#time traveler’s wife unbound

[ask-javi-the-grafaiai]

Show me random guy bssst 🎲

((I have quite a lot of pokemon I would love to show that live on Enigma, so I'm gonna show off 3 of them! And talk about who they are a bit))

First we have two Hoopas, Elsyium (the blue hoopa) and Aisha (the red hoopa). These two are pokemon who will be important later in the blog.

Elsyium is a Psychic/Flying type hoopa who is the main head of mail delivery service for The Rescue Initiative. Her main job is posting urgent job listings by using her teleporting powers and doing job listing paperwork. She knows Enigma island like the back of her hand, having traveled to almost every little bit the island has to offer. Because of her status as the head of the mail deliveries she holds an important spot in The Rescue Initiative's officials.

Aisha is a typical Psychic/Ghost hoopa who was forced to live on Enigma due to their past of trouble-making. Hoopa's are servants of Palkia, but much like Palkia they are known for causing problems. The Ancients had sealed away many Hoopa's unbound forms when they traveled to Enigma and started wrecking havoc. When the island was trapped from the rest of the world, Palkia had made an agreement with the Ancients to use the island as a holding ground for naughty Hoopas. As long as the Ancients agreed to release some of the Hoopas back to Palkia without agreement. Aisha is one of those punished Hoopas. He has a great rage towards the Ancients for taking away their power. He is constantly is trying to get back at the Ancients for what they took from him.

Second off is Mochi, a droopy tatsugiri who is the leader of The Rescue Inititaive. (They are more important to the @lonely-mans-limbo story, but they are an important figure to all of Enigma so they'll be shown off here too)

They are a veteran of rescue team work, who had a two man team with his partner Dondozo (the Dondozo doesn't have a proper ref yet). Now he and his partner mainly do work in running the island much like a president. He proudly wears all his old rank badges, including the elusive Prism rank which very few pokemon get the honor of reaching. Mochi is a stern mon who takes his job very seriously. Zero time for lallygagging, jokes while on the job are not met with kindness. He's a lot more relaxed when not on the clock, but that doesn't stop his strong anxiety from controlling most of his life. He has an wife Malamar and a son Inkay. Both of whom he loves dearly and would trade the world for. He is a divisive leader due to his tendency to job into problems head first and puts the rescue teams doing said work into potential trouble.

[rayshippouuchiha]

I wanna give you my fav KHR BNHA xovers. There are some concepts in there that I think will give you some good ideas.

Role Model by Luki (KelpieCodyne)

Xanxus is stuck in Endeavor's body precanon for a little bit and he corrupts/helps Touya.

Out of this World by Luki (KelpieCodyne)

Series of the 10th Gen ditching the Mafia by running to another dimension. Feat. BNHA and Pokémon. Hibari is only in the Pokémon world

Youth by TitleUnwanted

Inspired by KHR, Hatsume makes her own 10 Yr Bazooka. It doesn't quite work right. But. 1-A gets to enjoy 5 yr old Izu.

in your eyes i see (a world so wild and free) by Zakyuu

On Hiatus but very good premise. Immortal Tsuna is Izu's dad. He frets that his son is Quirkless in a world of Quirks. Izu's worried about how to explain that his dad is a Mafia Don without getting anyone arrested. Inspired by Lying is Bad for the Soul by Hayato (TheLennyBunny), where Giotto is immortal and falls for Nana... after Iemitsu. Tsuna is Gio's son.

curiosity kills the cat (but satisfaction brought it back) by bonesetblues

Tsuna is stuck in the BNHA world in the body of a cat. Tsuna takes back all the jokes he might have made about Reborn. This is awful.

Unbound by Sky by Quess

Even ten years later Tsuna manages to get pulled into some time travel shenanigans—courtesy of Lady luck giving him the middle finger. Maybe someone should tell Shoichi and Spanner that you shouldn't leave a portal to another world open while guests are in their lab.

Featuring the young Todoroki siblings and Tsuna taking care of these kids because goddamn they need a mentally stable adult that won't take shit from a man-child projecting harder than a child beauty pageant mom.

The Vigilante Boss and His Failed Retirement Plan by Fey_StoryTeller

It supposed to be a joke, a drastic one where Izuku faked following Katchan's advice to take a leapt of faith. Then the fence on rooftop gave up on him, dying with tons of regret awaken the sleeping sky in his soul. Reminding Izuku that he was supposed to be on retirement for life and the next one- which is this one.

Unfortunately, Hyper Intuition was a bitch to deal with in a world of hero and villain, and he thought he could take advantage of the abundant human resource of heroism in this world. You'd think the world doesn't need more heroes or a Vongola.

old light still slants through by lunarctus (nex_et_nox)

I don’t want to die! Izuku screams in that underpass, drowning under the sludge villain.

Why don’t you let me help you with that? says a voice in the back of his head.

Izuku doesn't have a Quirk.

What he has is good instincts, unexplainable nightmares he can't remember, and a cat named Natsu.

My absolute favorite! Uncompleted, hasn't been updated in a while, but so amazing.

Renew by readerdreamer5625

Oneshots about what happens when 4 yr Izu meets Reborn in his dreams and the consequences of that.

So amazing, it made my brain explode with ideas, because author was so right about Sun Flames. Please read this, Ray, it'll spark ideas, I'm sure.

Alaudidae by AmbroiseFrambroise

As a Quirkless boy, the son of Hibari Hisashi and his wife Inko should be weak, right ?

Wrong. Hibari Kyoya is reborn in a strange world where people are just herbivorious as ever, but with powers. He promply decides to be a hero to be able to legaly beat up strongs opponents and restore Order.

Good Luck, UA and the world. You're going to need it.

!!!!

[nordleuchten]

Georges de La Fayette's Reaction to the Death of his Father

La Fayette only son Georges was everything that a father could have wished for. Georges was the perfect picture of filial devotion – to the point where some historians and authors (including me) have argued that George almost lost himself in his devotion to his father. He was named after his father’s friend and parenteral figure, he followed his father into the army and into politics, his fathers believes where his believes. He went to America, first alone as a refugee and later as a companion of his father in La Fayette’s moment of triumph. He risked his life to retrieve his father’s sword and married the daughter of his father’s friend.

While the death of La Fayette was a terrible hard blow to all his children, grand-children, great-grand-children, relatives, and friends, let us have a look at the man who, on this day in 1834, became the new Marquis de La Fayette:

From every side burst forth the sobs of the bystanders, which had hitherto been checked by their religious respect and by their fear of disturbing the last moments of Lafayette. Piercing and stifled shrieks strongly expressed the grief to which every heart was a prey. George Lafayette, his eyes motionless and bathed in tears, remained for some time in a state of stupor, from which he recovered only to address to his father his adieux, that were scarcely audible through the sobs torn from him by despair His wife endeavored to sustain and aid him to support the blow which had smitten him, but, insensible to every other feeling than that of poignant anguish, he heeded not the consolations lavished on him by her tenderness. How noble was his grief! How deeply he felt his loss! And oh! how fervently had he prayed that his father’s parting breath might still be spared, or that his spirit, as it hovered on the verge of eternity, might be joined his own.

Jules Germain Cloquet, Recollections of the Private Life of General Lafayette, Baldwin and Cradock, London, 1835, p. 279.

This scene is utterly heartbreaking to read, and it is not only now, with the distance of almost 200 years, that Georges strong affection was noted. His deep grief and total devotion to his father were already noted by a family friend at the time of La Fayette’s passing:

On the painful occasion which I have just described, M. George Lafayette, the worthy and modest heir of his father’s virtues, presented us with an admirable example of filial piety. He entertained for his parent that religious respect which is usually granted only to the memory of beloved individuals. He knew by experience his high qualities, his domestic virtues, and proved his affection for him by unbounded devotion to his slightest wishes. But if he was justly proud of the author of his days, the General on his side felt the value of such a son, and reaped the reward of the care which he had taken of his education, and of the advice and example which he had given to him.

M. George Lafayette had long attached himself as it were to his father’s steps, had followed him in his travels, and had been witness to his triumph at the period of his last visit to the United States. How heartfelt must have been his gratification, at seeing that great nation confer on his parent such striking and unanimous marks of gratitude: -- at seeing the American people mingle their prayers with his for the happiness and the preservation of the friend of Washington and Franklin! M. George Lafayette, the worthy pupil of Washington, was gifted with a mild but at the same time a firm and frank disposition. He bore with courage the apprehensions by which he was assailed during his father’s illness, concealed from him his anguish, and like a consoling genius never once quitted his bedside. It was thus that he discharged the duties of filial love, -- those sacred duties, a feeling of which has been deeply implanted by nature in every virtuous heart, and the performance of which presents an affecting example at the present day, when respect for old age, love of parents, and the ties of blood, have so great a tendency to be weakened; when a selfish spirit of unlimited and mistaken independence hardens the heart, and tends to produce errors no less fatal than those which were caused by abuse of authority in days of ignorance and degradation.

Jules Germain Cloquet, Recollections of the Private Life of General Lafayette, Baldwin and Cradock, London, 1835, pp. 277-278.

Georges is nobodies first association with the title “Marquis de La Fayette” and while he is not forgotten by history, he forever stands in his father’s shadow. Not only does he stand unjustly in his father’s shadow (for Georges was a fascinating and intriguing person in his own right), no, he stands there completely voluntarily. And while I can deeply resonate with this kind of devotion, I also have to admit, that it is a crying shame that there is not more about Georges, Marquis de La Fayette, as an individual. Not only in relation to his father or famous godfather, not in relation to anyone but himself.

[houseildanan]

Histories - Docks on Departure Day, c. 7300 before the Dark Portal

The ships rose and fell gently on the waves, bumping quietly against the docks.  Even in the sheltered harbor, there were waves, born of a storm well off the coast.  He knew. He’d been watching the storm for days in a scrying glass—a duty assigned by a someday king to ensure the safety of an expedition that would never return to these shores.

There were so many of them. So, so many of them—so many souls, so many ships, so much cargo.

The cargo surprised him. Here they were, stepping off into the great unknown, traveling across the sea to lands they had never seen, and they were carrying so much cargo in the holds of the ships—so many things that struck odd, the goods of entire households—that he couldn’t fathom how they’d transport it all, or if they’d manage it.

They didn’t know what they’d find across the sea, not for certain, though what little he did know reassured him.  What his friends had told him reassured him.

And yet, if not for the warning of one of those friends, he would have remained firm in his decision to stay.  He would not have sunk into the planning of this departure, of the highborne exile.

He would have given up nearly anything to stay except for the safety of his children.

One of the boards creaked and suddenly his son was beside him on the docks, following his father’s gaze to the ships and beyond them to the vast ocean.  “Your pensiveness is making the others nervous,” Lucanus said softly.  “It’s cutting into the excitement of the prospects of being able to practice unfettered once we reach our distant shore.  They wonder if you know something the rest of them do not—that Sunstrider doesn’t.”

“You can tell them truthfully that I do not,” Ildanan said, matching his son for volume and tone, though there was a thread of weariness in his voice.  “I simply have both more and less doubts than the rest.”

“We’ve had this discussion,” Lucanus began.  Ildanan shook his head slightly, cutting him off.

“We have,” he admitted. “At least a dozen times.  And if the three of you hadn’t agreed to this, I would not have, either.”

“Auntie made a solid argument, you said.  If she thinks it safer and wiser for us to go with them, then so be it.  She said you understood the reasons better than any of us.”

Ildanan closed his eyes. “I do.  Goddess help me, I certainly do.”

“It won’t be all bad, will it?”  One corner of his son’s mouth lifted into a smile.  Though unbound by blood, that smile always reminded Ildanan of Keydyn Silverstag, a man none of his children ever really knew but a man more important to their father by half than any that would be sailing away from these shores with them.  “After all, none of them will have to make any more grand gestures in an effort to prove a point to the druids, will they?”

He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his throat.  “That was ill-advised.”

“You told them it was ill-advised as soon as you heard.  I told them it was ill-advised when I heard it was being planned and told them I’d have no part of it.  Roiana said it was missing some finer elements and key points and ridiculous to a fault.”

“She only stayed to watch them.”

“As you say,” Lucanus said, still smiling.  “She takes after Auntie.”

He’d named his daughter after that auntie both to spite his wife and to make a point.  He wasn’t sure if Annissa had caught it or not, or if she even cared.  It was so long ago now that it didn’t matter anymore.

They were fully grown, now, but as close to him as his friends had been in those long-ago days before the wars, before the Sundering.  His children were everything and more and for them, he’d do anything.

Even this.

His gaze drifted back to the ships.  “Fine rugs, furniture, all sorts of—I can’t even begin to list them,” Ildanan said softly. “What do they actually think we’ll find there?  Homes just waiting for us to just move right in?  Castles to rival Azshara’s palace, great libraries like the ones we lost two thousand years ago?  What are they thinking, Lucanus?”

His son’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.  “I don’t know,” he said, staring up at the sails, most of them furled in the morning sun. “I don’t know that they are beyond the promise of being out from under the weight of all the rules made to prevent another Sundering.”

“And what about you?”

“Me?”  Lucanus blinked, then shrugged, smiling slowly. “I suppose it’s a grand adventure. And you’re one to talk, Father. How many books will we be carrying?”

Ildanan allowed himself a slow, rueful smile.  “No more than we can manage.”

“An entire library and more magicked into a few packs,” Lucanus said, shaking his head.  “And what else?  Do they know?”

“Most don’t,” Ildanan said, shaking his head.  “Nor will they until they must.  Perhaps not ever, or perhaps not until we’ve found a place to call a new home.  Thank you for helping carry them.”

“They’re your legacy,” Lucanus said quietly.  “And ours. It’s a burden that we as a family should share—we all agreed.”

“That we did,” Ildanan said softly.  “There is so much left to tell you, Lucanus.  All of you.”

“Well, I imagine we’ll have time for some of it, it perhaps not the privacy you’d hope,” he said, squinting at the ships.  “They’re going to start boarding in a few minutes—that’s what I came to tell you. They’re loading the last of the cargo and supplies now.”  He paused, then said, “They’re not coming, are they?”

Ildanan tore his gaze from the docks and glanced back, toward the sea of figures that lined the streets and stalls fronting the small harbor.  Not all of those faces would be boarding the ships.  Some were here to watch, to ensure that the Highborne were really leaving.

Others were here to say a last good-bye.

“No,” Ildanan said softly, even as his gaze swept over those crowds, hoping that his eyes would put a lie to the words that tasted like ashes on his tongue.  There was little he wouldn’t have given to see them one more time, even like this—or better yet, to have them tell him to stay, he and his children to stay, that the danger they feared was an illusion, that they would be safe.

That everyone would be safe.

He took a quiet breath. “That’s why she came last night, Lucanus.  That’s why you all Dreamed last night, too.”

“You—I didn’t tell you.”

“Kaiden did,” he said quietly.  “And if it was him, then it was all of you.”

“Will we still—”

“I don’t know,” Idlanan said, pain tightening his throat, his words.  “There’s a lot I don’t know, Lucanus.”

His son wet his lips and reached up to squeeze his father’s shoulder.  “It’s all right,” he said.  “We’ll find out together.”

Throat too tight to speak for a moment, Ildanan simply nodded.  They stood in silence for a few moments more, as Ildanan finished surveying the crowd and turned back to the water, forcing down the welter of emotions that rioted inside.

There had been hate and fear and love and hope and resignation in so many of those gazes behind him.

And relief.

It made him ache.

“Lucanus,” he said softly, even as the announcement rang out from one of the ships to begin boarding. “What promise did you make her last night?”

“That’s between us and Auntie,” his son said softly.  “Don’t worry about it, Father.”

Ildanan opened his mouth to press, then caught sight of a beckoning hand and a stern gaze.  He closed his mouth, drew a deep breath, then touched his son’s arm.

“Come,” he said quietly. “It’s time for the speech.”

And then it will be time to go.

[videofaciempraeteriti-blog]

@doctorattackeyebrows

[videofaciempraeteriti-blog]

“I love you.” She smiled and took her hands.

“Happy Mother’s Day to the mother of my beebies.” Anna smiled and kissed Kara.

Kara kissed back and blushed. “Happy Mother’s Day to the mother of my beebies, too.”

[unboundboxes]

Unbound Boxes Limping Gods: Disconnected Stories: Issue # 512: Fighting Monsters Part 7

Unbound Boxes Limping Gods: Disconnected Stories: Issue # 512: Fighting Monsters Part 7

Katherine had taken Aamiina and Jamila to Samira Ganesh, who showed them to their new apartment. Katherine decided to avoid work for the day and return to her own apartment as the events of the afternoon have made her think about her own future on this ship. Katherine’s back story, set onboard the Kyuunansen (3992)

[doctorattackeyebrows]

Anna scratched Jon’s ears. “How are you doing?”

Jon leaned his head into her hand and pawed at her gently.

[author-morgan]

"I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me" with eivor please... Maybe he rescues reader from the order after they had been used for different experiments or something

i am so sorry for how long this took, but I had to come up with the right plot bunny to pair with the prompt for some angst(tm). here you are, i hope you enjoy and don't mind the touch of Havi and Frigg, or in which Havi makes a promise to his sweet Frigg and keeps it even in the next life.

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

SÝNIN CIRCLES IN the clear sky above the longhouse of Ravensthorpe, and then you know your husband is not far now. Soon Eivor Wolfsmal will be back in your arms, where he belongs. The raven descends, coming to perch on your shoulder, nudging his beak against your temple —as much as you’ve missed Eivor, you’ve missed Sýnin in equal measure. Things could get surprisingly lonely without a tetchy raven around to croak at all hours of the night, steal your hairpins, and beg for treats. Reaching up, you scritch the blue-back feathers on his belly and are rewarded by a low, gurgling croak. “Have you been behaving yourself?” Sýnin bobs his head, but you have a gut feeling he’s lying for the chance at a few extra treats.

Taking to the docks, you watch along the river bends for the sail and masts of the longship. The blue-and-back sail and shields turn from the west —squinting, you can see him standing on the curved scorpion tail, looking onward to home. With a nervous smile, you rest your hand over your belly, knowing soon it will start to grow. You’ve much to tell him since he’s been gone the past weeks, building alliances with Saxon nobles across England.

“Eivor, my love,” you call, meeting him at the edge of the dock as he steps off the longship. His smile is tired but relieved when he looks upon you with Sýnin perched upon your shoulder —the best ‘welcome home’ he could ask for. You open your arms, embracing him as the crew disseminates among the settlement. Eivor pulls back, his hands —rougher than you remember— cupping your cheeks.

There’s something different in your expression, a new glow surrounding you that he cannot place. Regardless of his racing mind, he leans forward as you urge him down with a hand at the nape of his neck. It’s been weeks, and he sighs against your mouth, the burdens of the world washed away by your touch and kiss. “Walk with me?” You ask, holding fast to his hand. He nods, offering his arm. Word of the recently secured alliance can wait; he has been parted from his wife too long.

You lead him past the longhouse, the people of Ravensthorpe smiling as they see Eivor has returned and know what it is you’re going to tell him. Once Valka confirmed your suspicions, it hadn’t taken long for word to travel by way of two mischievous children.

Everyone is happy; and happy for you and Eivor, knowing you two had tried to conceive many times. Stopping beneath the great tree past the Seer’s Hut, you turn with a smile —hand settling on your middle. “I’ve good news to tell you.” Eivor lifts his brow, and your smile only widens as you reach for his hand, pressing it against your belly. He sucks in a deep breath, heart thudding in his chest and ears as he looks to you, his clear blue eyes wide with joy and surprise. You nod, resting your hand over his. “I am with child.”

Eivor is silent for a moment, gathering his words and emotions. He looks down at your belly, then back to you —overjoyed and uncertain. This is a moment you’ve only ever talked about; that he’s dreamt of when the gods were kind enough to let him have a good dream. “I’m going to be a father?” Eivor breathes, though it sounds more like a question. You nod again, eyes gleaming with tears as he rests his other hand on your stomach too. His smile too large to be hidden under his shaggy golden beard. There’s another moment’s pause, then Eivor slips his arms around you, bringing you into a tight embrace —his face tucked into your neck.

You lose track of how long Eivor holds you in his arms as if it all is only a dream and he may wake at any second. Stepping back, he takes your face into his rough hands, brushing away the tears streaking your cheeks. Eivor dips his head down, his nose brushing against yours before your lips meet —gentle and loving but still burning with fervor from the weeks of being parted from one another.

“You’ve made me the happiest man in Midgard,” he admits. You lean into him again, taking another kiss before he settles onto one knee in front of you, level with your belly. Eivor rests his forehead against your front, his hands loosely holding onto your hips. “Rest easy, little one.” Smiling, you brush back his golden hair —half-unbound from his warrior’s braids and knotted. “I will protect you and your mother.” It’s a promise.

“EIVOR,” RANDVI CRIES as he enters the longhouse, tears still fresh on her cheeks. She should not have let you go riding outside of Ravensthorpe alone, especially knowing you were with child. He clasps onto her shoulders, steadying her so she can gather her senses. “It’s Fulke.” The script is fresh in her memory, having read it a dozen times over to be certain of the ill-boding tidings. Randvi shakes her head, unable to meet her friend's concerned gaze. “She’s taken more than just Sigurd.”

“No,” Eivor breathes, but Randvi presents the scroll as proof. He skims the words —his worst fears coming to fruition. Not only did Fulke hold his brother captive, but now the conniving bitch had stolen you away too. You. His wife. The mother of his unborn child. He’d sworn to protect both of you with every breath in his lungs, and now it is an oath broken.

The sudden anger boiling under his skin is so hot it burns the fear freezing him, turning to determination. Eivor crumples the parchment, his expression twisting —no god can save you now, Fulke. “Send word to our allies.” Randvi nods, stepping back to the writing-table at the edge of the map room. “I will burn all of Wessex if I have to,” Eivor grits out, hands turning to fists at his sides as he leaves the longhouse to gather his men —a part of him feels as though he has walked this path before.

HAVI STRIDES THROUGH Fensalir with a deep sadness in his heart, but his agony cannot compare to that of his sweet Frigg. For three days and three nights, his queen has asked for solitude, and though it pained him to keep away during such times, he and the others respected Frigg’s wishes. Though Havi would not leave his dear wife to grieve alone, sending Huginn and Muninn to keep a watchful eye over the Queen of the Æsir. The two ravens are perched upon a stone bench at the edge of the fen. Thor glances over his shoulder at the approaching footsteps —his expression is weary and grief-stricken as he looks upon his father.

Gently, your son releases you from his tight embrace and rises, stepping back with a silent promise to return soon as he greets his father with a solemn nod before leaving. Havi pushes back his hood, seeing the white flowers spring from the earth with your tears. Baldr will be remembered —in deeds and songs and the blossoms brought forth by his mother’s tears. He kneels, reaching for your hands, and slides the bloody sprig of mistletoe free from your grasp. Through weary eyes, you look upon your husband —his expression twisted into the same display of forlorn grief. It makes your heart ache even more to have pushed him away, for he too lost a son. “Frigg,” he sighs.

“Havi,” you cry, falling into him. He swathes you in his black cloak, tucking you against his chest and holding you tight —a vow of retribution on his tongue. Loki would be punished for this crime. For all the realms felt the bitter void left by Baldr’s absence, and all wept, save for a giantess whose unshed tears doomed your son to Hel. The grief and anger simmering in his blood turn to something else —determination. He will not have his sweet Frigg endure this pain again; his one-armed embrace tightens as he cradles the back of your head. “I will not let another of our children fall,” Havi swears, lips brushing over your temple. “Not until our twilight has come.”

HE TWISTS HIS hands into Fulke’s leather-and-cloth armor, throwing the madwoman to the muddy and blood-slick ground. Fulke spits blood, pulling herself away from Eivor Wolfsmal on hands and knees only to find herself surrounded by his men and allies. All their weapons drawn, trained on her. The price for taking the Jarl of Raven Clan and Eivor’s wife is one to be paid in blood, and there is nowhere for her to run. She will have to suffer the wrath. “Where is she?” Eivor roars, kicking Fulke onto her back. He kneels, knee pressing into the bloody gash on her side, one of his throwing axes withdrawn and held high above his head —ready to strike.

There is no fear in her eyes, only bliss. Her work in this world now complete. “You made a choice,” Fulke laughs, choking on blood, “you chose Sigurd.” She coughs, blood-tinged spittle spattering against Eivor’s face, washed away by the pouring rain.

He roars, teeth bared and eyes burning hot with the rage of the gods. Lightning splits open the sky, thunder cracking like a great whip against the earth. “I will flay the skin from your bones and feed your eyes to my raven,” Eivor hisses.

Her smile is bloody —victorious. She knows you are leagues from here, and now the only ones who know are dead or dying. Eivor Wolfsmal could search the land for years and never find the seaside cave on the shores of Cent. “You’ll never find her,” Fulke says. One final victory before relinquishing herself to darkness and her wounds.

Eivor rises, his shoulders heaving and expression twisted. There is no time for a reunion when Sigurd limps from the fortress —clutching the stump where his hand and wrist once were— reinforcements from Wincestre draw nigh. The cry of war horns and drums echoing above the storm. He turns to Dag and Hrefna, eyes flitting over to his brother, unfit to fight in the coming battle. “See him back to Ravensthorpe,” he tells them before shifting his attention back to his allies. The day is not won yet, and Eivor will not rest until he has his beloved back in his arms.

ABOVE THE BREAKING waves of the sea, there is a whisper on the howling wind. Eivor looks to the sea below, then to Basim —his scouts working tirelessly since the siege of Portcestre nigh a fortnight ago to find leads. The culmination of their work leads him and Eivor to the southern edge of Cent to a cave guarded by Fulke’s acolytes. Eivor knows the gods are with him this day, as plain as if the Allfather whispered the affirmation into his ear.

The echoes of battle fill the air, and through the slivers of light above, you see shadows moving and hear the unmistakable cry of a raven growing closer —Sýnin. Rousing from uneasy rest, you clamber to the upturned bucket at the cell’s center, dragging chains behind you. Trembling, you clutch your swollen belly, then step up onto the bucket, fingers finding purchase on the metal grate above, slick with blood and excrements. Sýnin appears at the edge of the grate, his beady eyes staring down at you in the darkness, tilting his head this way and that. He hops up and down —talons clinking against the metal— before squawking wildly.

Eivor’s focus shifts from the dead littering the beach when he hears Sýnin inside the cave, and for the first time in weeks, you hear your name in his voice —a desperate plea. “Eivor!” His name is only a soft, airy rasp, not strong enough to carry with the raven’s calls. “Eivor!” You cry, this time louder, but your voice is broken, throat raw from days screaming and crying at the hands of Fulke and her enforcers. Sýnin’s squawks grow louder, mingling with footsteps.

The wave of relief almost shatters him when it hits and washes over his body and mind when he sees you —alive. Eivor reaches through the lattice, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’ve got you now,” he breathes, the torchlight showing the tears glistening in his clear blue gaze. You nod, smiling with cracked lips —thanking Frigg and Freyja that your prayers did not go unanswered. Eivor urges you to step down and aside, and when you do, he rears back, slamming the butt of his axe against the rusting lock, breaking it. With a sharp cry, he throws open the grate, sliding down into the darkness with you.

Hands trembling, he unlocks the manacles around your wrists and the shackle around your ankle. Each has left your skin red and raw beneath. Eivor gathers you in his arms. “Let’s get you out of here,” he says, lips brushing against your temple. You nod, eager to be rid of this damp and foul hole in the earth. Sýnin takes to your shoulder as soon as you are free, nudging his head against your temple and cheek. With a tired smile, you lift a hand to scritch the dark feathers of his underside as Eivor pulls himself free of the cell.

Eivor kneels, reaching for your hands, his thumbs brushing just above the broken skin on your wrists, and as you lean toward him, he swathes you with the coarse wool of his cloak —forehead pressed against yours. He feels the dampness on your cheeks as you press your face against his scarred neck. "I won't let anyone hurt you again,” he vows, “you're safe now.” One of his hands settles on your stomach, and you cover it with yours, holding him tightly with the other. “You’re both safe,” he whispers, and it’s only when he feels a light twitch against his hand that the realization breaks him. “I’m so sorry, my love,” Eivor chokes.

You draw back from his embrace, seeing the tears streak his face and the guilt clear on his expression. “Don’t blame yourself,” you plead, cupping his scarred cheek. “Please, don’t.” Eivor nods, though guilt still weighs heavily on his heart and will until he sees you safely returned to Ravensthorpe and tended to. He turns farther into your hand until his lips brush the center of your palm —a soft kiss, another promise.

Sýnin croaks, splashing in a puddle, and breaks yours and Eivor’s trance, reminding you both that you’re still in a cave, far from home and where you belong. He slides his arms beneath your knees and around your shoulders, rising with you. “You’re safe,” he repeats, more for himself to hear than you. Eivor breathes a deep sigh when he steps onto the beach, holding you close in his arms. Sýnin flies overhead, as do a pair of ravens — the same pair Eivor has seen in dreams of late. He smiles as he sets on the path carrying you up the cliffside, knowing Havi and Frigg had both heard his prayers.

[taglist:  @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

"I understand your pain" - A Billie Bust Up fic

AO3 link

Billie stared at the ceiling, trying her best not to shift her gaze away not even for a second. Wait, was that the window banging? Maybe if she just... No, she told herself, no distractions! Even a sudden blink of the eyes would be a mistake! Out of all the places she visited during her travels, he had to be here.

Oscar rubbed his head into her hand, whimpering while looking at her with sad eyes. Billie allowed herself to give the little fox a half smile and a pet.

Suddenly, Billie felt her bell ringing: she gingerly tinkered with it to answerer it. The moment she did, the familiar, warm voice of her mentor was heard, their voice filled with worry.

"Billie, it's me, Aristotle. Are you still there?"

Billie wasn't able to reply right away; far from wanting to be impolite in front of the kind axolotl, or make them worried, she nevertheless felt it hard to tell them she was, infact, still intent on staying in the castle.

"...Billie, I-I know you wish to see Arthur again. Believe me, so do I. But he's not here. I've visited this mansion so many times during my travels in hopes to find him too, and..."

Aristotle took one second to try to collect themselves, and even then their voice was close to cracking.

"I-I was never able to sense his presence in this place. It pains me to say this, but I'm afraid it won't be different, this time."

Billie chocked back a sob before replying, her eyes filled with tears.

"But he has to be here! There's so many ghosts in this building, one of them has to be my father! If only I were able to see them all, maybe I could recognize him!"

Aristotle's voice stayed silent for a moment, while Billie did her best to keep her composure. Finally, they were heard again.

"I understand your pain, Billie, but it's almost evening, and everyone is starting to get worried..."

"Just a little more time, please Aristotle? I need to do this."

A sigh came from the bell, before Aristotle continued.

"Alright Billie. You can stay a little longer, but the moment the sun starts to set, it's best if you and Oscar take your leave: at night there's so many creeps around, and as much as you've improved so much with your magic since we first met, it's still too risky for you two to go around on your own. We'll be waiting for you in the village: I've prepared some hot chocolate for your arrival. If you want, we'll talk it over together, is that ok?"

Despite her eyes still warm with tears, Billie cracked a smile. "Thanks, Aristotle."

A light chuckle was heard.

"Anytime, my dear. I'll be seeing you soon. Take care!"

And with that, the bell fell into silence. Billie took a moment to sigh, rub her eyes and return her gaze to the ceiling above. Many ghosts of all shapes and sizes where hovering about, letting out delighted ghoulish moanings, without a care in the world, barely noticing the small goat staring at them with sad hope.

Was Aristotle right? Was it true her father wasn't here? But what if he were? Would he look like he did when he was alive? Would he recognize his own daughter, all grown up?

Billie sighed again. "I was really hoping to find you here...", was all she could say before hearing a familiar, high-pitched voice that sent a chill up her spine.

"Whoo were you hoping to find~?"

The sudden appearance of Barnaby took Billie by surprise, making her gasp a little before turning her head: she was staring at the ghost owl's face, his long neck stretched so to look at her in the eyes with an amused, and jambled up, expression.

"Barnaby, what the heck! You startled me!"

Barnaby merely chuckled at her surprise, all too used to such reactions from people.

"Were you by chance hoping to find me? Oh, you sillyhead, I've been here the whole time!" He paused to playfully stick his tongue out. "Infact, I've been here for a loooooong time to begin with! Hoo-hoo-hoo~!"

Billie just stared at him; the battle she had with the ghost owl not too long ago did nothing to change his extravagant ways: he didn't even take his defeat in bad stride, surprisingly enough. Well, she figured, considering all the fun he had in tormenting her beforehand, it was fair to believe it was all even between them. At least Barnaby promised he would've stopped with the whole "Would you like to die?" idea, and she really hoped he was an owl of his word.

"Actually" she replied, while returning to her previous activity "I was looking for my father".

Barnaby's face jolted in confusion, all his features returning to place as his neck snapped back to its original lenght.

"Your father? Why would he be here?"

Billie kept her gaze upwards. "He died a long time ago, when I was just a baby. All I know about him has only been told by others: my mother, my mentor... The only reason I know what he looks like is thanks to the photos we hanged in my home, but it's not the same: I've seen so little of him, and that was too long ago. All I'm able to remember was his laughter." She began to smile. "I remember it was warm, loving and calming. Sometimes even just thinking about it makes me feel better." Her smile fell. "But that's all I managed to keep in my heart. With your home filled with so many ghosts, I was hoping to see him, at least once."

Barnaby just stared at her for a moment. His mind started to itch, for a reason even he couldn't explain; his momentary confusion was put to a pause when he heard a noise of indignation from the little goat, making that itch stop. Oh well, I'm sure it wasn't important, he thought to himself with a smile.

"Nghh, but these ghosts are being so stubborn! Why can't they just stay put just one second?! It's like they don't care about anything!" Billie was growning more and more fed up with these wisps: the more she tried to focus on them, the more it seemed they kept on hovering out of her sight just to make fun of her. To think she used to be scared of those pests...!

Her huff of annoyance was enjoyable to watch, to Barnaby's bemusement, especially if it was about some obvious knowledge about ghosts' carefree nature.

"Why, that's how ghosts are, dearie! The moment you're dead, you don't have to care about anything anymore! No worries, no fears, no regrets... It's all in the past! And like all that is past, it all fades away~! Just like us ghosts, after all! Hoo-hoo-hoo~!"

To such response, Billie suddenly felt tense with a frightful thought: if what Barnaby said was true, that would've meant Arthur could very well have lost all memories of his past life, and all his beloved ones. Aristotle, his wife, his daughter... everyone.

"All... fades away? Even all the memories of the people they loved?!"

Here's that itch again. This time it felt stronger and irritating, yet Barnaby decided to just ignore it, despite of how annoying it was. Why couldn't it just go away?!

"It's all part of the course, of course!" He giggled at his own pun. "After all, why hold on to memories of people you can't even hold near anymore?"

Billie grew only more agitated by the second. "But-but how can you consider that a good thing?! You-you can't just forget the ones you loved just like that! I mean-You! You too are a ghost! Can't you remember anyone you cared about?!"

Barnaby, up to that point, was merely watching the little one getting all worked up about the whole ordeal with an amused grin. Living beings, so attached to life! Such a lovely, if futile, sentiment, in the face of the inevitable eternal slumber. He was ready to give her the answer that would put all her uncertainties to rest, when suddenly his itch grew at his strongest, and he couldn't ignore it anymore.

He felt the need to hold his head between his tallons: was he feeling pain? No, impossible: he's been a ghost since as far as he can remember! Then why...? His mind started to be plagued by various scenarios; fragments that he wasn't sure how they were tied to each other to begin with. A warm-lit room, a blossoming garden, a lab table filled to the brim with potions and magic tomes... Suddenly, he heard the faintest sound of laughter: a light, cheerful and happy laugh of someone he swore he never met, and yet felt so familiar, even loved and cherished. Something deep within him felt the wish to listen to that beautiful sound forever. Before he could properly focus on it, the laughter came to an abrupt finish as it got covered by a loud noise, so booming and deafening that shocked him to the core: next thing he knew, he was back to reality. He didn't notice he had started hyperventilating, or that Billie was looking at him with a worried expression.

"Barnaby, what's wrong?! Are you ok?!"

Barnaby stared at her, as he tried, without success, to catch his breath. He barely remembered what just happened in his mind, but he could clearly feel something within that made him suffer, something that the living would associate with the feeling of pain. He felt his eyes starting to leak, as he struggled to reply to Billie, not daring to look at her any longer.

"I-I-I don't know. I-I can't remember..." As his urge to cry grew stronger, Barnaby started to hug himself with his wings, in hopes to find some needed comfort. Billie's presence wasn't helping things: by his own admission, it was never pretty when he cried, and having someone looking at him in this state made him feel even less at ease. "I can't remember anything..." was all he could utter before covering himself completely in his ghostly plumage, hoping for the pain to leave him at once.

For the longest time, Barnaby felt only joy from the lack of memories, at last unbound by life and all the worries it'd entailed. And yet, this time out of all, he swore he were able to catch a glimpse of something, anything, that he once were able to hold dear, only to lose it at once. The more he thought about it, the more the already fickle hold he had on this memory slipped away; and the more tears flowed from his eyes.

And it all started with that little goat. How pitiful, he thought, breaking down like this in front of her, after all the teasing he gave her. He should've minded his own business and ignore her. "But no!", his inner thoughts reprimanded him, "You had to pry on her problems and entertain her ideas! And look what it led you to: crying a river over something of which you can't even remember anything about, and won't have anymore! Can't you be any more pathetic?! Oh, that's right: you're crying right in front of this little guest! Your pity party must be such pain to watch for her: she'll just leave you alone, like everyone else. No wonder you don't have any friends, if you costantly drive them away with your overblown ways! That's what you'll ever be: a sad whisp with no memories and no friends; just give up already! The sooner you'll accept it, the less it will hurt!"

"STOP!!" Barnaby finally snapped to that inner voice, as he cried harder: he didn't want to think of how the moment he finally had a friend, she was going to run away from his exaggerated manners, leaving him alone just like everyone else who came to his mansion always did. He didn't want to be reminded of the memories he didn't have anymore, of his beloved... Right now, he just wanted to stop existing altogether. "Just... stop..." he kept on repeating, hanging his head lower, his eyes, ears and mouth drooping as they followed the slow movement along.

Meanwhile, Billie was left looking at Barnaby, all tuckered up in his wings. She gazed upon him as he was trying to calm himself down, unsure of what to do: one part of her wanted to reach out and give some form of comfort; and yet, she also didn't want to invade his bubble, and make everything worse. She was all too aware of how so many villagers, back in her village, instantly had tired or weary looks on them the moment she approached them to ask them to join her on a new adventure, or To talk about all the things she had seen during her latest explorations. At first Billie paid no mind about it, but overtime she took notice, and began wondering if her approach was too much for people. Even after meeting Lou and Lily, who truly loved spending time with her on her adventures (dangers not witstanding), and after beginning her magic training with Aristotle, she often felt she had a habit of coming off too strong to many of her neighbors. And, right now, just like those times, Billie felt she went too far with Barnaby with her earlier questions, fearing she unknowingly touched a nerve during her earlier agitated state of mind. Ok, in all fairness, she had no idea such words could affect him so much; but still, she felt guilt for her earlier moment of insensitivity, and was afraid of upsetting Barnaby even more, were she to come closer to him.

Timidly, she turned to Oscar. "Hey Oscar? What do you think I should do? I messed up already, I don't want to hurt him more than I did already..."

The little fox looked at Barnaby, then at Billie, and started whimpering. Billie nodded in understanding: regardless of what happened, she couldn't just leave the ghost owl in this time of need. She had to set things right and help him: it's what a hero would do, she told herself... and also a friend.

As she started to move forward, Barnaby's yell was heard from his tuckered form, which startled her: was it against her? Billie got more tense, but kept going. As she got closer, Billie heard small mutterings mixed with sobs coming behind his wings: it felt like Barnaby was whispering to himself, not even noticing her presence. That's when Billie realized he was stuck in an internal loop, detached from his surroundings. The young goat gulped: this was going to be harder than she thought. As Billie tried to think of a way to approach Barnaby, her mind went to Aristotle's words, and how they were able to bring her comfort as she was hoping to find Arthur. Billie's thoughts went about the axolotl, and how much sadness they had in their voice during their call moments earlier: they too had to deal with Arthur's departure, many years ago, and she was told the two of them were so close together... Billie really hoped the axolotl had been able to have someone that comforted them as they were able to do for her: losing a father was hard already, but losing your longtime beloved friend... it must've felt too much to handle.

The little goat looked at the sobbing owl: maybe, she thought, such words would've been of help for him too, especially if, by his earlier words, he also struggled with remembering a loved one just like she did. "I guess we're not that different in that regard", she silently mused to herself.

She carefully got closer to Barnaby as she put a hand on his wing: as much as she didn't want to overstep her boundaries, she honestly couldn't think of any other option that could work. Billie took a deep breath, and hoped for the best.

"It's ok, Barnaby. I understand your pain."

Barnaby slowly peeked between his feathers, shifting his droopy gaze to the little goat, finally noticing her: she was still there, looking at him with sympathy, not a trace of ridicule nor fear on her face; that alone comforted him a little, despite his now long gone memory he wasn't able to reach anymore. But what truly shook him from his echo chamber were her words: for the first time since a long time, he felt understood, and that sentiment was enough to lift up his spirits, even if just a bit. Without a word, his beak forming a wobbly, small smile, he stretched his neck once again to Billie's level, and got closer to her as she embraced his head, her own eyes filling with tears once more. Oscar got closer too, and nuzzled himself between the two, joining them in their hug. The sun was starting to set, and the ghosts kept on floating carelessly, but Billie figured that she could stay just a little longer.

"Thank you."

[olive-oil-poetry]

One Mile

My paces are the seconds on the face of the clock without hands

I am unbounded I am the hands that hold time So why would I run a mile high, when I live at twelve all the time

In the confines of my mind?

One Mile

I won't run one mile Why should I? Why would I run a mile when I can run ten miles in my mind in the exact same time I would run a mile outside?

I am the time traveler's wife

My paces are the seconds on the face of the clock without hands I am unbounded I am the hands that hold time So why would I run a mile high when I live at twelve all the time

In the confines of my mind? When I could trip and fall outside and hurt myself in stride They'd strip away my pride

Why would I run one mile?

[pub-lius]

Henry bestie, do you know anything about Percy Shelly?

Nope! Well, not until now, because I'll do some research for you, bestie. This one probably won't be very in depth, because I have no pre-existing knowledge of this person, so you'll just be getting the basics. I hope its still helpful! (also sorry for being late, i haven't had any time for research and i wanted to thoroughly answer this as much as possible)

I'm assuming you mean Percy Bysshe Shelley (link to Britannica for more in depth information), who was a poet born on August 4, 1792 near Sussex, England. Shelley was the heir to his grandfather's fortune, and he was quite rebellious towards his father, Timothy Shelley. He was educated at Syon House Academy, and then at Eton. He was bullied heavily at Eton, and used literature as an escape.

Shelley published two Gothic novels and two volumes of juvenile verse between 1810 and 1811. Shelley entered Oxford in 1810, and became closely tied with a fellow student, Thomas Jefferson Hogg. Both were expelled in March 1811 for refusing to admit that Shelley had written The Necessity of Atheism. Shelley never apologized (king).

In August 1811, Shelley eloped with the daughter of a tavern owner, Harriet Westbrook, going against his family's plans for him, and rightfully so, as they attempted to cruelly force him into submission.

Shelley moved to Dublin in 1812 with Harriet and her sister, where he supported rights for Roman Catholics, sovereignty for Ireland, and freedom of thought. The couple then moved to Lynmouth, Devon, then to North Wales in 1812.

In 1813, he returned to London due to debt, and issued his first major poem, Queen Mab. Later that year, Harriet gave birth to their daughter, Ianthe. The next year, Shelley fell in love with Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, and they eloped to France on July 27, 1814. They traveled to France, Switzerland, and Germany, then returned to London where they were shunned. After his grandfather's death, his father paid his debts and gave him an annual income.

Shelley settled near Windsor Great Park in 1815, where he wrote Alastor; or The Spirit of Solitude. In 1816, Shelley, Mary and Mary's sister relocated to Geneva. Here, Shelley wrote "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" and "Mont Blanc". Mary also began her novel Frankenstein. They then returned to Bath, England in September. Harriet Shelley died in London, allowing Percy and Mary to be married with the Godwins' blessing. A Chancery Court decided that Shelley was unfit to care for his children, and they were placed in foster care.

In 1817, the Shelleys moved to Marlow, where Shelley wrote Laon and Cyntha; or, The Revolution of the Golden City, and his wife completed Frankenstein. Shelley's health suffered from the climate, so they moved to Italy in 1818. Shelley completed several other works while there.

In August 1818, the Shelleys remained in Venice or at Este through Octobe 1818, where Shelley writes how the landscape of a hill brought him out of despair for the political regeneration of Italy. He also drafted Act I of Prometheus Unbound before traveling to Naples, where he outlined The Cenci, which he completed in 1819. He completed Prometheus in 1819 as well, which was published along with some shorter poems by him, such as "Ode to Liberty," "Ode to the West Wind," "The Cloud," and "To a Sky-Lark."

Shelley responded to the Peterloo Massacre in August 1819 by writing The Masque of Anarchy to inspire British citizens to peaceful protest. In addition, he wrote, Peter Bell the Third, and A Philosophical View of Reform, which, along with The Masque of Anarchy, were too radical to be published until long after his death.

Shelley continued to publish many different works in the following years, displaying his very radical political and social views. Percy Shelley drowned on July 8, 1822, in a sailing accident. His wife collected his unpublished writings, allowing many of them to be accessed today.

This was a very interesting subject to research! Thank you so much for the ask, and I hope I was able to be helpful in some way <3

[filmpenance]

Day 29, 2022 - Looper

Looper (2012) Rian Johnson 1h 59m [IDLMondays]

“This time travel crap, just fries your brain like a egg...” - Abe

Looper is an engaging and entertaining sci-fi action film that brings a time-travel element to job of assassin.

It’s 2044 and Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is a well-paid assassin – a looper – in Kansas who conducts hits on people the Mob sends back in time. The trade-off for those bricks of sliver is rather high; to keep things neat and tidy in the future, if a looper is still alive in 2074, their older self will be sent back to 2044 to be killed by their younger self.

When Old Joe arrives (played by Bruce Willis) he’s ready for a fight. He’s unbound, tough and determined to escape young Joe’s bullet and he does, taking off into the Kansas landscape – leaving young Joe on bad terms with the Mob.

Old Joe’s got a wife worth fighting for in the future and if he can kill the boy who becomes The Rainmaker – the crime boss in 2074 – Old Joe believes he can go back and be with her. Young Joe is determined to stop him.

There’s quite a bit that sets Looper apart from other hitman movies: the time-travel conceit, the rural Kansas setting and the brightness of the film. Quite a bit of the story takes place during the day in wide shots. The special effects are well done and the performances by the entire cast are wonderful[i] which more than make up for pacing that sometimes lags.    

I’ll also say, I get a bit frustrated with time-travel sci-fi when it feels like it’s being clever for the sake of it. While Looper didn’t wallow there, it did wade in[ii].

Looper for me was like a really fantastic hot dog. Delicious, but I’m not making it my last meal.

TRAILER: https://youtu.be/2iQuhsmtfHw

NOTES:

[i] Special shout-outs to Emily Blunt as a Sara who’s a landowner with a young son of her own, and to Jeff Daniels as Abe, the underboss in 2044.

[ii] An article on Looper mysteries explained: https://www.slashfilm.com/523142/ten-mysteries-in-looper-explained-by-director-rian-johnson/

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (26)

“I was a broken man after the attack on New York. I...I...I was tortured by Thanos. After my capture I was weak and physically broken. It took months for the healers to tend to me. A full year before I was thrown in the dungeon.”

“You looked ok on the news.”

Loki chuckled, “Appearances are everything, my darling. Had my mother not been there I would have died. Should have.”

“Lok, don’t say that. Had you died you would have never met me. I’m clearly the highlight of your life.”

“Of course you are. I’m sure, had you been there, you would have pestered me into surviving. You are relentless. And I love you for it.”

*******************************************

You woke up much too warm and your back was drenched. You peeled yourself off of Loki trying to wake him. His head fell back onto the pillow. He was unresponsive. You panicked and shook him. Nothing. You pressed your ear to his heart and heard it beating fast.

After your initial freak out you remembered you were a witch and could freeze him. Idiot. You ran your cold hands over his head neck and under his arms trying to lower his body temperature. His body cooled and sweat dried. When his eyes cracked open you conjured a glass of water and sat him up to drink. It was hours before you heard anyone move about. Josefine knocked on your door to let you know it was time to pay up.

“He needs a healer.” you said without any other sort of greeting. She glanced over your shoulder and nodded.

“I’ll send for someone.”

Njord, an imposing sort of fellow was the, king’s personal healer. He burst into the room. Your hands were still splayed over Loki’s chest attempting to keep his core temperature down.

Josefine rested her hand on your shoulder, “Let him work, witch.” There was no discernible tone behind her voice. She said witch as easily as she could have said your name.

“How long has he been this way?” Njord’s voice boomed.

“I’m not sure. He was burning with fever when I woke up this morning. So sometime overnight.”

He grumbled his way through the exam. You were nearly crawling out of your skin you were so worried. With a final “hmph” Njord seemed to have reached a satisfactory diagnosis.

“His life force feels like it’s been skinned alive. It will take some time to recover and this is no place to do it. I’ll send transportation. The prince will be moved to the palace. I will see to his care personally. Witch, I will not alert Odin or Prince Thor as to his whereabouts. I do, however, believe a mother should not have to worry herself sick about her son. I will send for her.”

When you arrived at the palace Frigga was already waiting. You were still cooling him as the healers brought him in. Njord bowed to the Queen and then gave you a curt nod. They lay him down on the bed and started packing cold rags around his body.

“Thank you, dear. We can take it from here.” She dismissed you like a common nurse maid. Had she even looked at you she would clearly see you were still in your t-shirt and tac pants. When you didn’t move she lifted her head and her eyes grew wide.

“Your majesty. This is Y/N of Midgard. She has been caring for the prince. She is his prisoner” Njord explained.

When Frigga looked at you her face was a mask of horror. She looked you up and down scrutinizing you at a loss for words.

“Not exactly his prisoner so much as I helped him escape.” You knotted your fingers together and kept your eyes on the floor.

Loki groaned in pain and you were both at his side in a heartbeat. You pushed his hair off his forehead. His fever was spiking. You tried to cool him down but he fought against your magic. “Shhh, Lok. I’ve got you” you whispered in his ear. He settled down and leaned into your touch. “Better?” He nodded against your hand. His eyes fluttered open. He smiled at you drunk on whatever medication that gave him.

“You really do love me.” His words slurred and blurred together. You giggled and kissed his temple. He wasn’t sure if it was the drugs or not but he loved the sound of your giggling. It was the first time he heard it and it was like little tinkling bells in his ear. “It’s nice to be loved.”

“It is. Get some rest.”

“You won’t leave me?”

“Not for a single second.”

He beamed at you while he drifted in and out of sleep. “I’ll bet you’re a good wife to me. You certainly are my type.”

“Lok, that’s not exactly high praise considering your type is pulse optional.”

He laughed and that turned into a groaning cough. “Norns you know me well.”

Your cheeks were burning. Frigga cleared her throat, “I’m sorry what?”

“Oh. Hello mother. This is Y/N. She is to be my wife.”

“Son, that is the fever taking. Try to get some rest.”

“No. He’s telling the truth. I’m his wife. Or was. Or will be. More accurately his widow at the moment. Time travel!” You threw up your free hand and shrugged.

She nervously laughed and took your hands, “Well then, dear, welcome to the family.”

You plopped down in a chair beside the bed and started to doze off. You heard Frigga talking to Loki and Njord but you didn’t comprehend what they were saying.

Loki ran a weak finger up and down your cheek. “Y/N, you look and smell awful. Someone will show you to a bath and a proper bed. Maybe get you something to eat.”

“Mhmm” was all you could say. You followed behind a very tall very blonde young woman who spoke gently to you. The hot water felt amazing. You allowed every muscle to relax. At one point the blonde came back in to set down some Vanaheim appropriate attire and lunch. You could get used to this.

You wished you had any one of your friends here to help you plan. Though, at this point, you are more plotting and scheming. You had to have something to offer Vanaheim to let Loki remain in their care. You also had to convince Thor and Odin that Loki shouldn’t be thrown in a dungeon. If there was ever a time to be charming, it was now.

You dressed and finished lunch then went back to Loki’s room. Frigga was waiting for you in the sitting room just outside the bedroom door.

“Do I bow? I’m not sure what the protocol is. We don’t exactly have a royal family where I live.”

“You’re family. We hug.” When she went to embrace you she placed her hand on your forehead. She had the same gift as Loki. You thought for a moment that she might be offended watching the things you’ve done with her son. Maybe she will skip those parts.

“I don’t peek at intimate moments” she said as if she read your mind. She saw everything else. Your happiness. Your squabbles. Your deep and abiding love for each other. Most important was your grief. She saw the night he died how you screamed and how you collapsed into Steve’s arms when his soul was unbound. She removed her trembling hand and pulled you in for a real hug. She wept quietly on your shoulder. You cried too having relived all of those memories in rapid fire.

“He’s right. You are a good wife to him. That is truly all a mother could ever want for her children. Their happiness. And you gave that to him in abundance. And to have a daughter with such power! The Norns have truly blessed us.”

“I have to meet with a seer. I need to know what my next move should be.”

“I will see to it personally. Why don’t you go rest for a while?”

Before heading back to your room you checked in on Loki once more. He was sleeping peacefully. You kissed his forehead and he sighed in appreciation.

After a much needed rest, as promised, Frigga brought in a seer. Not just any prophet but the special prophet to the king himself.

You dispensed with the pleasantries and she got down to business. She held your hands and closed her eyes. Many possibilities flew into view. You imagined she was a lot like the Time Keepers.

“You’re a conduit.” she said with a surprised smile. You nodded. “I’m not sure you know how powerful you are, my dear.”

“Loki said the same thing the first day he met me.”

“Well he was right. You have an opportunity here. An out with Odin and an in with the king. If you pledge that you will learn with the Vanir, I believe the small council will agree to care for you and the prince until he is well. As for Odin, well, when he knows what you can do he will have no choice.”

“I am no more powerful that Loki or Frigga.”

“Oh but you are. Y/N, you are strong enough to harness the powers of the infinity stones. Possess two and you are unstoppable. But all six....you can rule the Nine.”

“How would I even do that without creating branches in the timeline? The Ancient One warned us.”

“You and Loki have already created a pretty big one haven’t you? You can fix everything. Defeat Thanos before he invades Earth and you can right every wrong.”

You let her words seduce you. You would be a hero and your friends would never have to know Thanos’ name. The grief and guilt will never plague Thor. Bucky will never be lost and Steve would carry on with his life. But what would you be sacrificing if you went through with this plan? This is not a ripple in the timeline it’s a tidal wave.

“What’s the catch?”

She smiled, “Smart girl. You’ll save everyone but whatever lives changed because of the snap won’t happen because the snap won’t happen. Can you live with that?”

The resounding answer was yes. It was a sacrifice for you to be sure. Your friends will never know you. They won’t know what they were missing. “I’ll do it.”

She smiled and shook your hand then left to inform the small council. You debated on whether or not you should tell Loki. Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t. The tasseract was his prize. The power that drove him mad and made him do his worst. Odin had hidden it away but the cube and Loki seemed to be drawn to one another. Becoming one with the cube would draw him to you more. Hard to be sure now if he would actually fall in love with you or with whatever you would become. You had to tell him.

The small council and the king called you in and decided that Loki could stay. You made them promise that, even if Loki refused you, they would let him stay anyway. They agreed under the condition that you would work for them no matter what. You had very little choice. You just wanted him safe even if it meant that he wasn’t with you. You would leave for Asgard first thing to meet with Odin.

You asked to have dinner alone with Loki so you could discuss your plans. He sat in his bed with a tray over his lap. You were in the chair off to the side with your feet resting on the bed.

The mood in the room was comfortable. Civil. He would only occasionally ask you a question which you only answered with one word sentences and nods. “How’s the wine?”

“Good”

“Are your accommodations acceptable?”

“Yep”

You’d try to talk but stop yourself. You feel like you are about to burst. You push your food around taking small bites. Your stomach clenched uncomfortably. Another swallow of wine to give you courage. One more gulp to shut your mouth. Drain the glass to distract yourself. You were so far into your head that you didn’t notice him asking another question.

“Mortal, did you hear me?” He knocked your foot off the bed. Thankfully your glass was empty because it tumbled out of your hand and rolled on to the bed. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t your chatty self. Have I scared you off already?”

You didn’t dignify that with an answer. You felt the words bubbling in your throat like vomit. You closed your eyes and let them flow out of you as fast as possible.

“I’m leaving for a few days to visit Asgard. I’m going to negotiate your release to the king of Vanaheim in exchange for my services.”

He quirked and eyebrow, “Which are?”

“I’m a conduit. A powerful one. I can absorb the stones and stop Thanos before he destroys Asgard, Xandar, Earth and every other planet he obliterated searching for him. I can beat him, Loki.”

“I didn’t think it possible but you are more insane than I am. You can’t beat Thanos. He’s a titan.”

You scoffed and waived him off, “Titan is just a fancy name for older god. Even if I take in two infinity stones I’m unstoppable.”

“Why are you doing this?” His voice was quiet. He tried to convey indifference but came off sullen and hurt instead.

“I don’t ever want my friends and family to be hurt by this lunatic. And I know...I know I will be changing everything but I’ve already changed everything by rescuing you.”

He was up from the bed pacing just like you now. “There will always be something! If it isn’t Thanos it’s some other thing threatening the universe. It’s how the universe keeps going. Do you intend on killing everything that decides to rise up?!”

“No. He crushed entire civilizations. He is a plague. He....” Your voice faltered and tears spilled hot over your cheeks. “He tortured you and choked the life out of you. He took everything from us. He needs to be eliminated.”

All you wanted was for Loki to wrap his arms around you. He was across the room staring wildly trying to hold back tears. You were consumed by your need for revenge and that was a sure fire way to lose. You needed higher purpose something other than him. If your motives weren’t true Thanos was sure to crush your skull and turn you to dust.

What you were proposing was dangerous and stupid and reckless. You so blindly took the advice of one seer. Who knows what her motives were? Who knows what you would become if you were successful?

Yes, Loki could fall in love with you. You were the woman he dreamt of his whole life. Powerful. Wickedly smart. You could keep up with his whims and threw back just as hard. You were boundlessly and relentlessly curious. You loved to learn. These were all things he cherished in you in the short time he’s known you. And, most important was that you loved him. It was deep and he couldn’t imagine how he even got you to love him. This very love that was so blinding to you would be the exact thing that would kill you. He had to divert you. To refocus your efforts.

“Lok, I’ve put so much at your feet these last few days. I’m going to give you your space to feel for yourself. We’ll talk when I get back ok?” You made your way to the door.

“And if I refuse your advances? What then?!”

You stopped in your tracks. You couldn’t imagine him refusing to even get to know you better. But, if that’s how he felt you wouldn’t push him.

“Then I have my answers and a one way ticket back home.” You flashed him a sweet smile that made his heart ache.

“What will you do?”

You laughed to yourself, “I guess I’ll mourn you properly and let you go. Maybe move on with my life. All the while I’ll wait for the sweet release of death. Not a bad way to exist I suppose. I love you. You know I do. You can feel it. Even if I have to wait...”

He scoffed, “Pathetic! You don’t love me. You love the idea of me. The neutered version of me. The man I became. I’m not that man. I will never be him. You’ve made that certain. You don’t love me. You love a ghost. I don’t love you. I don’t know you. I feel your love for your husband. Not me as I stand before you. Make your sacrifices. Hang yourself on that cross but don’t you dare invoke my name!”

He was shouting now loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear. You held your ground but flinched as he got closer to you. His fists balled up and he pounded the wall next to your head. He was trying to scare you. You were undeterred.

“See you in a few days.”

You unceremoniously left the room without a second glance at him. You slept soundly that night and, as promised, Frigga met you to deliver you to the bifrost. You lifted the cloaking spell so that Heimdall could find you. She hugged you and wished you luck on your journey. In a flash of light you were gone.

When Loki woke up that morning he only felt his own feelings. He felt hollow and drained. He didn’t realize how much you were propping him up in order to heal. You must have been exhausted with how hard you worked to sustain him.

You fought with all of your body and soul to make him open his heart to you. If only you could see your efforts were futile. He was not worthy of redeeming. You had to move on from him. He couldn’t love you. He was too broken.

The thought of never seeing you again made his stomach clench uncomfortably and he wretched into a chamber pot. He crawled back into bed willing himself to disappear. No, today, Loki didn’t love you. He ruined everything he touched. He would ruin you too.

[videofaciempraeteriti-blog]

She kissed her and pulled her down so they were laying together. “I really really love you.”

“Kaaaaaaaraaaaa come snuggle with your wiiiiiiiiife.”

“Alriiiiiight, I’m cooooomiiiiiing.”

[macuilsung]

{ ooc } Either everyone’s on the mother mayhem bandwagon or most of my mutuals are from the UK...

Whatever the case, don’t catch me thinking about developing Forwin’s mom or anything, else I’m gonna be stuck here all day.

...

...so her name is Isolde-

Isolde von Ulrich is descended from House Ulrich in the west of the Adrestian Empire, a minor barony among the empire’s nobility and one of few noble families—if not the only other family, House Nuvelle aside—that still carried the Crest of Saint Macuil in its bloodline. Being a child without a Crest, she later married into House Gerth, the imperial household responsible for Adrestia’s foreign affairs, as the wife of Roland von Gerth.

To say she was unhappy with this arrangement was an understatement. She would rather let her House fall apart and be done with it just so she could live freely, unbound by the trappings of nobility. If it were up to her, she would have absconded with an actor friend from Enbarr, but with her family pressuring her into this arrangement, she ultimately relented.

She later gave birth to her only child Wyndell. As the only source of parental love when he was little, it was mainly through her that he was instilled with values and ideals that clashed with his father’s from a young age. However, his aptitude for magic manifested early due to the Major Crest of Macuil he was born with. The duchess did not foresee a happy future for her son, a life dictating that his every decision must be made for the betterment of his House, his own personal happiness be damned. So, she tried to steal away with him one night... but was caught in the act by her husband.

With that, Isolde is presented with an ultimatum. Either she returns to a loveless marriage at Duke Gerth’s side with Wyndell in tow, where she will likely be forced to try for a few more Crest children, or she leaves to live her life as she chooses but she leaves alone, renouncing all claim to nobility in the process. As the only surviving member of House Ulrich, she would leave without much of a safety net, so a life as a commoner would be all that awaits her.

With a broken heart for her son and a settlement of gold, she leaves House Gerth.

Little time following her departure from the dukedom, rumour has it she was briefly seen in Enbarr where she took on another name and sought out her old flame. None know what became of them both, as they both vanished without a trace soon after.

Wyndell would unknowingly honour Isolde’s wish for him years later, when he runs away from home in the middle of the Dagda and Brigid war, spurred into the act proper after the fall of Houses Nuvelle and Ochs. Marching towards the border Adrestia shares with the Kingdom of Faerghus, he chances upon a curious caravan of travelling performers coming from the Empire’s east. He needed to get away, supposedly from the invasion, and they needed a stagehand. Thus, the life of Forwin began... but the rest is a story for another day.

Because she left when he was only a few years old, Forwin’s memories of his mother in the present are scarce, to the point he hardly even remembers what she looks like. Still, there’s always a bittersweet comfort in what little he can recall. Lullabies and bedtime stories, warm hugs and ruffling of his hair, a time in his life where love and empathy were present at home...