#here I am looking stupid by the Crown Jewels

[sixbucks]

I don’t understand the impulse to take a selfie standing next to every damned thing you see. Especially people who take scary selfies!

I have some friends who take monstrous selfies. Squinty, glarey, triple-chin shots that fail to consider any of the rules of decent photography.

Now I have social feeds full of pictures of confused and deformed people standing next to a bunch of cool stuff.

I’m naming no names but my Facebook feed is a mess!

[wingedcat13]

Princess in a Tower

[Note: this one is *not* Synovus, or any particular prompt. First person, implications of violence and familial abuse, and a one-off for real I promise!]

They have not yet mopped up all the blood, when I enter the throne room.

It is not the first time I have seen the room itself, but it is the first time I’ve had a chance to inspect it. Earlier, it was still filled with the chaos of our siege; the screams of mortal men and metal against metal enough to distract from the pretty mosaics on the walls.

I ignore the remaining smears of viscera. The bodies have been removed, which is the most important bit. They will all be identified, and depending on how well the people they died to defend behave, may even see proper burials. Loyalty is a virtue, even when it is to the wrong people.

Of course, to the people bound and kneeling in this room, I am the wrong people.

As I stalk through them I hear whispers between the sharp footfalls of my sabaton’d boots. Some are muttered prayers, or incoherent cries. The rest are my names and monikers: Domine of the Northern Reach, the Wyvern-Wraith, Death-in-Red. Some get the title wrong, translating it into the local customs, and I am named both ‘Prince’ and ‘Princess’ in an air of confusion. My soldiers will correct them later.

By the time I reach the dais, only one person has been brave enough to utter my given name.

“Elith Frenaye.” Four syllables, but an infinite amount of venom. That’s to be expected. At least the pronunciation is correct.

“Archinard Holbrooke.” I greet the man who was King here only a few hours ago with quiet grace and decorum. As he has dropped my titles, I am under no obligation to grant him his - particularly not when the titles he would expect are no longer his to claim.

The now-former King of Kescil is shorter than I expected, even granting the fact that he’s on his knees. He’s doing his best to keep a straight back, and his chin up, balancing as though he still has to account for the weight of a crown he’s already been relieved of. At nearly sixty, he looks remarkably fit for both his age and status; most nobles are showing their excess by now in unpleasant ways.

Archinard is balding, but he’s taken to it with grace. He isn’t the most muscled man I’ve ever faced down, but he seems to still care for himself. Still has most of his teeth, from what I can see of his sneer. Good. It’s always pathetic to execute someone people can’t even recognize as a king without their robes and jewels.

Archinard also isn’t stupid - he knows that’s his fate. He raises his chin again, and the mental image of him doing that on the headsman’s block is all that keeps me from punching him when he demands, “What have you done with my wife and daughter?”

Steadfast. I remind myself, simply staring at him while I take the time to put myself in order. The fight is over, but my nerves will take days to settle properly. Steadfast. Sure. Serene.

“Nothing yet.” I answer, politely casual as I walk past Archinard. My cape swings into him as I pass, and I swear for a moment he wanted to bite it. Perfect. “Though pretending ignorance won’t help any of you here. Yes, yes, you managed to hide them away from me.”

I turn to face the crowd again, and settle myself into the throne. My voice is steady, unhurried, and unworried, as I add, “For now.”

I don’t clarify that I will find them, or make threats. I don’t need to. There’s a moment where none of the Kescilians even breathe, and saying more would only tarnish that moment of fear. Even Archinard has paled, though his bluster will return in a moment.

Only if he’s given the chance, though, and I don’t intend to grant him that mercy.

I lean back in the throne - my throne, now - and as plush as it is, the thing is damned uncomfortable. Maybe that’s part of why Archinard is the way he is. I’ll never ask. There’s more important things at hand.

“Archinard Holbrooke.” I repeat, and where before my voice was quiet and polite, now it is pitched to carry. I was not born to inherit this throne room, but I was born and raised to a crown. All of that training is evident in the seemingly effortless diction in my voice, a layer of fraying velvet over steel. “You are relieved of the duties of Monarch of Kescil. Your life has been remanded into my care. As I am merciful, I will grant you a choice.”

‘Merciful’ is stretching it, in this instance. The crowd likely expects me to give him a choice of how he’d like to die, or perhaps a chance to try and claim mercy for his Queen and the Princess.

“You may accept these changes with dignity, and retire as Ledan - Lord - Holbrooke, with a moderate compensation from your people, in recognition of your service. Or you may be executed as the last King of Kescil.”

The first offer is tempting, but this isn’t as much of a choice as it appears. Demoting the King to a noble may allow him to think he can reclaim his crown later, but it also opens him to punishment for years of mistreatment by his now-fellow nobles, who do not need to fear a crown’s reprisal. Compensating him from his own treasury makes him complicit, and the common folk won’t forget that he took the chance to run with the gold. Recognition of his service is a joke.

Whether it’s in a rebellion, at the hands of his own vassals, in a common folk mob, or by an assassin, I will see this man dead. It’s only a matter of how long he wants to live, and in what comfort, before the axe - metaphorical or literal - falls. Perhaps I am only offering him a choice of deaths.

“I am a King.” Archinard declares, “So I was ordained, and so I will die.”

The smile I give him in return is bloodless. “As you wish.”

—-

I do not execute Archinard immediately.

If conquest was my true reason for being in Kescil, I would have. My armor was still bloodstained, I had my sword, and the man was already bound and on his knees - it would have been incredibly simple to just end it then and there. But I have promised his death to another, if she wants it, and I will stand by that promise.

My excuse to the masses is that I want to make a ‘proper’ example of him. There are speculations that I want to execute the entire royal family at once, to ensure there are no mistakes, no accidental inheritances. Others think I’m torturing the man for fun behind closed doors.

I have a few retainers who know the truth of my purpose here in Kescil - I keep at least one of them with me, always, as a guard for both my body and my sanity. That first night, the four of us share a room, prepared to sleep in shifts in the parlor of a suite, all piled in the center of the floor.

“Better than camping.” Chirps Valentine, setting up his bedroll on the plush carpet.

“Worse than camping.” Counters Ames, who distrusts the textiles and would prefer a carpet of leaves to sleep on.

Ash doesn’t bother to chime in on that debate, just exchanges looks with me over their heads.

“It is camping.” I tell them both, shoving one end of a couch - there were four of them in this room, four. Not to mention the chairs and cushions and footstools and, ugh - further against the wall. If there were hidden passages, no one would be creeping in easily.

“You know,” Valentine muses from the floor, his head propped on his chin, “I can’t wait to hear the rumors after tonight. What about the rest of you? Fan favorites? Particular conspiracies?”

Ash folds her legs beneath her, and starts stripping off her gloves and boots. “That’s not fair to Elith.” She protests around a mouthful of leather as she struggles with a strap. No one tries to help her; we’ve all learned better. She’ll ask if she needs it. “Given she knows what’s supposed to be spreading.”

“Girl-Prince invades castle, hosts wild orgy in celebration.” Ames announces.

While I’m still wrinkling my nose at that, Valentine smacks Ames with a pillow, “It’s ‘Princess,’ you foghorn, not girl-Prince.”

Ames allows the blow to knock them flat, even though I’ve seen them take much worse without so much as a twitch. “I just repeat what I’ve heard.”

“There’s no way they’re already speculating about her sex life.” Ash disagrees, “We just got here.”

“People always speculate about my sex life.” I correct her wearily. “They call me girl-Prince as an insult, Ames, you know Kescil’s weird about these things. And I were to have a celebratory orgy, I would have invited far nicer company than you three.”

“Ah,” says Valentine, smug, “But would they have accepted? Or would you have been dropping trou with just us-“

“Thank you, Ash.” I say mildly, over the sounds of Valentine being smothered.

“We’ll find her, Elith.” Ames tells me, suddenly serious. The other two stop as well. “You know we will.”

The sudden focus of their attention is more than I can bear right now, even benevolent as it is. I exhale slowly. Steadfast. Sure. Serene.

I manage a smile. “I know we will.”

None of them stop me as I roll my shoulders, checking the fit of my armor is still right. I haven’t taken it off yet, though we did clean the worst of the day’s stains off of it earlier - the rest won’t come out without sanding the chain and plate, and that takes longer than I want to be without it, right now.

“I think I’d like to see more of my new castle.” I remark, purposefully light. “I’m going to go for a walk.”

Ash moves to start replacing her boots and gauntlets, and Ames opens their mouth, but it’s Valentine who’s quickest to his feet.

“I’ll go with you.” He says, cutting off the other two’s chance to claim escort duty. If I let them, they’d still come along, but four people in the halls will have everyone still in the castle up and trying to spy. I’m not certain Valentine and I will avoid that outcome either, but at least we have a better chance.

We walk the halls of the Royal residence, avoiding one particular room. It turns out to be a quiet night.

I don’t sleep at all.

—-

They find the Queen on day three.

We’re taking an early meal in the banquet hall when word comes, carried by a page who’s had to learn the castle’s floorplan faster than anyone else. She skids into the hall, nearly flipping over a bench that’s been left askew by its last inhabitants. When she spots me, she all but climbs over the tables to get to me.

Ames, my companion for the next few hours, is halfway out of their seat with a bread knife before I recognize the page, and settle them with a hand. Even then, they don’t sit, but scan the crowd behind the page, in case she’s being chased.

“Domine!” The page pants, almost throwing herself flat at my feet. “Ser Thorrun sent me, an urgent message. Immediately there and back with a reply, Domine, he seemed sure you’d send one.”

“Peace.” I tell the page, holding out my hand for the message. My food is forgotten - Thorrun is the one in charge of sweeping the castle for any hideaways who are still here. I have four others, each tasked with a different cardinal direction, leading searches in the areas around the castle for those who fled. So far, those searches have only turned up a few servants, and the odd nobleman.

While I read Thorrun’s note, I pass the page a goblet of water. It’s brief -

Q in Weave, A+U.

Rather than send a reply, I rise. The page spills half her water down her front, and looks up at me, gasping. Ames pats her on the back.

“Take me to the Weaver’s quarters, please.” I say. I can only hope it comes across as calm.

—-

A castle goes through a truly preposterous amount of linens. Back home, the weavers and the seamstresses share a compound building, but have separate work spaces they’re free to use as they wish. It leads to arguments and lost items of clothing on occasion, but the Textiline - like a housekeeper, but head of weavers, sewers, spinners, and launderers in the Royal employ - has never complained.

I would be ashamed to show them this place.

Part of it is our fault, yes - hanging curtains are a good place to hide someone with a sword if your opponent is in a hurry, or a moron who doesn’t know to look for boots. The simplest way to avoid that is to prod them with your sword as you pass by, and that leaves a lot of holes. A lot of baskets overturned to ensure no one is crammed inside one.

But there are no windows here, meaning the whole room is lit only by candles, leaving the entire room stuffy and reeking of tallow and lye. The weaver and the seamstress must sit back to back if they hope to have any room at all. There are all sorts of cabinets around, yes, but the doors can’t all be opened at once, and it must be a headache to get anything sorted in here.

But part of the reason for that is evidently because some of these compartments have layers. And behind a second layer rack where garments can be hung, there is another false back, and there is where they found the no-longer-Queen of Kescil.

By the time I arrive, Ser Thorrun has cleared the workers from the area, and has the woman bound, sitting on the weavers’ bench.

“Tabithica.” I greet her flatly. She looks offended to hear her given name. She cannot reply, given the gag. “I presume she still has her tongue.”

The last is directed towards Ser Thorrun, a wiry man who has crammed himself into a corner to give me the space I am due. He glares at Tabithica.

“Wasn’t mine to take.” He grumbles, one hand on his sword hilt. There’s no room to really swing in here, let alone draw, but I appreciate the gesture. And that his other hand is where he can reach a knife.

“So it isn’t.” I agree coolly. A quiet request, denied. This woman is not mine to kill either, but I am holding the privilege for the one who does have that honor.

Thorrun just nods, and takes the hand off his sword hilt to point out where Tabithica was hiding. “I’ve been having some boys pace out the corridors and rooms.” He explained. “Dimensions didn’t add up. None of the mortar looked fresh, so figured there was a hidden something or other back here. Found it.”

I step forward to inspect the place that has been a Royal bolt hole for the past three days. It is rank with ammonia - evidently she did not have anyone to empty the chamber pot, even if they did bring her food. There is a bed, and a quilt, and no one else here.

I knew that. Thorrun would’ve searched the room already, would’ve told me if there were signs of her. But I could not help but look.

“Wait in the corridor.” I tell Thorrun tonelessly. He manages to kneel in the small space, bowing his head to me. He asks no questions.

When Thorrun has left, and Ames has entered in his place - the wrinkle of their nose is brief, and shows they share my opinion of the place - I straddle the end of the bench Tabithica is sitting on.

For a moment, I simply stare at her.

Will she be more likely to give me answers if she thinks I won’t understand them? If I’ve threatened her? Or, like her husband, will she want to gloat and bluster and threaten me in turn?

Something about the gleam in her eyes reminds me of iron.

I reach up one hand, and she remains still rather than flinch away. Her breath quickens a fraction, but she keeps her eyes on me, not my hand. Not fearing or cowering from a blow. Pride? Stubbornness?

The gag comes loose with a simple gesture, and I let it fall as it will, sitting back again to examine this woman who once was Queen.

For a moment, we sit in silence. I will break it eventually, if I must, but for now I am content to study her, as she is studying me in return.

She takes the offensive: “Fighting over scraps now, are you?”

It’s a reference to how my parents had referred to Kescil - a kingdom of scraps, not worth the taking. Economically, they were right. Kescil was never going to have the forces necessary to pose a threat, but they also didn’t have anything our people needed or even wanted. So for years, we let them be, and simply didn’t care whether they lived or died.

“I do not need a reason.” I say softly, and as far as she knows, it’s true. I’ve certainly seemed to kill for less. But an answer like that is still to put myself on the back foot, even with a backhanded threat woven in.

Tabithica bares her teeth, “Thorns and horses, Domine.”

My title is spat with derision, but it is the words that are the insult. Ames stirs behind me, showing the anger that I cannot.

When I was yet young, my father went riding. This was not unusual. He forged through a thicket. This was not unusual. Shortly thereafter, his horse shuddered, and died. And the unhorsed consort found himself set upon by bandits shortly thereafter.

That part was unusual.

Investigations had determined the thicket had been doused in poison it did not naturally produce. Had he taken any scratch from a thorn himself, he would have met the same fate as his horse. Instead, it was a bandit’s dagger that took his life. But the thorns are still what killed him - had the horse lived, he could have outrun them easily.

It’s unlikely the event was arranged by Kescil, but I can’t fault Tabithica for trying to take credit.

“I’m not going to kill you.” I tell her calmly.

She laughs, a thoroughly unhappy sound. “Not yet?”

“No.” I seem to agree. She expects me to threaten her with torture and fates worse than death. “I haven’t killed Archinard yet either.”

I could’ve kept that bit of information from her, but I want to know instead.

There isn’t even a flicker of relief. If anything, Tabithica seems annoyed. Interesting.

“So be it.” She sighs, “I suppose he’s gone and committed us both to dying anyway, then.”

“Where is Galatea?”

Stupid of me, really. But I don’t have time to play games with this woman - I don’t care for or about her, or her husband, and only tangentially about her country. I could’ve tried to come around to it another way, but that would’ve taken time and effort I wasn’t willing to spend on a gamble.

Tabithica looks taken aback for a moment. Her head cocks slightly, considering. Then her expression becomes decidedly vindictive. “Dead.”

Ames stiffens. I do not react.

“That’s a shame.” I inform her, as though I’ve been told the last of a wine vintage has been consumed. “As she is the only one who may bargain for your release.”

Tabithica raises her chin, but I ignore her. Instead, I rise, turning to Ames, and putting my back to the fallen royal.

“Toss the room. Ensure there are no more hidden doors.”

“And her?” Ames asks quietly.

I look over my shoulder, and think again of how small this space is, how lightless, and airless. I meet Tabithica’s gaze.

“Put her back.”

—-

On the fifth day, my inner circle is restless.

We, all of us, know exactly how long a human can survive in depravation, and we are reaching the limits of what an ill-prepared hiding place would provide the missing Princess. With provisions, she could likely last quite some time, but…

None of us have faith that such a hiding place was arranged.

I have stalked the rows of the dead thrice, made a point of speaking to every survivor and servant. My searchers have been cautioned to not be blinded by assumptions of gender, of hair color or cut.

Thorrun’s men have paced out the entirety of the castle. They’ve found a few other hidden holes, but no one within them - living, anyway, one did contain a skeleton from either some long ago siege or murder - and there are fewer and fewer places to look. Younger, agile folk have taken to exploring the rooftops. Every barrel in the storage rooms has been opened, even those that have spoiled fermenting wine or beer.

And I am unspeakably proud of her.

—-

On the seventh day, I finally enter the Princess’s quarters myself.

They’re at the top of the eastern tower, windows facing the dawn. Its light cuts through in thin stripes, divided by the protective bars and slats that prevent any enterprising climber from coming in. Or any desperate princess from throwing herself out.

The stairs are narrow and winding. The walls are only now taking on a hint of dust after a week without tending. There is a dumbwaiter, built into the middle of the tower, but it is at the base level, and empty besides.

I have been avoiding this place. I came through it once, during the initial siege, hoping to find her here - and when we found it empty instead, I’d restricted all access to it. I could say it felt intrusive to walk through her bedroom, to search through her things for clues as to where she might have gone.

But in truth, it makes me furious to see this prison.

Every step feels like a purposeful insult. Every sign of care taken with the carpets and cleaning is another reminder that she must never have been alone. The light of the dawn rising every day to tell her she was still here, could go nowhere else, couldn’t even sleep in-

Enough. There will be recompense.

But the watch heard noises here an hour ago, and that means someone has broken my edict. Possibly, it is a bird that got past the bars, but if it is a person, I’ll at least have a target for my increasingly frantic rage. Because I have not found her. I promised I would. I will.

So yes, my steps grow heavier at the top of the stairs. I am somewhat distracted, scowling, when I open the door and stride into the room.

I pay for my distraction immediately.

The rugs are decorative, lavish, and layered across the stone floor atop the rushes. One of them had been moved, and I had not noticed until it was yanked out from under my feet. My stride is long enough, and I had been moving quickly enough, to avoid being sent back down the stairwell, but even still I lost my footing.

The fall stole my breath. The collision of my head with the floor briefly stole my sight. But I could still feel it when hands grabbed at my legs, pulling the knife from my boot and climbing up my body until its blade could be pressed to my chin.

“Move and I’ll carve out your heart.”

It was a growl more than a sentence. Sounds forced through gritted teeth. My vision was returning, blurry yet, and I could not discern one feature from another. Instinctively, my hand had risen to catch the wrist of the knifehand, and by that grace alone I still had a throat capable of speech.

“My heart is claimed.” I rasped in reply. There was clattering, a shout, from lower down the stairwell - someone must have heard my fall. “The neck you’ve earned, if you’re quick.”

Another growl of frustration - my captor did not wish to be caught, it seemed - and the weight on my chest was briefly removed. I flung myself to the side before it could come back down, knife point first.

Twisting away, I blinked the last of the blurriness from my eyes, and came up on my knees. I found myself looking down at my attacker, who was still sprawled on the rugs she’d used to force me down. Long hair in a messy, ratted braid, a dress with wide skirts that hung oddly, the fear and fury in her voice -

The determination in the wild swing she took for my legs, torquing to move, dragging her legs behind her.

“My heart is claimed by a girl of stone.” I gasp, barely avoiding the knife’s edge. “I’ve come to bring her a fine carriage.”

The woman stops, panting from exertion. When was the last time she ate? Truly slept?

She wavers for several long heartbeats, not dropping the knife. Her voice is watery when she corrects me, “the finest carriage, you idiot. I told you the passphrase was too long.”

—-

I insist on making sure Gal eats and has a chance to bathe before we talk. She insists we speak before she’ll sleep.

Arranged in her wheeled chair, she looks like a portrait half-come to life. The skirts of her dress are tailor made to hide the atrophied legs, to lay nicely in the chair’s confines. Her spine is straight, hands folded, and she does not fidget. She looks more regal than either of her parents ever will, wherever they’ve gotten off to. I’ve stopped caring.

(Ames and Ash are on guard duty, while Valentine runs the word that the Princess has been found. My orders were the inverse, but they decided it was better to have two on guard - this would be the time to kill me, after all.)

“You should’ve told me it was you.” Gal scolds me, picking off a piece of bread to throw at me.

“Like you told me you were the Princess of Kescil?” I retort, blinking involuntarily as it nearly finds its mark.

Gal turns up her nose. “I had to be sure you did not covet my title.”

“And I to be sure you did not wish to trap me.” I reply dryly. There is no sting in my words, though, no true animosity. Nor in hers.

The situation is far from ideal, and I am very aware that I am, in essence at this moment, her captor. But the reality of it all has faded away, because she is here. My Gal is safe.

Maybe my friends were wise to leave two on guard.

She drops the offended act, instead staring at the tablecloth. Her expression turns drawn, and tired. I’m on the verge of trying to convince her to sleep again when she asks,

“How many are dead?”

The thought of lying to her is barely a flicker - I can’t. “Seven hundred and twelve.” I say quietly. “Excluding pending executions, and those who may yet die from their wounds.”

She looks up at me, “And how many of those were your soldiers?”

“Two hundred and five.”

Her gaze drifts away from me, and she is quiet for a moment longer. This time, I leave her to it.

“I killed them.” She says flatly.

“No. I am the one who declared war.”

“Because of me.”

“It was hardly something you asked for.”

“But I am the root cause, am I not?” She glares at me, her tone challenging even as her shoulders start to curl inwards.

“Absolutely not.” My voice is firm. I’ve taken my share of blame for deaths before, and I will consider the two hundred soldiers who died under my command my burden to bear - but the dead of Kescil are not on her head. “If you insist on a root cause, it is the King and Queen who failed Kescil - in ordering their people to fight, in not ensuring they were adequately trained and armed, and-“ my voice gentles, “-in failing their daughter.”

“I put the pen to paper.” She says quietly.

“And I swung the sword. As did they.”

I know it isn’t enough. She’ll wonder how many of their men went to fight in the name of their Golden Princess - the delicate beauty they were taught to treasure and protect. She may never be free of the memories of constant haranguing, that she was helpless and failing her family and nation for faults that were not her own, and the substitutions her mind will make about how she was, in the end, the downfall of her country.

But Galatea Holbrooke was not theirs to keep.

“Well.” She says, after a few more heartbeats of silence. Her voice is brittle at first, but smooths out just as she smooths the tablecloth. “Then I suppose we should discuss terms, Domine Hawk.”

The addition of my title to the pen name I used to write her - chosen after one of my hunting hawks nearly took down her messenger pigeon - is a needling I quite deserve.

“Whatever you desire, Galatea of Kescil.”

She raises her brows at that, “Such trust, Domine. What if I desire your title instead?”

I smile, leaning forward on the table, and for once, I don’t clink. My armor has finally been doffed, and sent for a good proper scrubbing. “Then that can be arranged, though you’ll have to be more specific. I have several.”

“And if I want them all?” She’s leaned forward too, her eyes narrowing.

“In the traditions of the Northern Reach,” I say carefully, suddenly unable to look her in the eyes, “I cannot bequeath my titles to another, nor can they be taken from me by anyone but my Liege. But… they can be shared. With a spouse.”

When I glance back at Galatea again, she’s wrinkled her nose. My hands flex, curling inward as my stomach sinks.

“You just had to go and beat me to it.” She complains, slumping back into her chair. “Six months - six! - to get you to tell me your hair color, but sure, propose within the first three hours we meet in person.”

She groans dramatically, pressing a hand over her eyes, as I slowly straighten. “That’s - not quite an answer.” I hedge, “though I understand if you wish time to consider, of course, circumstances -“

“Circumstances!” Gal snorts, giving up the last of her propriety. “My bird, you cannot possibly have earned your titles by being this shy.”

But there’s a laugh in her voice, and when she uncovers her face, I can see a sparkle in her eyes.

“Do you know what I thought, when I was hiding from your soldiers, not knowing it was you and that I was safe the entire time?”

“About that-“ We still didn’t know how she’d been hidden.

“Oh.” She waved a hand, “There’s a closed off landing about halfway down the shaft, there’s still a ledge inside just large enough for me to fit. I climbed down and back up again.”

Gal shrugs, as though she hasn’t just told me she’s done that with only the strength of her arms, and alone.

“I thought it was a shame I couldn’t even live long enough to tell you to your face that grey is spelled with an e, not an a.”

“It can be either-“ I start, before cutting myself off with a sigh. We’d been over the topic at length before, in previous letters. I’d cut a page out of a dictionary to include it and nearly been banned from my own library.

Gal just tilts her head, and waits. Her hair is loose now, mostly. She’s mentioned wanting to cut it before - I can’t wait to see how short she’ll choose to go.

“It was much less complicated, when I was simply your Hawk.” I admit quietly.

“And when I was a simple village Gal? Neither of us were exactly spy material, you know. Where would I have learned to read as a village child? Where would you have found paper and books as a hunter’s child?”

I can’t help but laugh, “Some things we just wanted to believe. But there is a difference, between a noble and the heir to a country. I promised you my help when you thought I had little more than a bow and a hunting bird - and I meant it.”

She sighs, “And I just wanted you to know who I was, before I disappeared.”

Her final letter to me had been written in haste, explaining that she could no longer lead me on, and that all contact between us had to end. She’d signed it with her full name - the first she’d ever used it. When word came that the King of Kescil had decided on a suitor for his daughter, I understood.

But then, from Gal’s letters, I knew a lot more about the King than I suspected most of his subjects had.

“I knew who you were, Gal.” I assure her, and watch her eyes widen before she catches my meaning. “I just didn’t know your full name.”

“As I knew you.” She agrees, “Enough to know you’d be foolish enough to show up if I asked you to.”

“It seemed… prudent.” I say, tracing a pattern on the tablecloth. “And if you want, I will leave. I can’t bring back your army, but I can leave a contingent of soldiers-“

“Elith.” She says, exasperated, and the sound of her voice saying my name freezes me in place. “You promised me the world, little bird. Did you mean that too?”

“I did.”

“Then I do.”

“…what?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I’ll marry you, Death-in-Red, Wraith-Wyrven, and whatever else it is you call yourself. Because my heart was claimed by a hunting bird, and I’ll not let it fly away.”

Her half of the phrase to identify ourselves to each other, if we ever did meet.

“After all.” She says, picking at her bread again, “You did fight a war for me.”

—-

[Thank you for reading! If you’ve enjoyed, consider checking out my other writing, both here on tumblr and on Ao3! You’ll find links in my pinned post on my blog, if I haven’t come back to update them here.]

[georgiapeach30513]

Rumplestiltskin, Part 4

Summary: Andy invites you to the ball

Pairings: Prince!Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, PIV sex, first time, voyeurism, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  2.8K

Previous

Series Masterlist

Hearing Walter hoof the ground, and blow out an aggravated whinny, you look out your window.  A white horse.  And that only meant one thing.  Smoothing out your skirt, you try and make yourself look more presentable, before your father storms into the cottage, “He is back.  This needs to stop.”

“He’s just came for you to look over Clementine.”

“She got new shoes last week,” you roll your eyes, going to meet Andy outside, “Keep him away from the well.”

“I can’t help it that he gets thirsty,” you smirk at him, but continue your mission to greet Andy outside.  He wasn’t wearing armor, but he was a decorated man.  Nobility.  More than just the King’s guard.  Walter blows at you, his nose pushing you forward a bit.  “You quit, you silly creature.  I can never tell if you like him or you despise him.  Quit pushing,” stomping your foot you turn to glare at him, but he only neighs in return.

Andy smiles as he jumps off the horse, already taking her to the stables, and you follow, but not too closely behind.  Smiling at how comfortable he was around the barn.  “She looks like she needs some oats.”

“Yeah, she’s a good girl.  I’m afraid that I’m here for some royal news.”

“Why does royal news need to travel so far?”

“It seems…Well, you see,” he looks out at the barn when Walter stands in the doorway glaring at him, “Well, I’ve been keeping something from you.”

“Oh?” You didn’t like the way that sounded.  Didn’t trust where this was going, and you were afraid.  But then his hand brushes against yours.  Holding it tighter, before bringing you closer to him.  “Andy, what’s going on?”

“I’ve not exactly been truthful with who I am.”

“You’re not Andy?”

“No.  No, I’m Andy.  Officially, I’m Prince Andrew Stephen of Palmona, the future King,” you stumble back from him, shaking your head.  “Miss, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you here?”

“To see you.  It’s always to see you.  I’m having to choose a wife,” you scoff at him, and pull his hand off yours.  Your brows furrowed, and his expression never changes.

“You’re wasting my time.”

“No, I’m not.  You’re getting an invite to the ball being thrown in my honor.  A hope of finding a suitable wife,” you weren’t suitable.  You weren’t anybody.  Definitely not someone that a royal would marry, even if they could.  You want to kick yourself for being so foolish.  “I’m delivering the invitation personally.  You’re the only one getting a personal one, the others were sent by courier.”

“So I get a front row seat of you choosing a proper lady to be your wife?  Sounds like a riveting time, Your Highness,” Andy’s nostrils flare with the formal greeting.  “Give your horse some water, and be on your way.”

“No.  You are getting this invitation,” reaching into his side, he pulls out a beautiful golden invite to his ball.  “It’s a masquerade.”

“How rich is that?  Hide your mistress behind a gilded mask.  I won’t be someone’s second option, Your Highness.”

“If you call me that one more time, Miss, I won’t be so kind,” he takes a deep breath, softening his features, and even his voice.  “You have never been my second choice.  You have been my only choice.”

“A fool’s game.  One neither of us will win.”

“Go to the ball.  Let me dance with you in the open.  In front of my parents.  Let’s show them that I only want the one, and that one is you.  My father has power to change this stupid rule, and I can marry you.  And if he won’t, I won’t marry until I am king, and then I will.”

“And should you become king in your old age?  And I can’t give you an heir. Then what?”

“My father is old.  Much older than my mother.  She was his fourth wife.  He’s tired, and doesn’t want the crown past the jeweled ornament that sits on his head.  Should I want you, I will have you,” you flinch away from him, and Andy shakes his head, “That is not what I meant, Miss.  I want you.  And I can sacrifice the time to have you properly.  I can’t give up the throne.  My brother is not fit to be King.  But I can be a wife-less king, until you marry me.”

“But, what will I wear?” You grin at him.  Your cheeks heat up at the thought of you amongst the elite and proper members of society.  Already getting nervous of people around the crowd, and people that would look down on you.

Andy’s face lights up at your question, pulling you into his embrace, he presses his lips gently onto yours, “Andy, I’m serious.”

“I’ll have you a dress made.  Send you everything that you need.  The only thing I need,” he starts, bringing his lips directly over yours.  Making you feel his heated breath, and every word he speaks, you get the soft pillows of his lips pushing against your own, “Is you.  Maybe, we should make a wish into the well, and you will grace me with food, since I have traveled so far.”

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t wish for me to kiss you, okay?  I will do that without a wish.”

“Don’t worry,” his hands skim down your sides, settling much too low on your back for a proper lady, but you did not care, you were no proper lady, “I’ve got some ideas on things to wish for.”

No one told you this mask was going to be so difficult to see through.  Andy forgot to mention that he wanted you to arrive late.  Wanted that grand entrance.  Your gown with layers upon layers of the finest silks, the color of the purest gold, and you looked like royalty.  Even stepping out of the carriage, you could feel their heated gaze.  The whispers of who you were, and where you came from.

Walking into the palace ballroom, you smooth out your dress.  Worrying your lip as you glance around.  There were smiling faces everywhere.  Jovial dancing, an orchestra, and compared to most in the room, your dress stood out, and was much more grand and intricate than anyone there.  Andy had wanted you to stand out.  The other dresses were smaller skirts in pastels, while every inch of you was covered in gold of some sort.  Your dress, shoes, jewelry, even paint on your skin.  Andy had made sure that you were the belle of the ball, and now you couldn’t even find him.

His father sits up straighter as you descend the stairs.  Glancing around the room to find Andy, because it was as if people created a pathway right to his son.  Spreading out as you wandered through the crowd, “Who is she?” His mother asks, catching a glance at her son who pushes through the throng of people.  He had spotted you, but you were still a lamb amongst wolves.

Your chest heaving, and you wonder if this was a mistake, “I have no clue,” his father answers, zeroing in on the small golden tiara on your head, and even a golden pendant laying against your chest.  He watches his son, who disregards every maiden in his path.  “He’s going to her.  He has been spending some time away from the palace.”

Your lips turn up into your sweet smile, when you finally spot him.  Your gait speeding up as you rush towards him.  The second that you reach him, he pulls your hand to get into position for a waltz, “Andy, I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense,” he purrs, whirling you around the room.  Everyone moves away from the two of you.  Staring as Andy twirls you around, “It’s them who don’t belong here.  You are right where you’re meant to be.  In my arms, and the envy of the entire ball.  You look breathtaking.”

“I think you did well.”

“I didn’t choose this,” you cock up an eyebrow at him, needing to know more, but he’s keeping it a secret for some reason.  “A little birdie told me that he had something for you that was gold, and you should wear gold.”

Reaching to the pendant around your neck, you can’t believe it.  “My father?  He’s but a simple ferrier.”

“He is a ferrier, but I doubt he’s as simple as he plays.  Gold is your color.  When you become queen, I want you to wear gold everyday.  You will be lavished in the color and the metal,” you give him a giggle, not even notice that you had caught everyone’s eyes.  All of them were curious as to who you were, but more importantly where you came from, and how you got here.  Most already deciding that you would be Andy’s future.  “You’re every bit as regal as I am, Miss.  Don’t forget that.”

You stand outside the ballroom, waiting on Andy to return, and needing a breather.  Skin glowing and sticky with sweat; these skirts were not made for such movement.  Dizzy with happiness and the nonstop dancing, not to mention how handsome Andy looked.  Perfectly coiffed and looking every bit like the prince he was.  It was more than the crown that sat atop his head, he was oozing a just and fair leader.  People noticed him.  Praised him, and were excited to see what the future held with Andy at the forefront.

They had noticed you as well, and you gave them comfort, because their future king had found a wife.  Your eyes get heavier.  Your heart and head pounding with the music and the prolonged high of happiness. You wander down the hallway whence Andy had left, wondering where that silly man had gone.

Walking past a door, you gasp when a hand covers your mouth, and pulls you into the room.  “Shh, Miss, I just wanted some privacy.  Waiting a long time for you to follow me,” spinning around the room, you wonder who’s bedroom this could be.  It was beautiful.  Bigger than the entire cottage, “It’s mine.”

“You lead me to your room?”

“I’m the only one with a key,” dropping your hand, he walks over to the door, locking it.  Maybe it was the dancing and spinning.  Maybe it was the champagne.  Possibly how handsome that Andy looked in his suit.  But maybe, just maybe, you were tired of waiting on things to happen.  Waiting on everything to line up to where you could make Andy yours.  

Watching him saunter towards you, his hands slide around your waist, and it’s you that backs up to the bed.  Getting a disapproving growl from Andy, but you don’t listen.  Your knees hit the mattress, and you pull him down with you, “Miss?”

“Will you wait on me?”

“I will?”

“You will make me your wife?” He nods his head, letting his weight start to settle over you, “Then we should do as married people do.  You will be my husband, and you will always be my king.”

Andy removes the mask off your head, letting it fall to the floor, and then starts kissing down your body, stopping at the swell of your tits, and you take a deep breath, “Do you know how to tie up a corset?”

“My queen will not be leaving until tomorrow,” sitting up, you let him pull at your laces, “And my queen will have a different dress by then.  My queen also needs to just breathe.  You’re going to make yourself pass out, and I won’t be making love to your unconscious body.  Just.  Breathe.”

He removes your top, and starts working on your breasts.  Leaving you gasping, and whispering at his name with the way his tongue was moving on you.  He’d deal with the skirts in a moment.  Right now, he was enjoying your unsullied body.  

Little did Andy know, that his mischievous brother did in fact know a way into Andy’s room.  The perfect Andy had gone missing from his own ball, no less.  His lip curls up into a snarl as he watches the great and wonderful Andrew bed a maiden.  He could barely see your face, but he heard your whimpers.  Andy’s hand drifts up your skirts, and you yelp at the feeling, you were as pure as his parents had assumed, but here he was using you.  He knew that Andy wasn’t so perfect.  

Careful not to let his brother notice him, he sneaks out, locking the door again.  Ransom wasn’t sure how he was going to use this information, just that he knew it was going to be of use to him.  

“Andy, just touch me.”

“I am.”

“No,” his head pops up from your many layers with a devilish grin.  “I want to properly feel my king,” you start undoing his buttons, sighing when your hand presses up against his hard chest.  “Andy,” you mewl, “I want to feel you all over me.  Ruin me for anyone else, because I’m only yours.”

An animalistic power overtakes Andy.  Your beautiful self looking vulnerable and meek, needed him to claim you.  He rushes in removing his suit, and helps you out of those ridiculous layers.  The two of you timidly bring yourselves closer, before he crashes his lips into yours, laying you back on the bed.

His legs go in between yours, and he pushes them further apart.  Licking the length of his hand, he buries it in your warmth.  You were soaked.  Pressing two fingers into your cunt, both of you moan.  You were tight.  “Andy,” everything about you was like a drug, and he was addicted.  “Andy!”

“I need to get you ready to take me,” with his cock heavy on your thigh, you were not thinking about his fingers.  You needed him, and he was going to give it to you.

“I don’t care,” you pout at him.

“As you wish, my queen,” pumping his length in his fist a few times, he lines himself up, and you gulp.  Nodding your head as confirmation, and his bulbous tip breeches your entrance.  A blinding sting heats up your pussy, and he tsks at you for forgetting to breathe again, “I will stop,” he playful scolds as he sinks slowly into your body.

“Don’t you dare,” you pant out.  Your hands squeeze at his back, and Andy hisses through his teeth.  Glancing down at where the two of you connect, you felt like he was in your guts, and there was so much length still to go.

“Changing your mind?”

“No!” You yelp, and he quickly pushes another inch.  “Andy!”

“I’m not going to last long with how you say my name.  You feel amazing.  Delicious even,” his eyes watch as he pushes the final two inches in.  Balls deep into your quivering cunt, and he has to center himself.  You were hugging his cock perfectly.  Your walls throbbing over him made it hard to concentrate.  A deep desire just to fuck into you, but knowing it would be a bit more painful to you.

“Andy,” it’s the only thing you can say.  The only thing you can think.  Knees bent, and legs spread wide to accommodate his thick body, and even thicker cock.  “Andy…An…”

“Shh, I’ve got you.  Let me take care of you,” with a nod of your head he pulls out a bit.  Your skin stretching around his cock, has him needing to push back into you quickly.  A sob of his name, has him caressing your glistening skin.

“Fine,” you assure him, and he moves again.  Slowly picking up speed with each thrust into you.  Your body relaxes a bit, and Andy rushes into you.  Doing it again, and when your face lights up with pleasure, he takes that as a sign.  Changing to rut into you.  

You don’t care about the sting.  You had Andy.  Your king.  You revel in how he had a part of you that no one would.  The steady build up over these past few months, and what Andy assumed was courting you, accumulating in this very moment.  He wanted to see you every night in his bed, taking him just like this.  Baring his children, and being the queen that the kingdom deserved.  He would make him a better man and ruler with you by his side.  

“Andy, I love you,” those simple words take his breath away, because you were just too perfect.  It was destined in the stars for the both of you.  He had made enough wishes into that well of a happy and long life with you by his side.  

“And I love you,” his lips crash into yours as he swallows every sweet sound that moves off your lips.  He needed this all the time.  Everyday.  He would make an excuse to bring a different horse a day if he had to.  Commission another cottage in the woods for just you and him, he didn’t care.  All he cared about was you, and you alone.  The life that you were meant to have with him.  You were going to be the perfect, kind, fair, queen.  His parents didn’t realize how you didn’t need to have a title, because you were and would always be his.  His miss.  His queen.  His equal.  His partner.  His.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @peaches1958 @whimsyplaty92 @xcaptain-winterx @bambamwolf87 @lavender-annd-lilac @thedarkplume @duuhrayliegh @rebekahdawkins @johndeaconshands @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @feyfantome @athena-penrose @royalwritersoftheuniverses

[azaleaniath]

bestie…

training session with leon

that’s it, that’s the tweet

Anything for you sis 💜

Reader going god mode over here

________

Sir Leon x Reader

includes: fighting, flirting, weapons, combat

word count: 1.6k

________

Nervous as wou were, you paced up and down on the training ground. Merlin had tried to calm you down for the past ten minutes.

"I'm already sweating..." you hissed and rolled up your sleeves.

"Why does it have to be him?" you added while Merlin crossed his arms.

"Well, If you want to be one of them, you'll have to fight like them."

You took a deep breath and looked at Arthur's manservant with a serious face.

"We both know that I am a worthy opponent for them, it's just...."

Merlin stopped you and held you by your shoulders. He knew exactly why you were so damn nervous.

"It's because you have to fight against Leon today, right? You've done that before. I know you can do it."

His face showed a gentle expression, yet that did not help at all.

"Yeah, that was before I fell head over heels in love with this man! How am I supposed to focus?"

You saw how Merlin's eyes focused on something behind you and signalled you to keep quiet. The knights made their way over to you and the servant, so you took another deep breath and turned to face them.

"Good morning (Y/N)! Did you rest well last night?" Gwaine asked as he came up to you with a wide smirk, placing one arm around your shoulder. He was aware of your feelings and used every opportunity to tease you about that.

"You better shut up..." you mumbled with your face only a few inches away from Gwaine's.

He only laughed, patted your shoulder and let go of you again.

Both of your eyes scanned the group of men for Leon. He walked in the back, making his way over to you.

Gwaine inhaled to say something stupid again, but you drew you sword before he could start nagging on you again.

"Not a word."

With that, you got yourself out of his arms and walked over to the other knights, thrusting your sword into the ground.

Leon's expression was hard to read, as many times. Yet he greeted you in a calm voice, to which you only nodded.

"Are you sure you're prepared?" the blonde man asked as the other knights made some space for the two of you in the middle of the training area.

"Well, I would say I warmed up, but Merlin is not... the most agile dummy."

"Did you really warm up or just let out your emotions out on him?" Gwaine teased, to which you didn't reply. Instead, you gave him an obviously faked smile.

Right now, you would rather fist fight Percival or encounter Arthur bare handed against his morning star.

"Do you need more time?" Leon asked, noticing that you were anything but steady.

"Are you scared to lose against a woman? There's still time to withdraw? In fact, if Gwaine has such a big mouth, why does he not encounter me instead?"

Before Leon could answer, Arthur chimed in.

"You will be fighting Sir Leon. Is there a problem with that?"

For a moment, you only glared over at Gwaine again. Had he told Arthur about your feelings? Was that why he insisted on this fight?

"Not at all, my liege."

Oh, that sarcastic undertone was deadly.

You looked up to Leon again, met his gaze for a moment and decided not to show any reaction to the eye contact.

As you reached for your sword, you looked back to Merlin for a mere second. He just smiled widely, holding his thumbs up to you.

"Great..." you whispered annoyed and faced Leon again.

Like you, he wore a regular shirt. No armor, no chainmail, nothing that would make the fight unfair.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and something in his face shifted.

'Alright, (Y/N), attention.

Leon is right handed.

His technique is aggressive and effective.

He's way taller than me, so his weak spot should be...'

"I'm ready."

Arthur crossed his arms, watching you both closely.

"Weapons of choice were sword and dagger. There are no rules to this fight except-"

"Except kicking Leon's crown jewels, he still needs' em~" Gwaine chimed in loudly.

Silence fell upon the entire group.

"Except you two intentionally injuring each other unnecessarily." Arthur corrected after a while, with a confused look into Gwaine's direction.

"You may start now."

Leon drew his sword, taking a defensive stance. There was something about him you hadn't seen before, so you gathered some confidence.

"Scared?" you asked, trying to show nothing of your nervousness as both of your hands clenched around your sword.

"Not at all. You?"

You refused to answer so he decided to test the waters and hurled his sword right at you. He was surprised at your short reaction time. With one swift movement, you blocked his attack, causing him to lower his sword.

You took the advantage and lunged forward, slashing your sword at him. Leon took a step back immediately, dodging your attack.

Some time passed like this.

He was way more defensive than usual, which caused your confidence to grow with each second.

Was he scared? No, there was no way.

What held him back?

"Come on, show us some action!" Elyan called out. The other knights including Merlin watched closely from the distance.

"I thought you were stronger, Leon?" He deflected another attack, blowing his sword into your direction with force.

You ducked as quickly as you could, stumbled a step back only to engage in another attack again in the same moment as him.

Both of you stood close to each other, swords crossing in between you.

"Are you getting weaker?"

"You're certainly getting cockier."

"Hm, wanna bet?"

It took a lot of concentration and focus to not lose yourself in his eyes, but somehow you managed. Your heart pounded heavy, up to your neck.

Yet he also seemed to be panting slighly.

"Sure. If you have the coin."

A grin appeared on your face.

"Who's talking about coin, Leon?"

He pushed you away with force, causing you to turn around yourself once, coming in again with another heavy blow.

"Alright, name your price?"

You couldn't hold the stance anymore and decided to give in and dodge.

"The winner get's granted a wish~"

As you avoided another offensive attack you used the advantage of being significantly smaller than him, found your way around him and kicked into the back of his knee.

Leon, caught offguard, dropped his sword in surprise and sank onto his knees. While you decided to thrust your sword into the ground you lunged yourself at him, grabbing his neck as you both fell back onto the grass.

It was a battle of time, who would get to draw their dagger faster. In the blink of an eye you got a hold of your

secondary weapon, leaning over his body closely and aiming your dagger at his jawline. His breath hitched at the sight of you, kneeling over his body with your blade kissing the skin of his neck an inch over your grip.

Only now you realized what happened. You both panted heavily as your hair fell like a curtain around the heads of you and you both looked at each other in shock for what felt like an eternity.

Your face hovered very close over his. The feeling of victory overcame you.

You had done it.

You had faced one of your biggest insecurities.

He observed your face closely, not daring to move one muscle as you leaned in even more. By now, his sight was only limited to your eyes.

"I win~" you whispered slowly, almost touching his lips with your own.

Oh how much you desired to close the tiny gap that separated the two of you.

The sound of clapping hands filled the air and ripped you from your thoughts, causing you to sheath your dagger and let go of his throat.

The knight underneath you took a deep breath. You made a bit of space between the both of you, resting your fists next to his head.

"Tell me your wish then."

He breathed out, wiping the sweat off his temples.

You sat up straight, and so did he shortly after. The sight of you on his lap made Gwaine whistle loudly, causing you to chuckle.

As you got up, you held out a hand to him. Leon considered, then took the offer and stood up with your help. You pulled him closer once more.

"No, not in front of everybody. Let us talk later, alone."

With that, you collected your sword again, sheathed it and made your way over to Merlin while throwing your sweaty head back.

One hand sank into the hair that had fallen into your face, pushing it back softly. Leon was still perplexed as he watched you walk away.

He collected his sword and made his way back to the knights.

"That was..."

Merlin looked at you with big eyes as you heard Gwaine finishing the sentence for him loud and clearly.

"Flaming hot!"

You turned and grinned at Gwaine, before you also walked over to the knights.

"(Y/N) just set Camelot on fire with that move." Percival stated, also very impressed.

"You just swept our Leon off his feet." Arhur added, patting your shoulder.

You proudly glanced at Leon who still tried to process what just happened.

"I think it's time to get you your armor and cloak. Boys, we have a new knight in our midst."

[eileenslibrary]

Leave A Travelers Path

Pt.3

A/N: it be the time I leave my hobbit hole of hibernation to write some orcs

Warnings: supposed blood and gore, mental illness, depression, PTSD?, anger?

The sun beat down on the beasts backs as the orcs packed their belongings and strapped them to the mighty beasts.

"Krall! Come here" a young boy calls

"I'm coming! Let me finish helping Granga!"

The adolescent orc calls back.

He slides down the muddy slope with caution, only to fall on his ass.

He stands back up and rushes to the young boy

"Krall what took you so long?"

"sorry, Granga was having issues getting into the saddle due to her age"

The other boy shakes his head smiling

"Krall weakness s is what will get you killed in these lands"

"Hey! I'm not weak"

He puffs his chest out

The two boys burst out laughing

"Krall!, Flare! Get over here"

Their mother shouts

"Flare! please you don't have to do this!"

Flare glares at Krall

"You just don't understand, do you Krall"

"All my life you've been in my way! You're the reason I'm not chief! All because of some stupid heroic act put you before me! They see you as a king! You get everything I deserve!"

Flare points his axe closer to Krall's neck

Krall grabs the handle

"Six years ago, we stood in this exact location, that day I was going to kill you but I was too cowardly to hurt you because I still saw you as a brother, but now all I see is a weak, cowardly, thief. Who stole my crown!"

Flare presses the axe into Krall's neck, cutting the skin making a deep wound.

"And I can finally finish you off"

"oh and if you manage to cheat death, don't come back, I've told the group all about who you really are"

Flare growls

Krall's eyes open wide, before Flare pushed him into the icy water.

Krall tries to fight the ice to allow him to breathe but slowly he loses consciousness.

"Leah! There's a boy in the water!"

The teen runs over next to her friend

"Leah we have to save him!"

"(Name) are you crazy! Can't you tell! He's an orc! We should just let nature do its thing!"

"Who cares if he's an orc! He's still a living being with thoughts and feelings!"

(Name) runs to the icy river bank, grabbing the boys hand and pulling him into their arms

"oh Lord! his neck!"

They rush to cover his bleeding neck with their gloved hand

They pull off their fur coat throwing it over him

Leah runs over

"What are you doing!"

Leah tries to force (Name's) arms off the boy

"If they catch you with him, you're surely to be kicked from the village!"

"Then so be it! I will not stand by and watch someone die suffering that is simply not who I am!"

(Name) pulls him closer to their chest

Leah sighs

"then at least let me help you carry him somewhere safe and warm"

The two find a recently abandoned cottage on the edge of the town, previously owned by two halflings in the mining industry who found gold and jewels in some old mountains owned by dwarves.

(Name) places the young orc on a soft lounge chair, they rush into the other room to find blankets, while Leah starts a fire.

The two teens care for each other and the orc, patching up any of his wounds, cooking for all three of them, tending the fire, up until Leah had to leave for home.

"Tell my parents that I am not going to be home until tomorrow afternoon because I have accepted Anderson's proposal!"

Leah gasps before nodding and rushing off

(Name) turns towards the orc before sitting on the stool next to him and lays one of their hands on his cheek

"you're not burning up but I'll have to check again in the morning" they sigh

Before slipping into the pile of pillows and blankets and drifting into a comfortable sleep

Krall's eyes flutter open, he looks around the warm room before his eyes lead to (Names) silhouette on the floor. He slips his feet from the bed and puts them on the floor, (Name's) fur coat falling from his shoulders.

He creeps towards their sleeping form. He steps next to them and crouches down next to them. He notices bandages covering his arms and legs. He looks back at them. Huffing he pokes their cheek. They shift in discomfort, he pokes again, they swat his hand.

"Leah, stop it and let me sleep for a bit longer"

He stops, looking at them.

They shift and turn towards him eyes cracked, they gasp before sitting up

"I'm sorry you must be starving"

They stand rushing towards their bag grabbing bread before walking towards the pantry

Luckily there was enough left from the past inhabitants of the home as they wanted to leave immediately

They grab dried carrots, butter, cheese, and dried tomatoes before rushing out of the cottage scooping up snow and bringing it back inside to put in a pot before getting a fire started and putting the pot over it.

Krall watched in amazement at the human running around so early in the morning.

They melted the snow and used the water before adding the things they bought from the small shop down the road. Cream, dried tomatoes, and carrots. Before cooking up some grilled cheese and sitting down with the unexpected orc.

A few days had passed and Krall was ready for departure from the small cottage

He thanked the human for hospitality and left to figure out what to do now that he's been abandoned

Years passed and he became a well known orc chief and duke in the western empire

He still wondered where this peculiar and stubborn human is doing

He searched for them everywhere each time coming up with nothing

He eventually gave up and carried on with his life

Until a certain traveler took up a job to return a precious jewel to his manor in the western empire

He had hope that it was the human he'd been searching for.

Translation of Granga: old woman or grandmother

[officialjamesflint]

Hey check your picture box

THANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME there are some great things in there currently

[ID: an orange monster with big teeth and an angry expression. End ID.]

i love this little man even though i don't know what he is

[ID: a drawing of John Silver from Treasure Planet, labled "Treasure Planet Silver." He is grinning and holding up his flesh hand with one finger extended. End ID.]

a classic, i love his smile and his hat

[ID: the word "Boobs" written in pale pink ink with a heart at the end. End ID.]

I may be posting from class and my friend happened to look over when this was up on the screen 😭😭

[ID: a line drawing of a horse with a purple mane and tale, labeled "Horse." End ID.]

i know exactly who sent this and i'm so delighted as always <33 bad horses for the WIN (except this one is really good)

[ID: a semi-realistic portrait of a person with short hair done in blue. End ID.]

my friend who saw the boobs said that this was just realistic enough to be disturbing and i agree (also i love it)

[ID: a blue lump with a smiley face, labeled "Blo." End ID.]

Blo <33

[ID: a simplistic line drawing of Tirian and Jewel from the Narnia book "The Last Battle." Tirian is a bald man wearing a crown, a long blue tunic, green pants, and small brown boots. His face is drawn simplistically with a line smile. Jewel is a unicorn with a pink and blue mane. End ID.]

when i saw this in there i CHEERED i love the way you've drawn them tirian looks so stupid (affectionate) <33

[ID: a simple cartoon drawing of Flint from Black Sails from the shoulders up. He's scowling at the viewer and has a speech bubble with the British flag crossed out in it. It is signed "PG." End ID.]

he looks so good i love his silly little face i am tucking him in my pocket <33

[ID: a drawing of two blue stick figures dancing and surrounded by hearts and music notes. Under them are symbols that read, "peace and love." End ID.]

me and WHO <33

if you want to send me some more incredible art my lil box is here

[little-miss-moonshine]

flying too close to the sun

(tiny note, I wrote this in late february and didn't post it. a month later, I wrote about the flowers again, but I think I should validate my initial emotions and post this. )

the flowers you gave me on tuesday stand straight and proud on my desk, in the apple juice bottle you bought me on thursday, rinsed and dried on friday. their purple petals glare down at me as I cry at my desk, loud sobs and soft whimpers permeating the stale air of my room. I have often given, but never gotten, flowers. in our relationship, you gave me many things, but never flowers, and never your heart.

the flowers, like you, are slightly oxymoronic. someone once told me that when flowers are given with love, they take longer to wilt than ordinary flowers. the flowers you gave me rest atop dried, crumbling, rotting stems, but the flowers themselves are as perfect and purple and pristine as the day you gave them to me. the colors seared themselves into my memory when you handed them to me, the fallen angel: skin shadowed, blue eyes alight, golden hair made into a halo by the lamplight. like the flowers, simultaneously dead and alive, you are simultaneously beautiful and terrible. my greek god, a force of nature, a being of kindness and cruelty in equal measure.

indeed, that is how I loved you: as something to be awed by, to be worshipped. I worshipped you like holy light, loving you without condition, without limit, and without expectation. you looked down at me from the pedestal I raised you on, something like pity in your eyes. you protected me, I cherished you, and we called that enough. that, in itself, is an impossibility; people go where they find love, and rarely love without receiving it in equal measure. as such, my love, although I treasured you as a crown jewel, it is now your turn to treasure the nuggets of gold, of my love, in your memory, as the world treats you the same way that you treated me. indeed, I still love you, but now, I open my arms and embrace the hellfire of your gaze. you know what they say, the hottest fires burn blue.

so what do your oxymoronic flowers have in common with you? like the flowers, you show me love and care right alongside your casual indifference. holding me, caring for me, forehead rested against mine to calm me down, but telling your friends that I was just another girl. brushing the hair from my face, kissing my cheeks while I called out your name in nightmarish sleep, yet scrolling through bumble as I clung to you for dear life, seeking you even when unconscious. you kept telling me you weren't ready for the commitment of love, but that you care for me so, so much. here's what I think: you loved me silently. subconsciously. you can push it down, run away from it, and hurt me in the process, but you can't escape it. no matter now incapable of commitment you think you are, you can't deny how you feel. the sad part is that it was enough for some time, but just as you're starting to understand, I'm starting to lose hope.

you left this morning without a word, just wrapping me in your arms for the briefest of moments. some would call me stupid, in the throes of illness, coughing blood onto my floor, calling you in the night just to ask if I can sleep on your floor, knowing full well you'd come to check on me out of concern. call me if you need anything, and I'll be there, you said, and you probably meant it. I hate seeing you hurt, you said, but why would you do as you did if that was true?

I hate to be helpless, my love, but I love being with you. I wish you'd throw me a lifeline, tell me everything I want to hear, but I know you won't. doesn't stop me wishing, though.

I wish it ended there. I wish I was the kind of person who could get closure like that. yet, here I am, at midnight on a sunday, unable to move because of the pain in her legs and stomach, and I am calling you.

[wouldnt-it-be-hilarious-if-i]

Reading List (Islam edition)

Stories of the Prophets by Ibn Kathir

Secrets of Divine Love: A Spiritual Journey into the Heart of Islam by A. Helwa

The Perished Nations: Book of Penalties by Al-Hafiz Ibn Abi Al-Dunya

The Prophet's Prayer by Imaam Muhammad bin Saalih al-'Uthaymeen

The ideal Muslimah: The True Islamic Personality of the Muslim Woman as Defined in the Qur an and Sunnah by

The Honorable Wives of the Prophet by Darus Salam

Timeless Seeds of Advice by Ibn Kathir

Islam for Dummies by Malcolm Clark

Notes:

I became friends with a really pretty girl who is muslim, and I realized that with all the islamophobia that I was brought up with and had carefully worked on rooting out, I still had some islamophobic biases that I didn't realize I had. So, before I ever get into conversation with her about her religion, I made the decision to go ahead and start unlearning and unpacking those biases and fears.

I began taking a free Intro to Islam course over Zoom, and I really liked it. It quickly became less about not sounding stupid in front of this girl and more about the love I have for learning about other cultures and religions. I love replacing the hate I was brought up with with love and knowledge. I've missed the last two classes, but aside from those, I've attended as many classes as I could. Islam is a very beautiful religion, and when I think about it, I think back to a girl I spoke to on here years ago.

I can't remember her name or her url. But I remember her telling me that she chose to convert after a very traumatic experience. Her mother wasn't supportive, and it caused a lot of problems between them. But what I remember is how absolutely beautiful her love for her religion was. She told me that she felt the most free when she chose to wear the hijab, and explained a lot of concepts to me that I've just never forgotten. It was one of the first times I ever heard about Islam outside of my family, and it was one of the most life changing.

I really do think of her whenever I think of Islam as beautiful. I don't even know really what she looked like. I just found that love and safety she found under the shade of this beautiful religion and how it completely altered my view of it. She was so kind and sweet, and you could tell she really meant everything she was saying.

The coolest thing is that everything I learned about Islam after her, like real Islam, has only proven what she said. I am always happy when I get to learn more about Islam because every Muslim I've ever met speaks about it with so much love and affection. It just makes me smile, and I really could listen to people talk about it for hours.

Anyway, these books are not quite about Islam, but they fall under my research because they are connected. I am interested in knowing more about the current events in the Middle East---particularly in Palestine and Iran. I know a bit about Iran, but I don't like to post about or discuss subjects I don't feel adequately informed about lest I accidentally share inaccurate and harmful information. I haven't had the chance to really look into the political events going on in these countries, so I'm making a plan to do a fair amount of research to get myself up to snuff with the goings-on.

This is an ongoing list I plan to add to over time.

A History of Modern Iran by Ervand Abrahamian

The Hundred Years' War on Palestine: A History of Settler Colonialism and Resistance, 1917–2017 by Rashid Khalidi

Innocent Until Proven Muslim: Islamophobia, the War on Terror, and the Muslim Experience Since 9/11 by Maha Hilal

The Islamophobia Industry: How the Right Manufactures Fear of Muslims by Nathan Lean

Jewels of Allah: The Untold Story of Women in Iran by Nina Ansary

Behind the Kingdom's Veil: Inside the New Saudi Arabia Under Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman by Susanne Koelbl

[kewltie]

"What the fuck is she doing here?" Is the first thing that passed Katsuki’s lips when he steps a foot in the receiving room of the manor.

Izuku smiles sheepishly as Himiko tucks herself against his side. "I'm chaperoning," she says with an eye roll. "You think you could just take the crown jewel of our organization out on a date without me?" She sneers at him.

"He's my fiancé, so it’s fully within my right," Katsuki snaps spitefully. "The lord blessed our engagement, you know this. Everybody fucking knows this or have you lost another screw in your head?"

"Yea, so what?" She snorts indelicately, every bit uncaring. "How do I know your intentions are good? You could be using this chance alone to ravish my beloved Izuku-chan."

Katsuki making a choking noise between disbelief and horror.

"Himiko, don't say that!" Izuku cries out as heat rises to his face. He desperately tries to cover his face but Himiko his holding onto him way too tightly. "K-Kacchan wouldn't do that sort of thing!"

Himiko turns to him and pouts. "I'm defending your honor!" she says. "I don't trust stupid alphas around you."

Katsuki glowers at her, simmering with an untapped rage. "You're also an alpha, bitch," he kindly reminds her, “so get the fuck off of him. I don't want some other alpha stinking up what's mine."

Izuku's heart races even though he knows Katsuki is only saying that to annoy Himiko. He was worry Father had made a grave mistake when Katsuki had shown resistant to their engagement at first. That day, Himiko had happily recalled to him of the fierce argument that had broken out between Katsuki and Father when their engagement was made real in front of the top members of their organization much to everyone’s shock. In a panic, Izuku had quickly rushed out to confront Father in the throne room about it.

Up high on his metal throne, Father sat there looking down on them all like pawns. A menacing figure who can easily overwhelm any room he’s in, his presence alone was a suffocating thing, but Izuku felt no fear then and still no fear now. "Bakugou has proven himself to me, so it's only right I'll give him a little reward," Father had said. "Isn't this what you wish for, my darling Izuku? I only want to grant all your heart desires."

He's All for One. The Symbol of Evil. The Emperor of Darkness. And the Demon King of Japan but to Izuku he's just Father. The man who tucked Izuku into bed every night after a nightmare. The man who loves him enough to remake this country for his only and most precious son. Izuku knows what they say about Father, the kind of monster who rules over Japan with an iron fist and ruthlessly suppresses all form of resistant, but that monster has never shown him a drop of cruelty. So, while he understands that Father's intentions toward him are good, it's not always the kindest things for others. Izuku still has a hard time juggling that fact.

He has nursed a childish crush on Katsuki for the longest time, but he didn't want it like this. Katsuki shouldn't be force to marry him and have his choice taken away. He'd already lost so much when his parents died, so Izuku doesn't want this to be something he'll also regret but father insisted and when father insist even the hardest of steel will bend for him.

Katsuki had no hope of refusing Father’s order, but—but maybe Katsuki doesn't completely hate their forceful engagement after all. This is something that Izuku can work with given time and effort. In some way, he's very much his father's son. Victory through conquest.

Himiko sticks her tongue out at Katsuki. "He's not yours yet, so you don’t have any claim on him!"

"Don't you have some job to do?" Katsuki's eyes narrowed pointedly. "People to murder?" he presses. Instead of having this much free time harassing me and my fiancé on our first date.”

"My job is Izuku-chan," she declares, placing a hand over her heart in a dramatic fashion. "My life and everything that I am belongs to him.”

"How nice," Katsuki says dryly. "He's still engaged to be married to me though."

And Izuku could see the way Himiko’s eyes darken inscrutably that things are about to get serious here. "No fighting," he pleads, fearing that Himiko might just bring out her knives out to play and Katsuki would absolutely entertain her on that. He can already imagine the carnage brought between them if they get into a full-on fight here.

It's not the first time Izuku had seen them butt heads like this, but this is personal. Izuku's engagement is a point of contention for many.

Several members of Father's inner circle weren’t happy that Father had given away his hand in marriage just like that. Tomura-nii was so upset that his office was destroyed during one of his tantrums. Izuku had spent several days afterward trying to calm him down because no matter how angry Tomura-nii got, it didn’t matter in the end; Father’s words are law.

Though Izuku understood the reservation from Tomura-nii’s side because unlike Himiko, who had been indoctrinated in their organization since young and grew alongside Izuku, Katsuki is still a fresh-face recruit but he had quickly risen up the rank and gained Father's attention. He has proven himself again and again what it means to up hold the axiom of their organization; equality under one. Father had paid closed attention to Katsuki’s achievements and it had made him believed that Katsuki can be of a service to their mission.

Father had once told eight years old Izuku that sometime brute force is necessary to break the things that hold us back, and the best weapon are the people we have around us. Even then, Izuku didn’t like the ideas of thinking his friends as tool, and wondered if Father had saw him as a tool too. A less useful one, but a tool nonetheless. He’d never asked, too afraid of the answer to dare.

Himiko hooks an arm around Izuku’s shoulder. "Well, Bakugou should be happy that it's me here today and not Dabi, because he'll spend the entire time glowering at Bakugou and planning a murder in his head."

Izuku sighs, recalling how Dabi was particularly interest in his date and it’s the kind of interest that ends up in smokes and ashes.

"Instead of what? You flirting with my fiancé?" Katsuki adopts the most unimpressed look on his face.

“My heart is pure,” she insists. “What I feel for Izuku-chan goes beyond mere mortal affection. It transcends what you call love. I want to be buried with and in him when I die, so that we become one and the same.” Her face reddens in excitement, the edge of hysteria caught in her eyes. “Only then can my feelings be immortalized!"

Izuku smiles indulgently at her. He heard this many times in their youth. It no longer fazes him anymore. It’s sort of morbidly cute actually.

Katsuki makes a face of disgust at her. "Could you be anymore crazy?" he asks, then turns to Izuku and frowns. "Is there anyone around that isn't a fucking nut job?"

Before Izuku can give that question a proper reply, Katsuki's hand shoots out and he grabs Izuku, hauling him into his arms while shoving Himiko away. "I'm taking him, so you can fucking go away now."

Izuku’s breath leaves him briefly in that moment as Katsuki holds him close, but there’s no time to rest in the comfort of Katsuki’s embrace because Himiko has stumbles back with a sharp smile cutting across her face. It’s all teeth and no bite. A cold sort of smile that he had seen her often displayed before she strikes down any person who come to harm Izuku in bloody mess; the crimson witch they’d called her.

"Bakugou, I'll be careful with Izuku-chan if I were you because are you fully aware of the treasure that you're holding in your arms right now and bear the heavy consequence if anything were to happen to him?" She demands, stepping forward and encroaching right into his space. Her smile spreads even wider, to a length that it seems like someone had chad took a knife and carved it out of her face. It’s unnerving. "The rats having been making a lot of noise lately. They been getting quite bold with their actions and we can't have that, you understand me?”

The silence descends between them is concering. Izuku isn't privy toward the inner workings of Father's empire because Father claimed it will ‘dirty’ him, but he knows he's a high value target for many of his father's enemies that's why growing up, Izuku always been guarded by a senior member of their organization or a nomu. He rarely even left their estate because it was thought to be too dangerous for him. Everything he could ever wanted was provided for him here, but Izuku always felt like the world is passing by him outside while he’s stuck in his own little bubble.

So Himiko's insistence with being with him here for his date today wasn't surprising, but maybe there's more to it than he'd originally thought. "Is this something I should know about?" Izuku asks, more than slightly curious now.

"No!" they both shout at him simultaneously, sharing an equal look of worry and dismay.

"Oh, so you both can actually agree on something," Izuku says dryly.

"It's none of your business," Katsuki sharply retorts.

Izuku frowns. "Even though this seems to concern me." The amount of time he's kept in the dark for his own safety is truly and profoundly annoying.

"Izuku-chan, it's not like that!" Himiko protests, appearing torn between pleasing him and her duty toward keeping him protected and ignorance of the many threats outside the security of his father's enforced bubble.

Izuku is not dumb. He knows everything it not as what seems. Father is a man of large stature and larger ambition. In his effort to reshape this world into a place that he calls 'Eden', he made a lot of enemies along the way.  A world in which being omega and quirkless won’t mean Izuku will be mistreated and discriminated upon, Father made sure of that. "There's a price for everything, only if you're willing to pay for it," Father said to him, before gently placing a kiss on his forehead. "And you're worth it." Though Izuku doesn't know if this is what he would have wanted in the end, but that's his secret to keep.

"Then what is it?" he presses, stepping out of Katsuki's hold. He glares at both of them, standing tall and resolute like he can channel Father in this moment.

Katsuki sighs, ruffling his hair in irritation. "Why don't you just ask your old man? I'm not about to risk my head to sate your dumb curiosity."

Izuku's lips protrude out in a pout. Well, that's not fair. Father is an unmovable mountain. That’s like chipping away mount fuji with a spoon. A wooden spoon.

"Oh, Izuku-chan," Himoko coos, reaching for him. "It's boring stuff anyway. Don't worry about it. Bakugou and the rest of us are going to take care of it." She clutches his hand in hers. It's familiar and comforting, like the time she had held him as the bodies kept dropping around them. Not your fault, not your fault, she had reassured him. "Just live your life peacefully."

It's a kind thought, but somehow it feels restricting, like he's a butterfly pinned under glass. To be treated so dearly and held up in high in admiration by the people around him, but to never let out of his glass box. He wonders if it’s a fair trade.

"Alright, enough of that mushy crap," Katsuki says, peeved like he wants to gag at their show of affection. "You can come with us to our date but only if you stay twelve feet away. I don't want to see a single strand of your hair anywhere in my view or I’m ditching your ass."

Himiko scoffs. "Fine, but I'm watching you.” She raises a finger toward her neck and makes a cutting gesture across it. “Don't think of pulling anything skeevy on my Izuku-chan."

"With my life on the line like that, I wouldn't dare," he drolls, clearly not amused or taking any of it seriously ,but he's not about to get into another argument with her again. "Now can you let go of Deku, so we can get a move on already? This is already taking too fucking long."

"Impatience." She snorts derisively. "But you'll be taking him on Tora-chan though!"

"What, fuck no! We're not taking an armored truck loaded with military grade weapons into the city. This is a date not a fucking warzone," Katsuki hisses as Himiko gears up for another fight over what is a proper vehicle of transportation.

Izuku tucks a smile between his lips. Even in this glass box, it isn't all bad. He can't say he hates it completely not when all his favorite people are in it too.

[sholiofic]

I was tagged by @glorious-spoon to post a section of a current WIP (7 sentences, technically, but like I could EVER keep it down to that) ... so here, have a little of the Sam/Zemo selkie Zemo AU that I mentioned earlier.

-----

With the Flag-Smashers still in the wind, the boat a sinking money pit, the wings busted and the entire question of the shield up in the air, the last thing Sam wanted to deal with was opening the door of Sarah's house to find Zemo's butler standing on the porch.

"You need something?" Sam asked, taking him in. If the old guy had been working for the Zemo family as long as he apparently had, there was no way he was actually as harmless as he looked. 

He was carrying a long bag with a hanger, the sort that people stored nice suits of clothing in, draped over his arm. Behind him, a gleaming classic Mercedes looked entirely out of place under the live-oaks in Sarah's yard.

"I am sorry to bother you," the old man said. "I had nowhere else to go."

This startled a laugh out of Sam. "What the heck, do I look like a rest home for runaway criminals now?"

"What? Oh. No, not for myself. I am here to ask a favor on behalf of my employer." The old guy held out the bag. "Please keep this safe for us."

"Whoa, hold on, not a chance." Sam took a step back. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that being asked to hold onto mysterious bags by random criminals was something no reasonable person wanted any part of.

The thin lips curved in a smile. "It is nothing dangerous or illegal. See?"

He unzipped the bag a little way. A sliver of spotted white fur and a dark shoulder was revealed.

"That's his coat," Sam said. "What the hell. You're ... giving me his coat?"

It was all so bizarre he wanted to laugh.

"My employer is returning to prison, it appears. I would keep this safe for him, but I'm not young, and who knows when he will be out of prison again?"

"He's back in prison? News to me."

"Please," Oeznik said quietly. "I have no one else to ask. And I believe you're a trustworthy person."

"Come on, man. It's a coat, not the crown jewels."

But he took it. He felt stupid about it, but maybe he just had "Sam is a soft touch and also a sucker" blazoned on his forehead. Maybe he should look into doing something about that.

"If it turns out there's contraband in these pockets, I'm putting this straight into the trash. And you better believe I'll check."

But he wasn't sure if he actually meant it. There was something reverent about the way the old guy transferred the garment bag to his arms, gloved hands trailing away from it with a touch that was gentle and almost ... affectionate seemed like a weird word to use here, but it was, damn it.

"There is nothing here that will harm you," Oeznik said. He brushed his hand across the bag lightly and then pulled his hands back, leaving it in Sam's arms. It was heavier than it looked. "I trust you."

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

Alright, so here goes, the jesus stabbing story. It's a ride, so don't say I didn't warn you.

So, what you may not know from my just going based off my shitpost edits and the fact that I may not have brought it up before, but I have many siblings. I'm actually the second of eight. And most of my siblings are pretty tame, if annoying.

Most of them.

The one that's buckwild is my eldest sibling, my older brother. He is principally two things. The first is that he is dangerous and malicious. To give you an idea of what I mean, he once locked my in a dryer for half an hour and wouldn't let me out, busted my tooth in a pillow fight gone very wrong, and is so far going 3-for-3 on sending me to the hospital for stitches.

His other predominant trait is that he is incredibly stupid. He once sprayed a hose on the VCR to "clean it up", hid a huge box of chocolate bars behind some drywall thinking he would be able to retrieve it later (he didn't), and thought he could drive a car to McD's at the age of twelve, only to crash into the neighbor's yard.

Putting these things together, it makes it a little less mysterious as to how he managed to get himself a five-year ban from the state of Florida, home of Florida Man.

So, bearing this in mind, I have no response other than I want whatever my parents were smoking at about seventeen/eighteen years ago when they made the decision to entrust him with setting up some christmas decorations.

And these weren't any old cheapy cheap shit you get at the bargain bin at wally world christmas decorations.

No, these were handcrafted crystaline figurines to a nativity scene that were gifted to my parents by whomstever. They were the closest thing my family had to a crown jewel in the christmas department

So you can already see that this is gonna end well

And it almost did actually, he set it up with almost no problems.

Almost.

You see, the thing about crystalline figurines is that they're not exactly easy to see, ergo they're also easy to miss and overlook, so nobody noticed anything was initially amiss when one figurine was missing.

We did notice it eventually, but by that time we were too late to do anything about it when we were looking everywhere for it. But like I said, it is very difficult to find something literally made crystal clear, even more so when it had been shattered.

So we do what any sensible american family does in the face of hardship; we shrugged our shoulders and gave up, and that would be the last we would have seen of that particular figurine.

Unless....

....had it not been an ensuing fight a few days later between me and the moron who shattered it and told nobody

I don't really remember what started it, but it must have made me really pissed, because I remember chasing him around the house with a huge stick.

And I'm not talking about running in circles in a living room, no.

I'm talking chasing my brother with a huge stuck to smack him with through the living room out the door into the snow though the window back into the house over the couch up the stairs dodging by making a heelturn though his bedroom back down the stairs into the kitchen rounding the corner past the table on slick linoleum flooring with wet shoes when BAM!

It finally happened, the long awaited moment. I did it. I did what every catholic parent wanted for their children aside from having forty-seven kids and perpetuating the heteronormative cult mentality.

I had found jesus

Unfortunately for me, I found him in the form of a shard of glass embedded an inch into my leg

Like I said, I think all catholic parents want their kids to find jesus but I have a slight suspicion that this wasn't what they had in mind

But I took it as a sign

When the figurehead of a church goes out of their way to stab you, I think it's safe to assume you've been smited and that they don't want you hanging around

So yeah, that's how I was stabbed by jesus and I am now transgender

-Mod Terezi

[madneedshelp]

Prom-Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

———————

Summary: After weeks of persuading her boyfriend to take her to prom, Y/N finally gets Eddie to agree, only to get grounded. Stuck in her room alone on prom night, Y/N happens to get a surprise visit that is definitely better than any prom night.

Includes: fluff, some drinking, kissing, Eddie cheering you up

The click of the lock on your bedroom door sounded ominously. Grounded. You were fucking grounded on prom night. After you had spent weeks begging Eddie to go with you, you’d finally got him to get over his hatred of school-related activities, but none of that mattered now. All of this because you came home a couple minutes past curfew, a stupid mistake that you’d never let happen again.

You would admit that you should’ve known better. Your parents were fairly strict, and being ten minutes late might as well have been an hour. It did, however, seem excessive that they felt the need to lock you in your room. You weren’t stupid enough to try and leave while grounded when they would be checking on you.

You flopped onto your bed with a sigh. This really blowed. While you may not have been big into school spirit and hanging around with the popular kids, prom seemed like a fun idea. That was mostly because you wanted to have those memories of you and Eddie. Now you’d be here, at home reading ‘Lord of the Rings’ and listening to Black Sabbath on your record player instead.

A quiet knock came from your bedroom window. You looked up and your face broke out into a grin. Eddie.

You sat down your book and hurried over to the window to unlock it.

“What are you doing here?” Your eyes scanned him as he climbed inside. “Is that a suit?”

Sure enough, your boyfriend, who wore only ripped jeans, a leather jacket, and band t-shirts, was standing in your bedroom in a full suit. How had he even managed to climb up to the second floor in that?

“I’m here for prom, m’lady. You asked for a date, and a date you shall receive.” Eddie took your hand and kissed it, making you giggle.

“I told you, I’m grounded and there’s no way I can get out of here. They’ll notice I’m gone and then you’ll never see me again.”

“Who said anything about leaving? The simple solution to our little dilemma here is to bring prom to you, princess.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as he held out a gaudy jeweled crown.

“I don’t think the drama club will be needing this any time soon,” Eddie grinned mischievously as he stepped forward to crown you.

“I’m not saying I condone stealing, but I am so fucking thankful for you right now. Wait! Not yet! Give me one second,” You stopped Eddie as he went to crown you.

You were currently wearing one of Eddie’s old t-shirts and some pajama pants. Not exactly prom attire. You did already have a dress bought though.

You grabbed the garment bag from your closet and made a swiveling motion at Eddie. “Turn around, please.”

“You realize I’ve seen it all before, sweetheart?” He smirked.

“Oh shut up, it’s for the surprise factor,” you insisted.

He turned around as you quickly shedded your pajamas and pulled on the dress. You smoothed out your hair, put on the necklace you’d planned to wear, and decided that was enough. You went up behind Eddie and tapped his shoulder.

“What do you think, Munson? Worth all this hassle?”

His jaw dropped. You laughed at his exaggerated behavior.

“You’re beautiful. God, I’m so fucking lucky. I’ll never know why you hang around a punk like me,” Eddie murmured, gazing at you with adoration.

“I love you so much, Ed. Always.” You leaned up to kiss him.

Eddie didn’t waste a moment, putting a hand on the small of your back, dipping you and kissing you deeply. Right then, you couldn’t think of a better way to spend prom.

“I love you in the dress, but I think I’d really love you out of it too,” Eddie whispered in your ear.

You closed your eyes as warmth flooded through you. “As much as I like that plan, we can’t. They’d hear us.”

“We can keep quiet,” wrapped his arms snug around your waist.

“We say that every time, but you know how that turns out,” You shoot him a knowing look.

“I can’t help that I just love you too much,” Eddie pouted.

“Then dance with me,” You chuckle and reach your hands up to rest on his shoulders.

“As you wish, my queen.” Eddie picked up the crown and set it on your head before placing his hands on your waist.

Slow dancing to Black Sabbath was something you could confidently say you’d never done before, but it was perfect. It fit you and Eddie’s relationship. As the song went on, the two of you drifted closer and closer until no space was left. It was just you and Eddie, swaying slowly as the record played in the background.

Eventually, it stopped and you went to play the other side. You needed some noise in the background, so that you and Eddie could climb out and sit on the flatter part of the roof outside your bedroom window. It was surprisingly comforting as soon as you got used to not being afraid of falling off the roof. You and Eddie like to sit out here, seeing as this side of the house faced the woods, giving you plenty of privacy.

Eddie pulled some beers out of his bag and handed you one. He claimed this made it like real prom because "someone was always spiking the punch and getting everyone wasted." Besides, smoking would've definitely gotten you caught, so this was less noticeable as long as you didn't get slammed.

"So, how was prom?" Eddie finished off his can of beer.

"Perfect." You took a swig of your own, wincing at the bitterness. Definitely not your favorite, but it did the trick.

"Good. I've done my job."

He leaned over gently pulled your face into a kiss. Your lips parted as his tongue slid hungrily into your mouth. Somehow, the taste of beer was enjoyable when it came from him.

You scooted over to kneel in between his legs, tangling your hands in his messy hair. His hands drifted down your back and you could tell it was taking everything in him not to unzip your dress. Later, you decided. You'd make his patience worth his while later, likely once you were off of house arrest.

Luckily, you had almost a whole hour to yourselves on the roof before you heard footsteps coming toward your room. You carefully slid back inside just as your mom walked in.

"Honey, do you want...why are you wearing that?" Your mom looked at your dress and semi-fixed hair.

"Just wanted to wear it for a little bit, I guess," You shrugged.

"Okay, well we're going to watch a movie downstairs if you want to join us. I might take that off first, though. And shut the window, bugs will get in."

You assured her you'd be down shortly, after you changed, and finally shooed her from the room. You paced back over to the open window and stuck your head out. Eddie was crouched there still, used to quickly getting into a hiding position.

"Thank you again, Eds. Best prom a girl could ask for."

He grinned and kissed you. "Good night, my queen. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night." You kissed him back.

Back in your room alone again, you changed back into your pajamas. Before you went downstairs, you set the crown on your dresser. You made note to sneak it back to the drama club room later, but for now you kept it as a decoration to remind yourself of how incredible your boyfriend was.

[luna-writes-stuff]

CHAPTER XXVII

A Kili X OC fanfic

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Tw: Mentions/description of hand-to-hand combat, Fili gets his ass beaten, dragon sickness, Thorin being delusional. A little Bagginshield (I’m giving the fans what they want), but it’s hinted. False accusations.

——————————————————————————

Fili and Raewyn fight and we finally see something of her strength as a ranger

A cold breeze hung in the air as Raewyn dangled her legs from the entrance of Erebor. She had helped the dwarves look for the Arkenstone out of pity eventually, but hours turned into days, which turned into sleepless nights. And unlike Thorin's loyal subjects, Raewyn knew when to stop. So far, she had slipped past their eyes unknowingly. And even if they had noticed her, they would not find her. Not yet, in any case. The rubble Smaug had caused had simultaneously created a stairway up the gates of the kingdom, allowing her to look over the skyline, that under any other circumstances would have been breathtaking.

Bilbo had obeyed Thorin's words and sought the halls well behaved, but Raewyn was having none of it. The mad king was steering his mindless followers and it angered her to the core. It was exactly what she had been warned for growing up; People who thought themselves to be above all others. Doing and going as they please, not minding the consequences. And the company had turned into a mere machine for him to work. Balin had already advised her to not face Thorin now, but she feared she might any time soon.

And so she said there, getting that fresh air she had been lacking for days. Laketown and its survivors still lay heavy on her mind as she did her best to refrain from grabbing any gold from the mountains of treasure.

She should just leave, she knew this. There was no more reason for her to stay. The dragon had been slain, the mountain had been reclaimed and Thorin became king. Yet, part of her pulled back. Dwarves lived under the will of their ruler, but not like this. She could not let them tire themselves just because their king had lost his mind. She had almost laughed upon realizing Thorin went mad in his first week of ruling, but she was aware that this was a serious matter. And most of the dwarves in there had become her friends. Or at least dear companions. She could not leave them up to their fate like that. Even if they were convinced it was the right way.

"Am I interrupting?" A voice suddenly asked, knocking Raewyn out of her thoughts.

She turned slightly in her seat, smirking upon seeing the person who had followed her up.

"For a moment I thought you were someone else." She admitted, nodding her head towards the empty space beside them.

"You were expecting my brother?" Fili smiled, accepting her offer as he sat down beside her.

"Yes." She answered honestly, no longer seeing reason to lie about it.

Fili chuckled in response, chucking a pebble towards the ruins in front of them.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Don't be," The ranger shook off. "You are great company as well."

A short silence fell over the pair, both of them taking some time for themselves. Time to breathe, time to think. Yet, as Fili looked over the burned town on the lake, Raewyn looked at him in confusion, only now realizing he was no longer in the treasure room.

"Why are you here?" She asked bluntly, turning her head slightly. "Should you not be looking for your stupid stone?"

Fili sighed deeply, staring at his hands as he shook his head. He was bothered by something, and it did not take a genius to figure that out.

"Well, first of all, it is not a stupid stone," He tried to lighten his feelings, smiling only a little bit as he looked up at Raewyn. "The Arkenstone is the crown jewel of the king."

"Oh yes, do forgive me," She spoke, fake apology laced in her voice. "I forgot kings need to express their power and ego with objects and not with actions. Do continue."

The blonde laughed at her words, resting his arms behind him as he rested against them, taking a deep breath.

"I needed to get out of there," He confessed, the smile slowly disappearing from his face. "The room was driving me insane."

Raewyn hummed in understanding, repeating Fili's gesture as she too leaned against her arms. The dwarf who was earlier smiling, now appeared glum, a look so solemn she had begun to wonder if she had imagined his laugh earlier.

"Balin told me about dragon sickness before the journey," He finally mumbled, no longer looking at the Asha beside him.

He had been so worried since they reclaimed Erebor, but he could not rant about his problems to his uncle, for he was now driven mad. And he dared not bother his younger brother with it, scared he might worry for him than he worries for himself.

"Do you think it'll get to me too?"

Raewyn frowned at his words, a sympathetic look falling over her face.

"Of course not," She tried to reassure. "You are strong, Fili. Stronger than you give yourself credit for. And above all," She continued, shifting her weight onto one arm as she poked his chest with the other lightly. "You have a good heart. It cannot be poisoned by a dragon's spell, I am sure of it."

"Thank you," Fili whispered, before raising his voice again. "But words do not make fear go away."

"Well, you are not wrong," The ranger mumbled, looking back over the lake. "Do you know what? If you do go insane, I will personally hit you on the head to slam the sickness out of you."

"Does that work?" The dwarf asked, another tiny smile climbing onto his face.

"Has anyone ever tried it?" Raewyn shot back with a playful tone.

Fili shrugged at her, looking back towards the rubble they had both climbed. Raewyn followed his gaze, standing up as she saw the open wall.

"I'm going to take a walk through Erebor," She announced, stretching her back as she looked down at Fili. "Feel free to join me. Yesterday, I found an old library. I want to see if it has any good books."

"A library?" The dwarf repeated, standing up as well as he followed the ranger down the rubble. "I did not take you for a bookworm."

"Well," She sighed, jumping off of the giant boulders, sticking the landing perfectly. "You travel, and hunt, and fight. Sometimes, all you truly need is a good book to escape reality every once in a while."

She waited below as Fili busied himself with climbing down carefully, instead of leaping as Raewyn had done. "I never carry books when I'm travelling. Too much luggage."

The blonde got back on the floor safely, nodding in understanding. Raewyn merely smiled at him, already making her way through the halls. She had not walked through them that often yet, and she knew she was bound to get herself lost. But she had been waiting all day to return to that library. And Fili needed an escape from the treasure hoard. If anything was going to cure it, it was a dusty room that smelled of old parchment and dull wood.

"It is here in these halls," A silent call echoed through the halls, gaining the attention of the pair. "I know it."

"Thorin," Raewyn mumbled, looking towards Fili, who once again appeared grief-stricken.

Understanding his quiet conflict, she turned around, following the sound as she gestured for Fili to follow her.

"We have searched and searched-" A second voice spoke up, louder than before, signaling that the two were getting closer.

"Not well enough!" Thorin boomed.

Around the corner, a golden glow illuminated the walls, making the dwarf sigh deeply. Raewyn halted upon the sound, facing him.

"You don't have to-"

"I want to." He interrupted, a steadfast look on his face.

The ranger took a deep breath, nodding at him in reassurance as they rounded a corner. The pair found themselves a floor above the throne room, where Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, and Bilbo had gathered. Both Fili and Raewyn were looking directly at their backs, so - thankfully - their presence would go unnoticed.

"Thorin, we all would see the stone returned." Dwalin tried to persuade, a gentle layer on his voice. One that sounded so foreign to the Asha.

"And yet, it is still not found!" The king raged, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Do you doubt the loyalty of anyone here?" Balin asked. In response, Thorin turns around to face the three. As if a sudden alarm went off, Raewyn took a step back, pulling Fili with her as they stood in the shadows.

"The Arkenstone is the birthright of our people." The older dwarf went on.

Thorin's eyes wandered over the room, until they strayed towards the balcony, only a mere inches from where Raewyn and Fili had stood earlier. The ranger held her breath as the dwarf took a second step back, not taking his chances.

Before Raewyn could follow Fili's steps, Thorin's eyes fell on her, making her stop in her movements. She stared right back at him, not knowing whether to argue with him or to run with Fili. Yet, as he kept looking at her, she began to doubt if he had even seen her. She had seen him staring off into empty spaces before. He could not have seen her, she was safely hidden.

"Mark my words," Thorin seethed, his eyes still on Raewyn, though he spoke to the company in front of him. "It is the Asha. She is up to something."

"You cannot say that. The lass has been nothing but helpful." Balin defended, calling Thorin's attention to him, much the ranger's relief.

"Is that so?" Thorin taunted. "How often have you seen her these past days? How often has she threatened me? For what reason does she remain here? Is the dragon not slain?!" He turned around in anger, marching up towards the throne, though he did not sit down upon it.

"She has it. She is hiding it!"

"Th-Thorin," Bilbo stuttered, shaking his head wildly. "Raewyn would have no use for it. She does not care for kingdoms, nor possessions."

"She has taken it to taunt me." The dwarf shook off, ignoring Bilbo's words. "To torture me for taking my heirloom from me. It is the King's Jewel. Am I not the king?!"

His company shrunk under his shouts, backing away slightly.

"Find the Asha," Thorin raged, walking up towards Dwalin and Balin. "Bring her to me."

——

"You need to get out." Fili spoke as he and Raewyn rushed through the halls, having suspected Thorin might check out the balconies. Even more after his - possible unconscious - eye contact with the Asha.

"For what? I haven't taken anything." Raewyn argued calmly, far more laid-back than Fili, whose heart was raging at the moment.

"It won't matter to him," Fili anxiously explained, looking through the halls to make sure no one was meeting them. "He will find some form of punishment for you, guilty or not."

"Of course, he will," The Asha agreed, following the nearly running dwarf. "But it was about time we had a good conversation."

"I do not think he will want to talk to you," The blonde ranted on, marching down the stairs. "I think you'd go straight to your sentence."

"Do you think I actually meant to have a conversation with him?" Raewyn laughed silently, nearly angering Fili at her surprisingly laid-back demeanor. "We won't sit down and calmly discuss this matter. He will lose his mind even more than now and I will lash out."

That made the prince halt in his steps, stopping halfway through the stairs, looking up at Raewyn, who raised her eyebrows at his sudden stop.

"If you know this will happen, why confront him?" He whispered harshly, pointing towards the woman.

"Someone needs to knock some sense into him." Raewyn merely shrugged, walking past Fili.

"He is the king now," The dwarf tried to convince, running after the ranger, grabbing her sleeves as he pulled her back. "He will have the upper hand!"

"Are you saying you think your uncle could win from me?" She wondered, almost cornering Fili.

"I am saying he will not show you mercy." He answered nonetheless.

"Good," Raewyn nodded, prying her sleeve from Fili's hands, before rounding the corner, heading straight for the throne room. "That makes two of us."

"Raewyn!" A second voice called, followed by a shorter figure running up to the pair. "You need to go to Laketown!"

"Bilbo," She sighed inwardly, slowing her pace.

"He has lost his mind. He thinks you stole the Arkenstone!" He hissed, trying to step in front of the Asha to stop her, but every time she simply seemed to walk past him.

"I know. Spare your energy, Fili already tried to convince me to run," She spoke to him. "It won't work."

"Raewyn, I don't know what he will do!" Bilbo went on, once again, standing in front of her, more firmly this time.

With a roll of her eyes, Raewyn grabbed his sides, lifting him from the floor in one go, before setting him down beside Fili, resuming her path. Bilbo remained silent at the sight, but quickly caught up with reality again.

"Ho- how do you even know about what he-"

"I am a ranger, Bilbo. I know how to be silent." The Asha interrupted.

"But you don't know when to stop." Fili mumbled, before grabbing both shoulders of the ranger, yanking her back. Caging her between his arms, Raewyn struggled in his arms, trying to push him off.

"I will kick you, Fili." She warned.

"You won't." He replied. With those words, she took a sharp kick backward, hitting his shin rather harshly, causing him to let go of her.

"A little help?" Fili asked, looking at Bilbo, who only took a step back, not knowing what to do.

The dwarf groaned at the hobbit's movements. Raewyn had now taken a quicker pace, one that alarmed him. Without a second thought, he ran at her, tackling her to the floor as he did his best to not throw her too hard.

"You kicked me." He stated, almost wounded.

"I warned you." The Asha shot back, turning around so she was laying on her back, giving her another opportunity to kick. Fili was quick to realize it, and placed his shin across her legs, forcing them down.

"You cannot go to Thorin." The dwarf commanded, dodging a punch she was throwing towards his face.

"That is my choice to make," She hissed. "Don't be difficult."

Lashing her arm out again, she hit her elbow against Fili's face, making him falter his hold on her momentarily. In an attempt to escape, she punched between his shoulder blades quickly, causing him to inhale deeply, the air knocked out of his lungs suddenly.

In his moment of weakness, she pushed him off of her, scrambling back up, brushing her shirt down.

Coughing the air back in his lungs violently, the dwarf rose to his feet as well, launching himself at the ranger again. Her back roughly collided with the wall as she groaned in objection. Though Fili was slightly shorter than her, he was strong nonetheless, and Raewyn found it to be quite difficult to run from his hold. His hands were pushed against her shoulder blades tightly, forcing her back.

After finding out pushing back against him would not work, and she slowly began to run out of breath, she jumped up suddenly. Her legs swiftly wrapped around his waist, taking the dwarf by surprise as he turned around in shock. Now being faced the other way, she fell back down, grabbing his left arm. Turning around quickly, she separated her legs for a better stance. Tightening her grip on his arm, she threw him over his shoulder swiftly, making Bilbo wince at the sight.

When she prepared to walk off again, Fili's hand grabbed her leg tightly. A sharp hiss slipped past her lips as she turned around in objection. Though the leg had been healed by Tauriel, it was still fairly sensitive. She was sure Fili did not know. Otherwise, he would have never grabbed it.

"What if he banishes you?" He asked pleadingly, looking up at the Asha.

"That is my problem, not yours." She simply stated, leaning down to get Fili's hands off.

"It is mine. Because if you leave, Kili leaves," He spoke, his eyes now looking directly into hers, having been at eye level once more. "Thorin will never let me run after him."

Those words made Raewyn hesitate slightly, retreating her hand from Fili's, looking down at him in sympathy.

"I know he is getting older as well, and he has the whole world for himself," He confessed, slowly letting go of Raewyn's leg. "But he's still my little brother."

The ranger frowned slightly, taking a deep breath inwards as she allowed adrenaline to fade from her system. With one final look, she offered Fili her hand, taking a single step back. With a slight smile, he accepted her hand. With a strong nudge, she pulled the dwarf off the floor, dusting off his shoulders.

"I cannot run from Thorin forever." She stated, breathing heavily from their fight only seconds earlier.

"No, but we can stall," Fili explained, flattening his hair, his breathing heavy as well. "Perhaps the stone will be found tomorrow, and you would already be punished."

Placing his hand on her shoulder hesitantly, he gave her a sincere look, a hopeless smile on his face. "His madness will fade, I am sure of it. Don't confront him while he is so up in his anger."

Raewyn only nodded, looking into the throne room briefly.

"Two days," She decided. "I will stay in that library for two days. It has a tiny window, I will know when the sun has set."

"It's good enough," Fili commented, uttering a sigh of relief. "I will bring you some food every morning."

"And Kili?" Raewyn added nearly immediately after.

"Would you go missing - and his nephew, Thorin would know something is going on." The dwarf insisted. "Best to avoid more suspicion."

Raewyn knew he was right. If she were to hide for two days, it would be best to not pull anyone in there with her. Just to avoid more problems.

"Will you at least tell him?" She tried.

"Of course." He nodded, patting her shoulder for the last time before uttering a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Fili." The ranger spoke, taking a step back from the throne room, inhaling deeply as she prepared herself to walk towards the space she had found a mere day prior.

"No," The dwarf denied, shaking his head lightly. "Thank you."

——

"I do not think it would be difficult to hide in here." Bilbo expressed as Raewyn opened the doors to the dusty, yet breathtaking library.

"Nor do I," The ranger. "But I do wish someone would knock some sense into Thorin."

"As do I." Bilbo sighed as he sat down on one of the benches Raewyn had cleaned the same morning.

Seeing her friend's defeated look, she sat down beside him, rubbing his knee in comfort.

"You have conflicted feelings about him, or am I wrong?" She mused, a slight smirk on her face.

Bilbo seemed taken aback by her words, coughing in embarrassment as his face grew a faint blush, one that happened often when he felt uncomfortable.

"I- I do not. I worry for him." He explained, but Raewyn only raised her eyebrows at his speech, forming her lips in a thin line. A low hum escaped from her throat as she nodded her head slowly.

"Yes, you do."

"You are an absolute heathen." The hobbit mumbled, looking down at his lap.

"Don't worry. I won't tell." She promised, her eyes lingering on his coat.

Before Bilbo could move, or notice her look, her hand shot towards the fabric, pulling the Arkenstone from the pocket within.

"Nor will I tell about this."

"Raewyn!" He yelped in surprise. "I, I am sorry. I was going to tell them-"

"Don't," She pressed, handing the gem back to him. "I'd rather they think I have it than you. You are wise to keep it from Oakenshield."

Bilbo sighed in guilt, storing the stone back into his coat pocket.

"Balin explained to me Thorin suffers from dragon sickness." He confessed, having understood that hiding the Arkenstone might have actually been the smartest option.

Raewyn nodded at him, though she already had her suspicions about the mad king.

"It was doomed to happen eventually," She addressed. "History always manages to repeat itself. And you will not understand it until you see it for yourself."

"Life is cruel," The hobbit complained, throwing his legs over each other on the bench. "The past should stay in the past, do you not think so?"

"Not always," The ranger objected, looking at Bilbo as his eyes ran back to her. "Not all history is evil."

As he usually did, he looked at Raewyn with newfound interest, silently urging her to continue. She found him doing it often when she was speaking, and she would have nearly laughed, had it not been such a serious subject.

"My father had this habit of squeezing my hand three times," She began, squeezing her hand together subconsciously. "He did it with my mother when they were still young. He never was good with words, but it was his way of letting her know he loved her."

Shaking her head slightly, she adjusted her seat, pushing herself up on her hands. "I never understood why he didn't just tell her. You never do, until it happens to yourself."

Bilbo smiled at her words, standing up from his seat as he walked through the room.

"Okay, maybe not all history is evil." He announced, empathizing the 'all'.

From the window, something caught his attention. With a frown, he climbed on top of a smaller chair, possibly used for young dwarflings when Erebor was still flourishing. As he pushed himself up, Raewyn approached him, curiosity overtaking her.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Is that Bard?" Bilbo countered, pointing towards the approaching horse in the distance.

Raewyn squinted her eyes at the sight, trying to get a better look.

"It is." She whispered. "What is he doing here?"

Her head immediately shot towards the hidden spot above the gates of Erebor, her feet already carrying her to the door.

"Don't go out there!" Bilbo warned. "They will see you."

The ranger smiled at him, opening the door as she gestured for the hobbit to go first.

"No, they won't."

——

Taglist: @errruvande @justnerdystuffs @fallenangeloflight @deathofafangirl01 @spidergirla5 @bianavacker-is-bi-as-hell @the-cranck-hobbit @radbarbariancupcake @chaoticpaintsplatter @kinnietingzs @writingawaymylife

[cheekygreenty]

His Queen - The Darkling x Reader

bitch, I think I outdid myself on this one. I'm shocked I wrote this

He hated the Tsar. He hated himself, but he didn't hate you. How could he of let this happen, he's never been a slave to his emotions. You were married, no, scratch that, you were the Queen for Saint's Sake. The Tsar had made it common knowledge that you didn't belong anywhere but the Grand Palace, in a glittering gown and a jeweled crown upon your always perfect hair sitting in front of a fire sipping on your tea. He wanted you nowhere near the action or actual Palace life. You were merely an accessory to him.

The young and innocent girl raised in nobility, who caught the old bastard's eye by fluttering your eyelashes at him, longing for his person.

Bullshit.

Aleksander could see your repulsion whenever you were in your husband's presence. The longing eyes as you looked at the doors, the shiver that rattled your spine as his sweaty hand gripped yours, or the increasing sadness in your eyes as the months went on. The jewels around your neck glistened, but your eyes didn't. Not anymore.

He had done some digging in the months following the wedding, and rest assured you didn't belong anywhere near the palace. You were scrappy, ready for a fight at all times. There were numerous accounts of you running around villages, fighting your way through pubs and inns. Your parents, the Duke and Duchess, were downright ashamed of you before your big day. You were itching to drop everything and join the First Army the second you had the chance. You were skilled in ways no noble was; you had street smarts.

Then the late Queen died and you were presented on a silver platter to the King, donning all the family jewels that never sit quite right. The King couldn't help himself, the public blamed the grief for his hasty marriage, 'he needed a companion.' But in reality, he saw what he could have and grasped you up the second he had the chance. And now you were stuck here, in a cage with no way out.

Aleksander didn't take a liking to you at the start. All he saw was what the King wanted him to see and for that, he feels tremendous guilt. He thought you to be proper and uptight and spoiled, so when you approached him the first time, franticly asking for advice about a simple state matter that was dropped into your lap by the General himself, he couldn't help but snigger at you and convey news of the stupid Queen to his fellow Grisha.

He didn't know the King treated you like a child or that all of this was new to you. I should've seen it he cursed himself, for the weeks to follow you were the talk of both the Palaces and news spread to camps on the front.

The stupid, young, ditsy girl who couldn't put together a luncheon for Ravka's war heroes was the Queen. Ridiculous.

He believed it too until he had seen you out one night when he couldn't sleep. You were deep in the forest, tending to your black stallion and in what looked like peasant clothing. You had mud on your boots and your hair was messily braided. There was a tatted punching bad tied up on a tree and another person sitting against a log, breathing heavily and clutching his side. Aleksander never made himself known, just blended into the darkness as he did best but continued to watch you eagerly. Only then did he faintly make out your bruised knuckles and the tears in your breeches.

'Again?'

'Saints Y/N no, I've got a way to go and the way you just bruised my ribs, I've a painful journey ahead of me' mused the sitting man.

That night, Aleksander sent out his best Grisha to collect information and asked Genya to tend to you, but you denied yet again (only after asking her to fix up your hands).

Ever since then, Aleksander has been observing you and getting to know you when he could, telling his Grisha it was to gather information since Genya was no longer garnering the Queen's secrets, but he felt drawn to you for whatever reason. You were the best part of his day; whether it was a simple smile sent his way or you rambling about the ways you avoid being followed around the palace, he listened intently and set the shared memories into his brain.

The General was a mystery to you. With his extremely handsome face and confident stances, he mesmerized you to the point of a blank mind. Whenever your eyes met his, it could be in a room of 60 people, rest assured you were right by his side in an instant. You had sought out his presence wherever you went and clung to it while you could.

But the King had made his opinion of the Darkling obvious, and his hatred ran deep. 'He likes to think he rides a horse above everyone else.' 'He's most unnatural.' You didn't care though. As long as he kept himself away from you and just used his words and not actions, you were fine.

You had gathered a particular kindness for late evening walks before bed, silently slipping onto the grounds of his palace, awaiting his companionship. It might have only been 40 minutes out of your day, but it was always better than not seeing him.

Ivan had pointed out that you had an air of hostility around you every time you were in a room with your husband and your heart tended to beat dangerously fast as if you were panicking. So Aleksander attempted to pull you away from him and distract you from the horrid man, and it seemed to work. He grew to like you and would miss your witty humor when he went back to the Little Palace.

Months had passed and he never grew sick of your presence, ironically he craved more of it. He tried to tell himself that you were just a part of his plan, nothing more, but things got even more complicated. He had accidentally mentioned seeing you that night in the forest, and instead of being hostile about it, you told him you enjoyed a fight or two and invited him to join you. That night, after multiple rounds of sparring and hard hits, he kissed you fervently. And again and again, until you both got past the point of going back.

You acknowledged the risk only after it happened and started to panic. You had an affair with the General of the Second Army. He seemed to be in the same state as you. But before you went your separate ways, he held you in his arms and promised it would all be ok. You believed him.

He got back to his chambers that night and his demeanor changed behind the closed doors. He was so mad. He always swore to take what the King loved most and destroy it before his very eyes, but this was a sick joke the Saints played on him. He needed to protect you, get you out of the Tsar's grip, and hide you away from any harm. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep you out of danger's way and he knew it. Why did he let this happen? He knew that whatever your ending may be, you would get hurt, maybe not physically, but definitely emotionally.

You had told him of all the things the King did to you, how he treated you and paraded you around. You begged Aleksander to do something about it, to help you get out of that life and back to your old one, but there was nothing he could do and it broke his heart.

'I wish I could do something Y/N, I truly do, but I am not as powerful as you may think I am. The King is still the King' he had told you, guilt building in him.

He was sitting at his desk in his chambers now, looking out the window feeling fidgety. You were late for your evening walk, like really late. Sure it happened before, but Aleksander had a weird gut feeling that something happened. Maybe the King found out? or maybe you finally realized the magnitude of the situation and came to your senses?

He knew if the King whiffed out a sliver of what was going on with his wife and Aleksander, he would rain hellfire. He was a powerful man, the most powerful man in all of Ravka and there was nothing more dangerous than an embarrassed man's actions.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise he hadn't heard in a very long time, followed by the very loud thuds of falling books. The tunnel?

'ALEKSANDER?' your panicked voice reached him and triggered something primal in him. fight or flight. He and his shadows shot up and ran to you but stopped dead in his tracks, the black matter disappearing in on itself. You stood at the entrance to the tunnel, visibly shaking with anger, but that's wasn't the cause of his shock.

'Saints Y/N' He whispered, realization flooding over him like a nasty wave of ice-cold water. Your once ivory white nightgown was drenched in crimson but you were uninjured, it wasn't yours. The huge green Lanstov emerald sitting atop your left hand was smeared in red too, giving it a brown tinge.

'I need to get out of here right now.' You sounded solid and stern, the panic was long gone. The scrappy fighter was back.

Aleksander had always known what to say. But now, he didn't have a single word come to his mind and his body refused to move, he was rendered speechless and useless. This is a nightmare, surely, he prayed.

'Y/N I-I, What happ-'

'Aleksander, unless you want to see my head on a pike by dawn, I suggest you help me' You said as you moved across the room, after closing the tunnel door firmly shut. How does she even know about these tunnels?

'I once heard a drunkard speak of tunnels beneath the palaces, I tried my luck' You said answering his question without even being asked,

Your hands moved quick, shedding yourself of the nightgown and holding it in your hands as you moved to grab his black robe off a chair. Aleksander still stood there, his head whirling with so many thoughts, it debilitated him. He needed her to say it.

'Y/N did you do what I think you did'

'You know I did'

At that moment the doors burst open to reveal Ivan with an alarmed look on his face and his hands raised, ready to jump into action, most likely alerted by the falling books. But he faltered when he saw you, The Queen, covered in blood and holding a bloody nightgown in the most secure room of the Little Palace.

'Great another witness' You huffed and dumped the gown into the fireplace.

'Moi soverenyi, what is the meaning of this?'

'Ivan I wish I could tell you.'

'I killed the King. I have approximately 3 hours before somebody notices him laying in his own blood with his neck slit open' You sighed and sat down, head in your hands. This was the first moment you'd had to process it all, and it was overwhelming, to say the least.

A silence enveloped the room as the fire roared back to life, already having burnt the evidence to a crisp. Aleksander finally came to his senses, moved and grabbed a bowl of water and a cloth.

'Did anybody see you leave?' He asked as he handed you the items to wash your hands of the sticky blood.

'No. I made sure of it. I traveled through the tunnels.'

'And the King? There is no weapon near him?' Ivan interrupted.

Slowly you bent down and pulled a small dagger out of your shoe. Small but sharp.

'Give that to me' Aleksander took it out of your hands and walked out of the room while you continued to scrub the crimson off your hands.

You momentarily looked at Ivan, he didn't look mad or upset. He looked like a soldier.

'Are you not mad your King is dead?' You mused.

'He was not my King'

'That makes two of us' You were done cleaning your hands and moved to clean the ring. Should I burn this too?

'Leave it on. If things go sideways, you can buy your freedom' Aleksander returned. 'Ivan go get 2 horses and pack essentials. Get Genya too. I trust you to keep quiet.'

'Yes Moi soverenyi, Moya tsaritsa' He bowed his head quickly and waltzed out the room.

'Aleksander I'm scared now.....what have I done' You whispered. He took hold of your hand and pulled you into him. He held you tight, not wanting to let go.

'It's going to be ok. I promise. There's a small cottage down south I want you to go to. Ivan will take you. You will be safe. I will right this. I will protect you as I should've done earlier.' He kissed you deeply, letting all of the emotions flow through without the need for words.

'And what then?' You whispered against his lips.

'You be you. Perhaps go to Ketterdam. I feel you belong there... or come back to me when the time is right' He kissed you again, it was sweet and sad. A goodbye kiss. 'I love you, and even though you don't like it, you are my Queen. Forever'

'I love you too' Your hands fisted at his beautiful black kefta as tears dripped off your face.

****

That night you fled, your hair and appearance completely changed. The peasant clothes you felt comfortable in were on your back while the heartrenderer galloped beside you. Os Alta was still asleep as you sped down south, praying to the Saints that leaving Aleksander to deal with your mess was the right decision. That he would be ok too.

Ravka was shaken by the news of their dead King and the missing Queen. Some say she was dead, kidnapped by Fjerdans, and slaughtered mercilessly, others said Kerch merchants had her thrown in the Fold as she refused to give up information.

Either way, Aleksander had made sure you weren't regarded as a murderer and kept his promise to give you a chance to return to the Little Palace, to him.

Also if u can see this fic plz interact with it!! Idk if my tumblr is fixed yet and I need to make sure!!! If u were tagged and it didn’t notify you like last time, plz tell me!!!! 💓💓

Taglist (tell me if u want to be added)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx

[winter-fox-queen]

Kisses Like Wine

The Thief x Reader

Warnings:  None

Reader is blank canvass female.  Age gap, maybe ten years?

Inspired by the new wine commercial, of course. I am not sure if the next installment will be during the next teaser or what.

Do you like legends?  Well.  Here is one for you.

Imagine a maid, seduced by a powerful man.  Imagine a stormy night…yes, a dark and stormy night, I know, I know.  But it was.  Imagine a frightened, naive young woman pushing a baby out into the world, laying on the paving of the wine cellar because that as the only place they could think to hide her. Several glorious and expensive floors above, another woman is laboring, drawing her last breath.  My father, my brother, my sister all sitting in a half circle as the power flickers out, as the staff hasten to light candles.

The maid, my mother, takes money, some silver, and leaves me.

I wonder what was going through my father’s mind, as he looked at me that first time. I wonder if his wife hadn’t just died he would have kept me at all.

But he did. And that, I thought, would be as interesting as things got.

I was wrong.  Of course. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a story worth telling.

Once a year, the family gathers into the vault. My siblings enjoy it, after all, this is their once a year visit of the treasures they will inherit.

Now, you will think, that my siblings hate me. They don’t. They are mostly indifferent, modeling after my father, warming up when he’s not around, or when they need me. So their going over the wealth I will never touch in my presence does not smack of cruelty, just carelessness.

As long as I behave myself, I will always have a roof. Always be fed. Have a stipend. My education was paid for, I have a nice, plain little car I picked for myself. So, I ignore a lot of things.  I live in a castle, after all. Really, what more could I want? I remind myself of these things more and more often, recently.

My interest picks up when he gets to the jewel cask. A crown said to be worn by King Alfred the Great sits over it, and he moved it aside reverently to open a plain, silver oval of a box.

“And here it is,” he croons. “The Star of the North.” It is beautiful. Even in the florescent light of the vault, the pale blue sapphire, large as a hen’s egg, sparkles with a galaxy of stars.  It is the only piece that moves me. I could stare at it forever, lost in the depths. Looking at the stars.

If you were to ask me, later, why I risked my life to go after it, I don’t know what I’d tell you. Was it for the jewel?  Was it to impress my family and maybe have my father actually look at me?

Or was it because of him?

**

The night that changed my life, I was standing in the corner of the third floor ballroom, humming “Masquerade” under my breath. It was an accurate song – A masked ball, people wearing dazzling costumes. I was dressed in a costume I’d seen once on the cover of a book – fake iridescent black swan feathers showed tones of blue and purple. I didn’t want to fool with actual wings, so I had hennaed butterfly wings, jeweled and sparkling, across my bare back. I thought I looked nifty, but it was not the warmest costume choice.  “You can fool any friend who ever knew you…” I whispered under my breath.

A flash of bottle green attracted my eye despite my best attempts. I was drawn to a man in a satin green jacket.  His mask was a fox’s face made out of green leaves. His eyes were dark, his hair dark, as well, with a slight curl. Our eyes would meet, over glasses, over shoulders, and I kept moving away from him, away from the danger he represented.

Away from the wanting that was curling, slowly, softly inside.  Want stirred by the way he held the delicate crystal stem of a wine glass. By the way his eyes traveled over my figure. The knowing smirk, as if he was a mind reader. I went and got a drink of my own, determined to not look at him again, and as if hearing my wishes, he disappeared.

I pretended not to look for him as I eventually settled in another corner. A hand, large, graceful despite that, holding a bunch of fanned playing cards appeared before my face. I barely kept from shrieking. “Pick a card,” a voice purred in my ear.

I didn’t want to admit he startled me, though it had probably been obvious. I turned enough to see it was him, the green fox mask. “You’ll see what I pick.”

He laughed. “Just choose with your eyes, keep it in your head.”

I looked at his hand. The ace of spades. Queen of Hearts. A mix of number cards. I picked the Jack of Clubs.

“Done.” I said, turning to look up into his eyes.

The alarms started ringing. “Forgive me,” he said, “That’s my cue.” He pulled me to him, and spun me onto the dance floor, among confused and worried guests.  I felt the strength of him, as he moved, the assuredness, the grace,  He turned me and gently pushed me into the arms of a man standing on the side of the dance floor, and in the chaos I lost track of him.

I recovered and ran towards the vault.

“It’s locked. The security are inside…” I heard my brother say. I backtracked, and ran down another hall, trying to think.

If the guards were inside, he could just waltz out the front door. So going up would be stupid.

But the lower floor was on lock down.  Probably. I didn’t really know what the thief had managed to accomplish.

A breeze across my back.  The tower room behind me – the door was partly open. I ran through it without thinking.

And there he was. The mask and jacket were gone. He had a pack on his back and he was lowering a rope out the arched window of the tower.

“Whatever it was you took, give it back.” I told him. “Give it back and I won’t tell them where you went, or what you look like.”

He was on me in a second, arm wrapped around me, my body pressed against the stone.  His free hand was around my throat, pressing gently. “Why should I?”

I am ashamed to admit, I was very aware of his body pressed hard against mine. That strength. He could hurt me, but I was not afraid. Not of him.  His hand on my throat was more of a lover’s touch than a threat, and I could see his eyes in the light from the hall. He was not angry. He was…pleased.

“I know who you are,” I whisper. “And you never kill.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “I only took a few trinkets. Your family has so much left, but it seems to me their greatest treasure they ignore completely.” He brushes his lower lip against mine, and I shiver. I can feel a slight smile before he claims my lips.

“Come find me yourself,” he whispers in my ear, and he is gone, out the window.

I slide down the wall and stare out the window, wondering at myself.  At the urge to follow him down, though he takes the rope with him, leaving only a metal spike with a loop in the wall.

Later, we find that he managed to trick the security guards into going into the vault, then, while they were in there, triggered the alarm.

We don’t know when he stole the crown or the Star of the North. We just knew they were gone. His plan was neat, meticulous, and hard to figure out.

When I undressed that night, I found a card in the corsetry of my bodice. The Jack of Clubs.  The back?  The face of the devil.  My guess had been right – I knew who visited us that night.  One of the greatest thieves of all time. No name. Some called him The Thief, some called him the devil.

I pressed the card to my lips.  Come find me.

Alright.

I will.

[astradrifting]

 AGOT - Jon I (Chapter 5)

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

I don’t know why D&D decided Jon could never lie, when literally the first line in his POV is a lie. He’s so good at it he can even lie to himself!

****

A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

A singer with a high harp and a ballad seems like a vague Rhaegar allusion. That Jon can’t actually hear him makes me happy in a very petty way.

****

His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.

I think this part is actually Jon being indignant on Ned’s behalf that Cersei was rude to him, by not looking at him when he escorts her, not that she never looked at Jon. Also, there’s those observation skills. He’s never been taken in by a pretty smile.

****

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit.

Adorable!!!

****

Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

Jon’s a mean drunk I guess 💀

****

Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

Joffrey according to Jon: 👁👄👁

But Sansa looked radiant 🥰

****

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen’s brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered “Kingslayer” behind his back. Jon found it hard to look away from him.

This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

Giving me big ‘muscled like a maiden’s fantasy’ vibes there, Jon.

Also, curiously enough Jaime’s introduced wearing black and red, Targaryen colours. Maybe a nod to the incest storyline, possibly leftover foreshadowing from when Jaime was going to become king, as per the outline.

Otherwise this means that, like everybody else in this story, Jaime is a secret Targaryen. He and Cersei can join the ranks of Jon, Tyrion, Varys, Mance Rayder and while we’re at it… *spins a wheel of names* Meera too.

****

His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.

His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke.

Jon spends half this chapter on the verge of tears, my angsty little lad.

****

Jon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled the wolf’s.

They actually call him Ben and ‘uncle Ben’ a few times in the series, which I honestly think might be a Spider-Man allusion. Surrogate father figure Uncle Ben’s early disappearance/death kicking off the plot… There’s also a saying that nobody stays dead in comics except for Uncle Ben - considering all the other resurrections in the books, metaphorical and literal, yet GRRM says that Benjen isn’t Coldhands, it might be the same for this Uncle Ben too.

****

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

"[Garlan] is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance." (ASOS, Sansa I)

Love a Jon-Garlan parallel! Also thinking about Garlan being the older brother made me realise - in the story everyone thinks that Jon is younger than Robb, but timeline-wise, he has to be older, because Robb was conceived in the two weeks before Ned left to fight at the Trident, and Rhaegar must have at least already been in the capital by then to rally the loyalists, so Jon was conceived weeks, if not months earlier. Which means that Ned has definitely lied about when Jon’s birthday is.

Jon being the product of a ‘youthful indiscretion’ before he was married is less of a stain on Ned’s honour than him betraying his marriage bed but I imagine Catelyn’s fears about Jon usurping her children might have had more basis if he was known to be the eldest, so maybe that’s why Ned lied about how old he is.

****

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes. 

"A conquest that lasted a summer," his uncle pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." He took another sip of wine. "Also," he said, wiping his mouth, "Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"

Jon is unfortunately, a jock. And a bit of an idiot. 

There’s something about Jon’s hero dying at 18, Waymar dying at 18 just a few chapters ago... Jon has them all beat by dying at 17.

****

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.”

Establishing Benjen as a somewhat contentious father figure to Jon - even more fuel for my brand new Uncle Ben ‘theory’.

****

The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon's face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl. 

"Shy, isn't he?" Lannister observed.

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still." He looked up at the dwarf. "You can touch him now. He won't move until I tell him to. I've been training him."

Possibly he and Sansa are the only ones who properly trained their direwolves, considering how the rest of them will end up behaving.

****

“If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat,” Jon said. It wasn’t actually true yet, but it would be.

Pffffft! Edgy edgy edge-lord 💀

Though I also always feel like issuing casual threats to Tyrion Lannister so I can’t really blame him.

****

Standing, he was taller than the dwarf. It made him feel strange.

He’s got a weird preoccupation with comparing his height to Lannister men in this chapter. My headcanon for the books is that Jon’s quite tall by ADWD but evidently he’s tiny in AGOT if he feels strange being tall next to a dwarf.

****

final thoughts:

Believe it or not, I didn’t actually have Jonsa in mind with my new Uncle Ben theory, but I did just remember that brown haired Peter Parker’s main love interest is red-haired MJ :P