those on the left hand, 'Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire which is prepared for the the devil and his angels" Matthew 25:41

So we've established the link between goats being demons, and the left-hand side, so they have an affinity with Crowley. We can do a bit of humorous visual and word play between kids and children.

Children.

ah.

oh. OH. Hang on a minute...

Lets just take a step back to the beginning of the minisode, where Crawley delivers his short monologue to the assembled goats.

CRAWLEY: You should know why you're about to die. God has abandoned you. The God who claims to love you, who demands your praise, has given you up to be destroyed.

They're rather small goats, aren't they. The kind of size that makes you wonder if they are goat children or grown goats... you know, it doesn't matter - they are little, cute and innocent. You are meant to associate them with kids, now, and in the past. (Like, in the way, way back past. Like not just the Flood, but the Before the Beginning past.) What matters is Crawley's speech to them, because it sounds very much like him repeating his own experience about his Fall from Heaven. We already know from S1 there is a conflict around Crowley's Fall involving wanting to ask God questions. We get to explore this further several times in S2.

Then later, after emerging from Job's cellar, they witness God talking to Job.

AZIRAPHALE: I don't suppose he's getting any answers. CRAWLEY: No. But just to be able to ask the question.

We don't hear all the lines God speaks to Job, but we hear enough to them to understand that they come from the Book of Job 38 and 39. The context behind these two verses is...interesting. I was going to delve into them a little more but I think that will get us off track on this meta, so perhaps I should come back and revisit it separately, but we can note that several ops have pointed out that the lines we do hear God speak clearly to Job can be connected to Crowley. There are no coincidental accidents in S2.

But just look at Job in that last image - the light of God shining brightly down through a hole in the clouds, darkness all around...

Hmm. Remind you of anything. Like maybe... another Voice from above?

Who we've seen has shown a particular dislike for a certain demon, even though most certainly remembers what his name is.

METATRON: Ah, well, always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions, too.

Well, doesn't that sound just like a demon goat.

That withering look the Metatron gave Crowley in S2E6, the comment about asking "damn fool questions," - just about the only conclusion you can come to is that the Metatron had something to do with Crowley's Fall. What and how exactly is still unclear, but there are some clues in Gabriel's story, as Gabriel is acting as both a parallel and foil to Crowley in S2. At this point we should also talk about the scapegoat ritual that was widely practiced around the near Middle East regions for quite some time.

The scapegoat ritual involved two young goats being chosen for sacrifice, but one of them had the sins of the community spoken over them then set free to wander into the desert wilderness to die, while the other was sacrificed as a Burnt offering to God. This was a symbolic way of removing sins from the community.

It is also applied to the Passion of Jesus. When the gathered crowds are offered the choice between letting Jesus or Barabbas go free, they choose Barabbas. I've written at length how I see this applied to S2 in this meta here: The Passion of Jimbriel: Resurrection and while Gabriel and Crowley share the role of Jesus fairly equally throughout the Passion story line, there is one point it can be split and Gabriel becomes the Barabbas and the goat that was released into the wilderness and Crowley becomes Jesus on the cross - but he turns into the sacrificial lamb! Perhaps that needs to be changed to the burnt offering...

I know there are quite a few meta ops that are aware of the scapegoat ritual, and more often than not I see Aziraphale being suggested as the current scapegoat. But the way I see the ritual being used in GO is not so much in the present story but in the past, and Crowley was the unwilling scapegoat for the rebelling angels that fell.

OK, I think I've run out spoons on this meta, but seeing how its managed to be at least twice the size I initially envisioned it to be, and its since generated two more meta ideas in the writing of it on top of the ones I'm already trying to do, that isn't too bad.

I'll wrap it up by saying no matter who the scapegoat is, Aziraphale needs to let his inner lion out so he can be The GOAT in S3. I'm sure the original nanny-goat will applaud that.

*talking about that topic...I should have a meta out soon centered around Crowley and Gabriel that will cover this. I will probably come back and edit a link in to it.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Nightmares

Past -.- Future

Author's note: More Husbandry with Imhoden.

Summary: Imhoden sees more of these Chaos Marines, and has to go to the medbay to get checked out. He really, really doesn't want to be here.

Warnings: Panic attack, or at least the beginning of one. Body horror? Death Guard Horrifying Looks, seeing the eldritch horror that is Chaos Marines, Seeing The Truth Behind the Warp Veil. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Imhoden had been brought before the local Chaos Marine Chapter Master near where he had fallen. The acting chapter master is one of the Black Legion, which he still doesn't know which Legion that is, but he looks like a caricature of a Son of Horus, most of these Chaos Marines are horribly mutated and feel so wrong in his senses. Twisted, corrupted, sick, wrong, his senses of the Immaterium scream at him. He tries to keep his twitching to the minimum, not wanting to be thought of as Weak or as pray.

As it is, most of them seem to hold some level of contempt for him, even if they also seem to fear him at some level. But as a Psyker, and a son of The Red King, it was a familiar series of feelings and social issues from those of lesser understandings that he's had to suffer his entire life. He's a Son of the Sorcerer King of Prospero, this is merely a minor inconvenience that he can, must, and will rise above. He speaks to the Entity in charge that claims to be an Astartes and he's ordered to go to their medbay to be checked out by one of their Apothecary types.

He bristles, but knows that while he's in these creatures’ domain he has to follow the rules carefully. He's read about, been warned about Warp Predators and Fae creatures that may try to take on the faces of those he knows, or knows of. But to have them so badly take on the forms of his cousins makes his stomach roll as he tries to figure out what it is he can do to get out of the situation that he's in. Imhoden has noticed from when he's first tried to use his powers that Psykery is much, much more difficult, time, resource and energy consuming than it should be, so he needs to carefully conserve his resources and only use what he has available to him, which is severely limited, very, very carefully.

He's guided- and guarded on his way to the med bay. He's glad for his helmet to protect him because he stills as he sees, while the med bay is clean, sort of, the horrific and horrifying entities that fake, poorly, very, very poorly, at being Apothecaries has him slowly trying to edge away from the entrance of the med bay and from his 'guides' who are more likely his guards to keep him from trying to escape. One of the... 'chaos space marine' apothecary types comes over to him. They look almost normal, except they have multiple sets of eyes and curling horns, and look as if they are diseased, infected, and likely will cause him more harm than good being in their presence.

"Greetings," They gurgle at him with a voice like poisoned honey and the garggling of a thousand ill souls. "I am Brother Apothecary Hura of the Death Guard. What brings you in today?"

Imhoden tries not to shake and takes another small step back, or tries to as his 'guides' grab him and push him forward.

"We've got a new arrival," One of his 'guides' on the left says. "He was in the desert on his own for several days before we found him. He's a bit jumpy."

Hura nods, and smiles a little at him, his teeth yellowed and rotted and he can smell a disgusting, sweet fetid rot and decay. Imhoden tries not to gag or throw up, through his helmet, and it's filters are working over time he can smell this horrific thing.

"I see," Hura says with a nod, 'Come along then, Cousin, what name do you go by?"

Imhoden is not going to give this thing his name, at least not a part of his true name, such things hold power and weight. But to lie, which might get caught would also be an exceedingly poor idea. He has to come up with something and fast. Even though his eyes are watering and he's trying not to heave as the Chaos Marines guide him to a private room. Oh fuck no, he's not going to be trapped in a small room with that thing. As he passes by the main area of the medbay, seeing other rooms and treatment of other horrific creatures that almost strain his gaze and make him want to scream and run or destroy them all and claw his own eyes out.

He closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths, trying not to get dizzy. Fuck the smell in here is almost horrifying bad as he tries to think, "Odi."

It's a childhood nickname that he had, long before he became an Aspirant of the illustrious legion of the Thousand sons.

"It's nice to meet you," Hura gurgles at him.

Imhoden spots the horrifying bug-like carapace as the other turns his back towards him and sees the massive, moth wings that are folded neatly against the other's armor. This place is a nightmare, and he really, really needs to find a way out before they decide to eat him, or worse, there are far worse things than death.

"I am in acceptable levels of health," Imhoden says, "And I have been drinking plenty of water and eating enough food, so I am injured and not in need of medical care."

"Are you an Apothecary?" Hura asks him with a gurgling croon.

"I have had first aid training," Imhoden replies honestly, "But I am not an Apothecary."

"Per the rules, all new arrivals need to be checked over by an Apothecary." Hura gurgles, looking at him closely, tilting his head at an impossible angle. "Would you prefer to be seen by a Loyalist Apothecary?"

"If I said yes, would I go to a Loyalist Apothecary or would they be brought... here...?" Imhoden says eyeing Hura tensely, the 'guides' on the other side of the door to the exam room he's in and trying to decide if attaching this entity and seeing if he can escape is a good, or exceptionally poor idea.

[letters-unsending]

No. 44

////

Beneath the organization, through a wall that Villain should not be able to see, and down a corridor Villain should not be able to walk, Villain finds Superhero. Not the Superhero, but a Superhero of a past age.

////

Villain was good at finding the things people wanted to keep hidden. He was drawn to upturned floorboards, to safes, to mouths that hung too loose.

In truth, it was not often he found himself purposefully seeking out secrets. He tended to stumble, stagger and land himself in messy webs of half truths and lies. The secrets found him, whether he sought them or not, and he’d long since surrendered himself to the inevitable task of unearthing all things stowed and stashed away.

The Hero Organization burned with secrets. It’s walls ached from holding and veiling the hidden lives of hundreds, but those lies should’ve been dutiful. They should’ve tasted like iron and rung like heavy bells. Instead, the floors felt oily and smelt putrid; the reek of rotted fruit drew Villain down. Locks unlatched before he could reach handles and lights flickered on the turns he needed to take.

This secret was heavy, almost sentient. It conjured whispers, teasing little consonants that devolved into nonsense, and whined as Villain ventured deeper, through levels even Supervillain had no knowledge of. Curiously, there were no guards and the cameras hung down on broken necks. Empty, labyrinthine halls stretched into shadow and Villain followed turn after turn, down into what felt like the very belly of the earth.

Then, a door.

It yawned open as Villain neared, expectant, but he lingered in its frame. The secret was silent. The room beyond was silent too, vast as a ballroom and searingly white, but it’s ceiling was dark. Metal looped down in tubes and wires, dangling like viscera. Mechanisms scaled up the walls and knotted their way to the back, connecting and coiling to a single point: a throne.

And in that throne, sat a man, a man that Villain knew. A man that everyone had known ten years ago.

“Superhero.” Villain whispered to himself. Down the long hall, Superhero’s head snapped up.

Villain took a step back from the door and felt the secret against his spine; it’s nails needled into his shoulders. It’s fetid, apple-skin breath warbled nothing and everything against the shell of his ear. Chased by murmurs, he stumbled forward. The door slammed shut and the resulting clang resounded, metallic and sharply damning, throughout the chamber.

Beneath Superhero’s gaze and the writhing mass of wire, he strode down to the dais which lofted Superhero and his throne, but did not take the final steps upward. He stood like a messenger, waiting for an address from his king.

“You found me.” Superhero spoke, his voice rough and crackling.

“I was led here.” Villain was almost compelled to kneel. Superhero’s presence rose and weighed down with a mountain’s might; Supervillain could scarcely hold a candle to the power Superhero held simply sitting.

“By who?”

“By a will far beyond my own.” As Villain spoke, he found the courage to observe Superhero directly. The tubes did not connect to the chair. Rather, they latched to Superhero’s bare shoulders like leeches, and twitched and shuddered as if swallowing, drawing something from Superhero’s skin.

In turn, Superhero observed Villain as well. “You possess an old strain of [magic]. It’s a wonder they haven’t found you yet.”

“It’s just an urge. It’s not [old magic].” Villain refuted. “There is no [old magic] anymore.”

Superhero thrashed upward, but moved little. Thick, gleaming chains bound his arms and legs to the throne. As Superhero’s power swelled and clawed at the walls of the chamber, Villain choked, and his skin burned into static pinpricks.

“The Organization runs off my [old magic]. It exists. They wield it.” Superhero seethed. “They feed off it like vultures.”

Villain found himself walking up the stairs. Though Superhero’s power roiled, it hung like a dark cloud: threatening, but not yet a storm. Intrinsically, Villain understood that it would not lash, that Superhero was incapable of unleashing it, and so, he approached. He wondered when he’d become so brash.

“The world believes you died in battle.” Up close, Superhero was pale and grey. Blue-black veins wormed out from where the tubes sunk into his skin, but despite his ill health, his skin held no crease and his hair was full, spilling down past his face. He appeared no different than his obituary photo, which had plagued channels and articles for months.

“They had to make sure no one would search for me.” Superhero breathed in and closed his eyes. “I doubt anyone would’ve bothered to try. [Organization Leader] convinced most of the Organization against my case, but you wouldn’t know,” he glanced at the emblem on Villain’s forearm, “you’re on the other side of things, aren’t you?”

Villain tucked his arm behind his back. “I’ve heard rumors. Before you died, they said you started questioning things. And that you’d grown cruel and that your power was corrupting you.”

“Corrupted?” Superhero laughed. His power pranced in the air. “I was only one who saw through the rot.”

His words reminded Villain of the foul air that turned within the building, that overripe and oozing bouquet only he could smell.

“Would you—,” Villain cleared his throat, “what would you do if you were freed?”

“I would deliver truth, deliver justice.” Superhero’s eyes gleamed. “You must know what I mean.”

Villain strolled forward, laid his hand over Superhero’s cuff, and felt the secret, shimmering and brassy, pulse within the metal. “And what would you give me? If I freed you?”

“Whatever remains of my wealth. Whatever I can obtain.” Superhero leaned forward. His tangled hair curtained wild, desperate eyes. “You have my service, my loyalty, my power—anything as long as it doesn’t interfere with my mission.”

“You’re exchanging one prison for another.” Villain dragged his hand from the cuff and placed it overtop Superhero’s arm, fingers curling into livid skin. Superhero let out a breath, something pitched, punched out from the back of his throat.

“If you allow me my revenge,” Superhero swore, “I am yours.”

[cartoon2cartoon]

[artoftcbaldwin]

The Fetid King

Pencil, ink, and inkwash on bristol board

[alicole-sideblog]

Canon-compliant Green family vacation

Daeron is going to Oldtown to be fostered there. Alicent insists on escorting him there herself, and makes a family vacation out of it. Sickly Viserys isn’t up to such travel, so they get to leave him behind.

Here’s the list of events I’ve got so far. I’m looking for more, so if you have ideas, chime in! I want this to be a collaboration post! Please collaborate with me! In particular, the going-there journey is a bit sparse and I could use some help. I also need Daeron anecdotes.

1st leg of the trip: King’s Landing to Tumbleton

They travel by land to Tumbleton, the highest navigable point on the Mander. Horses, carriages, a whole royal procession. They’re traveling on the Roseroad at first, and then take a dirt road that cuts across to Tumbleton.

Aemond, having no dragon yet, is going through a horse girl phase. Until he can get a dragon, he’s going to be the best horse rider anyone’s ever seen.

Alicent isn’t the best rider, but she does have a real fondness for horses. She identifies with them — their big dark gentle eyes; when they sigh and go “brbrbr” and sound so exhausted and put upon.

Alicent rides in a carriage at the start of the trip. The kids are like, “Come out and ride with us!” Criston’s on their side too. Eventually she does.

2nd leg of the trip: Tumbleton to Oldtown:

They travel downriver by boat, and then through the Sunset Sea to Oldtown.

Aegon falls overboard into the river and has to get rescued. This provides an opportunity to make fun of him, and also an opportunity to fuss over him, cuddle him, say, “We’re so glad we didn’t loose you.”

Stopping at every castle along the Mander — Bitterbridge, Longtable, Cider Hall, Highgarden — to spend a night or two and do diplomacy.

When the river turns into the sea, Helaena gets seasick. Alicent and Criston trade off sitting with her at the prow of the ship, and keeping an eye on the other kids.

Alicent pulling Daeron into her lap for cuddles at every opportunity.

Oldtown!

They arrange for baby nerds Helaena and Aemond to get a tour of the Citadel. They love it. Helaena is gifted a bug in amber.

Some Hightower kin shows Aemond the fused stone base of the Hightower and tells him about the competing theories of its history. Aemond is enthralled.

Alicent takes Criston to the Starry Sept. Maybe they redo their vows there?

Otto and Criston meet formally for the first time. Lean into all the meet-the-in-laws tropes for this scene, Otto really grills him. But later in private, Otto tells Alicent that he likes and approves of Criston — he’s been a fan of his since the day he beat Daemon.

Otto meeting Helaena for the first time since infancy, and her becoming his favorite grandchild.

Trip to the Arbor

They make a trip from Oldtown to the Arbor to visit Alicent’s maternal Redwyne kin.

The red tint in Alicent’s hair comes from the Redwyne side. Maybe she hennas her hair before they go to really bring it out? Her Redwyne family like seeing her mother’s traits in her.

Grandma Redwyne is still living. She fusses over Alicent and does the whole, “Oh, you look so much like your mother!” thing and Otto’s like, “I know, doesn’t she?”

Helaena is indirectly named after Alicent’s mother, who was named Elaine (Helene?)

Otto and Grandma Redwyne are mostly on good terms, but Alicent does overhear, once, Grandma Redwyne crying and berating Otto, “Why did you have to take your family with you to the capital? Why couldn’t you have left Elaine and the kids here with me? I would’ve taken care of them, and Elaine wouldn’t have caught the summer fever from that fetid city and she’d still be alive!”

Grandma Redwyne: Where in Dorne is your family from? Criston: *getting really uncomfortable* My mother was born on the coast of the Sea of Dorne. Grandma Redwyne: Ah. I don't know much about the northern coast, only the southern coast. My grandfather was a sailor out of Planky Town. He ran Arbor Gold all over, from Bear Island to Volantis. He never went to the north coast of Dorne, though, never went through the Stepstones. The pirates and all. Grandpa used to say that braving pirates' waters was for men without families waiting for them back home. Criston: *relaxes, smiles*

Return journy: Oldtown to King’s Landing

They travel by ship along the Dornish coast, through the Stepstones, and back to King’s Landing.

If the previous first two segments were the "let's talk about Alicent's family" section, this is "let's talk about Criston's family."

Aemond is sad about loosing his favorite brother. Criston assures him that Daeron will always be his brother. As he’s saying it, Criston realizes that while Aemond’s not loosing Daeron, he is. Daeron will always be their son and brother because blood, but Criston doesn’t have that to fall back on. Being the man that raised them is the only claim he has to these kids. If he’s not that to Daeron, then that’s it — Daeron won’t be his in the future. Criston has just lost him. He calls Alicent over, pushes Aemond off onto her, and then goes and cries in private.

Aegon learns sea shanties from the sailors, and sings them as loudly as he can. Aemond is super annoyed. Helaena surprises the parents by singing to.

Criston spends a lot of time looking at the Dornish coast, off the port side of the ship. At night he has a dream that they’re caught in a storm and shipwrecked on the shore. When people arrive on the beach to help them, he presents himself as a Dornishman and Alicent as his wife.

Sentimentality about Criston’s family as they pass by the Sea of Dorne. “My mother was born somewhere along there. A little village on the northern coast of Dorne.” “Blackhaven is somewhere that way. That’s where my family are.” Getting emotional and praying for his family, who he can only hope are still living since they’re illiterate smallfolk so he can’t write letters to them. The kids saying, “Let’s go to Blackhaven!” and Criston sadly having to explain that it’s an arduous trek through the mountains to get there, it’s not a coastal place they can easily tack onto their trip, people are expecting them back in King’s Landing, etc. Aemond saying, “Ok, fine, we’ll do that trip when Aegon’s king then.”

[sapphicbookclub]

Walk Between Worlds by Samara Breger

Sergeant Major Scratch Keyes of the King’s Guard is having a bad day.

On what should be the biggest night of her life, everything suddenly goes horribly wrong. First, her king denies her the promotion she rightfully earned, as well as the knighthood that goes along with it. And then, when Scratch is wallowing somewhere near the fetid rock bottom, she and her best friend, the flamboyant and carefree Sergeant James Ursus, are arrested for orchestrating the abduction of Princess Frances and sentenced to death. On the whole, things could be better.

Luckily, help comes in the form of the mysterious Shae siblings―Vel and Brella―who inform the doomed pair that the issue of the missing Princess is far more complicated than it appears. After a daring escape, the four embark on an ill-advised rescue mission through a forest filled with beasts, bandits, and mysterious fair folk, bringing nothing with them but a kitchen knife and the vague outline of a plan. Their destination is the Between, a sacred and shadowy fae-guarded place that promises to deliver Scratch and James to the princess―if they manage to survive.

But Scratch didn’t rise above her humble childhood in the Royal City slums by accepting things at face value. It’s clear that the enigmatic Shaes are hiding something, but what do they know? Who are they working with? And why, in the name of all that is holy, can’t Scratch stop staring at Brella’s beautiful face?

Genres: fantasy, romance

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Listen to the book on audiobooks.com here!

[sculptorofcrimson]

You speak of the joy of combat, the blood of the scars and the crimson of gore. How foolish. You carrying your master’s banner high in the air, of dying for retribution, for vengeance, for justice, for treachery, for power, for immortality. How naive.

How sweet of you to think your story will matter. How endearing of you to reach for the stars. How foolish, how tempting, how painful for you to dream of oblivion, of avengeance.

How foolish of you to try.

You will die, little lamb, you will die torn apart by our artillery, scorched to the earth beneath our thunder.

Hear me now, you bloodstained filth of the earth, little more than savage hounds thrown upon blades to die. We have come to kill you, and you have come to die. We will herd you into slaughterhouses and butcher you like cattle, and there shall be nothing glorious about your death. There will be only the humiliation of oblivion, of thunder and shells as His glory brings the very sky crashing down upon you. 

We will drown you in lead, and trap you in steel. We will build walls a thousand times higher until you break yourselves upon our bulwark, we will rain death from above as you shall learn of despair.

Children of the dancing pale, abandon your hopes. Shatter your mirrors, and tear your last paintings of age-old glory to dust. You cannot dance forever, and your song has winded down to an end. We will sing you a dirge, a mournful dirge, of springtime lost and wintertime eternal as His machines grind your bones to dust and scatter you beneath their treads. Your artworks will be razed as your empire was razed, your precious stones lost as you have been lost.

Children of the dreaded night, abandon your dreams. Your empire has fallen, your siblings all alone. When you hunger, when you starve, when you waste away into a death you’ve staved off through the blood of our brethren, we will be there. When you crawl back to us to feed, with hungry eyes and hollow skin, we will be there. We will avenge our mothers you ravaged, our fathers you ravished, our sisters you snatched from their beds and our brothers you carved and butchered. We will avenge our soldiers, and the blaze of our storm will be the last thing your monstrous eyes will ever see upon this fetid earth. We are the tide, and we are unending. No matter how gracefully you dance, how horrific your song, we will drown you beneath our screams and the blaze of our guns. The song of our bullets will be the last you ever see, and we can die, happy, knowing we have been avenged. 

Children of the metallic blue, abandon your guns. Shed your mockery of compassion. Blast your boastful taunts to ash. There will be no range you can hide from, no greater good for your lesser evil. We will find you, and we will paint the earth blue with your blood. We will hunt you down, and drag you to death a thousand times over beneath the fingers of ten thousand gloved hands. 

Children of the blackened oblivion, abandon your slumber. You will scream as we have screamed when we crush your bones to oblivion, when we bury you once more in the tombs you have forsaken. Your dynasty will crumble like sands before our unending charge, your dead kings will die thrice more by our infinite hands. And when you gasp your last, the Emperor will gaze upon your broken bones, and smile. 

Children of the bleeding crimson, abandon your axes. Lay down your armor, cast down your stakes and dream of death, eternal and unforgiving. The endless Emperor is with us and we are immortal. Your charges will break upon the bulwark that is humanity. Your blades will shatter upon the armor of our endless regiments, upon the wrath that is His divine fist. You can not win. Our soldiers will cull you from above. Our shells will rend your armor to paper. You will die not like a god, nor like a man, you will die like a rabid beast, screaming in the fires of His wrath. You will die beneath the storm of our guns and the hail of our soldiers. Tonight, there will be no honor in your death, no glory for your false lord. There will only be oblivion. Pray for us, crimson ones, pray for oblivion, pray that your end is swift, and merciful. For we are unbreakable, and our march is unending.

Children of the liar’s blue, abandon your spells. Your tongues are tied, your plots have faltered. We will march resolute, and we will bring you down. Even a treacherous worm like you must kneel before reality itself. Our soldiers’ blood will clog your feathers, their dying grasps will clutch at your wings and talons until bones shatter and you are one of us now, crawling upon the earth, mortal, weak, so incredibly weak, but without our armor of faith, without the eye of the Emperor. Our soldiers’ death grip will tear out your feathers one by one. Our guns will speak the final truth you will ever know as you die like the traitor you are, squirming, helpless, and mortal.

Children of the rotting green, abandon your anguish. Your pain is nothing compared to what we have endured. We have marched through hell, we have died in hell, and we have soldiered on. We are the Astra Militarum, and there is no limit to our wrath. Our barracks will run rampant with the corpses of your infestation, and your poxes will be crushed beneath the bulk of our endless tide, for we are humanity, and we are unending. The Emperor’s light will sear you crimson and pale, His vengeful glare will scald you from that which was and that which shall be. Death will reclaim you, as death has claimed us all, yet we will endure where you will not. 

Children of the fervent purple, abandon your revels. It is we who shall revel in your death throes. You will find no satisfaction here, in the hollowed servants of His light. You will find only death, and the artisans of His wrath. You will be annihilated, your joy tampered by His rage, your dances cut short by incendiaries and blades. There will be nothing tantalizing in your death. There will only be humiliation, as the artillery annihilates your kind and our guns transform your bones to paste. You will be eradicated, completely and utterly obliterated from the face of His light, for that is the death from which no soul can recover. You will die, your song strangled, your dance interrupted, in a symphony of smoke and screaming shrapnel. 

Children of the golden light, embrace your honor. Even in death, we still yet endure. We are humanity, we are the Astra Militarium, we have held the line for eons and we will hold the line for eternity more. We were those who stayed behind, cut to the last, shredded, flayed, burned, we are those who glared down the eyes of gods with men. We are mortals, so weak, so small, yet Chaos has yet to bring us down. The Eldar have yet to break our ranks, the Necrons yet to drain the life from our corpses. We were mortals, weak in flesh and bone, so fragile, so expendable, yet we held the line.

We are mortal, and tonight, we endure. 

[wordlesslyjenneh]

Drabble prompt 53: Future

“It’s time to think about your future beyond Baron,” King Odin said, his voice strangely raspy and wet.

“What do you mean, Your Majesty?” Kain asked, looking around uncertainly. Golbez stood silently, while Barbariccia smirked.

“Conquest, Kain,” King Odin continued. “We could rule so much more than this kingdom and planet.”

Confused, Kain took a step back. “What could be beyond our world?”

Odin chuckled as his face contorted and turned blue, fangs emerging from his mouth. The air smelled moist and fetid.

Golbez put a hand on Kain’s shoulder to stop his retreat. “There’s so much you don’t know.”