#i am cradling this interaction in my hands and weeping

[pocketgalaxies]

I also feel like they have friends everywhere.

[bellafragolina]

For the s/o who dies and becomes the Cofagrigus- I'm bout to use my angst card on this one Chief 😈

Imagine you're visiting a museum while you're staying in Sinnoh for business related stuff and come across Hisuian history.... to find records of you- like not someone who's similar to you- literally you.

You learn about 'The Sky Fallers' and that one of them became a Warden to Lady Sneasler while the other was the hero of Hisui... who unfortunately met a tragic end.

It doesn't explain how they- you die, but it does go on about how completely devastated all who were close with you were.

You don't fully believe the stories and are convinced it's just an ancestor or something along those lines, only to get thrown for a loop when you actually do wind up in Ancient Sinnoh with Subway Boss Ingo.

The stories were true after all, and now you had to live it out until your inevitable demise.

You're hesitant to make friends or any connections whatsoever since you were never going to be able to go home anyhow. You didn't even know how long you had left, the only thing keeping you going being the knowledge that you were their much needed hero.

You assist Professor Laventon with the Pokedex, quell the nobles, spend time with Ingo as you gain comfort in being near someone who was from your time- even if he had amnesia, and finish every mission given to you by the Survey Corp.

Unknowingly, and reluctantly, you've created bonds with those you've interacted with, so it's no wonder why they're sobbing and begging for you to keep your eyes open when your time has come, fatally wounded and losing blood fast

You're too far from the closest medical assistance, neither Ingo nor Laventon carrying medicine to help you. Ingo is gently holding your body as Laventon attempts to patch your wounds, but you're smiling lethargically.

They ask (and half-chastise) you why- "Because," you manage to lift up your hand enough to cradle the warden's tear stained cheek. "I've always known it would end like this... barely halfway through life and far from home." You had come to terms with what you read at the Sinnoh museum long before now, knowing you'd arrive at this destination no matter which track you took- as Ingo would put it.

Your hand limply falls back down, your only regret was not finding a way to send Ingo back to his own time.

Friends, acquaintances, and allies all watch in horror when Professor Laventon walks into Jubilife, hands bloody and white lab coat stained. Ingo follows behind him, cradling your body in his arms, not a single sign of life to be found from you.

(Also!! Quick question!! For Cofagrigus s/o I'm a little confused óvò? Is their body inside the pokemon or is their body just a manifestation, like a solid shadow?)

weeping I am weeping

The fear and horror you must feel, realizing your destiny is laid out before you, in the grief of the people you left behind so long ago in the past. The want to keep your distance, to not hurt anyone, but it's so hard not to bond with these friendly people who only want to help you.

But it's a double edged sword. For all it scares you, makes you move with so much caution, it also brings a sense of relief to know how you're going to perish. It gives you the chance to reassure those hurt by your passing. It's okay, everything will be okay. I'm ready, I've known this was what it would come too, and I'm relieved you'll all be okay once I'm gone

The confusion and horror of your companions that you've accept death so readily. They'll save you! Just hang on, keep your eyes open! Don't go! Not now!

It's sad that you were probably the only one at peace with your passing :(

(Cofagrigus has those long, shadowy limbs that extend from its coffin, so yes, the body inside the coffin is just a solid shadow like that the arms are made of. Though the idea of it being their actual body is. . . interesting >:3)

~Renee

[bekaroth-reads]

Margit x reader 4

[Which has a surprisingly low amount of Margit in it. Picture it like the filler episode that just furthers the lore. Kinda have my own head cannons about the relationship between some of the royal siblings here. :p]

There were many things in your life that you would call bad decisions; the choice to come to Raya Lucaria was certainly one of them. It seemed peaceful at first, but the almost dream-like state of the place soon turned to a nightmare when you got to the famed academe itself. It was those sorcerers. You could go a very long time before you saw another sorcerer in your life. You thought that you had finally gotten a break from them when you went to go face off with that giant wolf in the lecture hall; it was a wolf with a sword in its mouth, how were you supposed to know that it was a magic user as well? That is, other than the fact that it was lodged in the accursed, magic riddled place. At this point you had no doubt that this Queen Rennala was also a magic user. Even that ended up being a surprise as, even though she did indeed use magic in many varieties, you didn’t expect a bunch of smaller versions of her biting at your feet while you were trying to fight her. “Ankle-bitters.” You chuckled to yourself after the whole affair was done. Seeing as you had to fight Rennala multiple times, you were more than a bit frustrated with them by the time you finally bested her; you now had a better understanding, and you dare say, appreciation, for how Margit must have felt when he was fighting you. Something else that you were surprised to see was that after you had bested Queen Rennala, she was quite cordial, even offering help to you if you wished.

“Pray, forgive me, Sweeting.” She hummed as she cradled the large egg that never left her hold. While it did seem like she was talking to it because that is where her sight fell instead of on you, there was still something in her tone that let you know her words were in fact addressed to you. “It has been so long since I have seen a new face, I have quite forgotten how to talk to others beside those that have been closed in here with me.” She sat there and lulled the thing in her arms for sometime, forgetting that you were there entirely; not in an insulting way, but related to what she had just told you that she wasn’t accustomed to even seeing new people much less interacting with them. When she realized what she was doing, she spoke once more. “I ask thy forgiveness once more, Tarnished. It has been said that I have my eccentricities, even before I hid myself away.” There was another brief pause as she pondered something that seemed to pain her, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “That was before she…” It was at this point that she started to actually weep silently. Rennala just had a sad gentleness about her, so that even though you had been in battle with her not but a few days ago and knew her power, you couldn’t help but want to comfort her.

You placed a hand on one of hers, her response was to place her other hand on top of yours as a way to show that she appreciated the gesture. “I am sorry if I did anything that made you think of something unpleasant.” You offered after a moment when she had continued to weep. “No, do not worry thyself, Sweeting. What plagues me now has been what has plagued me for many years. A wrong that was done to me by someone that I once called mother. But, I will worry thee not with my own troubles.” You gave some thought before responding. “Don’t talk of anything painful if you do not wish to, but I am welcome to talk to someone that has no intention to fight me. It has been some time since I’ve had that pleasure.” Rennala opened her eyes once more, and looked at you directly this time. “As it has been for me, dear Tarnished.” She sighed, gathered herself, and started to speak once more. “I supposed I should explain at least a bit to thee, as it would be in poor manners to hint at a tragedy and not fully expound on it.” You wanted to tell her it wasn’t, but there was also something in the back of your mind that told you she wanted to get whatever this was out of her mind; not to mention that your own curiosity had gotten the better of you. “There was a time that I was married. I loved him so, and thought he requited these feelings. The truth of the matter was that he was simply using me… Using me to find a way to be Elden Lord.” Tears sprung up once more. “I thought, surely , surely, Mother wouldn’t stand for it. That she would reject him and cast him out. But, no…”

Once again Rennala burst into tears. “It caught everyone off their guard, especially Father. She had wronged us. She had wronged all of us.” There was genuine hurt in her voice that you could only hardly fathom. You came from a somewhat small family, and now you were thankful for that; not that these sort of things were usual for most large ones. “We should have seen this coming. She had acted as such before. And, yet, we refused to accept that she had selfish motives. Even after how she treated the twins.” This caught your attention. While there were plenty of people that knew much more of what had happened before the shattering, you were sure something of this sort would at least be rumored at. “The twins?” You asked aloud, more so to yourself, but she heard you as well. “Not my half-sisters. I refer to my brothers. Poor things.” Rennala cradled the egg close for comfort. “They could not help their state, and we were wrong in our treatment of them. How she told us to treat them.” She softly caressed the thing in her arms. “Poor Mohg. Poor Morgott.” She looked at you once more. “If perhaps you find news of my kindred on your many travels, would you tell it me? For so long I have locked myself away, that I know nothing of their current states.” You smiled. “Of course. I’ll let you know what I find next time I return.” You weren’t going to tell her about Godrick, especially with the state that she was in.

There were many questions swarming your head now. You didn’t have the heart to pry any further into Rennala fragile state, so you were going to have to find some of your answers elsewhere. Seeing as she mentioned the name Morgott, perhaps it was time for you to return to Atlas Plateau. After all you did have two Great Runes now, and you would be able to get into the Capitol. Not that going face to face with the king of said Capitol was a wise idea, but there had to be something somewhere in the place that told you something. I wasn’t like someone could be the king there for what could possibly be hundreds of years and there would be no information about them. The only thing that you worried about was getting stopped by a certain Omen that you knew to be on Atlas Plateau. There wasn’t a fight with him the last time you met, but the last time had been… strange. “It seems it is thy turn to be lost in thought, Sweeting.”Rennala hummed after you had been quiet for some time. “What fills thy mind, Tarnished.” You couldn’t help but laugh, “Of all things, someone that threw me into a river thrice in one day.” This made a rare smile grace her features. “And, after I was attacked by creatures that shot some black mist onto me too. It was quite the eventful day.” She gave you a knowing look, “While I cannot say for the second and third times, if the substance thou speak of was the mist of death, thy friend was almost certainly making sure there was no residue. The plague of death can linger if not removed quickly.”

It had never occurred to you that Margit was rinsing you off in that river. Why would you? The man had sworn to show you no mercy in any capacity, and yet that day he had shown it in droves. It was easy enough to buy that he wasn’t going to fight you, but saving you twice over? Now, you were hoping to run into him at the Capitol, to ask him some questions about himself. And, yet, at the same time, you hoped that you wouldn’t have to deal with whatever it was that you were feeling about him right now. You told yourself that you were confusing your feelings, when the truth was that you were too stubborn to admit what those feelings were.

[fuzipascal]

Prospect Fic “Friends Like These”, PG

Cee + Ezra. Cee angsting over her asexuality and Ezra being a Good Friend/Older Brother.  Word Count : 1400. Rough Draft with only mild edits. 

-----

              “Are you pining? Am I actively catching you in the act of gazing longingly after a person of the opposite sex?”

              Cee sighed, head dropping forward in resignation. One of these days she was going to put a bell on Ezra. Not that it would help while they were on the creaky freighters that transported them from job to job. And honestly, Ezra’s soft-footedness had helped save both of their lives more often than not, but still…

              He always managed to sneak up on her at the least opportune time.

              Frowning, Cee turned to face her partner. “No.”

              Ezra subtly cocked his head to the side, gazing beyond her shoulder for a moment before meeting her eyes. He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “No? Because he is.”

              Cee’s head whipped around to find that the young man who she had just been talking to was indeed staring at her from the far end of the corridor. If she had to put a word to the character of his gaze, ‘longing’ wasn’t totally incorrect.

              At least the way he scrambled behind the corner when he caught her looking was slightly amusing.

              Ezra made a tsking sound as she turned back to him and he slowly shook her head. “You’re your own woman, Cee, but boys like that… they are nothing but trouble.”

              “You don’t even know him,” Cee protested, although she agreed with his assessment.

              “No, but I know his type. I was him, once upon a time,” Ezra said thoughtfully.

              “Ah. I thought he seemed familiar,” Cee retorted. She turned slightly, leaning her shoulders against the wall. “Which is why I sent him packing.”

              Instead of becoming offended, Ezra just gave her a brilliant smile. “That’s my girl.”

--

              “She seemed nice.”

              Cee’s lips firmed as she viciously stabbed her spoon into the gray-white mush on her plate. “Mmhm.”

              “Have you heard something of the opposite to make you say no? It might do you good to get out and about and socialize with someone a little closer to your own age,” Ezra suggested delicately.

              Cee grunted noncommittedly and did her best to ignore the feel of his gaze heavy on her bent head.

 --

                When she was younger, all she could dream of was interacting with other people, living her life entwined with those of friends just like in the Streamer Girl.

              But the reality was far different.

--

                “… Cee?”

              Cee pulled her blanket tighter across her shoulders and pressed her forehead closer to the wall of their pod. “… what.”

              “Are you alright?”

              She wanted nothing more than to whip around and burrow into his chest, but the tears had all been spent by now. Nothing remained but humiliation and disgust and an aching sort of hollowness that demanded isolation.

              “… I’m fine.”

              The silence stretched on for several minutes before she heard Ezra shift and walk over to his bunk. “Well, we both know that’s not quite true, but I’ll let it go for now. Talk to me when you’re ready, Little Bird. Believe it or not, I know how to be silent and listen.”

              The thing was… he did. He often jabbered on to anyone who would listen and sometimes even to himself, but when she spoke, he devoted his full attention to her. He never interrupted, and always waited to make sure she had said everything she needed to before replying.

              … she just didn’t know how to say what she needed to say this time.

 --

              “I don’t like boys.”

              The words burst out of her, taking her entirely by surprise.

              They had probably six more minutes until docking procedures were complete and apparently her brain had decided, without her permission, to begin the conversation she had been dreading.

              Cee hesitantly looked over at Ezra. He looked a little startled by her outburst, but not otherwise upset.

              “… alright,” he said slowly. “There are plenty of people who don’t feel any attraction to the opposite…”

              “I don’t like girls, either,” Cee added heatedly, already knowing what he was going to say. “I know I’m supposed to… supposed to want… things… with other people, but I don’t, because I think it’s gross and weird, but that’s all anyone thinks about except I don’t and I know I’m weird and, and, and broken, but I just can’t…”

              “Cee!”

              Cee plastered her hands to her traitorous mouth and hung her head, unable to look Ezra in the eye.

              “Cee… Birdie… that’s ok too.”

              Cee’s head shot up and she stared at him in disbelief. “How can you say that?!” she demanded. “Everyone has always said… Dad, and the boys who’ve… and even girls… I…”

              “And when have you ever heard me talk similar to other people?” Ezra asked sharply. “If anyone has ever said anything disparaging to you about your sexuality, you list me out their names and I’ll address that at a later time, but for now I want you to listen to me and listen only to me:

              “You are not broken.”

              Ezra’s deep brown eyes stared intently at her, his gaze practically reaching into her soul. Unbidden, tears sprung to life and started to trickle down her cheeks, but she felt frozen in place as he continued to speak.

              “It is a wide universe out there Cee, consisting of people who are attracted to opposite sexes, or their own, or to both, or all, or… even like yourself… none. There are people who enter into romantic entanglements freely and others who only understand platonic love. Each and every one of those people are valid, Birdie. So do not allow the words from a drug-addled disvarlali* or teenagers too young to understand life color your impressions of your own self,” Ezra commanded heatedly.

              Cee gazed at him for several moments, sniffling, and feeling for the first time, a spark of hope spring to life deep inside her chest. Ezra had never lied to her. Sometimes he used enough words that confused her, intentionally or not, but he had never lied.

              “… it’s… it’s ok? You’re not… disgusted… by me?” Cee asked, wiping at her eyes.

              Ezra sucked in a breath, his expression turning stricken. “Child, I swear on anything or anyone you consider holy that I could never be disgusted anything you do, or more importantly, anything that is intrinsic to you.”

              Cee sobbed and buried her face in her hands, her entire body shaking both from her weeping and the impact of the pod slipping into the freighter’s cradle. Absently, she heard the flick of switches and several soft beeps as Ezra presumably locked in their vehicle. She cried harder, because that was her job and she was slacking in her duties, but she felt like her heart was both breaking and knitting itself back together and she just… couldn’t…

              “C’mere, little sister…”

              Ezra’s nimble fingers slipped between her hip and the armrest of her seat, unbuckling first one strap and then the second of her harness. Before he had even finished slipping it over her head, she was standing and throwing herself at him, clutching the sides of his shirt and wrinkling the cloth between her fingers.

              “I’m sorry!” Cee cried, burying her face into his chest.

              “Nothing for you to be sorry about,” Ezra murmured into her hair. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. “Although I must apologize for urging you to go out and meet others. I only thought for you to find enrichment; not to become more miserable.”

              Cee shook her head and burrowed closer, her tears finally starting to slow. “No… no, it’s… I want friends. I want friends like in the Streamer Girl. But everyone else seems to want…”

              “Hormones are a bitch,” Ezra said bluntly, and Cee gave a watery laugh before resting more fully against her partner’s sturdy frame.

              “You’ll find them, Cee. You’ll find those friends you’re searching for.”

              Sometimes… sometimes Cee thought she already had. It’s times like this when Ezra shelters her against him and reassures her that she is so poignantly reminded of Clo and Reive’s relationship in The Streamer Girl.

              They are different from one another in so many ways, but yet they live together and fight for each other’s life and happiness. Ezra has proven over and over again how much he cares for her; not even her own father had ever seemed to value her like Ezra does.

              Maybe he’s all that she needs, at least for now.

~ End

*I totally made up a word that basically translates into ‘fucking asshole of a father’... Because I could imagine Damion reacting very inconsiderately to Cee coming to him saying she didn’t want to have sex. 

[amuelia]

do you think the red wedding outcome would happen in a universe where domeric bolton lived & fought in the WOTFK? would he have remained loyal to the starks, or have been included in roose's plans?

This is an interesting ask, but unfortunately also one with a lot of unknown variables... I will divide this long reply into chapters:

Characterization of Domeric

We only know little about Domeric’s personality. We know that he was a “quiet boy”, very talented with a diverse array of hobbies. We also know that he was friends with Lord Redfort’s sons, implying that his quiet personality doesn’t translate to him being a loner and that he has a social streak to him - he also later wants a brother by his side, so it seems he was lonely in the Dreadfort and craved company.

In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort's sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out.

We know nothing about Domeric’s feelings about the Starks. He was born and raised a Bolton, who historically do not have the best relationship with the Starks; despite Boltons bending the knee to House Stark, we do not have a recorded marriage between the two houses. However, Domeric spent 4 years as Lady Dustin’s page and 3 years at the Redfort, opening up the possibility that his values might not have been entirely influenced by Roose (similar to how Ned got an education in honorable values through Jon Arryn). Barbrey is known to despise the Starks, but was also Brandon’s lover and is shown in aDwD to still have fondness for him, so it is unsure which values she might have imparted on Domeric.

Domeric is said to have been a good jouster, and enjoyed the company of his friends. He might have liked being part of Robb’s honor guard, which has at least several characters that seem to be around his age (i got the impression it’s all young people, like a squad for Robb).

While we never hear about Domeric being cruel or unlikable, we also have to take into account that most of his descriptions come from his own father talking about him, who has reason to concentrate on the positive aspects. Barbrey seems to have loved him, but she is also his aunt, and since her positon as Lady of Barrowton forces her into being an eternal widow, she might have seen Domeric as a son of sorts, so she would have been biased. We also know he was good friends with the Redforts, so he probably does have charme to his personality and does not present himself in an unlikable way. However I do not think this necessarily has to translate into him being a good person or a “cinnamon roll”; there’s plenty of characters in the books that are well liked and charming but still commit war crimes and other cruelties.

Relationship to Roose

Roose never makes a direct statement about his relationship to Domeric. We know he took care to give him a good education (music, histories, and fighting are mentioned), and he sent him to House Dustin and House Redfort to be fostered which is a great opportunity for a young Lordling to forge connections. 

I believe Roose expresses fondness for Domeric in the way he talks about him; He mentions him and then launches into a long reminiscence without much of a reason (thought granted that is pretty much the theme of that chapter), he proudly mentions all his talents and how gifted he was, and seems to talk with a certain sadness/bitterness:

Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay.

Horses … the boy was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself. 

Unfortunately that doesn’t necessarily need to translate back into Domeric being fond of his father - We can compare this to Roose’ relationship to Barbrey, where he seems to put trust and effort into her (”How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known? Only Lady Barbrey“ | “[Roose] takes care to keep me sweet”), while she on the other hand talks in a very disillusioned way about him (”Roose has no feelings, you see.”). We do know Roose appears to be the only Bolton (besides Ramsay), so the lonely Domeric might feel attachment to him in that aspect. Roose is generally liked by few characters, and often appears cold and unfeeling. He is deeply flawed, has a mean aspect to his character (like his mean sense of humour), is mocked for his strange health habits, and seems to talk a lot and think hes very smart and witty. On the other hand he is also somewhat tolerant/laissez-faire (”Your amusements are your own, I will not chide you on that count”), he seems to have provided Domeric with everything he could want and supported all his hobbies, and judging by how Walda seems to like and trust him (”Lady Walda gave a shriek and clutched at her lord husband's arm.”), and he also doesn’t agree with Ramsay’s treatment of Jeyne ("Roose is not pleased. Tell your bastard that."), we can assume that Roose does not treat his family members in a cruel way. It is also worth mentioning that his cold and unfeeling attitude seems to be at least partially motivated by him trying to hide his intentions in fear of them being used against him (in line with his other cautious behaviour), so it might very well be that he is warmer towards people he trusts (Note that we only ever observe him from the PoV of people he is not close to). So while there is a lot to dislike and be annoyed by about Roose, he also has qualities that Domeric might have liked.

It is interesting to analyze the scenes with Roose and Ramsay for how he might have interacted with Domeric. We know Roose loves to educate Ramsay on how to be a good Lord and impart his wisdom to him, and that he also frequently enrages Ramsay with the tone he uses. The quote “I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father.” suggests to me that he might have butted heads with Domeric in a similar way, giving him advice that Domeric doesn’t always listen to. Since Domeric openly disobeyed Roose, it appears he was not scared of his father, and that he had a proud/stubborn aspect to him.

It is of course also important to note the differences: Ramsay is of a lowerclass background (Roose has been shown to be classist - “His blood is tainted, that cannot be denied.”); He has a cruel und unwise personality that might frustrate Roose and make him resort to using a meaner tone with Ramsay; and we know Roose on occasion talks negatively about Ramsay when he is not there (”Ramsay's nature was sly, greedy, and cruel. I count myself well rid of him.“), though he has also talked positively about him in related scenes (”Yet he is a good fighter, as cunning as he is fearless.”). While he talks in a condescending tone to Ramsay and even insults him, he might have had more of a respectful tone to his competent, trueborn son.

Domeric and the Red Wedding

I think in any case, Roose would have tried to take care to keep Domeric out of any great danger. Domeric would have surely argued with him on many points (”Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father“), and since he seems to have had martial prowess he would have probably insisted on participating in battle. If Roose had tried to participate in the Red Wedding without Domeric’s knowledge, Domeric would have probably been a nuisance; he appears to be highly intelligent, he has no fear of speaking out against his father if he doesn’t agree with an idea, and he doesnt seem to blindly comply with his fathers wishes if he doesn’t see a reason to. Roose would likely not have let him near a situation as dangerous as the Red Wedding especially if Domeric doesn’t know about the plan, but it might have been hard to get him out of the way without a good reason.

If Domeric knew about the Red Wedding, he would be a good asset, since he’d likely have a position close to Robb (as i mentioned the guard seems like something he’d participate in). However even in this case I think Roose would have tried to keep him out of the Wedding itself, as not to put his sole heir in danger.

However, another problem is that not only does Roose never state his precise list of reasons for the red wedding (making it a point of debate to discern what exactly changes if you change the course of events), according to grrm he also wasn’t even completely set in his tracks to go through with the Red Wedding until pretty much the last minute:

As for Bolton, if you reread all his sections carefully, I think you will see a picture of a man keeping all his options open as long as he could... sniffing the wind, covering his tracks, ready to jump either way... even as late as his supper with Jaime at Harrenhal... - SSM 8/3/2000

Domeric’s presence could influence so many plot points it is hard to say if Roose would have even come to the point of getting the Red Wedding in motion.

Would Domeric even go to war with Roose or would he stay behind as Castellan of the Dreadfort like Ramsay did? Is Ramsay even still there/does he still have a position of power or role in the story? If Ramsay isn’t there do Bran and Rickon even flee and get presumed dead? If Bran and Rickon are still alive does Cat still free Jaime and commit an unpopular political decision? Does Winterfell still burn? It doesn’t seem likely that Roose instructed Ramsay in the minutiae of what happens in Winterfell considering Ramsay is presumed dead before he even enters it; So would Domeric in charge of the Dreadfort have instead opted to liberate Winterfell if someone reached out to him? Note that the disaster at Winterfell seems to be one of the main reasons that Roose considered the Red Wedding:

"I [serve] the King in the North. Or the King Who Lost the North, as some now call him.“ - aSoS, dinner with Jaime

"What … what do you owe me, m'lord?"   -   "The north. The Starks were done and doomed the night that you took Winterfell." He waved a pale hand, dismissive. "All this is only squabbling over spoils."   - aDwD, dialogue with Theon

Also with a trueborn and gifted adult heir, would Roose even have considered marrying a Frey maiden? Would Domeric have wed one instead, or would Roose prefer a better alliance for him? Would Roose marrying a Frey count that much for an alliance if the Frey child wouldn’t even inherit the Dreadfort?

Conclusion

As you see there are many questions and What-Ifs, and probably even more that i didn’t mention considering how much of a butterfly effect all of asoiaf is. So i don’t think there is any “canon answer” to what would have happened; it all hinges on how you interpret Domeric’s personality, his relationship to his father, what changes to the plot his presence might have brought, and how you think Roose might have reacted to them.

[renee-writer]

Guardians of the Stones Chapter 19 Faith

A/N Heavily Angsty. Deals with stillbirth.

Claire is five months into her pregnancy and out working in her garden. She is collecting herbs as the twins play near by. It is a beautiful day with no hint of trouble. The failed rebellion is over and the Redcoats don't come around much. All seems to be at peace.

Jamie comes up behind her and kisses her on the back of the neck. She sighs and leans against him. “How is my wife and bairns this morning?”

“We are all wonderful.” For it was the truth at the time. “Help ne up Jamie.” He takes her hands and lifts her to her feet. She takes a step then gasps. A float of water wets her skirts then she faints dead away. Jamie lifts her into his arms. He has the presence of mind to remember his boys.

“William. Robert. Come.” The twins, two and a half, had never heard that tone from their da and follow him in. “Mam!” he screams out. She comes running. “Claire, her waters have broke and she fainted.”

“Take her up to your room. Strip her down to her shift. I will fetch Jenny and be up.” She takes a steading breath, forbids herself to cry for her lost grandchild. There isn’t time. “Mrs. Crook, ring for Brian, Fergus, and Ian. Have Fergus watch his brothers when he comes. I need hot water. Claire’s waters have broke.”

Jenny and her hurry upstairs soon after. Claire lays on the bed, in her shift, softly moaning. “Jamie, let me to her. We must see the baby safely delivered.” His mam says.

“Will it?” She simply shakes her head. She walks over and takes her daughter-in- law’s hand.

“We are going to get you delivered.” She simply shuts her eyes. “Jamie, you may go.”

“No, I want to stay with her.”

“This is women's work. We will let you know when it is all over.” Jenny says, stepping to Claire's other side.

Jamie bends down to kiss her. ““Tha gaol agam ort mo cholman geal” He whispers. His da is suddenly there. He takes his arm.

“Come son. Our place is downstairs praying for her.” Despite his reservations, he let's himself be lead out. They find Fergus, the twins, and Ian.

“Ma?”

“The baby is coming. It is to soon. We must pray.” That is what they do. For the next few hours.

“My baby.” Claire cries as the pains of useless labor run through her. “It is to soon.” The woman try to sooth her but she won't be soothed. Hours later, when her child, her daughter is born, she is cleaned up and laid in her mam’s arms. “Oh my baby. Oh my love!” They share her tears.

“Jamie?” He is alone. The others still pray, all but Robbie and Willie, who sleep. He looks up at his mam's voice. “Your daughter has been born.” He looks to the bundle held in his mam's arms.

“How is Claire?”

“She saw her now she sleeps. Would you?” He takes the child from her. He looks down on his wife’s face. Her features and her hair. He falls to his knees, holds her close, and weeps.

“Claire?”

“Jamie, have you seen her?”

“Aye. She is beautiful. Claire we have Father Bane coming out to baptize her. Jenny and Ian will stand as her Godparents. We must name her Claire.”

“Oh. How about Faith. Faith Fraser sounds~.” She trails off as her grief laden thoughts scatter.

“Faith is perfect.”

“Can you bring the boys in? I need to..”

“Aye.”

“Mam sad?” Willie asks as he snuggles up to her.”

“Yes. Your baby sister went to heaven.” She holds them close that day. Faith's baptism is preformed at her bedside. Father Bane prays for her. He will return tomorrow for the funeral. After she sleeps.

Faith is placed in her cradle beside her. Sometime in the dead of the night, Jamie, who had been walking the floors, comes in to find her cradling Faith, softly singing a song to her. It most be from her time. A lullaby. The thought that it was the only one she would sing to her, has him weeping again. He sinks to the hallway floor and cries as he listens.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high. Birds fly over the rainbow, why oh why can't I”

She is buried the next day. Claire, leaning on Jamie and Fergus, gets through it. She then takes to bed for a few days. Physically she recovers. She is quiet though, only really interacting with her sons, who she constantly cuddled. She pulls away from Jamie.

He leads her alone for awhile. But after a month, he had enough. Instructing Fergus to watch his brothers, he saddles up Donas and goes to fetch his wife.

“Come, we are going for a ride.”

“Jamie, I really don't care too.”

“I wasn’t asking.” He places her on the horse and mounds up behind her. He takes off for a croft on the other side of the property. He helps her down when they get there. She is red with anger.

“Why did you do that Jamie!”

“I had to do something. You are shutting me out. I lost a daughter. I don't want to lose my wife. I ken grief. I feel it to. I need you Claire.”

“You don't blame me?”

“For Faith? No. No Claire.”

“You left. During her~ you left.”

“Everyone was saying I should. Da came and~ I am sorry. I shouldn’t have. I was confused. Forgive me?”

“Yes. I just thought.”

“Claire we have three healthy sons. If that is all God grants, I will call myself a blessed man. If we had none, with you, I would still be blessed.” He leads her into the croft and they lay together and grief their child. They fall asleep.

When Claire wakes, she slips down to her shift. She climbs onto her husband and lifts his kilt. Finding him half hard, she rubs against him. He hardens fully and she slips him inside her. He fully wakes then.

“Claire!”

“I missed my husband.” He groans and loosens her shift. She rocks against him as her orgasm builds He slips a hand between them and finds her clit. He takes her breast in his mouth and sucks hard. He tastes the ghost of her breastmilk, Faith's, and starts to cry even as his own climax builds. She cries out. A few strokes later, he does too.

A/N The Gaelic

I love you my white dove.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Mama the Weeping || Solo (feat. Ruth Beck)

You’ve been out for a long time. I was starting to think you were going to run yourself out like a battery.

Morgan threw her keys in the bowl and toed out of her shoes. “It’s the weekend. I needed to see some people.”

I’m not criticizing! It’s good to see you interacting with people. Letting them in. That was always my biggest worry for you, you know. 

Morgan knew. She had once tried to search the card catalog at the library for ‘keeping friends’ in one embarrassing moment of desperation and Ruth had found her notes when cleaning house one day. They had practiced how to talk about magic without talking about it, since that was where things went wrong for her. And later, after she had learned the truth, she would call and they would talk through what kinds of boundaries to set. How to prioritize. How to balance. They never managed to agree in practice, but Morgan had nowhere else to turn, and in the moment, her mother’s constant urging of ‘calm down, don’t get so worked up, calm down, baby girl’ felt like all the comfort in the world.

Morgan’s mouth wanted to quirk into a smile. It had been a good Saturday. First with waking up at Deirdre’s and laying around her living room over breakfast and TV, and then with dinner at Remmy’s. Small as it had been, half the people she liked in town had fit around that table and she left feeling light, even balanced with them all. Plans and disruptions were still ahead of her, but this moment in her hands, stolen and whole, was something good.

You were at that woman’s house all night. I don’t need details, but I’m guessing it wasn’t for pillow fights.

...And just as quickly, the feeling dissipated. 

“You said you wouldn’t follow me.”

Sweetheart, I haven’t got full control over this--whatever this is. And I’m tied to you. What did you think was going to happen while you were out all this time?

Morgan had thought Ruth was giving her space. Hands-off, respectful, even professional. She had thought she would have noticed the presence in the room, or that Ruth would have made herself known somehow. She had thought, at varying intervals, that she was safe, and the next few days might be okay. In her faux normalcy with her mother, they had made dry remarks about what she’d missed while being dead. (They’re still making Grey’s Anatomy? They kept it going just so you could finally watch an episode with me, Mom; You die in the street and three years later, the human race is already speaking in gibberish. What is yeet anyway?; Were you waiting for me to kick it so you could be a public heretic with this crystal business? Maybe.) It was like how they’d parked themselves in a booth at The Black Eyed Pea and bantered about their day after her dad had died. It was the only way they knew how to bridge the distance over something unspeakable. And even this, in its time and place at the end of the day, was almost good, almost something Morgan could accept for now. But of course. Of course.

“You let me think--”

It seemed the easiest course of action at the moment. You needed to create some distance--

“I believed you.” 

I was discreet! And, sue me, Morgan, I was curious about my daughter’s new life halfway across the country. And I’m telling you now, as soon as you’re home. How is that not the optimal--

“Is that your rationale for everything?” Morgan snapped. “What’s easier for you? Because Earth forbid you do something hard that you can’t publish.”

Do not speak to me that way. I am your mother.

“You’re not even here!”

I am your dead mother and you will respect me!

Behind them, glass shattered in the cabinets, scoring their anger with shame. Morgan shook her head and went to fish out the mess for the wastebin. She should’ve known. She should’ve known. The curse. Nisa. Now this. The one thing Morgan wanted from her that she could actually get, her honesty, some blazing honesty, and it was always impossible. How many things about her own life did she want to keep from her? As Morgan scooped up the shattered glassware into a towel, cradling the mess, her chest fluttered with anxiety, seeing everything she had gathered up in her arms, just as fragile, just as unwieldy. Was it too much? Was she getting too greedy with the universe? Should she keep her head down, do less, research, and just do her damn job?

I can get that. Sweetheart, let me--

“No.” Morgan put out a hand to keep her back, as if she could stop her from swooping in, but Ruth was shade, shadow, and thought. There was nothing to keep her from lifting up the mess in Morgan’s arms and throwing it away. 

Morgan slumped against the counter and waited for Ruth to finish. “Are you ever going to tell me?” She asked. “How you managed to tell a little girl and her family about our curse, and not me?”

I was younger, sweetheart. And dumber. And I was scared, just like you are now. You don’t really think it’s a competition, do you? Morgan. 

Morgan bristled at the accusation and cast her eyes down to the counter.

If I could do it all differently, I would. I’m not a monster out to make you suffer, Morgan. It’s my job to give you the best chance. And you may not want to hear it, but I think that means less time combing through my old mess and more time making a real life. You’ve done such a wonderful job of doing that here. You can do it somewhere else, somewhere as far from supernatural energy as possible. If this fool’s errand has taught you anything, it should be that life isn’t so bad as you think.

“You’re right,” Morgan said quietly. “I don’t want to hear any of this from you. And lucky for me, I don’t have to.”

You do not need to destroy yourself in the face of some idiots magic tantrum scheme.

“Do not act like this curse hasn’t taken everything from us. From me.”

You still have so much, Morgan.

“I am being very clear!” The anger in Morgan’s voice startled her. She trembled, hugging herself, and headed back to her room. “I do not need anything from you,” she said, barely above a whisper now. “You don’t want to tell me what you found out, that’s fine. Nisa will. The house will. My friends will. And I will get the life I deserve.”

Not the old house, Morgan. Promise me.

“Goodnight, mom.”

[spooky-skz]

You Didn’t Know (Inmate!Hyunjin AU)

Pairing: Hyunjin x You ft. minor appearance from Changbin

Warnings: mentions of death and violence.

Genre: ...Angst?

A/N: hello my loves. today we’re gonna cRY!!! this fic was inspired by the song, “kiss it all better,” by he is we. i’ve linked it below! I don’t plan on doing a part 2 to this because I feel content that this should end here.

SONG TO LISTEN TO WHILE READING THIS!!

It was already eleven o’clock in the evening, but he wasn’t counting on getting much sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the blood from that horrible night seemed to find their way to his hands again, his palms feeling like they were coated with the sticky substance, and the echoing sound of the gun firing makes his ears ring. His breathing would become unsteady and he’d have to remind himself that the event was over. It’s been like this for weeks since his arrival. It wasn’t like he could just go out and find ways to distract his mind from the haunting flashbacks. You could only go so far in a 6 by 8 cell.

Usually, he’d let the night drown on with hardly any sleep; counting the amount of drips his leaky faucet made, squishing the small bugs that crawled around, and even tracing all the cracks on the walls as far as his tall frame could reach them. Anything, he would do. Just as long as he didn’t fall asleep. It seemed like the more hours of rest he got, the knife of guilt and frustration would delve deeper into his heart. With every minute of sleep, he was reliving the night, over and over again. Not missing a single detail. Your last words, the kid begging for his life, the blood — oh god, the blood; it stained his clothes from head to toe, your white sweater was drenched with it, and his face was splattered with it.

Sometimes, he spaces out so much that he doesn’t even realize the sun is up until the morning guards are barking at his unit to rise and shine.

The warden, Mr. Park Joohyun, always paused by his cell during roll call, asking if he’d gotten any sleep or how he was doing.

“Not much, sir.” Hyunjin replied blankly. His answer to the man’s questions were the same everyday but still, Mr. Park asked.

He was lost as to why the older gentleman kept trying to initiate small talk or express concern about his wellbeing because after all, he was still an inmate.

Changbin, a boy he had made acquaintances with at the court yard suggested, “Maybe it’s because you look like his son. I saw a photo of them together once in his wallet and you resemble him… like 80%.”

Hyunjin stopped tossing the tennis ball in the air and said, “I didn’t know he had a son.”

Changbin nodded and replied, “Yeah, he doesn’t talk about the son too much. Probably still pretty painful.”

“Why?” He questioned.

The other boy shrugged and answered, “I heard he died trying to go after some perp who shot at Mr. Park.”

His confusion only spiraled further on after dinner one evening, when a guard led him to a office space with a big metal door to separate it from the general front desk of the prison. In gold plated letters, “Warden, Park,” decorated the door.

It surprised him even more when the warden asked the guard to remove the cuffs that Hyunjin had grown accustomed to when he was moving from place to place in the jailhouse. The guard was taken back at the request, but nevertheless followed orders and left Hyunjin and Mr. Park alone in the office.

“Please, sit.” The man motioned to the velvet chair.

Hyunjin was a bit hesitant, because this wasn’t exactly a normal interaction between someone so high up the prison food chain and a silent inmate.

“...Am I in trouble, sir?” He asked the question gnawing at his mind.

An airy laugh left the warden’s throat and he shook his hands in dismissal.

“No, absolutely not,” Mr. Park reassured, “I just… wanted to know something about you.”

Hyunjin shrugged and mumbled, “Go ahead and ask.”

The warden took a seat on the edge of his desk, eyes burning holes at Hyunjin’s face. The inmate felt like a lab rat being observed for genetic mutation after some sort of experiment.

“I read your file. 2nd degree murder charge. It said you didn’t even want to go through trial. Came up to the judge and admitted plain and simple that you did the crime.” He said while removing some strands of lint from his khaki pants.

“Yes, sir.” Hyunjin confirmed the information.

“But, it never went into detail of what actually happened. I mean, your case was broadcasted all over the news for a couple of weeks but even the press struggled with getting to the nitty gritty on what went down in that coffee shop.” Mr. Park went on.

Hyunjin visibly tensed up at the mention of that night.

“What was it that you wanted to know so badly then, sir?” He asked the man, getting a bit testy at the sudden prodding.

The warden chuckled and clapped his hands together, “I wanna know from your own mouth what happened.”

Hyunjin bit his lip, the feelings of anxiety and panic bubbled in his chest. Could he really do it? Just tell the warden all about how he landed himself a 25 to life sentence in one evening? His throat felt very dry and sweat started forming at his hairline.

“Go ahead. Just take your time. I already told the guards that you won’t be abiding by bed time tonight. You’ve got as many hours as you need.” Mr. Park further encouraged.

Hyunjin took a shaky breath and began.

It was the mark of your four year anniversary being together. You’d been a coffee addict for as long as Hyunjin could remember and what perfect way to enjoy a warm summer evening then drinking a cold brew at your favorite café? All was going well until a scrawny boy with hardly any muscle busted inside the shop with a loaded pistol and a reusable grocery bag. There was a total of six people inside the shop: an elderly woman with a toddler, a middle aged man, the employee behind the counter, Hyunjin, and you.

This was the boy’s first robbery and he was evidently nervous because his hands were shaking as he demanded the employee to fill the grocery bag with money from the register. He yelled at her to stop crying and load the bag faster if she didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Hyunjin gripped you tightly against his chest, and you could feel how hard and fast his heart beat was going. The robber’s attention drifted towards the other people in the shop, waving the gun in their direction for added emphasis. The toddler began wailing and the tension in the room became even worse. Now, the robber was having more difficulty focusing on his crime because of the child’s cries.

“Make her shut up!” He faced and ordered the elderly woman.

The girl behind the register accidentally knocked over a glass cup out of nervousness which shattered in numerous pieces. The sound of glass breaking startled the robber so much, his finger pulled the trigger.

After that second, everyone’s ears were ringing. It felt like time had ultimately stopped and everything was going in slow motion.

Your knees felt weak, your vision was going in and out, it became excruciatingly hard to breathe, and your chest felt a throbbing pain. At some point, your body caved and fell. You’d braced for impact but was instead cradled in the arms of Hyunjin who was kneeling on the floor. Tears were streaming down his face, some landed on yours and he repeatedly shouted something. You were able to make out a few words from his sentences.

“I’m so…. sorry….all my fault... I suggested….Never should have went here,” were all you pieced together.

Even if your hands felt so heavy, like they were being held down by a thousand pounds of lead, you cupped his face and used your thumb to wipe away the tears.

A weak smile was on your face as you said in a voice almost above a whisper, “It’s okay, baby. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. You didn’t know that this would happen.”

He was applying pressure to your wound, but it wasn’t enough. Your white sweater was turning crimson. Hyunjin’s body was wracked with sobs as he desperately tried to keep you alive.

He called out for someone to call an ambulance but nobody made a move. The middle aged man had fainted, the elderly woman weeped into her sleeve, the toddler was still wailing, the employee was letting out ear-piercing screams, and the robber had dropped his gun, just standing in shock.

Hyunjin’s hands were shaking as he watched the color from your face drain.

“No, no, no! Stay with me, babe. Stay. With. Me!” He exclaimed.

This wasn’t fucking fair. You two had made so many promises: to graduate together, get married, have children, and grow old together. Fate was being so cruel as to tear that all away from Hyunjin’s hands in a matter of seconds. The statement of, ‘till death do us part,’ was becoming a reality too fast.

Police siren sounds and an ambulance were getting closer and closer to the shop.

“Help is almost here, love. Everything will be alright. Don’t you dare leave me right now!” He said, stroking your hair in attempt to calm himself down.

You giggled. You actually had the audacity to giggle. If he wasn’t in so much stress, he’d think you’d gone crazy. Your body began to feel cold in his touch.

“They may be almost here, but I’m already a goner, Jinnie. We both know it. I hope you know that I love you very much. Don’t forget that. Remember that this isn’t your fault either,” Your eyelids were beginning to shut, “You didn’t know,” were your final words.

The moment your body completely slumped in his arms, Hyunjin felt his entire universe fall, crash, then burn. His eyes weld up with more tears and his attention landed on the gun that laid mere inches from him.

The robber, who finally snapped out of his daze, made a run for it in the kitchen of the shop.

Hyunjin’s emotions were filled with complete and utter rage. He grabbed the weapon, set you gently down on the floor, and dashed after the boy.

The backdoor leading to the garbage cans was locked, leaving the scrawny robber with no means of escape. He hastily turned around to face Hyunjin with his arms raised in a surrendered position.

“I’m so, so sorry, man! I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, really! I just wanted the money. Please, let me go.” He pleaded.

Hyunjin raised the firearm, which was now coated in your blood.

“You could’ve let us go, but you didn’t and now because of that, you killed the one person that I treasured in life.” He said.

“I’m sorry!” The boy pleaded one more time.

“...Me too.” Hyunjin said before firing one shot at his chest, directly into the heart.

Blood splattered the kitchen walls and Hyunjin’s face. He heard the door to the kitchen swing open.

“Freeze! Hands up, now!” The police officers ordered him.

Hyunjin tossed the gun toward the dead boy’s feet, turned around, kneeled down, and put his hands up.

The warden crossed his arms as the inmate finished.

“So, that’s it, huh? That’s the story.” Mr. Park said.

Hyunjin was visibly on edge, his eyes had glazed over with tears, threatening to spill at any given second. His fists were clenched tightly and his lips were in a thin line.

“My turn to ask you something, sir.” He finally spoke after a minute or so.

The older man cocked his head to the side, a bit surprised at the boldness but still urged him to continue.

“Ever since I’ve arrived, you’ve always treated me… like a human. Even though what I did… it’s one of the worst crimes anyone could ever commit. Why is that?” He questioned.

A small smile lingered on Mr. Park’s face as he answered, “I’d like to think it’s because you remind me of Minwoo,” the man walked over to his desk, pulled a photograph from a drawer, and placed it in front of Hyunjin.

A teen boy with black hair and dimpled cheeks was standing beside Mr. Park in the photo. The resemblance between him and Hyunjin was uncanny.

“I’m sure you’re aware of what happened to him because of all the talk that goes around here; shot trying to go after some on-the-run criminal who fired at me.” The warden stared off into some distance, as if he was remembering the sudden demise of his son.

Hyunjin scratched his neck, and asked, “Aside from appearances, how are we the same?”

Mr. Park’s gaze returned to Hyunjin and he answered softly, “You both made it your duty to get justice for someone you deeply love. The difference between you two is: my boy was killed before he could finish his.”

A guard from the outside knocked and peeped his head inside to announce, “Sir, your wife is outside, asking what time you’ll be coming home.”

The warden nodded and replied, “I’ll be out in a sec, just tell her to wait in the car.”

With that, the guard left.

The warden put his hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder as he was walking out.

“If you stay on good behavior, you’ll be out in 5 years. The judge at your case agreed that what you did was understandable, but it still broke the law. So, try and get some sleep to stay sane, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said before leaving.

The guard from the outside escorted Hyunjin back to his cell and he allowed himself to plop down on the stiff mattress. Maybe, just maybe, he could sleep tonight.

[the-sun-shining-on-thorki]

Warning: Mpreg

This is the whole story. Thank you for all the lovely support. Special thanks to @thorkified and @missleeismyname for their lovely tags in the previous chapters. 

Chapter 1

Between contractions and pain, lots of pain, Loki can hear the midwives muttering among themselves. He must have lost a lot of blood by that point, for their expressions are solemn whenever they check between his legs.

Loki has no time for their meddlings though, his body is telling him to push, and the impulse is hard to resist. Several pushes and an animalistic howl are all it takes to drive the creature out of his body, the shock to his body so great that Loki feels his surrounding becoming a blur. Loki wishes to summon his magic and heal himself, but his father has stripped him of the right to access his powers. As he lies there, with his legs still spread wide open and his blood staining the bedsheets, he hears a weak wail…

He surely does not inherit his father’s pair of lungs, the young prince thinks to himself before falling into unconsciousness.

When he wakes up, Loki instinctively looks to his side for his child but is disappointed to find Odin standing next to his bed, the baby not in sight. Loki feels terribly sore, and his throat still hurts from hours of cursing and dehydration. A day of sleep does not make him stronger, and he finds his strength lacking when he tries to sit up. He must have looked a mess in front of his father, or rather, adoptive father. Loki was only informed of his real heritage when he was found with child, and Asgardian men do not bear children. One night of revelation was all it took for his world to collapse; Loki found he is never considered as a potential king, he is not an Odinson and not even Asgardian, his belly carried the child of a man who was never his brother.

“Father,” he nods to the silent king. He had pleaded Odin, pledging his loyalty and when the method ceased to work, he spat out words like daggers as he accused his once-father of deception and cruelty. Nothing had changed the Allfather’s decision, and all that remains is just indifference between them.

“The babe is born dead,” Odin states, looking into the eyes of his estranged son, “The midwives gave it a proper burial. It is all for the best, you can return back to Court once you have recovered.”

Liar! Loki wants to scream, he had heard his infant’s cries before he submitted to exhaustion.

“Why couldn’t you at least let me have a glimpse of him before taking him away? Am I not good enough to bide farewell to your grandson?” He ought to question Odin in rage, but he is too tired at that point and sick of his own powerlessness. He asks plainly and expects an answer to the agony in his heart. He had anticipated the birth as the months drew closer, hoping for the day when he could bring his child back to Asgard and show him to his sire. Odin obviously deems him unworthy of this wish, and Loki knows it is too late. In his silent rage, he does not notice Odin referring to his child as “it”.

Odin bows his head, avoiding Loki’s accusative gaze as he utters these words, “It is not formed properly and will only upset you. The midwives were driven to hysteria when faced with its…abnormality. A quick burial was necessary to free us from the mistake. We can look past this unfortunate incident to a better future, my son.”

While Odin is walking away from the little cottage, located on the outskirts of Asgard, he can still remotely hear his son’s wail, the tearing of bedsheets and the breaking of furniture. The healers will calm him, the Allfather knows. Loki will understand his infant is dead. The cause of its death is no longer important to his son, he could have crushed the child’s neck in his sleep, and there is nothing Loki can do about it.

His children had bedded each other and brought the scandal to life with a bastard child. Odin has to be sure that nothing, no one, will upset the hierarchy he has consolidated for hundreds of years. Thor has a reputation to uphold as the future sovereign, and siring a bastard with his adoptive brother will set it to flame.

Especially when the child looks so much like his sire, slumbering in his little cradle. Cared for by a gentlewoman in Vanaheim, the babe with a crown of golden hair gurgled in his sleep and made little kicks with his chubby legs.

Chapter 2

According to father, Modi’s mother has died at birth, and he has no plan of remarrying.

Modi is a happy child, the beloved prince of Asgard. He knows that he is loved since birth, spoiled by his father and pampered by his grandmother, Queen Frigga. Even his one-eyed grandfather, the Allfather, smiles softly in his presence. He spends his days wandering in the palace, sneaking into the kitchen for cakes and following courtiers around as they move from one meeting to another.

His favourite person, however, is his uncle.

Uncle Loki is not someone he often sees, as he spends a lot of his time travelling between the nine realms. However, when he is back in Asgard, Modi has the best of time. It seems that Modi is the only one his uncle regards as important and takes up the centre of his attention during each visit.

Uncle Loki smells of oak trees and neroli, his embrace cool but comforting. In his earliest memory, Modi can recollect his uncle holding him as they picked flowers and fruit in the royal garden. Other adults usually tower over him, but the raven-haired man always makes sure to kneel down to his level as he speaks to him. The man brings Modi trinkets and gifts from his travels, narrating endless tales that leave the child excited for days. The visions he shows Modi, created by his powerful sorcery, are the most impressive things Modi has ever beheld. And unlike most adults, the God of Mischief tolerates his list of questions and knows the ways to sate his curiosity: He knows where the maids put the sweets jar and even told Modi the best hiding spot in the palace.

As Modi grows older, however, he can sense that their interaction is not welcomed. The Allfather frowns whenever Uncle Loki wants to speak to Modi and often finds ways to take the boy away from the room. Once or twice, Modi could see his uncle clenching his jaw and glaring at the one-eyed man when he thought Modi wasn’t looking.

One night, Modi secretly creeps into his uncle’s room, only to find him weeping in his father’s arms. When the blond god sees him, he shushes his uncle. Quickly wiping away the tears on his face, Uncle Loki immediately approaches Modi, embraces him and kisses him goodnight. 

The next day, Uncle Loki has departed Asgard in the early hours, and Modi did not even have a chance to say goodbye.

Chapter 3

The next time he sees the raven-haired god again is 50 years later. The Allfather fell into Odinsleep and Modi’s father, as a result, has ascended to the throne.

Modi jerks awake one early morning and gasps when he sees a silhouette sitting on his bed. A second later, the candles in the room are lit, and he beholds his uncle’s chiselled face.

“Uncle!” gasps Modi. It has been a long while, and he has so much to tell the man before him. He might be 550 years old, the equivalent to a child’s age in human standard, but he knows that the last few decades have brought him more knowledge and skills that he cannot wait to show the man. 

“Modi,” Loki smiles as he gently strokes his nephew’s face, “it has been a while.” 

Modi quickly crawls out from his covers as he moves closer to his uncle, his heart pounding with excitement. His mind is flooded with questions, but the main one is, “Why have you come to visit me at this hour, Uncle? You could have met me tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

Loki’s smile falters, but he quickly explains, “I want to take you somewhere, a secret mission. Your father and the others should not know, it is a surprise.”

Hours later, two cloaked figures quickly depart the palace. It isn’t difficult, after all, Loki knows how to shield himself from Heimdall’s eyes and his familiarity with the secret passages means Modi and he can escape without difficulty. 

The main question is, for how long? 

The trip has been eye-opening for Modi Thorson. For once, he is not shielded as a prince but allows to see the world outside the palace. He has finally experienced all the adventures Uncle Loki once told him about, the mystical creatures and the everchanging paths. They travel on, Modi holding onto his uncle’s hand as they make way to yet another strange land. During the day, they continue their travel and behold unseen sights. At night, his uncle always manages to find uninhabited caves nearby that are furnished for a good night’s sleep with his sorcery. The night’s coldness does not affect Modi much, as the slumbering boy is safely tugged into the arms of the raven-haired man. 

Time flies and soon the two reach the fifth month of their trip, and despite the excitement and discovery, the fatigue catches up with them. Modi falls ill one day, too weak to continue but his uncle insists on carrying the boy on his back as they continue their journey. The man seems persistent to keep moving, something that confuses Modi as he sees little reason to hurry. But days later, even Loki himself can no longer endure the hardship; Modi wakes up one morning and finds his uncle drenched in sweat and feverish in their little cave. 

They have no choice, they have to stay for another night. 

That evening, there is a storm raging as Modi huddles closer to his weak uncle. He is still a boy, after all, despite believing himself to be braver than one. The sound of thunder leaves the child shivering as he clings to Loki, who slowly runs his fingers through Modi’s golden hair. The two have developed a bond in the past few months, one that Modi hangs onto in such a stormy night. 

The newfound sense of security, however, is broken when the lightning strikes the ground outside the cave, bringing a strong vibration in the cave. When Modi opens his eyes again, he beholds the shape of a towering figure at the entrance.  

His uncle sees it too. 

Loki is frantic, throwing bolts of magic spells that proved to be futile to the man that approaches them. His illness must have weakened his invisibility spell, so Heimdall saw them and informed Thor of their location. Their escape has proven to be in vain. Drenched in the rain, Thor looks tired as he moves closer to his brother and child. 

When everything fails to work, Loki throws himself forward with a dagger in hand and shields Modi with his body. But his efforts are far too weak, almost pathetic in comparison to his brother whose stature casts large shadows in the cave. Modi sits frozen in the corner, like an actor who has forgotten his part. He knows his father has come for him, but he seems to be irrelevant in the confrontation unfolding before him.

The struggle before him ceases when the God of Mischief breaks down and weeps, holding onto the boy as he backs away from his brother, 

“I have no choice! Odin keeps everything for you when he is happy to take away everything from me! How dare he! How dare Odin keeps my child away from me? He would rather have our child be borne by a nameless wrench than his own son! The boy is mine! He has always been mine!” He howls as he clutches Modi closer to him, fearing that in a split second, the child will once again be taken away from him. 

It all makes sense now, why Modi has always felt close to his uncle, and why he chose to abandon his home to stay close to the man. Perhaps unconsciously, he has always known that Loki means more to him than he realises. The man crying before him might be the God of Lies, but Modi knows from his heart that what the man had said was no lie.

Clasped in Loki’s hold, Modi slowly lets his arms encircle his estranged parent, and he relaxes in the embrace. He turns around to meet his father’s gaze, with expectation in his eyes.  

Thor puts down Mjolnir, as he walks closer to the family he was forced to deny, “Brother, if only you had listened. I come here not to condemn you, but to take you home. Our father is now in Odinsleep, and I am now King. The time has come, Loki, for me to bring you back to the court. I can now show everyone the truth of Modi’s parentage.” 

Kneeling down before his lover and child, Thor kisses Loki’s shivering form, “You don’t have to hide in the shadows anymore, brother."

Embracing the two in his arms, Thor rests his forehead on them as he whispers, "Come home.” 

[lisinfleur]

Uncrowned Queen

Author’s Notes | This was an idea suggested by my sweet @ivarsrideordie while we were talking to dear Ida Marie Nielsen on Instagram! After the stories where she cried talking about Margrethe’s end, me and sweet @ivarsrideordie commented and for an impulse, I said it would be good to imagine Sweet Margrethe was now in Sigurd’s arms, in Valhalla. Well… It would be good to imagine… Universe | Vikings Pairing | Sigurd x Margrethe Info | Viking Age AU, Valhalla interaction (incorrect quotes from heathenry, do not take it as study reference!), Sigurd’s POV, a “thank you” gift for Ida Marie Nielsen’s awesome work. Words | 1016 ⁑ Warnings: Mentions of death, wrong heathenry quotes, romance, and some ANGST.

So much fear…

She was still sobbing, still trembling and gasping as if that knife was still cutting her throat when she came into my arms, delivered by Hella herself – not too pleased of losing one of her deserved ones.

But despite Ivar’s acid words about it, my music had pleased the gods in Valhalla and this granted me a favor with them.

A favor Hella couldn’t deny when I asked for my dear Margrethe.

As my slave, she could follow me into Valhalla and so, I used this to ask for her.

If I ever knew how much she would suffer in his hands, I would never have open hands of my love for her to allowing Ubbe to make her his wife.

If I ever knew he would tie her like an animal, I would have fought for her and make my love prevail over his right as the oldest son of my parents.

To me, who never claimed anything, it wouldn’t be denied.

And she would have been my wife. Never a queen, for I was never made a king, but a princess. My princess. A free woman as she deserved to have been.

She would have mourned my death, but what was mine would be hers and she would never be alone and helpless once again. She would be safe as my widow and no one would be able to take it from her.

No one would ever leave her behind as Ubbe did.

I would punch my brother in the face if I could. But as if it wasn't enough to break his oaths towards her for another, he was now calling himself a Christian, turning his back on us, his brothers, his father, his ancestors, his gods...

Better this way, for Hvitserk would sit by my side and I would pour his mead for his actions towards my sweet Margrethe. Among my brothers who shared her bed and the pleasures she gave to us, he was the only man enough to hold her in his arms as I was doing now and carry her under his cloak even when the madness had taken her mind and she was nothing like we used to know and love.

I would pour his mead, serve his plate and receive my brother as what he was: the blood of my blood and the flesh of my flesh. And he would ever be welcome beside me and my sweet queen.

My uncrowned queen...

So fragile in my arms, so hurt and mistreated.

I placed her in noble furs.

I cleaned her skin with a soft cloth and pure water.

I exchanged the rags she was dressing for a silky dress to cover the marked skin.

And for the marks in her wrists, armrings of gold from the treasures I had brought with me to Odin's Halls.

I braided her hair with beautiful flowers and caressed her sleeping skin.

And when her eyes opened one more time, it was my face she saw, smiling at her.

"Sigurd? Where am I? Am I dead? I'm dead... I'm dead! They killed me!" she cried, confused, scared.

But I embraced her with soft arms. I cradled her against my chest and my voice sounded sweet to her scared ears.

"Hush... Hush, sweet Margrethe. The pain is over now. The suffering is over now and so it's over the slavery. Rest, my sweet queen. You're safe now... In my heart".

She cried against my chest for a while, but soon the cry became sobs and the sobs became nothing. And when the cry was gone, I felt her arms around me one more time; her head softly resting in my shoulder.

"I made the wrong choice, didn't I?" she asked, feeling my fingers caressing her face softly.

"You made the choices you thought you have to do to survive, my love," I answered, tenderly.

"I made the wrong choice," she affirmed this time, and I felt her nose nuzzling against my skin until her forehead was touching mine.

Her delicate hands cupped my face, so long untouched by her lovely caresses. And her voice sounded like a melody to my ears.

"I should have followed my heart. I should have married you." She sobbed again, threatening to cry one more time. "But now, I'm mad. Mad, mad Margrethe. I'm dead and lost".

It was my time to cup her face and look softly in her eyes.

"You're right, you're dead. But not lost and not mad. At least, not anymore. Hvitserk was right, my dear queen. You just need to rest".

She touched my lips one more time and then touched her forehead with mine.

"Hvitserk will be so sad...".

I could feel my brother's anger. He got himself drunk and mourned for her, but Hvitserk had his own fate. And I knew the gods had something prepared for him.

"Don't weep for him, my love. He has the favor of Lady Skuld for he chose to trust his fate more than he trusts his heart. He jumped that ship and sided with Ivar, even when his heart went away with Ubbe back to Kattegat. She must reward him for his loyalty and if don't, one day he shall enter the halls of Valhalla and we'll receive him properly, my queen".

She laid softly over the furs I provided for her, and I saw her lips curving in a smile.

"You're calling me "queen"..."

I smiled back, caressing her face.

"All sons of Ragnar are kings among the warriors in Valhalla. I'm also a king, although I have no crown. Even an uncrowned king shall have his queen by his side. So from now on, you're my queen. With or without a crown, your reign is my heart."

She raised her hand and smiled when she touched my face.

"Then I shall reign with love. And care for my lands as I never cared for anything else. My sweet king..."

I leaned my head, kissing her forehead and smiling at her.

"Sleep, sweet Margrethe. And now, enjoy good dreams"

Do you like my work? Support me!

Tagged ones:

@akamaiden  @ateliefloresdaprimavera  @attorneyl  @awishmyheartmakes  @bang-kim-bap @bappo-take-a-nappo  @bluearchersstuff  @captstefanbrandt  @clumsywonderland @come-with-me-and-imagine  @cris101071  @dangerousvikings  @feistybaby @funmadnessandbadassvikings  @grungyblonde  @happylittlepuppydog  @honestsycrets @hvitserksgirl  @igetcarriedawaywithyou  @irenlaja2022001  @itssalvia  @itsspecial-itsnotforeveryone  @ivarsshieldmadien  @ivarswickedqueen  @kaephei-grimoire @lokigoddess  @lol-haha-joke  @lupy22  @magic-at-your-fingertips  @mblaqgi @mcuimxgine  @meeeeeeeeeps  @mixedwiththemoon  @mslothbrok  @ms-allenbrown @naaladareia  @natalie-rdr  @neeadinghugs  @nejijjeoroo  @nina2697  @nothingeverdies @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla  @rabeccablake  @readsalot73  @rekdreams247  @shutter-bug124  @sodanova  @starrmoondaisy  @taylor-douglas97  @tephi101  @therealcalicali @vikingsandetc  @wish-i-was-a-mermaid  @witchesandfairytailsrp  @moose-squirrel-asstiel @deepdarkred  @moondustmemories  @heartbeats-wildly  @rekdreams-nsfw  @slutforasoldier  @dreamingsofatraveler  @volvas-temple   @normatural   @xinyourdreamsx @sassygirl25  @athroatfullofglass 

Want to be tagged? Ask me! 

[seasonsofloskival]

In Winter Snow: Six

Turning from one page to the other, Solange frowned. "I don't understand." She loathed admitting it, but the complicated family tree made no sense to her. Her familiarity with genealogy let her understand the diagram's purpose, but... "This isn't my family tree. And it doesn't have your surname."

A few hours of exposure made a strange difference in how she looked at him. Solange's gaze didn't linger on the wings, on the dual sets of arms, currently folded together on the table's edge. Her eyes went directly to his as she held up the corner of a page. "Whose is it?"

"Mine, but you will not find a surname there." Arms unfolding, he reached out, the lower right hand tapping the page before her. "This is the line of descent of the Ascended."

Solange blinked. A dozen stories tried to bolt into her head at once, crowding each other out in a tangle of conflicting details. "The Ascended? The ones the gods made?"

His face held no hint of derision, no humor lurking to suggest his words were a joke. "Yes, my treasure."

Words rose to her lips immediately, came close to being spoken. That's just a story. Certainly. Quite a story and one that had made sitting through tedious sermons every fortnight worth managing. Solange's favorite aspect of attending services had never changed--the stories, told at intervals to relieve the tedium of moral posturing. And she could, in fact, recall something of the Ascended.

"Omsia and Baradiel argued over who had rights to the dead," she said, her words coming slowly as the story trickled back into clear memory. "Neither would take up the duty until the other had given over all authority and the dead wandered about, unable to move past the river Chamial. The sun wondered why no one had come to keep her company and asked Ipos to bring his wife to heel."

Richard smiled, the hand shifting to lay across hers. "And Ipos refused, knowing that no man could claim to rule his wife. Omsia and Baradiel turned their backs on the world itself, leaving Ipos and Eligor struggling to handle their abandoned duties."

"Ipos knew neither he nor Eligor could manage alone," Solange said, picking up the story readily as the flow of it came back to her wholly. "And so he asked the sun for fragments of her garb. She gave them readily and he took them to Eligor so they could shape them together. They made the Ascended to tend the living and herd the dead until Omsia and Baradiel worked out their differences."

His smile grew. "And nothing of the sort happened, for Baradiel was so angry with his brother's interference that he refused all interactions with the dead, giving the duty solely to Omsia. Out of consideration for his brother's anger, Eligor sent the Ascended to serve Ipos."

Solange opened her mouth to continue. Faltered. Looked down at the hand atop hers. Her silence said it all; the Ascended did not have a happy ending in their story.

"Ipos set the Ascended to tending humanity in his stead, freeing him to look after the world," Richard said smoothly, continuing the story without commenting on her silence. "He expected they would do so without hesitation, but the Ascended felt slighted at being set to tasks with no reward. So they left their creators and came down, cutting their ties with the gods and refusing to acknowledge their duty to them."

He looked down at the book before her, moved a hand and tapped the page. "They could not quite carry on as they had. Time affected them once they refused the gods. And so the Ascended learned how to slough one life and take on another, mingling with humanity and taking on their appearance."

Fingertips plucking at the page's corner, Solange frowned. "...are you trying to tell me that you will need to... to slough your life?"

Richard shook his head. "No, my treasure. I am simply explaining the generations you see before you. I am the fiftieth generation of Ascended currently living."

The words sat in her mind for a moment before Solange grasped his meaning. "Then it really happened?" She looked up, looked directly at him with something akin to wonder. "The gods are actually real?"

"Did you not believe in them?"

"Not..." Her voice faltered. She collected herself. "Not since my mother died."

The hand resting atop hers closed about her fingers, squeezing gently. "Gods are not parents, my treasure," Richard said. "They create. That is all. A god will not answer prayers, but it comforts people to believe they will, and so they continue to pray, regardless of the answers they may or may not receive."

Solange didn't answer, electing to examine the pages instead. She moved their joined hands to turn to the next page and paused. "This one looks different." Tracing the lines with a fingertip, she blinked. "This branches out."

"Yes, it does." He squeezed her hand again. "Can you bear to hear more jarring truths today, my treasure?"

As long as he kept using that loving endearment, Solange believed she could handle anything. "Yes."

"That family tree shows where the Ascended joined human families."

His tone altered slightly and Solange looked up, brows drawing together. Richard's gaze had averted; he stared now at the wall and would not look back at her. Rather than ask what he meant, Solange turned back to the page and examined the diagram closely. All of the names had been meticulously written, but the faded ink took a moment to decipher.

Solange read down one line, went to the beginning of the next and paused. Her gaze shifted back; her finger followed, moving to touch a single name.

"Yes, my treasure." Richard's hand tightened on hers. "You are descended from my originator. We are, in a matter of speaking, distantly related."

Her throat worked, trying to push down the abrupt lump. Air managed to squeeze past it, allowing her to breathe, but Solange could manage nothing more as she stared at the tiny, exact script spelling out Durand.

"Many generations ago, by your standards," he said, another hand moving forward to close over her forearm. "My originator found a human woman who, by some miracle, bore him a living child. We do not... intermingle easily. It's rare for any children to be born." Richard leaned forward, a third hand rising, the fingertips tracing her jaw gently. "You, my treasure, are more of a miracle than you could ever have imagined."

Solange didn't look away from the page. A horrible suspicion had risen. "...my family line." She fought for another breath, forced it down into her lungs and pushed it out with halting words. "Is this why my family line is tainted?"

"Only in the eyes of humanity," but his voice held something new and Solange looked at him sharply. Richard's eyes immediately slid away; the hand at her chin dropped. "...yes, my treasure," he sighed. "Your family line is considered tainted because your birthright is not that of others."

Her mother's voice echoed dimly in the back of her mind. Solange gave it her attention automatically, but she didn't need to listen to all the cautions her mother had pressed onto her, time and again. "All the stories about my family's madness..."

"It is not madness." Richard frowned, his wings shifting on his back. "You know that is only a name given to it."

"A name with history behind it!" Was it anger that pushed the words so forcefully from her? That jolted her onto her feet, the chair screeching away from the table? She knew no other name for the heat thrumming through her body. "A history everyone knows! A violent history!"

"Madness is the wrong term for such things," he replied carefully. "The mad are not the violent ones. Humans are."

"So why is my family so violent if we are not wholly human? Shouldn't your blood save us from that?"

Richard's jaw tensed. All four of his arms pulled in against his chest, were tightly folded as he stared down at the table. "No. The Ascended blood does not mingle easily with humans. It... damages them."

"Is that my birthright then? Mother was right! All along! We can't avoid it no matter what we try!" Solange dashed the sudden, sharp tears from her eyes, spun on the ball of one foot and lunged for the door. Running had no purpose, but she had to move, had to do something to escape from her very existence.

Arms closed about her, caught her before she could make the front door. Richard pulled her against his chest and lowered his head, crooning wordlessly in her ear. Solange struggled, fingertips brushing the front door, and he took a step back, pulling her with him. She fought his grip, kicked at his shins, weeping with helpless rage until she hung in his grasp, shoulders trembling.

Feathers, the very definition of silken softness, brushed her arms as they closed about her in a dual embrace. "I am sorry, my treasure," he murmured, lips brushing her ear. "There is no graceful mingling between our bloodlines and it is you who suffer more for it. I promise you, that does not mean you are condemned to the fates of your ancestors."

A hand brought up a handkerchief for her; Solange took it, blew her nose and managed a full breath only to let it out with another weary sob. "How can you know? I don't even know! Maybe I did k-"

"You did not." His wings shifted, rubbing against her arms, teasing goosebumps from her skin with the sheer texture. "Once the break happens, there is no returning from it. I do not know who killed your mother, your brother, all of those in the house with you that night, but I do know it could not have been you."

Solange looked at the arms wrapped around her waist, supporting her weight, and wanted nothing more than to believe every word he said without reservation. "I wish I could know for myself," she whispered.

Richard said nothing in response as he gathered her up, each hand decorous and careful as it touched her, pulling her into a cradled embrace. He carried her to the stairs, folded his wings tightly about her and strode to his bedchamber without a moment's hesitation. Laying her on the smooth quilts, he sat beside her, two hands drawing up a coverlet, one smoothing her brow.

"One thing at a time, my treasure," he murmured. "One thing at a time."

[bergarass]

all the valentine’s day asks!! i genuinely want to know 💌

ily mir

blush: what could someone do this valentine’s to make you feel special?

1) tell me to add more romantic songs to the playlist i made them *pointedly looks at said person* you KNOW who you are; 2) also if they fuckin CONFESSED to how they felt, i’m LOOKING at you, you cancer moon scorpio sun headass lookin boi

love hearts: where were you when you met your crush?

@ home during winter break and i saw him on my friend’s sc and was like, “yo uhhhh who is this his hair’s cute” and my friend saw through my bluff and sent me his sc LOL and we’ve been talking ever since.. jan 4? fun fact we’re both have the red hearts next to each other’s names bc we’ve been sc best friends for more than 2 weeks so !!!!

100th date: would you prefer to stay in or go out this valentine’s?

homeboy is on the other coast so it’s not like i can spend v day with him BUT if money wasn’t an issue,,,, you bet your ass i’m flying to ny to wish him a happy valentine’s day

roses: do you like picnic dates?

it sure would BE NICE!!!!!! *bangs pots and pans outside his dorm window* if soMEONE TOOK ME ON ONE!!!

rest will be under the cut

first kiss: what’s the best way to be kissed?

i would want my face to be cradled and my hip to be grabbed, and if they were to push me gently against the wall and pin me there i wouldn’t mind (^:

first date: describe your ideal first date.

i wear something cute and a lil flirty, a lil sexy for them, we get some boba and popcorn chicken and visit a botanical garden. we end the day with a night walk on the beach and maybe i snuggle up next to them pretending to be cold and we… uhm… k*** 🙈🙈

preference: sexuality? what’s your ‘type’?

bi, and i’m really into the idea of… frat bro types who have hearts of gold, which is very very idealistic but a girl can dream! other than that, i’m drawn to certain things: i like really strong hands on guys, esp if they look like they’ve done some work (does that make sense?), crooked smiles get me FUCKED up, and from a young age i’ve been fascinated by long hair and i rlly like it when ppl swish it around (also,,,,, curvy gals get me sprung). ALSO THEY GAIN HELLA POINTS IF THEIR HUMOR’S A LIL NASTY N RISQUE LIKE MINE

hand holding: do you like pda?

i’ve never been a participant bc i’ve never in a sitch where i can practice it LMAO but i stop at kissing in public. holding hands and being a clingy, cutesy gf is def on my list, but i’m not gna be frenching my boo at the beach u feel

family: how important is your family’s approval of your s.o.?

fairly important, but ultimately i trust my own gut. i generally would hold my friends’ judgement more bc they’d be more in tune to my feelings and know more abt the person if they hung out with them with me

doves: what’s the most romantic thing someone’s done for you?

i’d say my prom date proposing to me with an hp-themed promposal! (he played the hp theme song on the piano + poster that said “i know you’re a ravenclaw but would you want to slytherin to prom with me?”)

candy: favourite thing to eat on a date?

…my crush’s cooking since he is going to culinary school LOL (so like a home date ehe), but in general, ummm probs food that’s fun and fresh, like dessert or light dishes (or ??  dim sum bc that shit SMACKS)

giggle: what’s more important in an s.o.: intelligence or humour?

these q’s jshfjkdhsf ofc both are important, but i love laughing, so having a sense of humor is a plus, but i also love it when ppl i love wax rhapsodic abt things that they love and r knowledgable abt!!! ultimately, a balance of both

lace: who looks best in your favourite colour?

like in general? lupita nyong’o looks bangin in orange

cupid: have you ever been set up? have you ever set anyone else up? how did it go?

nope! and nope! i feel scared trying to set ppl up, esp if someone wants me to hook them up with one of my friends and ik it might not even work

lovebirds: at what point in a relationship would you make it ‘public’?

i think it’s sth that you feel, like, you know that things are serious when you and the person are like.. possessive? that’s not the right term, but what i mean is when you feel like this is the person you want to commit to and the feeling’s mutual enough that you both are comfortable to announce it, after you know that the relationship is a stable one

love knots: would you like to forget the person you shared your first kiss with?

TECHNICALLY i’ve already had my first kiss, but i don’t rlly count it since i was like 4 LOL. but i don’t wna forget luke, i think it was just a sweet thing that happened when you’re both youngins and innocent, ykno?

promise ring: who do you see yourself being with in two years?

….. jl. in 2 yrs if i actually am not with him i’d be pretty surprised 

aphrodite: how important are looks?

it definitely plays a role, but it’s not everything. all i care is that they’re beautiful to ME

angel: do you like ‘bad boys’ or sweethearts more?

can i cheat and say both, bc j looked like a fuckboi the first time i saw him on my friend’s sc, but after talking to him for so long, my friend was right in insisting that j’s inherently a sweet, caring, and protective guy albeit being a lil headass

so he fits my type almost to a tee: bro-ey at times, but is loving and sweet

harp: have you ever written a poem for a crush?

YEP!! never delivered it though bc i wasn’t trying to die

red: where will you be spending february 14th?

probs in my bed with my other roomies as we fuckin simp our hearts out

love notes: who was your last valentine? where are they now?

never had one!

flowers: what’s the best romantic gift to give someone?

something home- or hand-made, just something from the heart; something as simple as an earnest letter means so much to me

but tbh i would just MELT if they got me lingerie, like a REALLY good set that i’ve been pining over for months and then one day... boom on the bed in a cute box all tied up omfg i’d just weep

st. valentine: what are your hopes for love this year?

romantic: i’m not quite looking for a relationship, but i think what i’m trying to get at is a sense of commitment. trust and security is what i’m hoping to gain from interacting more with j

platonic: that i love and am open to giving and receiving more love from my friends

familial: same; i want to reassure my mom and brother of how much i love and cherish them

[litanee-blog]

verses

‘when they left me at that place, i began to howl most piteously’ - pre-clergy verse. (7-11 years old)

After being abandoned by his parents, Libra is left in hunger and wondering what was meant by the words “possession” and “demon”. He is also left believing their behavior was warranted. Kept in guarded isolation for several weeks, one day the door opens. “It is purged.” He doesn’t understand, but his voice has long left him from weeping and nightmares. “Go; live. Find a way to spite life,  by living.” And Libra was free. For two years he scrapes by on the streets until Father finds him, and he is brought into Naga’s service. His sins of theft and assault are left for Confession.  

‘maybe it’s the shadow of my youth that manifests itself on the battlefield’ - page verse (11-15)

In hushed voices, the clergy spoke of a gift. They would glance at Libra, murmur, and remind him to study hard. Libra spends his time doing chores: chopping wood, scrubbing tile, tending plants, delivering messages. He is also tutored in reading, writing, meditation, and history. He grows fond of calligraphy, spending much of his free time reading holy texts and poetry to transfer to new books. He shows promise in memorization, able to recite entire rites and passages with ease. He begins to tutor those junior to him. Libra’s devotion to Naga and the church bring a light to his eyes that was completely absent when he’d arrived.   The nightmares still come, and they remind him who he is. They never completely fade, but he spends so little time sleeping that by the time he does he is too tired to dream. He confesses to no one, but they do not go unnoticed. His Fathers and Brothers push him to study combat. War is still raging, and the Exalt will always need competent defenders. They did not live in a period blessed with the ability to be pacifists. Their conscience and will must be strong.   Libra picks up an ax and finds he does not shy away from the sight or feeling of blood.

‘flattery is a sin, milady. i would never dream of using it.' -war monk, pre-shepherd verse (16-24)

Father identifies his weakness: interacting with those outside of Naga’s service. As Libra will one day be expected to provide guidance, he is pushed to give solace and protection to families torn apart by the war. His focus is a collection of villages at the Ylisse-Plegia border. He is quick to cut down threats to those he is ordained to defend. Still diffident, Libra finds he is able to speak in the context of Naga with full conviction but wary of much else.   The war has ended, but there is much to be done. Naga’s disciples have rallied behind the young Exalt and done everything they can to support her vision of healing. One day they get a call to provide the ultimate aid, but on the way there his Brothers are slaughtered. Only Libra remains, and is left to watch their sacrifice be in vain as the Exalt falls to her death.

‘there is no such thing as “zapping with prayer magic”! - shepherd, pre-ending verse (24-???)  

TBA (bc spoilers I guess)

'but strangely, now that you know if it, the burden is lighter’ - post-robin ending 

(wedded ending)

'keep me tied to this place, and to you’ - post-chrom ending 

Many an unfortunate child found joy in the small orphanage Libra built after the war. People believed the kind, beautiful priest to be an incarnation of Naga, and he was courted by women and men alike.

‘i am but a humble servant of the gods‘ -fates verse 

On the day that time froze, Libra is called to a foreign land. It is war-ravaged, trying to heal while cradled in the gentle hands of royalty that adore it. Near a border of Nohr-Hoshido, Libra acts as a deterrent to post-war skirmishes and a priest to those who need absolution and comfort. With him is an assembled group of healers who share his goals, but Libra is still yet wary of leadership. Those around him are captivated by his tales of the fabled land Ylisse. But to them, that is all they are...for Libra is a foreigner, certainly not a story. He yearns to return home, but some calling ties him to these lands. 

‘Please, you’ve exhausted my patience. leave me in peace’ - echoes AU  

TBA