#they speak vows on mount doom

[velvet4510]

Ithilien and Minas Tirith and Edoras and Rivendell all in one big trip sure sounds like the ideal honeymoon to me…

[pucksandpower]

Find Me Again

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Alexandria, 30 BC

The scorching Egyptian sun beats down on Alexandria as you hurry through the bustling streets, your sandals slapping against the warm stone. The air is thick with tension — whispers of Octavian’s approaching army have the city on edge. But your mind is elsewhere, focused on the stolen moments you’ll soon share with Lando.

You slip into a secluded alleyway, heart racing as you spot his familiar silhouette. Lando’s face lights up when he sees you, though worry creases his brow.

“There you are,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

You melt into his embrace, savoring his warmth. “I’m sorry I’m late. The palace has been in chaos with all the rumors flying about.”

Lando’s arms tighten around you. “It’s true then? Octavian draws near?”

You nod against his chest. “I fear so. Cleopatra grows more desperate by the day.”

He pulls back, cupping your face in his calloused hands. His dark eyes search yours intently. “Come away with me,” he pleads. “We can leave the city tonight, find passage on a ship bound for Greece or Cyprus.”

Your heart aches at the longing in his voice. “Lando, you know I can’t abandon my duty to the queen. She needs me now more than ever.”

“And what of my need for you?” Lando’s voice cracks with emotion. “Each day I’m torn between my loyalty to Rome and my love for you. I cannot bear the thought of you in danger when Octavian’s forces arrive.”

You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. “My brave soldier,” you murmur. “Always trying to protect me. But I’ve survived far worse than regime changes. We’ll find a way through this, as we always do.”

Lando leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “I wish I had your optimism. Every time I close my eyes, I see visions of you lying lifeless amidst the chaos of battle.”

A chill runs down your spine despite the oppressive heat. “Don’t speak of such things,” you chide gently. “We make our own fate, remember?”

He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know. I just ... I can’t shake this feeling of impending doom. Promise me you’ll be careful, my love. Promise you’ll do whatever it takes to stay safe.”

“I promise,” you whisper, sealing the vow with a tender kiss.

Lando responds eagerly, drawing you closer as the kiss deepens. For a blissful moment, the world fades away and there is only the two of you, lost in each other’s embrace.

A distant shout breaks the spell. You reluctantly pull away, both breathing heavily.

“I should go,” you murmur regretfully. “Cleopatra will be wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”

Lando nods, though he doesn’t release you from his arms. “When can I see you again?”

You bite your lip, considering. “Three days from now, at sunset. Meet me by the lighthouse?”

“I’ll be there,” he vows solemnly. “Be safe, my love.”

With a final lingering kiss, you slip from his embrace and hurry back towards the palace. Your heart feels lighter despite the looming threats, buoyed by Lando’s love and the promise of your next rendezvous.

But fate, it seems, has other plans.

The next few days pass in a blur of mounting tension. Cleopatra grows increasingly erratic, oscillating between grandiose plans to seduce Octavian and talks of ending her own life. You do your best to comfort and counsel her, all while stealing moments to daydream about your upcoming meeting with Lando.

On the fated evening, you’re helping Cleopatra prepare for bed when she suddenly fixates on a basket of figs brought by a servant.

“Ah, how fitting,” she muses, a strange glint in her eye. “Did you know, my dear, that the Egyptians that came before us believed figs to be the fruit of the afterlife?”

A chill runs down your spine. “My queen?”

Cleopatra waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I was simply contemplating the cyclical nature of life and death. Come, help me into bed.”

You obey, tucking the sheets around her with practiced ease. As you turn to leave, her hand darts out to grasp your wrist.

“Stay with me a while longer,” she implores. “I find I cannot bear to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”

Your heart sinks, knowing you’ll miss your rendezvous with Lando. But duty wins out over desire. “Of course, my queen. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

Hours pass as you sit by Cleopatra’s bedside, listening to her reminisce about better days. Just as your eyelids begin to grow heavy, a commotion in the hall startles you both fully awake.

“What’s happening?” Cleopatra demands, sitting up.

Before you can answer, the doors burst open and a breathless messenger stumbles in. “My queen,” he pants, “Octavian’s army has breached the city walls!”

Cleopatra’s face hardens. “So, the end has come at last.” She turns to you, her gaze intense. “Fetch me the asp.”

Your blood runs cold. “My queen, surely there must be another way-”

“Do not argue with me!” She snaps. “I will not be paraded through Rome as Octavian’s prize. Now go, quickly!”

With a heavy heart, you hurry to retrieve the venomous snake from its hidden chamber. Your hands shake as you return, presenting the basket to Cleopatra.

She reaches for it eagerly, but pauses. Her eyes meet yours, softening slightly. “My faithful friend,” she murmurs. “You have served me well. I release you from your duties. Go, find that Roman boy of yours and flee while you still can.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “You knew?”

Cleopatra’s lips quirk in a sad smile. “I’ve always known. Now go, before it’s too late.”

Torn between duty and desire, you hesitate. In that moment of indecision, everything changes.

Cleopatra reaches for the asp, but in her haste, she knocks the basket from your hands. The snake falls to the floor, immediately striking at the nearest target … you.

Pain explodes in your ankle as the asp’s fangs sink into your flesh. You cry out, stumbling backwards.

“No!” Cleopatra wails, lunging to catch you as you fall.

The world begins to spin as the venom courses through your veins. Your last coherent thought is of Lando, waiting faithfully by the lighthouse. As darkness closes in, you pray he’ll forgive you for breaking your promise.

Hours later, Lando fights his way through the chaos of the conquered city. He charges into the palace, heedless of the danger, desperate to find you.

When he bursts into Cleopatra’s chambers, his worst fears are realized. Two bodies lie motionless on the floor — the queen and beside her ...

“No,” he chokes out, falling to his knees beside your lifeless form. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

Lando gathers you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as sobs wrack his body. “You promised,” he whispers brokenly. “You promised you’d stay safe.”

But promises, like empires, are so easily broken. As the sun rises on a new era for Egypt, it sets on this chapter of your shared story. Yet even as this life ends, the seeds of the next are already taking root, waiting to bloom in another time, another place.

For true love, like the mighty Nile, cannot be contained. It flows ever onward, carving new paths through the landscape of eternity.

Pompeii, 79 AD

The ground trembles beneath your feet as you race through the chaotic streets of Pompeii. Ash rains from the sky, coating everything in a ghostly gray shroud. All around, people scream and push, desperately seeking escape from the fury of Mount Vesuvius.

“Lando!” You call out, your voice hoarse from the acrid air. “Lando, where are you?”

A hand suddenly grabs your arm, yanking you into a narrow alleyway. You whirl around, ready to fight, only to find yourself face to face with Lando. His usually immaculate toga is torn and stained with soot, his dark curls matted with ash.

“Thank the gods,” he breathes, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “I thought I’d lost you in the crowd.”

You cling to him tightly, savoring his familiar warmth amidst the chaos. “We need to get out of the city,” you say urgently. “The mountain — it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Lando nods grimly. “I know. I’ve been trying to make it to the harbor, but the roads are completely blocked. It’s madness out there.”

Another tremor rocks the ground, stronger than before. Pieces of masonry rain down from the surrounding buildings. Lando shields you with his body as you both press against the alley wall.

“We can’t stay here,” you say once the shaking subsides. “It’s not safe.”

“Nowhere is safe,” Lando replies, his eyes haunted. “But you’re right, we need to keep moving. Come on, I know another way to the docks.”

Hand-in-hand, you dash back out into the crowded street. The air grows thicker with each passing moment, making it harder to breathe. You pull the edge of your stola over your mouth and nose, squinting through the haze.

Lando leads you through a maze of side streets and back alleys, avoiding the worst of the panicked crowds. But with each turn, your hope dwindles. The mountain’s fury seems to be growing by the minute, raining down fire and ash with terrifying intensity.

As you round another corner, you come face to face with a wall of rubble blocking the entire street. Lando curses under his breath, pounding his fist against a fallen column.

“It’s no use,” he says, defeat creeping into his voice. “Every path to the harbor is cut off. We’re trapped.”

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Then we’ll find somewhere to wait it out. The gods won’t abandon us. We just have to have faith.”

He turns to you, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Always the optimist, aren’t you? Even in the face of certain doom.”

“One of us has to be,” you reply, managing a weak smile of your own.

Another violent tremor shakes the ground, nearly knocking you both off your feet. In the distance, you hear the ominous rumble of collapsing buildings.

“Quick, in here!” Lando shouts, pulling you towards a sturdy-looking stone building. You duck inside just as a fresh barrage of burning rocks pelts the street where you were standing moments ago.

As your eyes adjust to the dimness, you realize you’re in some kind of workshop. Half-finished statues and blocks of marble are scattered about, coated in a fine layer of ash that has sifted through the cracks.

“A sculptor’s studio,” Lando muses, running his hand along a nearby bust. “Rather fitting, don’t you think? To spend our last moments surrounded by art meant to outlast us all.”

You shoot him a reproachful look. “Don’t talk like that. This isn’t the end. We’ll get through this, just like we always do.”

He sighs, pulling you close. “I admire your spirit, my love. But I fear this time, the Fates have other plans for us.”

As if to punctuate his words, the ground gives another violent lurch. The air grows even thicker, filled with choking dust and sulfurous fumes.

“It’s getting harder to breathe,” you gasp, fighting back a coughing fit.

Lando guides you to a relatively clear corner of the room, helping you sit on the floor before settling beside you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you against his side.

“Just try to take shallow breaths,” he instructs, his own voice strained. “Like this, see?”

You nod, focusing on matching your breathing to his. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your labored breaths and the distant rumble of the mountain.

“Lando?” You whisper after a while.

“Hmm?”

“I’m scared.”

He tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, love. I am too.”

“Tell me a story?” You ask, your voice small. “Like you used to, when we first met. Remember?”

Lando chuckles softly. “How could I forget? You were the most stubborn student I’ve ever had the misfortune of tutoring.”

“Hey!” You protest weakly, managing a smile despite everything. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh no?” He teases. “Who was it that insisted the Odyssey would be vastly improved if Odysseus had simply asked for directions?”

You laugh, the sound quickly dissolving into a cough. “Well, it’s true! Twenty years to get home? Penelope should have moved on.”

Lando shakes his head in mock dismay. “Such disrespect for the classics. I clearly failed as your tutor.”

“Never,” you murmur, snuggling closer to him. “You taught me far more important things than dusty old stories.”

“Oh? And what might those be?”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “You taught me what it means to truly love someone. To find a home not in a place, but in a person.”

Lando’s eyes shine with unshed tears as he leans down to kiss you softly. “And you, my darling, taught me that life is meant to be lived, not just studied. You brought color to my world of scrolls and stone.”

Another tremor shakes the building, sending a fresh wave of dust raining down on you both. The air grows thicker, each breath a struggle.

“Lando,” you wheeze, gripping his hand tightly. “I don’t want to die.”

He pulls you onto his lap, cradling you against his chest. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Promise you won’t leave me?” You plead, your vision starting to blur.

“Never,” he vows fiercely. “Not in this life or any other. Wherever our souls go next, we go together. I promise.”

You manage a weak nod, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. As consciousness begins to slip away, you’re struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.

“Lando?” You murmur, your voice barely audible.

“Yes, love?”

“I think ... I think we’ve done this before.”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “What, died in each other’s arms while a volcano erupts? I think I’d remember that.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, not exactly. But this feeling ... like we’ve known each other forever. Like we’ll find each other again, no matter what.”

Lando is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “Maybe we have. Maybe we will. I’d like to think so.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

As the world crumbles around you, you cling to each other. Your last thoughts are not of fear or regret, but of the love you share. A love so powerful it transcends time itself.

And as this chapter closes, another waits to begin. For some bonds are too strong to be broken, even by death. Your souls are destined to find each other again and again, weaving an eternal tapestry of love across the ages.

Salem, 1692

The air in the Salem courthouse is thick with tension and the bitter scent of fear. You stand before the assembled judges, your wrists bound tightly with rough rope that chafes your skin. The crowd of onlookers murmurs and shifts restlessly, their faces a sea of suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

Lando sits among them, his face a mask of anguish as he watches the proceedings. He wants nothing more than to rush to your side, to shield you from the madness that has gripped the town. But he knows that any show of support would only damn you further in the eyes of the court.

Judge Hathorne’s voice rings out, silencing the whispers. “The accused will step forward.”

You take a shaky step, raising your chin defiantly despite the terror coursing through your veins.

“You stand accused of witchcraft and consorting with the devil,” Hathorne intones gravely. “How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” you declare, your voice stronger than you feel. “I am no witch, merely a midwife and herbalist. I have done nothing but help this community.”

A snort of derision comes from the crowd. You turn to see Goodwife Putnam, her face twisted with malice. “Lies!” She shrieks. “I saw her dancing naked in the woods, consorting with dark spirits!”

“That’s not true!” You protest. “I was gathering herbs for my remedies, nothing more!”

Judge Hathorne raises an eyebrow. “And can anyone vouch for your whereabouts on the night in question?”

Your heart sinks. You had been alone that night, as you often were when foraging. “I ... I was alone, your honor. But I swear on all that is holy, I am no witch.”

A ripple of whispers sweeps through the crowd. Lando’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tight with the effort of remaining silent.

“Very convenient,” Hathorne remarks dryly. “Goody Putnam, you may continue with your testimony.”

The woman stands, her eyes gleaming with a fervor that chills you to the bone. “I’ve seen her speaking to animals as if they could understand her. And just last week, my cow’s milk turned sour the very day after she visited our farm!”

“That’s ridiculous!” You exclaim. “Milk spoils, it’s a natural occurrence. And I often speak to animals, as do many others. It does not make me a witch!”

But your protests fall on deaf ears. One by one, your neighbors step forward with increasingly outlandish accusations. Every misfortune, every unexplained event is laid at your feet.

“She cursed my crops!”

“My child fell ill after eating her bread!”

“I saw her flying on a broomstick!”

The claims grow more absurd, but the judges nod solemnly at each one. You feel the noose of suspicion tightening around your neck with each passing moment.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Lando leaps to his feet. “This is madness!” He shouts. “You’re condemning an innocent woman based on nothing but gossip and superstition!”

All eyes turn to him. Judge Danforth fixes him with a steely glare. “Master Norris, you will remain silent or be removed from this courtroom.”

“I will not be silent while you murder an innocent woman!” Lando retorts. He turns to the crowd, imploring them. “Can’t you see what’s happening? We’re tearing our community apart with these baseless accusations!”

A murmur of uncertainty ripples through the onlookers. For a moment, you dare to hope that reason might prevail.

But then Abigail Williams, one of the young girls at the center of the witch hunt, lets out a blood-curdling shriek. She points a trembling finger at you. “Her specter! I see her specter tormenting me even now!”

The other girls quickly join in, writhing and screaming as if in the throes of possession. The courtroom erupts into chaos.

“Order!” Judge Hathorne bellows, pounding his gavel. “Order in the court!”

As the commotion dies down, he turns to you, his expression grave. “The evidence against you is overwhelming. Unless you confess and repent, I have no choice but to find you guilty of witchcraft.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. You know that a confession might spare your life, but it would mean living a lie. And worse, it would lend credence to the madness gripping Salem.

“I will not confess to crimes I did not commit,” you say quietly but firmly. “I am innocent before God and man.”

Judge Hathorne’s face hardens. “Then you leave us no choice. You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your soul.”

The crowd erupts into a mix of cheers and shocked gasps. Lando’s anguished cry rises above the din. “No! You can’t do this!”

He rushes towards you, but is quickly restrained by two burly constables. “Let me go!” He shouts, struggling against their grip. “She’s innocent!”

Your eyes meet his across the chaotic courtroom. Despite everything, you manage a small, sad smile. “It’s alright, Lando,” you call out. “Be strong. This isn’t your fault.”

As the guards move to lead you away, Lando breaks free and rushes to your side. He cups your face in his hands, his eyes wild with desperation. “I’ll find a way to stop this,” he vows. “I won’t let them take you.”

You lean into his touch, memorizing the feel of his hands on your skin. “There’s nothing you can do, my love. Promise me you’ll stay safe. Don’t let them take you too.”

“I can’t lose you,” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face.

“You won’t,” you whisper fiercely. “Not really. I don’t know how I know this, but I swear we’ll find each other again. In another life, another time. This isn’t the end for us.”

The guards roughly pull you apart. As they drag you away, you keep your eyes locked on Lando’s, drawing strength from his gaze.

The next few days pass in a blur of fear and desperate prayer. You cling to the strange certainty that had come over you in the courtroom — that somehow, someway, this is not truly the end for you and Lando.

On the day of your execution, you walk to the gallows with your head held high. The crowd that has gathered is subdued, some already beginning to question the justice of what’s happening.

You scan the faces, searching for Lando, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Your heart aches at his absence, but you understand. It would be too painful for him to watch.

As the noose is placed around your neck, you close your eyes and think of Lando. Of his laugh, his gentle touch, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. You hold onto these memories as the world falls away beneath your feet.

Your last conscious thought is a promise — to find him again, no matter how long it takes.

Miles away, hidden in the woods, Lando feels the exact moment you leave this world. He collapses to his knees, a wordless cry of anguish tearing from his throat. But even in his grief, he feels the echo of your final promise.

“I’ll find you,” he whispers to the uncaring forest. “In this life or the next. We’ll be together again. I swear it.”

And so another chapter closes, the threads of your shared destiny stretching onward through time. The cycle continues, each life bringing you closer to the moment when you’ll finally break free of this endless dance of death and rebirth.

Yekaterinburg, 1918

The Ipatiev House looms dark and foreboding in the Yekaterinburg night. You pace the confines of your makeshift prison, the once-opulent rooms now a stark reminder of how far the mighty Romanovs have fallen. The sound of raised voices and heavy footsteps from the floor below sends a chill down your spine.

“They’re coming,” your sister Maria whispers, her eyes wide with fear.

Before you can respond, the door bursts open. A group of armed men file in, their faces grim and purposeful. Your heart nearly stops when you spot a familiar face among them.

“Lando?” You gasp, scarcely able to believe your eyes.

He meets your gaze, his expression a turbulent mix of emotions. “Grand Duchess,” he says stiffly, the formal title at odds with the intimate moments you’ve shared in secret.

“What’s happening?” You demand, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Why are you here?”

Yakov Yurovsky, the commandant of the house, steps forward. “The Ural Soviet has decided to execute the Romanov family,” he announces coldly. “You are to be moved to the basement immediately.”

A wave of terror washes over you. “No,” you breathe. “No, this can’t be happening.”

Your eyes lock with Lando’s, silently pleading. For a moment, you see the conflict raging behind his eyes. But then his expression hardens, and he looks away.

As the guards begin herding your family towards the stairs, you manage to maneuver closer to Lando. “How could you be part of this?” You hiss under your breath.

His jaw clenches. “The revolution demands sacrifices,” he mutters. “Even from those we ... care about.”

“Care about?” You repeat incredulously. “Is that all I am to you now? After everything we’ve shared?”

A flicker of pain crosses his face. “You know it’s more complicated than that. Your family’s rule has caused immeasurable suffering. This ... this is justice.”

“Murder is not justice,” you retort, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.

Before he can respond, you’re roughly pushed forward. The journey to the basement is a blur of terror and disbelief. Your mind races, desperately seeking a way out of this nightmare.

In the dank cellar, Yurovsky instructs your family to line up against the wall. You find yourself between your younger siblings, instinctively trying to shield them even as your own knees threaten to give out.

“Wait,” you cry out as Yurovsky raises his hand to signal the firing squad. “Please, spare the children at least. They’re innocent in all this!”

Yurovsky’s face remains impassive. “There can be no Romanov heirs left to rally around. The old regime must end here and now.”

You turn to Lando, making one last desperate appeal. “Lando, please. If what we had meant anything to you, don’t let this happen. Help us!”

For a moment, you see the Lando you knew — the passionate young man who spoke of creating a better world, who held you under the stars and whispered promises of a future together. But then the revolutionary mask slips back into place.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely audible. “But this is bigger than us.”

As the soldiers raise their weapons, time seems to slow. You think of all the lives you might have lived — the futures now forever lost to you. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you, as if you’ve faced death with Lando before.

“Ready!” Yurovsky’s voice cuts through your reverie.

You straighten your spine, determined to face your end with dignity. Your eyes find Lando’s one last time.

“Aim!”

“I forgive you,” you mouth silently, even as tears stream down your face.

You see Lando’s composure crack, anguish flooding his features. He takes a half-step forward, as if to intervene, but it’s too late.

“Fire!”

The basement erupts in a deafening cacophony of gunshots and screams. You feel a searing pain in your chest as bullets tear through you. As you crumple to the ground, your fading vision fixates on Lando’s horrified face.

With your last breath, you whisper, “Find me again.”

Then darkness claims you.

Lando stands frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from your lifeless form. The smokey smell of gunpowder mixes with the metallic scent of blood, turning his stomach.

“Finish them off,” Yurovsky orders dispassionately. “No survivors.”

As his comrades move forward with bayonets, Lando stumbles back, retching. He staggers up the stairs and out into the cool night air, gulping it down desperately.

What has he done?

He’d believed so fervently in the revolution, in the need to sweep away the old order to build a better world. But staring at his blood-stained hands, Lando feels nothing but horror and soul-crushing guilt.

Your final words haunt him. “Find me again.” But how can he, when he’s destroyed any chance of a future together?

As dawn breaks over Yekaterinburg, Lando makes a decision. He can’t undo what’s been done, but he can ensure the truth isn’t buried along with your body.

Over the coming weeks, as the Bolsheviks spread lies about your family’s fate, Lando works in secret to document what really happened. He gathers evidence, writes detailed accounts, and arranges for the information to be smuggled out of the country.

It’s a dangerous game. If caught, he’ll be branded a traitor to the revolution. But Lando no longer cares about ideology or politics. His only goal is to honor your memory and ensure that history remembers the truth.

Late one night, as he prepares to flee the country with his damning documents, Lando allows himself a moment of quiet reflection. He thinks of your smile, your compassion, the way you challenged him to see beyond his rigid beliefs.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to the empty room. “I failed you in this life. But I swear, somehow, I’ll make it right. If there’s any justice in the universe, we’ll meet again. And next time, I’ll protect you. I’ll choose you over everything else.”

As he slips out into the night, Lando feels a strange sense of certainty. This isn’t the end of your story. Somehow, someway, you’ll find each other again.

The wheel of fate continues to turn, carrying your intertwined souls towards yet another lifetime. But with each cycle, the bond between you grows stronger. Perhaps next time, you’ll finally break free of this tragic pattern and find the happiness that’s eluded you for so long.

Jonestown, 1978

The humid Guyanese air hangs heavy over Jonestown, thick with tension and the cloying scent of tropical flowers. You stand among the gathered crowd, your heart pounding so hard you fear it might burst from your chest. Beside you, Lando’s hand finds yours, squeezing tightly.

“This isn’t right,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the droning speech coming from the pavilion. “We need to get out of here.”

You nod imperceptibly, not daring to speak. Jim Jones’ paranoid ravings have reached a fever pitch in recent days, and you both know that even the slightest hint of dissent could be deadly.

“My children,” Jones’ voice booms out over the loudspeakers, “the time has come for us to make our final stand against the oppressors who seek to destroy our paradise.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. You scan the sea of faces, seeing a mix of blind devotion and barely concealed terror.

“Our Congressional visitors have betrayed us,” Jones continues, his words slurring slightly. “They will bring nothing but destruction. We have no choice but to enact our glorious revolutionary suicide.”

Your blood runs cold. You’d heard whispers of this plan, but had desperately hoped it was just another of Jones’ manipulative tactics.

“Lando,” you whisper urgently, “we have to run. Now.”

He nods, his face pale but determined. “Follow my lead. When I give the signal, we make a break for the jungle.”

But before you can move, you feel a vice-like grip on your arm. You turn to see your mother, her eyes wild with fervor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She hisses. “This is our moment of triumph. You will not ruin it with your lack of faith.”

On Lando’s other side, his father has a similar hold on him. The older man’s face is a mask of grim resignation. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, son,” he says quietly.

You watch in horror as Jones’ lieutenants begin distributing paper cups filled with a sinister purple liquid. The bitter almond smell of cyanide fills the air.

“No,” you breathe, struggling against your mother’s grip. “Mom, please. This is insanity. We don’t have to do this!”

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. Your mother’s grip only tightens as she accepts two cups from a passing aide.

“Drink,” she commands, thrusting one towards you.

You shake your head vehemently, clamping your mouth shut. Beside you, Lando is engaged in a similar struggle with his father.

“You can’t force us to do this!” Lando shouts, drawing the attention of nearby cult members. “This is murder!”

Jones’ voice cuts through the growing commotion. “Those who resist are traitors to our cause. They must be made to comply, for the good of all.”

Suddenly, you’re surrounded by a group of Jones’ most fanatical followers. Rough hands grab you, forcing your head back. You struggle wildly, but it’s no use. You feel the cold rim of the cup pressed against your lips.

“No!” Lando cries out, fighting to reach you. “Leave her alone!”

But he too is overwhelmed, multiple hands restraining him as the poisoned drink is forced upon him.

The sickly-sweet liquid burns your throat as it’s poured into your mouth. You choke and splutter, but can’t prevent some of it from going down. Beside you, Lando’s muffled cries tell you he’s suffering the same fate.

As the hands release you, you collapse to your knees, coughing violently. Your vision swims, the world taking on a surreal, nightmarish quality.

“Lando,” you gasp, reaching out blindly.

His hand finds yours, gripping it weakly. “I’m here,” he manages, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you.”

You crawl closer, fighting against the growing weakness in your limbs. All around, people are collapsing, some screaming in agony while others slip away in eerie silence.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper, cupping Lando’s face with a trembling hand. “We never stood a chance against this madness.”

Lando’s eyes, clouded with pain, meet yours. “This can’t be how it ends,” he says desperately. “Not again.”

A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you. “Again?” You murmur, confused.

He nods weakly. “I don’t know how, but I feel like we’ve been here before. Facing death together, unable to stop it.”

As the poison works its way through your system, flashes of other lives flicker through your mind. Ancient Egypt, Pompeii, Salem, Russia — each time, finding each other only to be torn apart.

“I remember,” you breathe, wonder mingling with the pain. “We keep finding each other, but we never get our happy ending.”

Lando pulls you closer, both of you shaking with the effort of fighting off the inevitable. “Next time,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “Next time we’ll break this cycle. We’ll find a way to be together.”

You manage a small, sad smile. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he murmurs, pressing a weak kiss to your forehead.

As consciousness begins to slip away, you cling to each other. The sounds of screaming and Jones’ maniacal laughter fade into the background. In these final moments, there is only you and Lando, and the love that has somehow endured across lifetimes.

“Find me again,” you whisper, echoing words spoken in another life.

Lando’s grip on your hand tightens fractionally. “Always,” he breathes.

As darkness closes in, you’re filled with a strange sense of hope. This tragic cycle can’t go on forever. Someday, somehow, you’ll find a way to break free and finally have the life together you’ve been denied so many times.

Your last thought, as you slip away, is a prayer to whatever cosmic force keeps bringing you together.

Next time, let it be different.

Next time, let us live.

And as your souls depart this tragic scene, unseen wheels of fate begin to turn once more. The cycle continues, but perhaps this time, with the weight of so many shared lifetimes behind you, you’ll finally find your way to a happier ending.

In the years that follow, as the horror of Jonestown is revealed to the world, two names are lost among the hundreds of victims. But your story — the story of a love that refuses to be extinguished — lives on, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.

Monaco, 2024

The soft glow of computer screens illuminates Lando’s face as he leans into his microphone, his eyes darting between the chat and his game. “No, chat, I’m not going to sing the Baby Shark song,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You lot are absolutely mental, you know that?”

The door to his streaming room creaks open, and he glances over, his face softening into a warm smile as you pad in, wrapped in an oversized hoodie you’ve stolen from his wardrobe.

“Speaking of sharks,” Lando grins, addressing his audience, “look who’s decided to join us. It’s my favorite cuddly shark!”

You roll your eyes fondly at the nickname, a reference to your habit of playfully nipping at his shoulder when you’re feeling particularly affectionate. As you approach, Lando pushes his chair back slightly, making room for you to settle onto his lap.

“Come here, you,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist as you curl into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. To his stream, he explains, “Sorry chat, the missus is feeling a bit clingy tonight. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

You mumble something unintelligible into his skin, making him laugh. “What was that, love? The stream can’t hear you when you’re trying to become one with my neck.”

Lifting your head slightly, you repeat, “I said, don’t let me interrupt your gaming. I just wanted cuddles.”

Lando presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re never an interruption. Besides, I think the chat’s been asking for a cameo from you all night.”

You turn to face the camera, waving sleepily. “Hi, chat. Sorry I’m not more entertaining tonight. Long day at work.”

The chat explodes with greetings and well-wishes, scrolling by almost too fast to read. Lando chuckles, giving you a gentle squeeze. “See? They love you. Probably more than they love me, to be honest.”

“That’s fair,” you murmur, nuzzling back into his neck. “No one loves you more than I do.”

Lando’s breath catches for a moment, and you feel his heart rate pick up. Even after all this time together, simple declarations of love still affect him deeply. It’s one of the many things you adore about him.

“Alright, chat,” Lando says, his voice a touch huskier than before. “You’ve gone and made her all sappy. I hope you’re happy with yourselves.”

You can’t help but giggle at his attempt to deflect. “Oh please, you love it when I’m sappy.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with a grin. “But if I admit that, they’ll never let me hear the end of it. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

You snort inelegantly. “What reputation? Everyone knows you’re a big softie.”

“Oi!” Lando protests, poking you in the side and making you squirm. “I’ll have you know I’m very tough and manly. Right, chat?”

The stream erupts with a mix of agreement and playful disagreement, peppered with emotes and inside jokes. You watch the scrolling text with amusement, marveling at the community Lando has built.

“See?” Lando says triumphantly. “They agree with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure at least half of those messages were sarcastic, babe.”

Lando waves a hand dismissively. “Details, details. The point is, I’m incredibly macho and not at all a softie.”

“Mmhmm,” you hum skeptically. “Is that why you cried watching Up last week?”

“Hey!” Lando exclaims, his cheeks flushing slightly. “That’s classified information, that is. You can’t just go revealing my secrets to the entire internet!”

The chat goes wild at this revelation, demanding to know more about Lando’s movie-watching habits. You can’t help but laugh at his mock-outraged expression.

“Sorry, love,” you say, not sounding sorry at all. “But if I have to put up with your sniffling during Disney movies, the least I can do is share the joy with your fans.”

Lando groans dramatically. “That’s it, I’m filing for divorce. Chat, you’re my witnesses. This is grounds for divorce, right? Revealing a man’s most intimate vulnerabilities?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “We’re not even married yet, you goof.”

The words slip out before you can think better of them, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room shifts. Lando’s eyes widen slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“Yet?” He repeats softly, a note of wonder in his voice.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away. “Well, yeah. I mean, unless you had other plans?”

For a moment, Lando seems to forget entirely about the stream. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. “No other plans,” he murmurs. “Just you. Always you.”

The intimacy of the moment is broken by the chat exploding once again, this time with a flurry of ring emotes and excited keysmashes. Lando blinks, seeming to remember where he is.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, chat, I think that’s my cue to end the stream for tonight. Got some, uh, important things to discuss with this one.”

You bury your face in his neck again, half embarrassed and half thrilled by the turn of events. As Lando rushes through his usual sign-off, you can feel the barely contained energy thrumming through him.

The moment the stream ends, Lando spins his chair to face you fully, his eyes bright with excitement. “Did you mean that?” He asks eagerly. “About the marriage thing?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Of course I did. Lando, I’ve loved you for lifetimes. There’s nothing I want more than to marry you.”

Something flashes in his eyes at your words — a fleeting moment of recognition, as if some long-buried memory is struggling to surface. But then it’s gone, replaced by pure joy.

“Lifetimes, huh?” He grins, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I suppose we better make this one count.”

As his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of rightness. After so many tragic endings, you’ve finally found your happily ever after. And this time, you’re not letting go.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips. “In this life and every other.”

Lando’s answering smile is radiant. “And I love you. Always have, always will.”

As you lose yourselves in each other’s embrace, the echoes of past lives fade away. This is your time, your chance at happiness. And you plan to make the most of every single moment.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Forge of the Heart

*Prologue*

You were sent, along with your older brothers Thor and Loki, to the Council of Elrond on your father, King Odin’s, behalf. While at the Council, you were met with odd stares, especially by the men of Gondor. You took the interaction as one of curiosity, not many have seen an Asgardian, let alone an Asgardian woman. That was until you heard whispers of how a woman was accepted into the discussion chambers and how it may ‘scar your fragile mind”. Before you could speak out on your behalf, Aragorn, a Ranger you had met a handful of times in your travels, spoke,

“That is y/n Odinsdottir. She deserves respect as much as you would show her kin.” You turn your head to Aragorn and give him a nod, he nods back. You take your seat and wait for the meeting to begin. Elrond took his seat and started the meeting. It was about a matter of great importance, what to do with the One Ring. Many shared their opinions, a few of which came from your eldest brother Thor.

“I agree with you Thor Odinson. The ring must be destroyed.” Elrond proclaimed. You looked around the chamber, collections of elves, dwarves, and men all looked around at each other undecided about what to do next. Suddenly, a dwarf with auburn hair and beads in his beard leaps up out of his seat and reaches for his battle axe.

“Then what are we waiting for?” The dwarf, you’d come to know later as Gimli, wields his axe above his head and drives it onto the pedestal on which the ring lay. His weapon shatters as he himself goes flying backward. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the young hobbit, Frodo, keel over and grasp his head.

“The ring cannot be destroyed Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft we here possess. The ring was forged in the fires of Mount Doom, only there it can be unmade.” Elrond spoke eloquently. An uproar began in the chamber of who would be the one to take the ring to Mordor. Men, you thought as you rolled your eyes, they always bicker and never come to a resolution. Even your brother Thor joined in on the squabble while you and Loki watched.

“I will take it!” a small voice echoed out. Everyone in the chamber continued quarreling but it caught your attention. The voice became louder as the one who spoke stood up and approached Elrond’s chair. “I will take the ring to Mordor!” Frodo. Those around quieted down and began staring at the halfling. “Though, I do not know the way.” Then, one by one members of the council offered their services to escort the hobbit to his destination. Your brothers, Thor and Loki, watched as the brave members stood in an assembly line next to the halfling while you were waiting for one of your kin to offer their support. But it never came. Fed up with the lack of incentive to help, you stood up from your chair and approached Frodo,

“I will serve you as best I can Master Baggins.” Standing next to the wizard named Gandalf, you glanced and saw Thors eyes, he was displeased.

“Oi! We’re coming too!” Two more hobbits came out from behind the pillars of the chamber. Merry and Pippin were their names.

“Besides you need someone of intelligence on this sort of mission… quest… thing!” You snickered quietly.

“Ten companions. So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

*

“Sister, do you understand the gravity of the mission you have signed up for?” Thor's voice boomed through the stone halls as the three of you went to your assigned shared bed chambers.

“I understand there are risks brother.” You sigh, readying your belongings for travel.

“Then perhaps you should rethink this. Come back home instead.”

“And break my vow to Frodo? My honor will not allow it! Besides, neither of you offered your aid, someone from Asgard had to represent.”

“Father will be furious. He told us to only observe.”

“Really Thor, must you always do what Father tells you?”

“As the eldest and next in line for the throne, yes I will do what our king tells us.”

“Even when it’s against your beliefs?” You face your brother, hands on your hips giving him a defiant stare. Loki chortles as he watches from the sidelines. When it came to personality, you were a mix of the two brothers. You are loyal to those you care about, headstrong, and always up for creating mischief. Being the youngest of King Odin's three children, your brothers always teased you were father's favorite and claimed you got away with a lot. Thor, married to Lady Jane, next in line for the throne, had to uphold the responsibility that came with that title. Loki married his longtime friend, Sylvie, you’d swear they were the same person with how similar in personality they were. You? You either declined or ran off every suitor that came calling. Your mother and Queen, Frigga, always badgering you about making your debut in high Asgardian society, you were repulsed by the idea. You would not be caught dead with any pompous dukes that could not spar worth a damn. Nor would you change for any man, they would either accept you for who you were or they were sent packing.

“Brother, you know as well as I we cannot change y/n’s mind. She is as stubborn as a mule. We’ve had our fill of adventures and glory, it’s time y/n to have hers as well.” Loki finally speaks, and he sets his hand on your shoulder. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. Promise me you’ll send a raven if you need help.” You smile at the second eldest and out of the corner of your eye, Thor shakes his head. You place your hands on both of his shoulders and say,

“Thor, I know you care. We’ve dueled countless times and you’ve said yourself that you pity the fool who crosses my path. Brunnehilde ensured that she personally trained me to be the best I could be before we left. Behind all the fury in your eyes, I see that you are scared. You have nothing to fear. I can do this.” Thor shifts his feet back and forth and then scoffs after a moment of silence.

“I do not get scared.” A smile spreads on his face and he grips you into a fierce hug, you hug him back with as much strength. While the three of you don’t always see eye to eye, there is no doubt that your brothers love you, and you them.

[themovieblogonline]

Rings of Power Season 2: The Gang's Back, But Sauron's Creepin' In

LOTR fam, buckle up for a Amazon Prime Video's mega-hit "The Rings of Power Season 2"! The hype is real, with new trailers droppin' that show the same epic visuals that blew our minds in season one. Plus, we get a glimpse of some familiar faces – and a new one that might send shivers down your spine! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCwmXY_f-e0 Remember how season one ended on a cliffhanger? We saw some major stuff go down: Morgoth, the big bad of the Second Age, finally got defeated. But still, darkness always finds a way and whispers of Sauron, Morgoth's right-hand man, started slithering around Middle-earth. Galadriel, our fierce elf warrior queen, vowed to hunt him down, no matter the cost. Meanwhile, down in the Southlands, the volcano we all knew and loved (Mount Doom, obviously) decided to erupt, leaving the land in ashes. Arondir, our favorite Afro-Latino elf hero, also returns to help fight back against evil. So, what can we expect in season two? The trailers hint at some epic battles, with orcs and elves clashing in spectacular CGI glory. We also see Galadriel continuing her Sauron-hunting quest, likely encountering some danger along the way (girl never backs down from a fight!). And speaking of danger, the trailers reveal the arrival of… wait for it… Sauron himself! But hold on, he's not exactly rocking the giant flaming eye yet. Nope, this Sauron's all smooth-talkin' elf dude, which makes him way more terrifying because you never know who to trust in Middle-earth! One thing's for sure: season two of "The Rings of Power" promises to be a wild ride. The show's creators are channeling Tolkien's epic world, while adding their own unique spin (like that diverse cast we all love to see). So, mark your calendars, LOTR fans! The fate of Middle-earth hangs in the balance, and it's up to our favorite heroes (and maybe a not-so-heroic villain in disguise) to save the day. (Source: Amazon Prime Video) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHDgXL5xgJk Read the full article

[lilxberry]

I Don’t Want You To Go - Boromir

Requested by: @heyitsgarnet​ 

Hey could I ask for an angsty Boromir x reader? (Platonic or romantic.) Maybe when he dies, reader can be there instead of Aragorn? Thanks!

I decided to make this a platonic fic between siblings (tried to keep it gender neutral which I feel I did a good job of, well done me lmao). 

(I’m a dick for choosing this gif lmao)

Warnings: DEATH! (Poor Boromir). Sad as hell. Sad asf reader. It’s just sad, I dunno what to tell ya. ANGST!

Words: 925 (didn’t seem right dragging it out, honestly)

Pairings: Boromir x reader (platonic) (gender neutral)

_______________

The air escaped your lungs as if you had been slammed to the floor and being left winded, gasping for oxygen desperately as it feels as if you’re dying.

You faintly remember hearing a scream, loud but sounding so distant, not realising it was your own. The scream had been accompanied by a high-pitched ringing in your ears as you had watched the first arrow hit Boromirs’ upper body, followed by another, and another.

Failure to reach your eldest brother resulted in him going down as he valiantly fought against the grotesque Uruk-hai to protect the two of the four Hobbits you vowed to travel with to deliver the One Ring to Mount Doom.

The scene before you of Boromir finally dropping to his knees, followed by falling down on to his back and staring up towards the sky between the leaves and branches above tore through your heart.

He was your big brother. He was supposed to be invincible.

You became ignorant of your surroundings as your vision stayed glued to your dying brother, missing how Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas finally appear, taking down those that remain to fight and scaring off others, your enemies retreating back to whichever way they came from.

Dragging feet, you stumbled towards Boromir subconsciously, your mind and body completely and utterly numb. You wished your eyes deceived, maybe that this whole ordeal had simply just been one bad dream that you wanted to wake up from right this second.

The sharp pain you feel from your knees running up the length of your body as they hit the harsh ground beside Boromirs’ body jolts you out of your daze ever so slightly, now being able to feel the downpour of your tears racing from your eyes and down your cheeks.

“They…took the halflings.”

His voice sounds hoarse and scratchy, already sounding so weak and lacking his usual booming, authoritative tone.

“I don’t care about the Hobbits,” you started, your voice stuffy and filled with sadness. “You’re dying Boromir.”

The chuckle he releases is strained and causes a coughing fit to follow. “It appears I am, but it is simply fate following its course. We cannot stop it now, (sister/brother).”

Your head shakes vigorously, his words calling for your tears to fall faster and harder than just a mere moment before. “You-You can’t leave me. You can’t leave me and Faramir. We need you. We need our big brother.”

Boromir releases a pitiful, shaky sigh. Breathing was becoming more and more difficult with each passing second.

“No, you don’t. You’re both so strong and you will have each other, like it has always been.” He weakly grasped your hand with his left as his right moved to your cheek, attempting to dry your tears even though the act is fruitless as they continue to escape you.

“Don’t cry. You need to stay strong. For the Hobbits, for the fellowship, for Faramir, for yourself. If that is not enough, then for me.”

You nodded your head. You would do anything to please your brother in his final moments.

“Okay,” you whispered out, sniffling slightly.

Boromirs’ eyes become glossy, glazed over with tears he’s desperately trying to keep at bay, attempting to appear as the strong older brother you have always viewed him as. His heart swells and fills with happiness and love knowing that at least he gets to speak to one of his younger siblings one final time.

But sorrow is what you both truly felt in the moment. Yours due to losing your brother, the one who had protected you from the moment you had been brought into this world, so small and fragile in his arms when he held you for the first time compared to his 9-year-old self, Faramir himself only being 4 years older than yourself.

His on the other hand, is because he is leaving behind both you and Faramir, that he will not live to see the families you build and the children that would be his nieces’ and nephews’. He now won’t be able to watch both of his younger siblings grow and build their futures how he always pictured they would.

The thought alone broke his heart.

Yet Boromir smiled up towards the sky, knowing he’ll be waiting to see both of his younger siblings when their time comes, ready to welcome them with such familiarity.

“I must go now.” His voice is but a mere whisper, broken and breathy. The life that is so visible in his orbs is slipping away and are dimming with each passing second.

“I don’t want you to go.” You sound like a heartbroken child, sobbing and choking on your words. It reminds him of when you were all younger.

“I love you dearly. Both of you. Remind Faramir when you reunite.”

“I love you too.”

Moments passed until you eventually heard Boromirs, final breath pass his lips, slowly exhaling into a permanent sleep.

Your body trembles and shakes as you continue to cry silently, your head lowered and your eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears seeping through and dripping on to the lifeless corpse of your brother. The three remaining of your travelling companions lower their heads out of respect, Gimlis’ helmet removed from atop of his head also.

As you continue your brief period of mourning, you feel a sort of determination coarse through you. You were to do as your eldest brother asked and carry on stronger than you had been before.

Faramir deserved to hear the news from his last remaining sibling.

_______________

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I swear this man dies in like everything he’s in and it’s so unfair

I LOVE THIS MAN SO MUCH AAAHHH

If you want to be added to a taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

_______________

LOTR / The Hobbit taglist:

@iwazoomingouttahere​ 

[seanfalco]

Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part III}

Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: Catholicism, Religious imagery, Angst, Infidelity  (I’m also not Catholic, so hopefully I haven’t made any glaring errors.)

masterlist

Kay stood by the sanctuary doors under the pretense of greeting his parishioners, but really he was searching for one in particular.

He’d barely been able to eat or sleep since their mid-week lesson, [y/n]’s confession of feelings leaving him conflicted and distracted, barely getting this week’s sermon prepared on time.  Unsure what he would even say to her when he saw her— he knew nothing he could say would make things alright, not after he’d rejected her, but that didn’t stop him from just wanting to see her.

But when her fiance and his parents walked in, [y/n] nowhere to be seen, his heart dropped to his stomach, sharp disappointment filling him til he nearly couldn’t breathe.

“No [y/n] today?” he asked as he shook the others’ hands, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

“No, she’s not feeling well today,” Matthew answered.  “She’s been feeling off for several days now actually.”

“Poor dear, hopefully it’ll pass soon,” his mother murmured and Kay nodded, watching them as they took their seats, a frown twisting his lips.

What were the odds that [y/n] was actually sick and not just feigning illness to avoid him?  His stomach churned at the thought, but he made his way dutifully to the altar to start Mass.

If he thought it was hard to concentrate when [y/n] was out in the congregation watching him, this was even worse, his thoughts continuously straying to what she was doing, and if she was alright.

He ended up losing his place several times and by the end of the service he felt so anxious he thought he might be ill himself.  He idly thought about calling her from his office to check on her, but it wasn’t as if she’d be likely to answer, and there was no way he could just show up at her apartment — that’d be incredibly inappropriate, besides, what would he even say?

He already knew there was nothing he could say, though he wanted to.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he noticed someone enter the confessional and he sighed, heading that way.

This is your duty, get yourself under control, Kay, he told himself, opening the door to the priest’s compartment and took his seat.  Through the latticed partition he couldn’t tell exactly who was on the other side, and his thoughts returned to the other day.

“I’ve been having… impure thoughts.”

He shivered at the memory, his mind wanting to chase that line of thought to speculate what sort of sinful scenarios she’d been imagining him in.

No, Kay, what is wrong with you? He thought frantically.  Do not be swayed by sweet temptation.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.  It’s been, uh… well, a while since my last confession.”

Matthew’s voice on the other side of the partition jerked Kay back to the present, his gut twisting with guilt at what he’d nearly allowed himself to think about the other man’s betrothed.

“Go ahead, my child,” Kay prompted, hoping the other man wouldn’t notice how strained his voice was.

“Right, okay, uhh, where to start…?” Matthew mused.  He paused for a long moment as if thinking.  “Well, I’ve had a lot of sex… like, a lot,” he began, and Kay’s gut twisted farther at the thought of him and [y/n] before he forcefully pushed that image from his head.  “—And not just with my fiance.  There’s been others, sometimes even two at once—“

Kay frowned, interrupting the other man.

“Wait, are you saying you’re been unfaithful to [y/n]?” he asked, trying to keep the sharp bite of his anger from his voice.

“Well, yeah,” Matthew replied.  “I mean, as good as she in in bed, I don’t wanna be stuck having the same boring sex with one woman my whole life.  In fact, this whole marriage was my parents’ idea in the first place, and if I don’t go along with it they threatened to cut me off,” he explained, Kay’s anger mounting with each word.

“Does… does [y/n] know about this?” he asked, seething, his hands balling in his dark robes.

“No, I mean, she’d flip out if she did, and then she’d bail.”

Kay couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he couldn’t even warn [y/n]— confession was sacred.  What he heard in the confessional couldn’t be revealed to anyone.  But the worst part about it was the irony.  He’d pushed her away when she’d tried to tell him she wasn’t happy, thinking he might be breaking up a loving marriage, but it was already doomed to begin with.  Of course [y/n] was unhappy.

“So… what, Father, how many Hail Mary’s do I need to do to be good?” Matthew asked, pulling Kay’s attention back to him and he scowled. 

“That’s not how it works,” he countered.  “To be forgiven, you must truly repent and feel sorry for what you’ve done, and vow to the best of your abilities to not give into temptation and repeat your sin,” he explained sharply.  “If you have no intention of ceasing your adulterous ways then you cannot truly be forgiven.”

“Alright, alright,” Matthew relented, “I promise to the best of my abilities to avoid temptation,” he exclaimed, though it was clear by the tone of his voice that he had no intention of stopping.

In a hollow voice, Kay absolved the man of his sins and sent him on his way, unable to bring himself to leave the solitude of the confessional yet.  [y/n]’s words swam in his head, guilt and desire and temptation following them, gripping him.

“I never wanted this!  I still have feelings for you.  They never went away!”

Who was he kidding?  She was still all he’d ever wanted.  And if Matthew couldn’t see just how special she was, he didn’t deserve her.  [y/n] was right, he couldn’t give her what she wanted… but maybe Kay could.

“Ah shit,” he muttered under his breath.  

Without another thought, lest he talk himself out of it, Kay pushed open the door and hurried back to his office, shedding his robe and grabbing his keys.

——

It was the insistent pounding at the door that roused you from your fitful slumber, and you rolled over to check the time on your phone.  It looked like Mass would be over by now, but you couldn’t believe that that was Matthew at the door.

Maybe if you didn’t answer, whoever it was would give up and go away.  Besides, you weren’t exactly fit to be seen at the moment—!not having bothered to shower or change for the last few days, your eyes swollen and bloodshot from crying for hours on end. 

However, when the knocking persisted, growing, if possible more frantic, you reluctantly pushed yourself out of bed and threw your robe around yourself as you shambled to the door.

“I’m comin’, hold your fucking horses!” you called, peering through the peephole while your hand rested on the door knob.

When you saw who was standing outside, looking nervously around, you jerked back, your pulse instantly pounding loudly in your ears.

For a moment, you pressed your forehead to the door, trying to decide what to do.

“[y/n], please, I know you’re in there!  I just want to talk,” Kay called through the door and you took a steadying breath, unlocking the deadbolt, but leaving the chain in place, pulling the door open only a crack.

“What’re you doing here, Kay?” you demanded, though you didn’t give him a chance to speak.  “I think you already know why I didn’t come to church today, and if you’re here to ask me to come back to do my lessons, I’m not going.  I’ll call the Parish office tomorrow and request a new teacher—“

“That’s not why I’m here!” he exclaimed hastily, cutting you off and your eyes widened.  “Please, can I come in?  I don’t want to speak through the door and I want — I need to talk to you!”

The desperation in his voice and the wild light in his emerald eyes made you pause.  Biting your lip, you considered his plea.

“Okay, just… hold on a sec.”

Shutting the door to unlatch the chain, you wondered if you’d come to regret this, but something in his voice, in his eyes had swayed you.  You’d never seen him quite so frantic before.  Opening the door fully, you stepped aside so he could enter and you noticed he wasn’t wearing his white collar.

“Thank you,” he murmured as he passed and you quickly shut the door behind him, turning to face him while folding your arms defensively over your chest.

You were about to demand why he was there again when he spoke first, rendering you momentarily speechless.

“Oh, [y/n], you look awful” he exclaimed softly, worry lacing his voice as he took a step toward you, his hand reaching out.

Quickly looking away, you wiped at your already raw eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were once more gathering.

“Kay… what do you want?” you asked instead, hating how your voice wavered.

He sighed heavily, his eyes going to the floor for a moment before lifting once more, his thick brows drawn down over a piercing gaze.

“Do you love him?” he demanded, his question taking you off guard and you faltered.

“I… I don’t know.  Why are you asking me that?”

At your answer Kay gaped at you in disbelief for a moment.  “Then why are you marrying him, [y/n]?” 

“I don’t know,” you replied automatically, your voice growing stronger as you continued.  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?  I need the stability Matthew can give me.  Besides, it’s not like I have much say in the matter, my parents—“

“That’s not a good enough reason!” Kay snapped and you recoiled as if slapped, knowing in your heart he was right.  “What about love?  Don’t you deserve that?” he exclaimed, a wild look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

The question stung and you bit your lip to keep from trembling.  “Yeah, well, maybe the man I love, I can’t have.  You made that clear enough the other day,” you muttered, drawing your arms around yourself and turning away so he couldn’t see the tears that filled your eyes.  “So, what does it matter anyway?”

Kay shook his head, opening his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come.  Instead, he closed the distance between you in one stride, his hands going to your face as his lips collided with yours, taking you by surprise.

As soon as his lips found yours, his hands reverently cupping your cheeks, you froze, your mind reeling and your breath catching, and before you knew what you were doing, you were kissing him back with a desperation that nearly tore you in two.

You were dreaming.  You must be.

But no, he was real, and solid, and right there, kissing you like you’d imagined so many times.  

Clutching at his shirt, you pulled yourself against him and his hands left your face, his arms wrapping around you, embracing you tightly and you responded in kind, slipping your arms around his neck as your lips moved against his hungrily.

Gasping a hasty breath, you didn’t pull back for long, your tongue darting out to taste him, and he moaned into your mouth as he gave in.

All too soon however, he was pulling back to look at you, his long dark curls falling into his face, and you lifted your chin, your eyes finding his.  “What made you change your mind?” you asked softly, barely daring to breathe, afraid all this would be taken from you again if you questioned it.

“I...I made a mistake,” he replied uncertainly, but as he continued, the fierceness from earlier returned to his voice.  “I was a fool, alright?  I lied, when you asked if I still felt anything for you.  I’ve been lying to myself for most of my life,” he exclaimed.

“All I’ve ever wanted was you.  I never stopped loving you, [y/n],” he confessed, the ache in your heart growing.  “You deserve so much more than… him,” he nearly whispered.  

At his words a myriad of questions sprang to mind, all clamouring for attention — what did this mean?  How was it supposed to work?  You were technically still engaged.  It would look rather suspicious if you and Kay were suddenly to run off together, but—

Before you could focus on any one thought for too long, Kay’s mouth was on yours once more and this kiss, if possible, was more passionate than before, your back making contact with the wall behind you with a soft thud and all those thoughts fled.

All you wanted to think about was what was happening now, in this moment, everything else could come later.

Afterall, how long had you imagined this?

“Kay,” you murmured, whining softly as he drew back, though he still held you tightly.

“[y/n],” he sighed, affection thick in his voice as he pressed his forehead to yours, his curls brushing your face.  “I need to get back,” he continued reluctantly, and you whined louder.

“Stay,” you begged, not loosening your grasp on him.  Part of you was afraid if you let him go, he’d disappear.

“I can’t,” he choked, as if it took all his willpower to refuse you.

“But… what happens now?” you asked, reluctantly, letting him step out of your embrace.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head as he caught his breath.  All he knew was that he wanted to stay and that was his sign to go… for now.  He was still a priest after all, even if his heart had given into this temptation.  “We’ll figure it out,” he promised, holding your face to press a kiss to your forehead.  

Watching him walk back out your door was one of the hardest things you’d ever done, but his promise echoed in your ears and you clutched to it. 

We’ll figure it out.

-------------------------------

Everything Tag List: @magic-multicolored-miracle @midnightseance @etherealsxnder @iamsexytrash @orions-nebula @slutforrobbiebro @the-freckled-luba @xenteaart @gurlimtired @phoenixhits

[platypanthewriter]

Popsicles

Harringrove April day 17, Popsicles.  Tews commits crimes, and Steve and Billy work some things out because of them.

It started the day Dustin’s cat was convicted of theft.  

They held a trial, with Mrs. Henderson crying on the couch, Mike arguing for the prosecution, Lucas for the defense, and Max as the expert witness, pointing out that a wedding ring was much too large to fit into the mouth of a small cat.

Will presided over the trial and declared her guilty, on the grounds that she had been the one to smack it around the counter when Mrs. Henderson sat it next to the sink while she fixed a leak in the pipes.  It took her all day, and the handles turned the wrong way now, but the sink worked again, and in her triumph, she’d gone to take a shower.

Tews had given in to temptation and the call of the One Ring, and leaped up to pat it into, they all suspected, the Mount Doom of the kitchen, the crack between the counter and the stove.  Dustin was also sentenced, as the one who had seen a small cat succumb to the call of Sauron, and done nothing to save her from his influence.  

They’d all tried to pull it out for hours, with coathangers, the mop handle, and even the feather duster, with no success, and Tews had compounded her crimes by pouncing on all their weaponry.  El tried last, glowering into the depths, but no ring had emerged.

Tews was convicted of grand feline theft for stealing Sauron’s one ring, which they assessed at over one thousand dollars.

“It’s not as though Sauron made more,” Mike pointed out, and Will nodded, his lips thinning grimly.  “And it says here,” Mike said, hefting the law book he’d snagged from the library, “—that burglarizing someone’s house while they’re home heightens the offense.”  

“She also tried to pretend she was actually playing with a potato chip,” Dustin sighed.  “Wasting the investigation’s time, and perverting the course of justice.”

“And jumped on my head,” Will pointed out.

“Assaulting a respected and valued member of the court,” Mike said.

“Tews,” Dustin sighed, holding her up.  “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”  She squirmed, meowing, and batted at his nose, and Lucas grimaced.  

“Harsh, man,” he said.

“I’m gonna have to say guilty,” Will said, shaking his head.  

“Let’s go light on the sentencing, though,” said Max, distracting the defendant with a piece of string.  “—you don’t want her coming out a more hardened criminal than she went in.”

“She’s showing no remorse,” Mike said, as Tews wriggled on the carpet, batting at their pant legs.  “I recommend house arrest to the jury.”  He picked her up and presented her to El.  “Don’t let pity sway you,” he said.  “If some innocent creature finds the One Ring where it fell, their heart will be darkened.”

“She played with powers she did not understand,” Dustin agreed.

El blinked at them, and then at Tews, dangling resignedly from Mike’s hands.  “Uh,” she said.  

 In the kitchen, a trickle from Mrs. Henderson’s homemade popsicles ran from the freezer down into the fridge.

 A week later, Billy walked in and slid his arms around Steve’s waist while Steve was brushing his teeth.  In the mirror, he had a weird look on his face.  “...Harrington,” he muttered.

“F’meah?” Steve asked, his mouth full of toothpaste, and Billy raised his eyebrows.  

“...just ate a popsicle…” he said, dragging it out, like Steve was supposed to make something of that.

“Hngmm?” he asked, intelligently.

“From the freezer,” Billy said, widening his eyes further, like that was helpful info.

Steve spit, and rinsed his mouth.  “That’s where we keep ‘em,” he said, staring back, because he could be just as unhelpful, if he tried.  He’d learned from the best.

Billy turned his head, groaning against Steve’s neck.  Billy’s face was red, Steve realized, and he turned in Billy’s arms—narrowly avoiding elbowing him in the face—and gave him a kiss—minty from his toothpaste, and cherry-flavored, because Billy’s lips and tongue were still red from Mrs. Henderson’s homemade popsicles.  Billy’s face was hot against Steve’s hands, and he was a little shaky, his eyes shiny and teary, and Steve wiped a thumb under Billy’s thick lashes.  

Billy wrapped his arms around Steve’s ribs and hauled him out of the bathroom, tossing him on the bed, and sat on his chest, glowering down.  “Why’re you playing innocent about this,” he hissed, grabbing Steve’s hands.  “I ate a fucking popsicle, okay, it’s hot here at fucking eight o’clock in the morning.”

There was a different kind of heat on Steve’s mind, with Billy’s weight on his ribcage, and Billy’s chest and face filling Steve’s vision, but he cleared his throat, opening his mouth, as Billy whipped a wedding ring out of nowhere and waved it in his face.

“...you want to get married,” Steve whispered, his face heating as fast as Billy’s, like the blood tap in his chest had been turned entirely to ‘hot’.  “Y-you want to marry me?”

“We can’t just walk into a church—” Billy growled, his fingers tightening on Steve’s wrists, and Steve started giggling, smiling so wide his face hurt.  

“You want to, though,” he breathed.  

“...I don’t wanna walk into a fucking church,” Billy groaned, letting Steve reach up and touch his face.  “Rent some...shitty tux.  Make invitations.”

“But you do wanna be married to me,” Steve told him, beaming.  “You want me wearing your ring.  You want everybody to know I’m yours.” 

“Fuck yeah I want that,” Billy said softly, sighing.  “Too bad we can’t have—”

“I can wear a ring,” Steve pointed out.  “We can have a party.  We can—we can make Hopper say vows.”

“...I’m just picturing it like him saying grace, that time,” Billy said, grimacing, and Steve burst into snickers.

“Good men, nice bed, well done, be wed,” he offered, and Billy cracked up, leaning in to kiss him, softly, and then lie on top of him, sighing.  He was hot, and suddenly Steve wanted a popsicle, so he kissed Billy again, tasting the cherry on his lips.  “...I want a popsicle too,” he realized.  “For breakfast.”

“...anything more we’re gonna find in there?” Billy asked, raising his eyebrows.  He didn’t shift, so instead of getting up, Steve ran his fingers over Billy’s side, and then squeezed him, at the thought that Billy Hargrove wanted to marry him.  It was weird, and Steve couldn’t help snickering again, and kissing Billy’s hair.  “...didn’t even know we had a popsicle making...thing,” Billy mumbled, squirming even though he couldn’t get closer.  “...they’re pretty good, though.  You’re such a freak, jesus.”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and considered his sudden memory of Dustin bringing over a casserole, and the bag of homemade popsicles.  He remembered, additionally, Dustin saying they’d held a trial for his cat, and started laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

 When Billy could get Steve to speak in sentences again, instead of gasping, he stared.  “You—you’re saying…” he said, clenching the wedding ring in a white-knuckled hand.  

“We have to give it back,” Steve told him, kissing his face.  “We’ll get one that fits you, babe.  We’ll go pick it out.”

“I thought you were asking me,” Billy said, his shoulder blades hitting the wall as he backed away.  “I—I thought—”

“I’ve wanted to, I would’ve,” Steve lied, remorselessly, because he hadn’t thought Billy had the same dumb fantasies he did, and he wouldn’t have asked, for fear of Billy laughing him off.  “I want to, I do, we’ll—look,” he said, setting his shoulders.  “I’ll take off work.  We’ll go today, and give Dustin’s mom her ring back on the way home.”

“Make an honest man of me, Harrington,” Billy said, smirking over at him, but he didn’t let go of the ring he’d found in his popsicle until he had another one sized for his finger, and Steve had pulled the car over, and slid it on Billy’s hand with an accompanying kiss.

“Think it’d take more than this,” Steve said, as Billy slid Steve’s onto his finger.

“...we coulda got cockrings instead,” Billy whispered against Steve’s lips, and Steve snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, but if the idea is you want the bank teller to know I’m yours, d’you really want me arrested?”

 Tews was cleared of grand feline theft, though not of the various cat crimes of jumping on the head of the judge, and interfering with an active investigation.  Dustin apologized to her, though, and gave her most of a can of tuna, after running back to his mom’s room with the ring.  

“It was my mother’s,” she said, when she came out to feed them more popsicles.  Steve and Billy eyed each other over them, holding them up to the light to survey for more valuables, or spiders, possibly, Steve thought.  He half expected to find a LEGO man fighting a toy dragon, but all he could see was red, so he bit carefully, and looked up to see Billy watching his mouth, and swallowing.  

“We’ll get on planning you a ceremony right away,” Dustin told Steve and Billy, his eyes on their matching rings, and they shook their heads rapidly, but Dustin stood, waving his fist at the sky.  “Lord of the Rings themed!”

 Steve threw a piece of tuna to make Tews climb up Dustin’s leg, and they escaped.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

[lorelylantana]

Spontaneous Chapter 3: Drowning

First-Previous-Next

Chapter Rating: G Overall Rating: T

“Here you are, free at last.”

There was Impa, except it couldn’t be Impa, because they were born in the same year. Even in her sorry state, Zelda still stood, young and stupid. Where this woman was wrinkled where Zelda was smooth, stable where she was volatile, put together when she was so broken.

This was Impa, aged 100 years since the last time they saw each other. Zelda felt her breath quicken until she was gasping for breath, blood pounding in her ears. Zelda couldn’t avoid it anymore. Her friends were dead or dying, she had no family to speak of and absolutely no clue how to cope with so much all at once.

So she didn’t. She turned and fled.

She stumbled back down the stairs, letting gravity pull her closer to the ground. Link’s voice was coming from somewhere behind her, but it was muffled and incoherent. She hauled herself up onto Epona and kicked, letting her run wherever she wished so long as it took her away. Maybe she could run for just a bit longer, hide away for just a few moments more. As expected from a hero’s steed, Epona ran fast and sure despite the waves of fear Zelda was drowning in. They sped through the Pillars of Levia, the walls of stone closing in on her with every passing second. Before she could scream they were out into the open air, thundering across a crumbling stone bridge and turning around into a field. Zelda pulled at Epona’s reins, finding a thread of calm to cling to amid the chaos. Epona slowed to a stop, her lungs heaving under Zelda.

She slid down, her knees buckling and hitting the grass. She shut her eyes, clasping her hands to her chest, taking one breath in after the other. She focused on the sun shining down, the grass ticking her legs. The wind pulled at the strands of her hair, and she could hear water lapping against a shore. Epona had wondered, and Zelda could feel the small vibrations the hooves made when they brushed against the ground.

It was peaceful. Calm enough to offset the panic rattling around in her ribcage. Her hands loosened their death grip on each other, coming to rest on the ground. One hand began gliding through the strands of grass, the other sinking into cool water. After listing every small, pleasant feeling she could find she felt safe enough to raise her head and open her eyes.

Right into the empty gaze of a decayed guardian.

Zelda scrambled back, the hard won peace she’d gathered shattering as she registered exactly where she was.

This is where Link died in her arms.

Before she could scream, her vision swam and drained away, leaving Zelda unconscious on the ground.

The winds at the top of Mount Lanayru were harsh and biting and cold. One would think that even such a relentless chill would fade from awareness after enough time passed, a mere ambience forgotten in the face of her greatest failure. Still, the snow cutting against her skin was all she could think about as she emerged from the spring, listless now that the last thread of hope had snapped. Zelda stepped over one of twelve Great Flameblades that were scattered throughout the water half an hour before Link deemed it survivable, the sun directly overhead. Zelda woke at midnight, the very moment her birthday began so they could be at the spring when the sun rose. That way, she could pray for a few hours before they had to go back down the mountain.

All the elixirs in the world couldn’t keep her alive if she was soaked through when night fell. 

Link’s hand curled around her forearms, guiding her out of the water. A cloak was wrapped around her shoulders as he led her to the tent where Zelda changed into her prayer dress. He sat her down on a stool he’d brought so he could bring over a bucket of steaming water. 

They had developed something of a routine over the last year. A protocol to follow after Zelda left the sacred springs empty handed. Link would kneel before her, as he did now, take the sandals from her feet, and rub the strain of the day away. He insisted he was worried for her well being, and she did stop falling ill as a matter of course after prayer. The springs didn’t seem so desolate after that, and Zelda had grown to look forward to the evenings after. It was the only time she felt content, with her cherished knight going above and beyond to care for her. He didn’t need to go so far for her, but he did so without prompt or complaint, which made her feel wanted, important even. Link set her feet into the blessedly warm water so he could massage her shoulders, and Zelda sighed, though she couldn’t bring herself to smile. This was her final hope, and she had failed.

Hyrule was doomed, and she will be responsible for its ruin.

The first thing Zelda felt was the gentle back and forth of Link’s stride as she curled up in his arms. The sun was still shining in her eyes, so she probably wasn’t unconscious for very long. Zelda began to catalogue sensations again. Epona was walking along behind her head, to Link’s right side. His breath came and went above her hair and his chest rose and fell under her left arm. Zelda didn’t feel calm enough to open her eyes again until the cacophony of the stable surrounded her. She squirmed a bit, and Link set her down, though he kept his arms around her to make sure she could stand on her own. Even when they started walking to the stable, her arm stayed looped around his.

“Well, nice to see you again, stranger!” the stable owner called from his counter, “Mind telling us what had you running around.”

Zelda tilted her head. She couldn’t gather the energy to phrase her question, but the confused hum must have been answer enough, because the man continued.

“He came sprinting round the bend this afternoon. That was something else, let me tell you. I’ve never seen someone who can whistle and run at the same time.”

Zelda turned to Link, waiting for him to deny such an absurd accusation. Even if such a thing were possible, why?

Link shrugged, “It helps me run faster.”

. . .

Okay.

Zelda shuffled along Link as he led her into the stable, sitting her down on the bed, where she sat staring at her bloody feet. Running in sandals a century ago had taken its toll, rubbing several raw, angry lines that never had a chance to heal. Link returned to her, kneeling and setting down a tray of bandages and cloth.

“You don’t have to do that,” she insisted, but he paid her no mind, rubbing the dirt from the soles of her feet as gently as possible. Zelda felt her eyes water. Somehow, this echo of tenderness from so long ago, this shadow of affection from the man before her was enough to crack at the thin veneer of composure she managed to scrape up. Watching him carefully, dutifully wrap her feet in bandages despite having no memory of his vows to her made her feel secure enough to let a few tears leak out. Then, once he was finished, he held her leg to his chin, pressing a kiss to the inside of her ankle. A gesture of pure habit. Link’s head jerked back, face red and confused. Of course he was confused, it was too much to hope that he still loved her. Even now.

She started sobbing, shaking from head to toe, and that seemed more important to him. Link rose to sit next to her, bringing her close.

“It’s okay,” he insisted, running a hand down her back, “I promise.”

Zelda shook her head. “I’m sorry.” He shouldn’t have to deal with this. Link had no memory to his name, yet she still had the audacity to lean on him. 

She didn’t think it was possible to be so selfish. Or so tired after doing nothing all day. Nonetheless, Zelda felt her body slacken against his embrace, her eyes slipped closed once again, and she fell to sleep, surrounded by darkness once again.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Hike-Story

So...I’ve been on a hike today with friends and I’ve been told a lovely local legend of my country and region. I’ve decided to put it into a short story with Thorin.

It’s a sort of prequel to all the amazing stories some authors write about Thorin and OCs while already under the Mountain... Please feel free to reblog and further the local saga of Oberschlinden 😊

So...here goes...

Black

Prologue

In a valley hidden within a dark forest, there were once two villages, very different from one another and yet doomed to suffer the same fate.

The first village was prosperous and industrious and its inhabitants knew much success in their bountiful endeavours, whereas the second village was merry and joyous, filled with music and celebrations all year round.

One day, a weary gleeman came this way and asked to be lodged and fed in exchange for a tune, but the upstanding villagers turned him away for they were much afeared that he had come to rob them of their wealth and goods. “We have no need for your futile, frivolous shenanigans.” They claimed and forbade him to set foot into their town.

Understanding what they were really afraid of, the man replied: “So be it, I should not have taken a single coin that had not been given to me freely. For your callous ignominy, I shall leave you something instead.” 

And with these words, he turned around and headed to the other village across the valley.

Here, he was welcomed with open arms. He was fed and housed and after having regained his strength, he went on his merry way again to entertain and amuse other villages. The villagers were much aggrieved about his departure as they had greatly enjoyed his contribution to their daily merriment. They let him leave with their best wishes, nonetheless, for they were an indolent people, unable and unwilling to defend their interests with any kind of forcefulness.

A shadow fell over the valley. A dark sickness befell the first village and rapidly spread across the valley to the other one that had taken no precautions to keep the grim reaper out. Too busy had they been celebrating life and the sinking sun to pay any heed to the pestilence creeping their way.

This is how the first village learned that one who is too afraid to lose what he cannot keep, might well be given what he cannot get rid of, and the second village understood that evil spread faster than fell the night and crept, insidious, into every crack if not actively opposed. Like moss covering the immobile stone, the plague washed over the villages and left none but two women standing.

One of those women would rail and wail all day long, lamenting the loss of her glorious life and of her dear family, until madness took her and she returned to her empty house to wait for death to be her last visitor.

The other one, however, took it upon herself to do penance for the sins of her valley and all its ghostly inhabitants that were heard in the moaning of the wind and the gurgling of the brook.

This is her story. 

The sun was low in the sky already when she was startled by the sound of footsteps behind her, making her look up in amazement.

“Good day, good woman, I am a blacksmith and I am looking for the prosperous village hidden in this valley. I am on my way back to my people and I am willing to work in exchange for food and lodging. May you point out the way to me, please?” A gruff voice resounded and a man stepped out of the shadow of the dense foliage.

He was short and stout, unlike any other man she had ever seen in her life, and she was so surprised by his appearance that it took a moment for her to react to his words.

“Good day, Master Dwarf,” she replied courteously, for she now saw that this was what he was, “I am sorry to confess that this village no longer exists. Neither does its sister. I am the last living soul in these parts.” 

He looked much alarmed at her words. 

“Moreover, there is a sickness lying over the valley. It is not advisable to traverse it.” She went on, getting up from her kneeling position at the foot of the little chapel. “Master Dwarf, I live at the other side of this cursed valley, it is a two-hour walk and the light is failing. I offer you my guidance around the affected area and my hospitality.” She spoke, bowing her head deferentially.

The dwarf seemed to ponder her words for a moment, then nodded. 

“Step where I step; the path is treacherous and night shall be upon us soon.” She warned and set out.

Every day, she made her way along the rocky outcrops and the stony ledges, through the dense foliage of the underbrush and the silent desert of trees, to circle the whole valley and pray for hours at the foot of the small chapel for the souls of those who had fallen prey to sickness, stubbornness and wicked ignorance. 

Along the way, she collected herbs and mushrooms to sustain herself and produce ointments and potions she sold once a month in the next village, just beyond the valley. 

She led a lonely life, but she was unerring in her penance. Those two villages that had been mother and father to her for most of her adult life had done wrong and had been smitten for it by the hand of God. There was nobody left to ask for forgiveness, but her. 

“Dwarves have steady steps and exceptional eyesight, even in the darkness. Worry not for me.” The man, for she could not call him anything else than that, answered. 

He was well-grown, like an oak, strong and sturdy; he seemed tired though and she vowed that she would not commit the same mistake her forefathers and elders had made; she would be a gracious host. Indeed, she would salve the burns on his bare arms and give him the best parts of whatever she would find in her traps along her daily trek. 

“Have you no kin, woman?” He asked after they had mounted a steep rocky ledge leading them through dense undergrowth from which she would extract berries and healing herbs to stow away in the satchels she carried on her back.

“I have no kin, Master Dwarf.” She shrugged, extending her hand to him when they came to a brook. The stones were slippery and wont to shift beneath the unfamiliar foot.

He just chuckled, a sound reminiscent of the big rockslide that had occurred a few months ago, and leapt easily enough across the narrow expanse of wet pebbles. 

For a creature looking this heavy, he was surprisingly agile, she thought. She knew nothing about dwarves of course. In her nan’s tales, there had been mentions of those mysterious man-like beings who lived under mountains and in golden halls, but she had imagined them smaller and less…beautiful than what she saw in front of her. 

As a matter of fact, she could not remember ever having seen a man quite as enchanting as the one following her swift steps effortlessly. There were beads in his hair that shimmered in the dying light and his eyes were the colour of the great river rushing through the valley; indeed, he was the closest she had ever come to a genuine fairy tale. 

“What happened here?” He inquired, as they reached the highest ledge and looked down on the villages, already plunged in deep shadows and obviously deserted.

“A plague broke out and took every living soul. It is said that it was the refusal of hospitality by this village,” she pointed to one cluster of houses, “and the lack of zeal or backbone of that one,” she pointed to the opposite side of the valley, “that led to their doom.” 

She had been there, she had seen the people who had been her friends and family die a miserable, painful death and she had waited for the blight to fall upon her as well. It had never come and now, she was the watcher of the dead valley; in a world of ghosts, there was none who felt less alive than her, walking along the deserted ruins of her existence day after day. 

“Thank you for warning me.” He had a good voice, she thought, low and kind. It was a miracle to stumble upon another living being, but his voice and the empathy in his eyes felt like a caress upon her bruised soul. 

“It is my duty, Master Dwarf. I shall stand in harm’s way as long as I can.” 

“My name is Thorin.” He declared in an almost questioning voice. He had been reticent to divulge his name, she realised and turned around to bow deeply. 

“Come along, Master Thorin. The light is fading fast now.” She urged him on, almost running along the rocky paths, her feet sending up sprays of pebbles in her wake.

They walked on tirelessly for a long time, until they reached a fallen tree stump that had not been there when she had come this way earlier in the day.

Clambering over the dead wood swiftly, Thorin extended his arms, in turn, to her. She stepped closer and uttered a small cry of astonishment when he simply lifted her over the obstacle as if she weighed nothing at all. “Thank you, Master Thorin.” She bowed again.

He smelled like the pines that grew beyond the valley, she noticed, and like life. Everything about him was painfully alive: the vivid intelligence of his eyes, the small smirk he gave her on account of her breathless incredulity, and the warmth of his hands on her ribs that left a palpable impression.

As she walked on, nearing the point where the path would dip drastically and the danger doubled, she came to accept that she would cherish this encounter until the end of her days.

Maybe God had heard her prayers and granted her the small solace of seeing another soul, of speaking to someone who actually answered and of feeling living flesh upon her own once more. 

She extricated a small rabbit from the trap she had laid on the highest crest and pushed it down into her satchel as well, gesturing to the silent valley with a sense of pride.

“This is home. And there’s my hut.” She pointed to a small wooden house at the far end of the valley, nestled between two tiny hills and reflecting the last rays of sun. 

The light was growing dimmer now and the way down was treacherous even in broad daylight. “Permit me, Mistress.” He gave her a mocking smile and took her hand. 

It felt huge and calloused, but its roughness comforted her. She had lived in this rocky wilderness for years now and the feeling of warm stones would always be synonymous with home to her. 

To her shame and despair, she tottered several times on their way down and when Thorin slung his arm around her waist and steadied her, she did not object.

Finally, they reached the little plateau she called her own. 

“Give me your boots.” She asked and when he did, she set them aside to be cleaned afterwards. 

Stoking the fire, she started taking the small rabbit apart and tossing the various leaves and mushrooms she had collected into the pot filled with fresh water. She would deplete her stocks for him; she would not be a bad host like the first villagers. Also, she would mend his socks, tend to his injuries and clean his boots; she would not be a slovenly scallywag like the second villagers either.

“Make yourself at home.” She invited him, giving him the best chair and a blanket she had woven herself in her youth. 

“Are you really all alone?” He asked her, as she sat on the floor, grinding herbs into a paste with devoted focus. “Yes, Master Dwarf.” She smiled, taking his hand and spreading the ointment gingerly on the burns dotting his strong forearms. 

“Do you like being alone?” He pressed on, wincing as the wet unguent made his wounds smart.

“It is my punishment and my expiation.” She replied while stirring the stew she was preparing. 

His eyes settled heavily on her face and she could read sympathy and sadness in those dark, blue lakes shot through with silver. He looked rather like a gem hewn from precious stone himself, she had to admit, feeling drawn to the solidity of his frame and the living warmth of his gaze. 

“Eat, Master Thorin.” She handed him a deep bowl, containing most of the mushrooms and all of the meat she had managed to scrape off the scrawny rabbit.

“What about you?” He asked, suspicious, when she filled a goblet with the fragrant broth. 

“Eat.” She encouraged him again. He had obviously known a long and tiresome road and she wanted him to feel safe and cared for; she was thankful for the chance to do right by him. 

It was a small redemption of her blood to be a good host after the opposite reaction had plunged her people into extinction. 

He looked relaxed now, sitting by the fire, listening to her hum to herself while she cleaned his boots and mended his clothing. “Your gifts are wasted on the dead.” He suddenly said.

“Beg your pardon?” She looked up from polishing his boots, a questioning expression in her eyes. 

“You have been a good host to me, you’re a steady cook and a knowledgeable reader of nature. Come with me.” 

She blinked. She knew not what he was talking about.

“I am, as I said, on my way to rejoin my kin. Come with me, there is nothing here for you but desolation and loneliness. There are people yet alive beyond this valley and they could greatly benefit from your knowledge…and your sweet nature. Come with me! Be my travel companion!” He reiterated when she didn’t reply. 

“I cannot…I am here to…” - “You are here to wait for the next weary traveller and right the wrong inflicted by and upon your people. Consider it done, Mahal has heard you child, I am Thorin, and I shall be King under the Mountain one day. I might be here to deliver you and take you away from this place.” He interrupted her harshly. 

A king, she thought, a future king. What prevented him from being king now?

“It is a hard life amongst my people; there will be deprivation and long, cold nights.” He warned her, but she simply motioned to the small hut they sat in while the wind howled with furious intensity outside. 

“But…it is a life. I offer you a life, not an easy one, not a pretty one necessarily, but a life. Be the watcher of the living, be the minder of the sick, be the guide of the hale-bodied; leave behind your dead and let them find their peace. Come with me!” 

She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. He was right; he might have been the sign she had been waiting for all these years. 

Epilogue:

The last survivor of the great plague that had ravaged the valley and left it inhabited forevermore was never seen again. People say, she just vanished at some point. Some hold the belief that she has been carried away by fairies and others claim that on windy nights, one could see her walk along the stony ledges on her eternal way to the abandoned chapel. 

We shall never know for sure what really happened to that sole survivor, but her name disappeared from the ledgers, never to be mentioned again in the books of men. 

[fortunatelylori]

"Everyone who's crossed her she's found a way to murder." I can definitely see this going through Jon's mind if Sansa is kidnapped. Sansa and Arya were used as baragining chips in S1 for Robb but he chose not to go to KL. Also, when Jon found out "they" were being held there he initially was going to go but was talked out of it and chose to honor his vows. I think this will come back too. Conflict of the heart. "You'd think of little else if you had too." (tbc...)

I think Jon will be consumed by this at this pt. So to make the stakes higher I think both the WW and Sansa getting kidnapped (if this does happen) will happen simultaneously. While I think Sansa and Cersei will have another showdown and Sansa being in KL against her will check so many boxes I can’t just can’t figure out why. Why kidnap and not just murder? Why would she think Jon would come when Robb didn’t? Could LF might have told her something about their relationship?

Also, if both Cersei and the WW happen at the same time then both of them will be right as far as who to be concerned about. How do you see this plot unfold? What will Jon’s conflict be at this point? What will he decide? What role will Dany play in this? I would love your thoughts on this. Thank you!

Hey, nonnie!

I have to say … this kidnapping plot is slowly taking over my life. :))))) I’ve been thinking about it a lot actually. And while the more time passes, the more I’m convinced it will happen, the details of it are still a little fuzzy for me. 

So I guess I could start by saying why a kidnapping of Sansa by Cersei makes sense and what story boxes it would tick if it were to happen. After all, you don’t make a plot choice if it doesn’t help you achieve certain goals both thematically and in terms of story progression: 

1. It would bring Sansa and Cersei face to face again: this is VERY important for a number of reasons. Sansa was Cersei’s “little dove”, the girl she attempted to mold to her will but also despised because she saw her as being weak and naive. Their relationship is rife for dramatic exploration and I don’t know any writer worth his salt that wouldn’t want to tap into that, particularly now that Sansa has grown and developed and they could flip the dynamic on its head, showing what Sansa has learned from all of her tormentors, Cersei included. This is also important because Sansa needs to go back to her: “If I am ever queen, I will make them love me” mentality. Right now she’s vacillating and the question of her admiring Cersei hangs in the air, as per Jon’s observation. The simplest way for Sansa to fully reject Cersei’s worldview is by being faced with her once again, and choosing to the the Queen that people love, not the Queen that people fear. It’s kind of a play on being faced with who you might become if you choose one road instead of another, sort of thing.  

2. The Younger, More Beautiful Queen: this prophecy has tormented Cersei her entire life and it’s bound to conclude in its final act. If Sansa is the younger, more beautiful queen that will cast Cersei down and take all that she holds dear, it makes sense that she would be present for Cersei’s demise, whatever that might be. I say present because while Sansa was involved for most of Cersei’s tragedies, she was never the party responsible, she inadvertently found herself involved and I hope the pattern continues because I like the idea of prophecies not being played straight and that Cersei herself is ultimately responsible for her own downfall. 

3. Sansa is the princess in the tower with no prince to save her: for all the complaining that people do that Sansa can’t do anything for herself and she always needs saving, the sad fact of the matter is Sansa has never truly been saved by anyone. As she herself puts it to LF: She’s taken from monsters that murdered her family and given to other monsters that murdered her family. Her “rescues” are simply an exacerbation of her confinement. No one saves her. The one that comes closest is Theon but it’s Sansa that pushes him to that point and thematically speaking this action is linked more to Theon regaining his identity that Sansa Stark being saved. Also, her reunion with Jon did not truly bring liberation because she was still stuck with LF and also her trauma has made her close herself off and put herself in a sort of emotional cage. 

As you mentioned, Robb actually refuses to risk the ire of his men to go and try to save Sansa so she’s never truly a priority for someone, nor is she the goal, as the princess in the tower trope lays out. So to finally see someone make Sansa their priority and come to rescue her, despite all other consideration, would be a fulfilling arc. Particularly since Sansa keeps saying that no one can protect her. People have taken this to mean that Sansa doesn’t want protection because she can take care of herself. I don’t think that’s it at all. Sophie Turner said that when Sansa reunites with Jon, it’s the first moment of happiness Sansa has felt in years because she’s finally with someone who will take care of her and look after her. So I think Sansa is still looking for that prince to protect her and save her. She just doesn’t believe that exists anymore. So maybe it’s time she be proven wrong. 

4. Jon has a choice to make: Jon has been teased with a choice between love and duty since season 1 and he’s always chosen duty. But there were always extenuating circumstances to his choice. When he wanted to join Robb’s campaign, Joer Mormont pointed out that fighting the WW was more important on the grand scheme of things. Also Jon, at the time, was still the outcast, bastard of Winterfell, looking to forge his new identity. When he chose the NW over Ygritte, he had already made up his mind that he was a brother of the NW and that’s where his life was (he tells Ygritte: I have to go home now) and also justified by the fact that Ygritte violent tendencies pushed him away in any case.  However, in the end the loyalty that Jon showed to the NW was betrayed when he was killed by the very people who called themselves his brothers. When he came back from the dead, he was a man without a purpose or a plan (a weird thing for Jon Snow). It was Sansa that gave that to him, pushed him back into action so it would be easy to assume that whatever determination Jon might have now to fight the WW, protect the North and whatever else is inextricably linked to her. So what happens if she’s in danger? Will Jon’s choice between love and duty be as easy to make as it was in the past? I’d argue no. Because Sansa is not only his love, but his duty as well. He’s sworn to protect her time and time again and her safety and well being are paramount to him. So this time we’re going to watch Jon choose love and what a sight that will be!  

5. Tension must be added to the Jon/D*ny dynamic: And the parentage reveal is not enough. Because D*ny finding out Jon is a rival for the throne she’s been dreaming about since season 1 is a political matter. Her seeing him lose his mind over the possibility of Cersei hurting Sansa is a deeply personal one. I always found it interesting that D*ny wasn’t there to witness Jon’s interaction with Theon on the beach and see his reaction when Theon brought up Sansa. But I’m willing to bet good money she’ll have a front row seat to Jon Snow going berserk because “his sister” is in danger. It will probably be the last nail in the coffin for the already doomed Jon/D*ny alliance. Also, at some point, Jon is going to ride Rhaegar, I’m almost 100% sure of that. No way the writers are passing up the opportunity to have their number 1 hero mount a dragon or have this Dance of Dragons 2.0 end without a Jon/D*ny showdown on dragon back. So what better time for Jon to steal Rhaegal than when he needs to get to KL really, really fast?

6. Jaime and Cersei need to meet again: For one I believe that Jaime is the younger brother who will choke Cersei to death. For two, Cersei’s storyline is so marked by wildfire that it would be weird not to have the man most traumatized by wildfire be there to stop her from using it (which I believe will be the reason why he ends up killing her, paralleling his killing of the Mad King). Jaime and Cersei’s relationship is so toxic and tragic that it needs to end in the same vein, and “I don’t believe you” and a quick exist North ain’t gonna cut it. We know Jaime is going North to join the fight against the WW so the kidnapping plot might bring him back to KL, of his own accord or perhaps as Jon’s hostage. (he’s going to need some kind of leverage against Cersei, right? Who better than the only person left in the world Cersei actually cares about?)

7. The feelings reveal needs to happen somehow: At some point Jon and Sansa will need to confess their love for each other. So … what better time in terms of full emotional impact than after they’ve been separated and they thought they’d die/never see each other again? 

8. The writers need to connect the Winterfell/WW plot to the King’s Landing plot: I mean what is Cersei going to do for at least 3 episodes? Walk around the Red Keep counting the villages she’s taken back from D*ny with the help of the Golden Company? I mean, that would be the smart thing to do. Why march your armies into the North, in the dead of winter, with a zombie apocalypse underfoot? But then again, if characters acted smart and rational all the time, we’d have much more boring plot lines, wouldn’t we? The kidnapping of Sansa can bring the two narrative threads together. 

So both in terms of plot expediency as well as arc completion, the kidnapping plot neatly solves all sorts of issues as well as add drama and the all important cliff hangers GOT loves. 

As for how it will unfold … I think what we’re truly missing in order to see the full picture is the: Why? Why does Cersei kidnap Sansa at this juncture in the story? She could have already done it in season 7, when Jon was away on Dragonstone. It would have been a hell of a lot easier to do than now, during the Long Night, with dragons circling Winterfell and huge armies fighting zombies. Unfortunately, I don’t have a clear answer to this. Something needs to happen … some unforeseen plot development that convinces Cersei to send her men to capture Sansa. What that might be, I’m not sure. 

But it will probably also be the answer to your question about why kidnap Sansa and not just murder her. In addition to that, one other reason why Cersei wouldn’t just murder Sansa is because of the way that Cersei gets her revenge. If we look at her revenge against Septa Ornella and Ellaria Sand, we can see that Cersei is not content to only murder her enemies, she wants to dish out the same amount and type of torment that was inflicted on her by the parties responsible. I imagine she will want to do the same thing to Sansa. 

Could this happen simultaneously with the WW attack? Again, I don’t know. Feels like a lot to juggle but it could … Maybe the kidnapping happens during the WW final battle and Jon going to KL is the start of the Dance of Dragons part of the story line? Maybe Jon steals Rhaegal to go rescue Sansa and D*ny pursues him on Drogon? Just ideas at this point …

One theory I do have is that Cersei need not attack Winterfell to get Sansa. After all, Cersei did promise to help against the WW. That would mean that the Winterfell gang, at least in theory, will be waiting for her tropes to arrive. Any day now … Almost there … There they are! They show up, Winterfell opens their gates and boom, somewhere during the night, Euron (it would need to be Euron, wouldn’t it? he’s the only one crazy enough to attempt it particularly if Cersei commits to marrying him) and his merry men abduct Sansa. Now imagine the fall out from that decision, the guilt that Jon would feel that he allowed them to walk through the gates, the angst, the torment! That would be great! So? In his desperation, he steals Rhaegal (and possibly Jaime) and goes to KL. The reason why I’m so attached to Jon stealing Rhaegal at this juncture is that atop a dragon, Jon has more of a chance of getting out there alive with Sansa, than if he were to travel by boat. I mean he needs to take precautions, despite whatever Cersei might say/promise. He’s not a moron. 

As for what happens in KL,it’s anyone’s guess at this point because again we must return to that pesky: why. Although I have to say, that whatever might happen, it won’t be that pretty for Sansa. I don’t see any way it could be. In the end, she will triumph but it will be an angst riddled couple of weeks for all of us.  

If anyone has scenarios to share here, please feel free. 

Thank you for the ask, nonnie!

[mythicallore]

A Dark History of The Hellfire Club

     Perched atop an expanse of grassy knolls and rather charming scenery, at a place called Mount Pelier Hill, near Dublin, Ireland, is an old, abandoned stone structure from another time, standing out there defiantly amongst the elements. Today it just seems like the crumbling ruins of another bygone era, like many that dot the lush countryside here, but this place in particular had a rather colorful history and an even more haunted reputation. Commonly called the Hellfire Club, the building was first erected in 1725 by Irish Speaker of the House of Commons William Conolly, and was originally a hunting lodge then called Mount Pelier, as well as other monikers such as The Brass Castle and Bevan’s Hill. It is also well known as being one of the creepiest and most aggressively haunted places in Ireland, with a dark history that would soon transcend its humble beginnings to devolve into a world of the occult, sacrifices, and black magic.

Things begin to get spooky from the years of between 1735 to 1741, when the building was frequently used as a meeting place for the notorious Irish Hellfire Club, a sort of secret society, who allegedly used it as a venue for all manner of occult rituals, black masses, ceremonies, black magic rituals, sacrifices both animal and human, and it was generally full of orgies and wild drunken debauchery, a place of sin and depravity. Illustrating the club’s full on hedonism perfectly was their motto, which was “Fais ce que tu voudras”, or “Do what thou wilt.” Adding to the occult imagery of the club in general is that they were said to always leave a chair open for the Devil, and that their mascot was an enormous black cat.

The Hellfire Club

There are also many stories of the supernatural around this place when it was in use, the most popular being that one evening a stranger dressed all in black visited the Hellfire Club out of the rainy night. The members allowed him in, and to even join them in a game of cards. At one point a player purportedly dropped a card under the table, and when he went to retrieve it he noticed that the stranger had cloven hooves instead of feet. At that moment, it became clear that this was the Devil himself, and he stood up to go shooting up into the air, where he vanished in a ball of fire. In another tale, the Hellfire members were in the process of sacrificing a black cat, and when a priest performed an exorcism on its corpse a demon was said to spew forth from the carcass, in some versions of the tale setting the place on fire as it did. In yet another tale, club member Simon Luttrell, Lord Irnham, later Earl of Carhampton, made a deal with the Devil to give his soul in exchange for clearing his debts, and when the Devil showed up at the Hellfire Club’s front door to collect Luttrell reneged and ran away. In yet another story a local farmhand once found his way to the club and was invited in for the night, only to be found the next day babbling nonsensically and in a vegetative trance, living out the rest of his days in an insane asylum, never recovering enough to even be able to explain what he had seen, doomed to remain a drooling madman.

In later years the building would be moved further down the hill to a place called Killakee House after a devastating fire gutted it, said to have been started by lighting a person on fire during a black mass. The club’s nefarious activities continued, including allegedly kidnapping, murdering, and consuming a farmer’s daughter on the orders of a notorious member named Thomas “Buck” Whaley. In the wake of Whaley’s death the club sort of disbanded, and paranormal tales have orbited the location ever since. One of the main ideas is that the building itself is cursed. This has its roots in the fact that during the original construction of the hunting lodge there were found to be ancient cairns and an underground grave complex beneath, and according to the lore many of the cairn stones were repurposed into the actual construction of the lodge, angering the spirits in the process to the point that it is said that the roof was mysteriously blown right off the building by a mysterious terrifying force right after it was finished.

In addition to this the Hellfire Club and the nearby Steward’s House have been intensely haunted by an eclectic mix of different spirits. One is the apparition of a huge black cat the size of a large dog, said to be able to speak and to have blazing red eyes, a humanoid face, and to be wreathed in the smell of sulphur, which roams the building and its surrounding countryside. There is also the spirit of a wailing woman on fire, said to be either one of the victims of the Hellfire fire centuries ago or a sacrifice, as well as an unidentified ghost that apparently will rip off any jewelry that visitors wear, especially crucifixes. Most unusual of all is the presence of the ghost of a dwarf, believed to have been a sacrifice by the club. Interestingly, reports of the ghost dwarf have had a bit of an infusion of believability when the remains of an actual dwarf were found buried under the floorboards of the Killakee House during renovations in 1971. Adding to the ghostly party are the apparitions of an Indian and two nuns known as Blessed Margaret and Holy Mary, also thought to have been victims of human sacrifice during the club’s active years. In addition to all of these wandering spirits and entities are the numerous complaints of people having nausea or chest pains when visiting the area, and the whole place is reportedly absolutely infused with a sense of dread and despondency. Even paranormal investigators get squeamish at this place, and the Head of Paranormal Researchers Ireland has said of the Hellfire Club building:

There have been two places I have been that I got absolutely terrified and I don’t usually. The Hellfire Club in the Dublin Mountains, and Loftus Hall in Wexford. We were up the Hellfire one night, a group of eight or ten of us. We stood in a circle and the next minute there was a thud, it was like a vibration went through the whole building and all the equipment went mental. One of the guys was in the hall and he is a cynic and he said a black shadow crossed him, 100 per cent — a tall black shadow. Another guy started getting sick, and then a girl said she heard a whisper in her ear, very clear, and it just said ‘get out’. All in the course of one minute. Chaos. That was the first time ever I called an end to the night and said we didn’t feel safe.

Other paranormal investigators have agreed, such as Tim Kelley, the head of the group Irish Ghost Hunters, a crack group that uses hi-tech gadgetry, including thermal-imaging cameras and state-of-the-art audio equipment to investigate haunted sites throughout the country. Kelley’s team have been to the Hellfire Club on numerous occasions, but have been so completely assaulted by unexplained malevolent activity that they have vowed never to step foot in there again. Kelley has said:

We’ve been everywhere in the country at this stage, but the Hellfire Club is somewhere we have no intention of returning to because there’s a very sinister energy there. I know people go up there all the time, and no doubt it will be a popular destination at Halloween, but I would advise people to think twice about going there, because there’s a very negative energy there. There’s a really weird sensation as soon as you go in it and it’s something I don’t want to repeat again for the rest of my life. So it’s the only building in Ireland that’s off limits for me in terms of conducting a paranormal investigation.

The Hellfire Club building and the surrounding area have gone on to become regular features on lists of eeriest or most haunted places in Ireland, and with so many hauntings and such a morbidly dark history it is easy to see why. It is unfortunate that the history of the Hellfire Club is so shrouded with secrecy and pervaded with scary urban legends, to the point that it is difficult to unravel where the truth begins and the fiction ends. As with any remote, spooky place it has managed to gestate within it many tall tales and scary campfire stories that we will probably never know the extent to which the Hellfire Club’s depravity really sank or how much of it is true. However, one thing that is known is that this is considered to be one of Ireland’s most evil haunted places, and the reports of paranormal activity here continue.

[basicsofislam]

ISLAM 101: Belief in The Hereafter: Part 5

WHAT ARE THE POSİTİVE EFFECTS OF BELİEF İN THE HEREAFTER ON HUMAN LİFE?

Belief in the hereafter and the things that will happen in the hereafter has an important place in the fundamentals of belief. The fundamentals of belief are generally summarized as “belief in Allah and in the hereafter.” in the Quran.

Man who was created by the power and will of Allah will die after living in this world for a while and his body will decay and turn to soil. However, the spirit that forms the essence and the real existence of man will continue to live since it is not something material.

Allah, who created man out of nothing, will create his body again on the Day of Judgment, will send his spirit back to him again, will account man for what he did in the world and punish and reward him.  

Therefore, man needs to believe in the life in the hereafter and work for his happiness there just as he believes in this worldly life  and tries to be happy here. In fact, this world is a place of trial, a center of examination and the area of cultivation for the hereafter. Whatever you sow here, you will reap in the hereafter. Therefore, the life in the hereafter is the purpose of the life in this world.  Man should work for the life in the hereafter and for his happiness there just as he works for this world.

Man can do it only by believing in the hereafter, obeying the orders of Allah, refraining from His prohibitions, doing good deeds, thus, attaining the consent of Allah, that is, by leading a complete Islamic life.

Therefore, our Prophet said, “"Work for this world as if you would live forever, and work for the hereafter as if you would die tomorrow."

After stating the importance of belief in the hereafter, we can summarize its effects on man’s life as follows:

Belief in Allah and the hereafter, the land of eternity, is the greatest assistant in renewing people’s hopes, relieving their pains and coping with the difficulties they face.

A person with such a belief will show patience against all troubles, will try to overcome the barriers and misfortunes he faces with enthusiasm and hope.

Belief in the hereafter makes man have two nice attributes:

1. To thank Allah for the bounties He has given during the time of welfare,

2. To show patience and not to rebel against Allah during the time of shortage and famine... 

Belief in Allah and the hereafter leads man to do good deeds and charities, to avoid evil and bad deeds, to be equipped with high ethics and merits, to fear Allah and to obey the divine criteria imposed by Him in anything he does.

A person with such a belief will never abandon honesty. He will do everything in time and fully. He behaves honestly toward himself, his family, his environment, his country and nation and humanity. He accepts it a principle to show love and compassion to them, to be useful for them and to serve them.  

He never abandons justice; he never oppresses anyone. If he wants to be rich, he will never do something bad or deceive anyone. He spends his money and property on good and useful things. He knows his rights and respects the rights of others. He takes pleasure in helping the poor. He wants for his believing brothers what he wants for himself because he definitely believes in the hereafter, the day of reward and punishment and knows that what is done in this world will be accounted for in the hereafter; he bases his acts on this principle. That principle is an important factor that arranges the lives of individuals and the society, and ensures peace and tranquility.

The Place and Importance of the Hereafter in the Quran:

We can list the aspects that show the place and importance of the hereafter in the Quran as follows:  

a. There are a lot of verses related to the hereafter:

Apart from the verses that are indirectly related to the hereafter in the Quran, the number of the verses that are directly related to the hereafter is about one thousand and nine hundred; which is almost one third of the Quran.

b. Various aspects of life in the hereafter are mentioned widely in the Quran:

In the Quran, the issue of the hereafter is described in detail. The issues like the removal of man's spirit by angels in his deathbed, signs of the Doomsday, the horrible incidents that take place all over the universe when Doomsday strikes, the blowing of the Sur (horn), resurrection of people and their coming out of their graves, people being sent to the Gathering Place, reckoning, conversations during reckoning, distribution of the books of deeds, people being sent to Paradise and Hell in groups, detailed description of bounties of Paradise and torture in Hell, angels addressing the people in Paradise and Hell, conversations between the people of Paradise and Hell, and life in Paradise and Hell being eternal are issues that are described in detail in the Quran.

c. Some chapters are entitled some phrases meaning the Doomsday or the incidents happening on that day:

al-Qiyama (the Doomsday), al-Haaqqa (the Sure Truth), al-Qaria (the Calamity), al-Ghashiya (the Overwhelming Event), al-Infitar (the Cleaving), al-Inshiqaq (the Bursting Asunder), at-Takwir (the Folding Up).

d. In many verses, belief in Allah and belief in the hereafter are mentioned together:

"Any who believe in Allah and the Last Day and work righteousness, shall have their reward with their Lord..." (al-Baqara, 62), "but it is righteousness―to believe in Allah and the Last Day...." (al-Baqara, 177), "if ye do believe in Allah and the Last Day..." (an-Nisa, 59; an- Nur, 2) In many verses like the ones above,belief in Allah and belief in the hereafter are mentioned together.

This shows that belief in the hereafter comes just after belief in Allah and that belief in Allah without belief in the hereafter will not be useful and it will not be regarded as real belief.

e. Allah Almighty swore and made vows regarding resurrection after death and the otherworldly things that He promised:

Allah Almighty's vows related to the hereafter are divided into three:

1. His vows through various beings related to the issues about the hereafter: In that case, the beings through which a vow is made are called muqsamun bih (things through which vows are made) and the issues regarding the hereafter are called muqsamun alayh (things on which vows are made). Some of those vows are as follows: "By the (Winds) that scatter broadcast; And those that lift and bear away heavy weights; And those that flow with ease and gentleness; And those that distribute and apportion by command― Verily that which ye are promised is true; And verily Judgment and Justice must indeed come to pass." (adh-Dhariyat, 1-6), "By the Mount (of Revelation); By a Decree Inscribed; In a Scroll unfolded; By the much-frequented Fane; By the Canopy Raised High; And by the Ocean filled with Swell― Verily, the Doom of thy Lord will indeed come to pass. (at-Tur, 1- 7 ), "By the (Winds) Sent Forth one after another (to man's profit); Which then blow violently in tempestuous Gusts, And scatter (things) far and wide;…Assuredly, what ye are promised must come to pass." (al-Mursalat, 1-7)

2. Allah Almighty swore by His own name for the occurrence of the Doomsday: The following verse is an example of it: "Then by the Lord of heaven and earth, this is the very Truth, as much as the fact that ye can speak intelligently to each other" (adh-Dhariyat, 23). In this verse, Allah likens the certainty of the occurrence of the things He mentions to the certainty of the speaking of people to one another. Everybody knows that man is definitely a being that speaks. There is no need to prove it. Nobody doubts that man speaks. Similarly, what Allah Almighty tells us about oneness, prophethood, the hereafter, His names and attributes are true and as certain as the speaking of people. This analogy used in the Quran is something like the phrase "it is a fact like the existence of the sun". A poet states the following regarding the issue: "If proof is asked for the existence of the day, nothing in the minds will be true; then, people will look for evidence for everything, even for the obvious facts".

3. Allah Almighty also swore by the Day of Judgment itself: In this case, muqsamun bih and muqsamun alayh is the same thing; that is, the Day of Judgment. For instance, the following verse is an example of it: "By the promised Day (of Judgment)..." (al-Buruj, 2). A vow in a similar style was used for the Quran, too. Another example regarding the issue is the following verse: "La uqsimu bi-yawmi'l-qiyama (al-Qiyama,1). The meaning here is: "I do call to witness the Resurrection Day ". The reason why a vow is made for that day is to confirm its occurrence, to elevate it and to attract people's attention to that day.

In the following three verses, the Prophet (pbuh) is ordered to make a vow about the hereafter and reward and punishment: "They seek to be informed by thee: "Is that Sana o true?" Say: "Aye! by my Lord! It is the very truth! and ye cannot frustrate it..."(Yunus, 53), "The Unbelievers say "Never to us will come the hour": say "Nay! but most surely, by my Lord, it will come upon you― by Him Who knows the unseen "(Saba, 3),  "The Unbelievers think that they will not be raised up (for Judgment). Say: "Yea, by my Lord, ye shall surely be raised up..." (at-Taghabun, 7)

f. In the Quran, issues regarding the hereafter are not dealt with in terms of dogmas only; it is stated that resurrection after death is rationally possible and the causes and evidences showing its occurrence are mentioned.  

In many verses, the doubts and claims of those who deny resurrection after death are answered and the causes that lead man to deny the hereafter are dealt with. This shows that the Quran is not a book of dogmas only. It is also a book of evidence. That is why the Quran is also called the Wise.

[themovieblogonline]

Rings of Power Season 2: The Gang's Back, But Sauron's Creepin' In

LOTR fam, buckle up for a Amazon Prime Video's mega-hit "The Rings of Power Season 2"! The hype is real, with new trailers droppin' that show the same epic visuals that blew our minds in season one. Plus, we get a glimpse of some familiar faces – and a new one that might send shivers down your spine! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCwmXY_f-e0 Remember how season one ended on a cliffhanger? We saw some major stuff go down: Morgoth, the big bad of the Second Age, finally got defeated. But still, darkness always finds a way and whispers of Sauron, Morgoth's right-hand man, started slithering around Middle-earth. Galadriel, our fierce elf warrior queen, vowed to hunt him down, no matter the cost. Meanwhile, down in the Southlands, the volcano we all knew and loved (Mount Doom, obviously) decided to erupt, leaving the land in ashes. Arondir, our favorite Afro-Latino elf hero, also returns to help fight back against evil. So, what can we expect in season two? The trailers hint at some epic battles, with orcs and elves clashing in spectacular CGI glory. We also see Galadriel continuing her Sauron-hunting quest, likely encountering some danger along the way (girl never backs down from a fight!). And speaking of danger, the trailers reveal the arrival of… wait for it… Sauron himself! But hold on, he's not exactly rocking the giant flaming eye yet. Nope, this Sauron's all smooth-talkin' elf dude, which makes him way more terrifying because you never know who to trust in Middle-earth! One thing's for sure: season two of "The Rings of Power" promises to be a wild ride. The show's creators are channeling Tolkien's epic world, while adding their own unique spin (like that diverse cast we all love to see). So, mark your calendars, LOTR fans! The fate of Middle-earth hangs in the balance, and it's up to our favorite heroes (and maybe a not-so-heroic villain in disguise) to save the day. (Source: Amazon Prime Video) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHDgXL5xgJk Read the full article

[thranduil-is-my-king]

Happier Here Than There (Part 5)

Ship: Eventual Thranduil/Reader Rating: General Warnings: None Tags: Middle Earth, Reader-Insert

Summary: Imagine ending up in Middle Earth at the edge of Mirkwood Forest. When you venture into the forest, you are attacked by spiders before being saved by guards and taken before the king.

Word Count: 1888

Written for: @welcome-to-fangirl-hell

A/N: This fic, and basically this series since it might not have started without her request, is dedicated to Ammy because I said on one of her posts that I was thinking of doing a Thranduil/Reader fic and I asked if she would tag me in hers when she made one and that I would do the same so, here it is! I hope all of you enjoy this series and please let me know what you think of it!

AO3 Link

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

~*~*  THIS STORY TAKES PLACE A FEW DECADES BEFORE SMAUG ATTACKS EREBOR *~*~

~~ For Ones • All Elves have a One • There is only one One a lifetime • If the elf’s one is mortal, when the two mate, the mortal becomes immortal and tied to the elf (Yes, I know that it doesn’t go like that canonically but in my ‘verse, it does. Don’t like, don’t read.)

“Alright, I will have someone take this letter to Lothlórien to the Lady Galadriel who will send out her own letters to the other members of the White Council.” Thranduil says, sealing the letter with wax.

“Wonderful. I have a question.” “What is it?” “Who is Lady Galadriel and where’s Lothlórien? And yes, I know, that’s two questions.” “Lady Galadriel is the oldest elf in Middle Earth. She is known as the Lady of Light. Her kingdom is Lothlórien which she rules along with her husband, Celeborn.” “Oh okay. Does her kingdom have giant spiders as well?” You ask, worried. “No, it does not.” “Then why does your kingdom have giant spiders? You never told me why.” Thranduil sighs, “Well, I guess I should just go ahead and explain now. Mirkwood wasn’t always Mirkwood. It was once Greenwood the Great. It had beautiful green trees, the spaces in the leaves cast great shadows on the forest floor, there was actually wildlife that did not include giant spiders. It wasn’t always this gloomy and dark. Around the third age year of 1050, the Dark Lord Sauron’s shadow fell over the Greenwood and it soon became known to all as Mirkwood. After Sauron took Dol Guldur for his own fortress, his darkness drove my people to the northern woods of Mirkwood. His darkness has tormented my people for thousands of years with his giant spiders and orcs.” “Uh, sorry to interrupt but what exactly are orcs?” “Orcs are the most disgusting creatures in all of Middle Earth. I would rather deal with the spiders than orcs. They were once elves but once the Dark Lord Melkor took them and tortured them into twisted, dark elves, they had not one bit of elf in them. They are now an entire race that follow Sauron in search of the One Ring.”

“One Ring?” “The One Ring was created by Sauron in order to strengthen himself and to control the other Rings of Power that were made by Celebrimbor for the elves, dwarves, and men. When creating the One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom, he put part of his fëa into the ring.” “Fëa?” “His soul.” “Oh, so how did this all-powerful Dark Lord Sauron even lose the One Ring?” “During the Seige of Barud-dur, Isildur was able to cut the One Ring off of Sauron’s hand, destroying Sauron’s physical form, with his father’s sword, Narsil. The One Ring corrupts all that come into its presence, especially Men. Which is why when Isildur could have easily destroyed it, he kept it and a couple years of having it, it killed him and has become lost.” “This seems like a stupid question but why does Sauron want to find the Ring?” “If Sauron finds the One Ring, he will be able to gain his physical form and destroy and control all who live in Middle Earth. If we find the One Ring before Sauron we will have to hide it and make sure that Sauron never gets it. That way, he can never rule over Middle Earth.” “Why don’t you just destroy it?” “There is only one way to destroy the One Ring and that is to drop it into the fires of Mount Doom which is essentially impossible.” “Why?” “There are thousands upon thousands of orcs standing behind the Black Gate of Mordor alone, going to destroy the One Ring is suicide.” “But if you, hypothetically, destroyed the One Ring, what would happen?” “Sauron would be destroyed along with it.” “So, send an army to Mordor and destroy the damn thing!” “Y/N, that is suicide. I don’t think you understand how difficult it would be to do that even with an army with all the peoples of Middle Earth. Besides, no one knows where the One Ring is.” “Is anyone looking for the Ring?” “No. If we cannot find it, then the orcs can not find it either. It is better if it stays hidden.” “So, you just have to deal with those giant spiders for the rest of your life?” “Yes.” Your jaw drops, “So, nothing’s gonna change? Actually, let me rephrase that. Nothing’s gonna get better?��� “No.” “And you’re okay with that? Don’t you want to see Mirkwood go back to being Greenwood the Great? Actually being able to walk in your own damn forest without always looking over your shoulder?” “More than anything. But that doesn’t mean that we can do anything about it.” “That’s bullshit.” “If we could do anything without endangering every single person in Middle Earth than we would have done it by now. I’ve spent the majority of my very long life stuck in this kingdom without being able to walk in my own forest. We all wish there was something that we could do but there isn’t! Don’t you understand that?!” Thranduil snaps, his eyes turning cold. “Yes, I do! But it doesn’t mean that I like it, especially because I’m practically stuck here probably for the rest of my life. You’re used to this world, I’m not! I would rather be at home than here now that I know what’s out there and what’s going on, and when I say that I want to go home, that means that I’m scared shitless considering my life at home sucks and I can’t do a damn thing about it! So, I’m so very sorry that I’m trying to get you to do something about your home but I just don’t want this beautiful place to fall to ruins when even with the giant spiders it’s amazing and infinitely better than my world!” You yell back before getting up to go back to your room so Thranduil doesn’t notice the tears in your eyes. You get a few steps before a hand grabs your arm, stopping you. You turn around to see Thranduil standing there. “I hope you realize what you’ve done.” You say, confusing Thranduil. “Please, tell me.” “You lied to me. You told me I was safe here when I’m not.” “I did not lie to you.” “There it is again!” “I have not lied to you once since you’ve been in my kingdom. You are safe here. In this kingdom, in my kingdom.” Thranduil says softly, his voice calm and... something else that you couldn’t identify.

“How can I be safe here if no one in Middle Earth is safe?” You ask, calming down a bit. Thranduil’s reply completely shocks you. “Because I vow to you that I will protect you with my life.” Your jaw immediately drops and you stare at Thranduil for a few moments before speaking, “What? Why? You only met me yesterday and you’re a king! Why would you vow to protect me with your life?” “Because you remind me a lot of someone that I couldn’t save, someone that meant a lot to me.” Thranduil says softly, a far off look in his eyes. “And you are a completely clueless, scared, and lost girl from a completely different world. I’ve felt close to the same way and I needed someone that was trusting, strong, and stable to be there for me so I could get back on my feet. At the time, that person was in a different kingdom so I was completely alone while I waited for them to get back. I don’t want you to have to go through that when your situation is a lot worse than mine.” You look at Thranduil for a moment, wondering how he was able to read you so well and know what you were thinking. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that alone. Thank you for being that person for me but I can’t let you do that.” Thranduil’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “What do you mean?” “You can be the strong, trusting, stable person for me but you can’t protect me with your life. Like I said, you’re a king. If you die, then what would happen? Yes, your son would be able to take your place but he would also lose his father. And, forgive me if I’m wrong but, I have not seen your queen around so I’m guessing that she died sometime in the past. And I won’t have Legolas, even if I don’t know him that well, living for who knows how long without at least one parent in his life.” You take a deep breath before continuing. “I know what it’s like to lose your parents. My parents died in a car accident together and I remember feeling so alone and clueless and I didn’t know what to do. I had family and friends but it wasn’t the same. So, I won’t let Legolas lose you. So you can protect me, but not with your life. If it comes between one of us dying, let me die because I’m most likely going to die here anyway and no one will really grieve me like they would for you.” “I would grieve for you.” Thranduil admits so softly you wonder if he even said anything.

“No, you wouldn’t. You would pity me and soon enough forget I was even here.” “I believe that I am the one that knows myself and when I say that I would grieve you, I mean it. In the very short time that we have known each other, I have come to realize that I cannot let you be harmed in any way. The only way I would let you leave me while being okay with it is if you found a way back to your world. Even then, I would be saddened by your departure. And I would never forget you either. How could I forget the girl that yelled at me without a problem?” Thranduil says, his voice softening towards the end. You smile a little, in happiness and in sadness. Tears well up in your eyes for the same reasons. You whisper, “Stop.” “Stop? Stop what?” “Stop saying these things, they’re making me want to cry and...” “And?” “And, it’s making me want to stay.” You continue, whispering so softly you don’t think he heard it. But he did. “That is not my intention. You deserve to go home. Your world is better than ours.” “Is it though? I mean, yeah, this world has giant spiders and orcs and dark lords. But, my world has bad people that look like good people. You can’t tell who’s bad and who’s good in my world. At least here you can see a difference the majority of the time. And the people in my world don’t take care of our planet, your people do. And, yeah, my world is a lot more technologically advanced than this world but that can be a bad thing. Technology in my world can let people stalk and track people and a lot worse.” “You still deserve to go back to your world. You do want to go back to your world, don’t you Y/N?” You pause, thinking about that. There was a time where you wouldn’t have hesitated before agreeing but now... You just didn’t know. “Y/N?” “I... I don’t know anymore. I just... There was something that told me to go in your forest.” You admit, not being able to have this particular question unanswered anymore.

Hope you guys enjoyed! Pay special attention to the bolded information below the gifs on the next part, you will need that information to better understand the chapter.

Tags are OPEN for this series as well as the rest of my fics!

TAGS: @bluemoon102, @me-lexi20, @evyiione

[sleepwalker-in-me]

How can Jon ride Rhaegal?

A popular theory among the fandom is “Jon is going to ride Rhaegal and take down Night King” because he has Targaryen blood. This is as absurd as saying Dany is going to wield a Valyrian sword and kill White walkers because she has Valyrian blood.

My blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and of old Valyria before him." A (Storm of Swords - Daenerys II)

She even promises to give Jorah a Valyrian sword.

I swear to you, one day you shall have from my hands a longsword like none the world has ever seen, dragon-forged and made of Valyrian steel ( A Game of Thrones - Daenerys X)

Fandom won’t even entertain the possibility of Dany using a weapon against ‘Others’, because it takes years of training to effectively use a weapon in the battle. So how is Jon going to ride a dragon to battle? Neither does he have any dragon dreams nor knowledge about riding dragons. Dany actually has prophetic dreams of fighting ‘Others’ on a dragon and winning.

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened.She woke suddenly in the darkness of her cabin, still flush with triumph .( A Storm of Swords - Daenerys III)

The problem with all the ‘ three dragon riders ‘ theory is that it belittles the courage,magic and skill Dany has as a dragon rider. It took Dany, 7 seasons to successfully ride dragons to major battles. She has already used her dragons in Astapor, Meereen, Field of Fire 2.0 and against the army of the dead.

 Jon doesn’t speak High Valyrian. Dany taught her Dragons her own Valyrian commands, cleverly making sure the dragons only respond to her secret language. It is like a password protection to her Nuclear weapons.

Dracarys?"All three dragons turned their heads at the sound of that word......  It means 'dragonfire' in High Valyrian. I wanted to choose a command that no one was like to utter by chance." ( A Storm of Swords - Daenerys I)

Dany’s word is stronger than any magic to bind the dragons. She has bonded with them since they were eggs.

The dragonlords of old Valyria had controlled their mounts with binding spells and sorcerous horns. Daenerys made do with a word . ( A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X)

One of the popular theory was that dragon will instinctively recognize his rider, ditch Dany and join Jon. Jon spend months with  Dany’s dragons in Dragonstone, they didn’t take any particular interest in him.Jon touched Drogon while Dany was sitting on top of the dragon. Tyrion touched both the dragons when Dany was not around. Tyrion has a greater of chance of riding Rhaegal than Jon, as there is actual foreshadowing in books about the fascination and knowledge he has of dragons. Even when Jon was alone surrounded by enemies, Rhaegal didn’t come to his aid. If touching a dragon is proof for riding, then Dany’s guards also took away Longclaw, so she might have bonded with the sword.

Here is what GRRM said about learning process:

things that Arya is learning. The things Bran is learning. Learning is not inherently an interesting thing to write about. It's not an easy thing to write about. In the movies, they always handle it with a montage. Rocky can't run very fast. He can't catch the chicken. But then you do a montage, and you cut a lot of images together, and now only a minute later in the film, Rocky is really strong and he is catching the chicken...... in real life, you don't get to montage. You have to go through it day by day.

Jon riding Rhaegal will be like Rocky catching the chicken without any training. GRRM has provided no manual about the actual process of taming a dragon. Dany is doing most of it by instinct and from nuggets of information she knew about her ancestor's dragons. GRRM used Quentyn as a cautionary tale to show that just mimicking what Dany does to ride a dragon will end in disaster.

The woman, Quentyn realized. He knows that she is female. He is looking for Daenerys. He wants his mother and does not understand why she’s not here.Quentyn wrenched free of Gerris’s grip. “Viserion,” he called. The white one is Viserion. ( A Dance with Dragons - The Dragontamer)

Quentyn also had Targeryen blood and he was burned to a crisp.

The young prince swallowed. "I … I have the blood of the dragon in me as well, Your Grace. I can trace my lineage back to the first Daenerys, the Targaryen princess who was sister to King Daeron the Good and wife to the Prince of Dorne . ( A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys VIII)

The love dragons have for Dany is unconditional. All that dragons want is to be near Dany and the freedom to fly and hunt. They were so happy in Dragonstone, it was their home.

And no matter how far the dragon flew each day, come nightfall some instinct drew him home to Dragonstone. His home, not mine. ( A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X)

Dragons will give their lives to protect Dany, they will fly to the ends of the world if their mother desires so. She is wedded to all her dragons, just like Bran is wedded to the trees. She says the pyre ritual to hatch her dragons is like a wedding.In the show Dany wears her wedding dress. She states her name and her house name like in a Westerosi wedding custom. Even the vow she says is similar to :“I am his/hers and he/she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days," 

The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons.( A Game of Thrones - Daenerys X)

The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. (A Game of Thrones - Daenerys X)

. . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . ( A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV)

No man is going to take away Dany’s dragons. Only a supernatural force could do that and that too was after the dragon died The bond of dragons with Dany is until the end of their days or Dany’s death.

In all the world, there are only three. Every man who sees them will want them, my queen.""They are mine," she said fiercely. They had been born from her faith and her need, given life by the deaths of her husband and unborn son and the maegi Mirri Maz Duur. Dany had walked into the flames as they came forth, and they had drunk milk from her swollen breasts. "No man will take them from me while I live." ( A Clash of Kings - Daenerys I)

Finally to fight Night KIng and wight Viserion, the rider must have some immunity to heat. Targaryen dragon riders had some amount of heat resistance. Jon has no heat resistance.

He had burned himself more badly than he knew throwing the flaming drapes. ( A Game of Thrones - Jon VIII)

GRRM  tries to lay out in a rational way the endgame of his books. He gave his heroes the weapons to fight in the first book itself. Jon got a Valyrian sword and Dany got 3 dragons.

To make a satisfying story, the protagonist has to solve the problem, or fail to solve the problem – but has to grapple with the problem in some kind of rational way, and the reader has to see that. And if the hero does win in the end, he has to feel that that victory is earned. The danger with magic is that the victory could be unearned. Suddenly you're in the last chapter and you wind up with a deus ex machina. The hero suddenly remembers that if he can just get some of this particular magical plant, then he can brew a potion and solve his problem. And that's a cheat. That feels very unsatisfying. It cheapens the work. Well-done fantasy – something like Tolkien – he sets Lord of the Rings up perfectly, right at the beginning. The only way to get rid of the ring, the only way, is to take it to Mount Doom and throw it in the fires from which it comes. You know that right from the first. - GRRM

GRRM has also laid the framework for Dany as Queen of Seven Kingdoms in her Meereen chapters.

What does that mean, he ruled wisely? What were his tax policies? What did he do when two lords were making war on each other? 

Seeing someone like Dany actually trying to deal with the vestments of being a queen and getting factions and guilds and [managing the] economy. They burnt all the fields [in Meereen]. They’ve got nothing to import any more. They’re not getting any money. I find this stuff interesting. - GRRM

I swear it," she said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were hers. ( A Game of Thrones - Daenerys X)

Connections with Essos is going to be crucial in post war period. That is why Dany and Tyrion got priming while exploring Essos.

[dfroza]

Love is trying to connect with us.

(God is Love)

but not all people are open in heart to receive it, to welcome the Spirit of Light and truth. for the Spirit of our heavenly Father is illuminated in the eternal truth of the Son. this is God’s silence (His Heart and thought-life) that illumines our own to see the sacred truth of grace and the significance of rebirth that renews the heart & mind. and this is why conserving it in the Scriptures has been such an important work, along with translation to be able to communicate with all people here on earth.

for God is not silent, and the Son is known as the Word who communicates spiritual truth to the spirit. even nature speaks as a True living Voice of our Creator who made earth and its life, along with the pure wonders of the heavens.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 22nd chapter of the book of Luke that points to the purpose of the Son being born as a Man 2,000 years ago as the True Passover Lamb:

As the celebration of the Passover Lamb was approaching, the Jewish religious leaders and scholars of the law continually schemed to find a way to murder Jesus without starting a riot—for they feared the crowds.

At that time Satan himself entered into Judas the locksmith, who was one of the twelve apostles. He secretly went to the religious hierarchy and the captains of the temple guards to discuss with them how he could betray Jesus and turn him over to their hands. The religious hierarchy was elated over Judas’ treachery, and they agreed to give him a sum of money in exchange for Jesus’ betrayal. Judas vowed that he would find them a suitable opportunity to betray Jesus when he was away from the crowds.

On the day the Passover lambs were to be sacrificed, Jesus sent for Peter and John and instructed them, “Go and prepare the Passover supper so we can eat it together.”

They asked him, “Where do we make the preparations to eat the meal?”

Jesus gave them this sign: “When you enter the city, you will find a man carrying a jug of water. Follow him home and say to the owner of the house, ‘The Teacher told us to ask you, “Where is the room I may use to have the Passover meal with my disciples?” ’ He will then take you to a large, fully furnished upstairs room. Make the preparations for us there.”

They went and found everything to be exactly like Jesus had prophesied, and they prepared the Passover meal.

When Jesus arrived at the upper room, he took his place at the table along with all the apostles. Then he told them, “I have longed with passion and desire to eat this Passover lamb with you before I endure my sufferings. I promise you that the next time we eat this, we will be together in the feast of God’s kingdom.”

Then he raised a cup and gave thanks to God and said to them, “Take this and pass it on to one another and drink. I promise you that the next time we drink this wine, we will be together in the feast of God’s kingdom.”

Then he lifted up a loaf, and after praying a prayer of thanksgiving to God, he gave each of his apostles a piece of bread, saying, “This loaf is my body, which is now being offered to you. Always eat it to remember me.”

After supper was over, he lifted the cup again and said, “This cup is my blood of the new covenant I make with you, and it will be poured out soon for all of you. But I want you to know that the hands of the one who delivers me to be the sacrifice are with mine on the table this very moment. The Son of Man must now go where he will be sacrificed. But there will be great and unending doom for the man who betrays me.”

The apostles questioned among themselves which one of them was about to do this.

The disciples bickered over which one of them would be considered the greatest in the kingdom. Jesus interrupted their argument, saying, “The kings and men of authority in this world rule oppressively over their subjects, claiming that they do it for the good of the people. They are obsessed with how others see them. But this is not your calling. You will lead by a different model. The greatest one among you will live as one called to serve others without honor. The greatest honor and authority is reserved for the one who has a servant heart. The leaders who are served are the most important in your eyes, but in the kingdom, it is the servants who lead. Am I not here with you as one who serves?

“Because you have stood with me through all my trials and ordeals, I am promising you the kingdom that the Father has promised me. We will celebrate in this kingdom and you will feast with me at my table. And each of you will be given a throne, twelve thrones in all, and you will be made rulers on thrones to judge the tribes of Israel.”

“Peter, my dear friend, listen to what I’m about to tell you. Satan has obtained permission to come and sift you all like wheat and test your faith. But I have prayed for you, Peter, that you would stay faithful to me no matter what comes. Remember this: after you have turned back to me and have been restored, make it your life mission to strengthen the faith of your brothers.”

“But Lord,” Peter replied, “I am ready to stand with you to the very end, even if it means prison or death!”

Jesus looked at him and prophesied, “Before the rooster crows in the morning, you will deny three times that you even know me.”

Then he said to all of them, “When I sent you out empty-handed, did you lack anything?”

“Not a thing,” they answered. “God provided all we needed.”

Jesus said, “But now I say to you: Take what you need. If you have money, take it—and a knapsack and a sword. Danger is imminent. For the prophetic Scripture about me ‘He will be accused of being a criminal’ will now come to pass. All that was prophesied of me will be fulfilled.”

The disciples told him, “Lord, we already have two swords!”

“You still don’t understand,” Jesus responded.

Jesus left the upper room with his disciples and, as was his habit, went to the Mount of Olives, his place of secret prayer. There he told the apostles, “Keep praying for strength to be spared from the severe test of your faith that is about to come.”

Then he withdrew from them a short distance to be alone. Kneeling down, he prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup of agony away from me. But no matter what, your will must be mine.”

Jesus called for an angel of glory to strengthen him, and the angel appeared. He prayed even more passionately, like one being sacrificed, until he was in such intense agony of spirit that his sweat became drops of blood, dripping onto the ground.

When Jesus finished praying, he got up and went to his disciples and found them all asleep, for they were exhausted and overwhelmed with sorrow. “Why are you sleeping?” he asked them. “You need to be alert and pray for the strength to endure the great temptation.”

No sooner had he finished speaking when suddenly a mob approached, and in front of the mob was his disciple Judas. He walked up close to Jesus and greeted him with a kiss. For he had agreed to give the religious leaders a sign, saying, “The one I kiss is the one to seize.”

Jesus looked at him with sorrow and said, “A kiss, Judas? Are you really going to betray the Son of Man with a kiss?”

When the other disciples understood what was happening, they asked, “Lord, shall we fight them with our swords?”

Just then, one of the disciples swung his sword at the high priest’s servant and slashed off his right ear.

Jesus stopped the incident from escalating any further by saying, “Enough of this!” Then he touched the right side of the injured man’s head and the ear grew back—he was healed!

Jesus turned to those who had come to seize him—the ruling priests, the officers of the temple police, and the religious leaders—and said, “Am I a criminal that you come to capture me with clubs and swords? Wasn’t I with you day after day, teaching in the temple courts? You could have seized me at any time. But in the darkness of night you have now found your time, for it belongs to you and to the prince of darkness.”

The religious leaders seized Jesus and led him away, but Peter followed from a safe distance. They brought him to the home of the high priest, where people were already gathered out in the courtyard. Someone had built a fire, so Peter inched closer and sat down among them to stay warm.

A girl noticed Peter sitting in the firelight. Staring at him, she pointed him out and said, “This man is one of Jesus’ disciples!”

Peter flatly denied it, saying, “What are you talking about, girl? I don’t know him!”

A little while later, someone else spotted Peter and said, “I recognize you. You’re one of his, I know it!”

Peter again said, “I’m not one of his disciples.”

About an hour later, someone else identified Peter and insisted he was a disciple of Jesus, saying, “Look at him! He’s from Galilee, just like Jesus. I know he’s one of them.”

But Peter was adamant. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t you understand? I don’t even know him.” While the words were still in his mouth, the rooster crowed.

At that moment, the Lord, who was being led through the courtyard by his captors, turned around and gazed at Peter. All at once Peter remembered the words Jesus had prophesied over him, “Before the rooster crows in the morning, you will deny three times that you even know me.” Peter burst into tears, ran off from the crowd, and wept bitterly.

Those who were guarding Jesus mocked and beat him severely. They also made fun of him, blindfolding him and slapping his face and saying, “Prove that you are a prophet and tell us which one of us hit you!” They blasphemed and heaped insult after insult upon him.

At daybreak the high priests, the experts of the law, and the top religious leaders convened and had Jesus brought before their council. They asked him point blank, “Tell us, are you the Christ, the Messiah, or not?”

Jesus responded, “If I tell you the truth, you won’t believe me. And if I question you, you will not answer me or release me. But from today on, the Son of Man will be enthroned in the place of honor, power, and authority with Almighty God.”

They all shouted, “Then you do claim to be the Son of God?”

He said to them, “You are the ones who say I am.”

They all shouted, “We’ve heard it from his very lips! What further proof do we need?”

The Book of Luke, Chapter 22 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 30th chapter of the book of Job that continues his lament:

Job: But now they mock me,

these young men whose fathers I hold in such contempt.

I wouldn’t trust them with my herds

as I do my dogs.

What good does their strength do me?

Their potency has wilted.

Gaunt from starvation, haggard from hunger that drives them to gnaw the ground in the night,

a ground all wasted and hollowed-out,

They are left with the desperate foods of the famished—

plucking mallow from the bushes by the salt marshes,

and making the ashy broom tree root their staple.

The people from the town chase each one out of his neighborhood;

they howl at all of them as if they were common thieves,

And push them out to live in the deep valleys of the wadis—

those desert streams that come and go—

So these outcasts seek shelter in the overhangs and crumbling caves

that line the banks of no-man’s-land.

Braying like donkeys from the bushes,

huddled together in the prickly undergrowth are

Fools and sons of no-names,

driven by lashes out from the bosom of the land.

And now they sing of me in taunt and parody,

and make my name a byword among them.

They abhor me, keep their distance,

and feel free to spit in my face.

Because God has unstrung His bowstring and stricken me with suffering,

they are no longer restrained toward me.

To my right, the horde arises.

They seek to knock me off my feet,

piling their disastrous ways against me.

They lay waste to my path

and benefit from my destruction,

and no one is there to stop them.

As through a wall breached, they advance easily.

Their thunderstorm of wheels rolled across my ruins.

Alas! A storm of terrors has turned toward me and is upon me;

my dignity is blown away as by the wind;

my prosperity vanishes like a wispy cloud.

And now my own soul is drawn out, poured over me.

The days of misery have taken hold of me;

I am firmly in their grasp.

By night, my pain is at work, boring holes in my bones;

it gnaws at me and never lies down to rest.

With great force, God wraps around me like my clothing.

He binds tightly about my neck as if He were the collar of my tunic.

He has pushed me off into the mud,

and I am reduced from man to dust and ashes.

I call out to You, God, but You refuse to answer me.

When I arise, You merely examine me.

You have changed.

Now You are cruel to me;

You employ Your strength to attack me.

You pull me up into the wind and make me ride upon it

until I am fractured and dissipated in the storm.

I know where this ends.

You will send me off to death

and usher me to that meetinghouse where all the living one day go.

And yet does not a person trapped in ruins stretch out his hand,

and in this disaster does he not cry out for help?

Did I not grieve for the hard days of another

or weep for the pains of the poor?

And yet when I longed for the good, evil came;

when I awaited the light, thick darkness arrived instead.

I am boiling on the inside,

and it will not quit;

yet the days of misery still come for me.

I drift in darkness, the sun absent;

I arise in the assembly

and call out for help.

But who will come now that I am roaming the wilderness?

I am a brother to jackals, a friend of ostriches.

Despite my earnest cries, my skin burns until it is black and flakes off,

and my bones burn with fever.

And so my harp is tuned to the key of mourning,

and my flute is pitched to the sound of weeping.

The Book of Job, Chapter 30 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, may 7 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons that looks at theology and seeking truth:

Everyone is a theologian of sorts, though not everyone thinks clearly or takes the time to reflect on the meaning of the words they use, and therefore studying theology is necessary because so much muddled theology exists... Generally speaking "theology" (θεολογία) may be defined as reasoning (λόγος) about God (Θεός), though such reasoning is grounded in the philosophical activity of apprehending truth about ultimate reality. And just as everyone is a theologian (either a good one or not), so everyone is a philosopher of some kind or another, that is, a person who opines about the ultimate questions of life. To be a conscious person (as opposed to being numb or asleep) implies that you are haunted by "big questions" (for example, "Who are we?" "Where did we come from?" "Why are we here?" "Where are we going?" and "What does it all mean?"), and therefore every self-reflective soul cannot escape the need to think clearly. Indeed disciples of Yeshua are called talmidim (תַּלְמִידִים), that is, “learners” who have a duty before God to know and live the truth. We are to “study to show ourselves approved before God, rightly understanding the Word of Truth” (2 Tim. 2:15). The alternative to being talmud chacham (a wise student) is to be muddled about what you believe and why you believe it. Faith is called the conviction (ἔλεγχος) or “argument” of truth (see Heb. 11:6). Not knowing the truth makes you vulnerable to various forms of philosophical deception and theological error, as it is written: "Beware lest anyone cheat you through philosophy and empty deceit, according to the traditions of men, according to the basic principles of the world, and not according to Messiah" (Col. 2:8). "However, we speak wisdom (σοφία) among those who are mature, yet not the wisdom of this age, nor of the rulers of this age, who are coming to nothing, but we speak the wisdom of God in a mystery (σοφίαν θεοῦ ἐν μυστηρίῳ), the hidden wisdom which God ordained before the ages for our glory" (1 Cor. 2:6-7). Knowing the truth sets us free (John 4:24, John 8:32; 2 Cor. 3:17).

Because we must both love the truth and discern what is false, clear thinking is required of us. "Good philosophy must exist, if for no other reason, because bad philosophy needs to be answered" (Lewis). Now philosophy is philosophy, but loving God is something more... Faith is not just a “head trip,” but a “heart trip,” and therefore it is essential to immerse the passions in all that we do. There is a real danger of "intellectualizing" faith, becoming something of a "professor" about God or a “Bible answer man” where you live “up in your head,” full of sophisticated thinking about abstruse matters while disregarding the existential pathos and demands of the gospel.... Over the years I have read theologians that make God seem so remote and abstract that you wonder who or what is being talked about, after all. There is a danger to regard God as an "object' of knowledge -- a glorious, superlative, and supreme thing to study -- but a "thing" none the less. Tragically those who argue about theology have yet to learn the first lesson that true philosophy can offer, namely, that most of the time we don’t really know (or fully understand) what we are thinking or saying. Being aware of our own blind spots requires forsaking our supposed infallibility and humbly acknowledging our own ignorance. We see “through a glass darkly.” The intellect can act as a "defense" against what the Living God says to the wounded heart. That's always been the danger of mere "religion," after all, offering recipes and rituals, dogmas and assured theological confessions, while forgetting the desperate and hurting souls who must find God or die.... [Hebrew for Christians]

5.7.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

May 7, 2021

The Soul Exchange

“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?” (Mark 8:36-37)

The lives of many people revolve almost completely around the stock exchange, and they never stop to realize that it easily may become a soul exchange where they exchange their very souls for the imagined blessings of the great god Mammon. “For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows” (1 Timothy 6:10).

Similarly, many are greatly exercised about their monthly profit-and-loss statements. But the Lord Jesus asks whether there is really a profit, even if one acquires the wealth of the whole world at the cost of his soul, and the answer to such a rhetorical question has to be: “No!” For “the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever” (1 John 2:17).

Furthermore, the words “life” in verse 35 and “soul” in our text are actually the same word (psuche) in the Greek original. That is, to lose one’s soul is to lose one’s very life, for they are inseparable. A life centered around money is not only a soul lost but a life wasted as well. On the other hand, if we lose our lives in Christ, then we find true life, eternal life, beginning here and now, and continuing forever. This is a good exchange!

God may well bless a Christian with material wealth, but this should not be his motivation. “Charge them that are rich in this world,” Paul says, “that they do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate [i.e., share]; Laying up in store for themselves a good foundation against the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life” (1 Timothy 6:17-19). HMM

and so we share...

A tweet by illumiNations that is a global collaborative effort of Bible translation:

@IlluminationsBT: 65-70% of the world's population live in religiously restrictive countries. #iwtkbible

5.7.21 • 11:00am • Twitter