#yorick my sweet

[theautisticarchivist]

i CANNOT be the only one acknowledging this lovely tidbit it filled me with absolute joy

the lil eldritch things are a little silly sometimes 💞 my poor lovely's,,, the horrors they are to endure i'll be sure to make them some soup and wrap them up

[gh0stlyscooter]

I LOVE YORICK send post

[eviestardust]

Sometimes I make doodles while listening to the new episodes so here’s me posting some of the sillier ones this time >:]

[robotclownindulgence]

spoilers for malevolent 44, but what if everything yorick wanted was a sweet new ride? like he said he doesn't need a body so what if a hand is enough for him to move around like some sort of cursed roomba?

do you see my vision?

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty-Two

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One

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Author's Note: I started a new job and promptly got bronchitis for two weeks, was fine for a week, then covid. I LIVED BITCH! and my brain is mostly working.

all my undying love to @vampire-exgirlfriend who will never let me drown in this story. Your reacts for this were amazing (Aegon wants them to be old people in matching windbreakers, it is known). Also, many many thanks to @selfproclaimedunicorn for all the talking, the giggling, the gluck gluck 3000, just… thank you. Thank you for being you. ANOTHER thanks to @darkwolf76

for your eyes on the first half of this chapter and loving House Strong as much as I do.

Thank you to SelfProclaimedUnicorn for letting me borrow Cassana AND MOMMY AND DADDY YORICK AND SHIREEN and Rhea Royce my beloved, and Darkwolf76 for allowing me to borrow Deirdre and sweet baby Dyana. Please check out their work!

Also, there's River Tongue in the second section of this chapter, but no translations because Abby doesn't understand it. Something Something we're touching upon the eradication of irish culture under the british. I said what I said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Do We Get What We Deserve?

The outer bailey was bustling with the mid-morning crowd, the banners of Runestone flapping from the back of two wheelhouses that were settled in front of the hall. Larys said something about their cousin, Cassana, having arrived. Aegon recalled that one of Ser Simon’s granddaughters was married to the lord’s younger brother. House Royce was a far friendlier kin to House Strong, it appeared.

Abby was there, being embraced by a soft featured, robust young woman with dark curls and a smiling face that reflected the rest of the Strongs. There was a tall man, dark blonde and kitted in shades of purple and bronze, a half cape slung about him like a knight from a story beside a comely woman who could only be his wife, given their matching outfits. Aegon considered this, as Abby already seemed to cleverly sneak in the embroidery of Sunfyre on her gowns. Maybe they could start matching, like the horses.

“Your Grace, Lord Larys.” Ser Simon’s voice interrupted Aegon’s internal adventure down a road where he and Abby had matching dragon coronets to receive the Royce party. “Lord Yorick Royce, and his wife, Lady Shireen Baratheon, are here as Lady Jeyne Arryn’s official representatives.”

The bow Lord Yorick gave was flawless, tightly controlled and not over the top, nor was his wife’s curtsy overly exhibitionist. There was a difference in the Vale chivalry than that of the Reach. Aegon supposed it might be because life in the Vale was harder, what with the mountains and all that came with it.

“Well met, my lord, my lady.” Aegon inclined his head in turn, smiling. “Tales of your deeds in the Stepstones are still told at court. I hope to see you in my wedding tournament?”

Lord Yorick’s beard was slightly darker than his hair, flecks of gray peaking through. Many of the men had beards and Aegon was beginning to feel like he should give his own a go. He was unshaven that morning, his own stubble scratchy along his jaw. Certainly he could grow a fine beard.

“You honor me, Prince Aegon,” the other man said, a slight smile on his face and a glance down at the brighter smile of his wife, her hands wrapped comfortably around his bicep. “If you are not competing, then I shouldn’t feel so bad being able to crown my wife the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“We heard your own nameday duel went quite well, Your Grace,” Lady Shireen complimented, and Aegon’s ears flushed red. “A wonderful debut.”

“It is my wedding and I don’t think I’d be forgiven for getting a gauntlet to the face and having my sweet lady play nursemaid as a start to our marriage.” Aegon shrugged, a lazy grin on his face. It earned the chuckles and amusement he’d been looking for.

“Playing a little nursemaid can sometimes ease the nerves,” Lady Shireen leaned a little closer, her deep blue eyes bright with mischief. Aegon could see the slight glimmers of resemblance between the lady and that of her niece, Cassandra, but the lady of Runestone lacked the predatory look that the younger woman held. Lady Shireen’s edges were softer in a way that reminded him of the hazy memories of Aunt Celeste, and even Abby in some of her more confident moments.

Aegon was very conscious not to let his eyes fall below the woman’s face.

Lord Yorick’s own cheeks flushed lightly, but he shrugged with a raised eyebrow in agreement. “There’s plenty of time for the prince to be given advice on his marital duties. We’ve been on the road since dawn, and I could use a bath.” They departed with courtesies exchanged and Aegon approached Abby who was giving a final embrace to her cousin.

“Deidre will be in the gardens with little Dyana,” she told Cassana. “And Morya has Gwenys as well.”

Aegon’s hand snaked out to grab her wrist and tug her over to him, automatically snaking his arms around her waist and pressing his face into the loose curls around her shoulders, half her hair woven in a braided knot at the crown of her head.

“Aegon,” she breathed.

He didn’t know if it was a protest or relief and he simply squeezed her tighter and pressed his lips to her pulse. It was easier to push away everything else that plagued him and sickened him when he was here with her. A tonic to his raw wounds, Aegon let himself drift into the clean scent of earthy rose and red currant perfume oil and soap.

“Did you eat?”

Her frustrated sigh was low in his ear, her hands pressing against his shoulders even if she wasn’t pushing him away. “Did you tell Wylla to make sure I did, or was that simply her being her usual bossy self?”

“I might have mentioned something in passing, but the gods know she won’t take orders from me.” But they had reached an understanding between themselves, in recognizing that they needed to make sure Abrogail Strong did not run herself empty as she was wont to do.

She tilted her head back and her fingers curled in his jacket. He knew he smelled of dragon and rain but she didn’t appear to mind. Her freckles were stark against her pale face and he took in the dark smudges beneath her eyes, but her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and so he did not worry overly much.

“Lord Elmo and some of the other river lords are here to discuss our marriage contract,” Abby said softly. “I think it took the queen and the lord hand by surprise.”

“Larys told me.” Aegon nodded towards the slow moving figure moving in the direction of the tower where his father and the royal household were put up. Abby moved to tuck her cool hand in the crook of his elbow, her other holding the blue wool cloak more tightly closed around her throat. It was a bit chilly that morning, although Aegon’s blood ran too hot to usually notice. “Elmo thinks I’ve come to take his paramount seat from him and feed him to Sunfyre.”

“I think he would still be upset even without the dragon,” she murmured. She’d told him of the rumors she’d heard during his feast, about how some of the lords were upset with the idea of a Targaryen encroaching onto their land. Which Aegon thought was utterly ridiculous. Abby had pointed out that when a Targaryen came into the Riverlands, they tended to conquer or cause other trouble. His gaze flicked to the melted towers high above them—the hubris and legacy of men come and gone long before him. “If someone is displeased with his ruling, then what’s to stop them from coming to you as a representative of the crown?”

“They just assume I’d hear them and not just send them on their merry way,” he scoffed with a bitter note to his voice. She squeezed his arm.

“It doesn’t matter, Aegon. It’s the perception of it. The implied threat. Not to mention the succession. If you’re seen as a figure in the Riverlands over the Tullys, that would change things.” As always, Abrogail was right when he let himself listen to her explanations. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t discussed it before, a plate of honey and cream cakes between them, her hands occupied with sewing while he fed her and himself. Still, he rolled his eyes, dragging his booted foot back and forth over the gravel and kicking up rocks.

“They’re already calling our wedding The Second Great Council,” Aegon sneered. “They’re all so eager to force such ambitions upon me.”

“Tis foul,” Abby returned with her own disgust. “At least we know what we’re up against.” Aegon’s chest warmed with her ‘we’ mention and he ghosted a kiss against her temple. The guards at the door to the tower bowed their heads and opened the heavy doors, whitewashed to hide the scars from the fire.

“We do,” Aegon murmured, shifting his arm to wrap around her shoulders and keep her close to him as they ventured into the tower where her family had perished. She trembled lightly beneath his touch and he gripped her arm, thumb stroking against the round of her shoulder. She was doing so well, holding herself together. He would give her what strength he had.

The hum of conversation could be heard as they headed down the hallway, the inner windows allowing the torchlight into the interior in lieu of outer windows.

“I hate the name,” Abby muttered, “Tower of Dread.”

“Then we’ll change it along with whatever other name changes you wish to make.” He raised his eyebrows at her, making a silly face, and Abby scrunched her nose as amusement pulled at her pretty mouth.

She was straight as an arrow as she walked, years of lessons pulling her spine rigid and tilting her chin just so. It was a facsimile of his own mother’s posture when faced with those who would underestimate her. Regal. Elegant.

Aegon dropped his arm from around her shoulders to stroke the spill of curls down her back before offering his arm to her so she could hold onto that instead of gripping her own hands so tightly about her waist he thought she might break her fingers. His own heart hammered in his chest, to be faced with all these lords and know that each moment in that room was a different level of judgment and assessment than he’d received those months before. Aegon had gotten on well with the men at the feast, plying them with fine wine and bawdy stories. He was good at that sort of thing; it’s when things became formal and full of layers that he didn’t understand that he struggled with.

“You’ll do well,” she whispered.

He pressed a quick kiss to her hair. “We’ll do well.” There was no doing this without her; he didn’t even want to try.

The second set of heavy wooden doors were opened, these ones newer than the others, to reveal the circular hall and the blazing fire in the great hearth that was taller than a man and just as ornately carved as the one in the Kingspyre tower. Some of the plaster frescoes high above them were patchy in places, revealing where new plaster had been replaced but not yet painted. There were tapestries similar to the ones in the other tower, these depicting hunting scenes along rivers and through weirwood forests. Aegon was distracted momentarily by one depicting women with flowing hair reaching out through the rivers, fish fins along their arms.

The table in the hall was enormous; a great wheel of wood cut from one of those great red oaks in the forest. Seated here, all were on the same level. There was no head of table, even if Queen Alicent sat in the mostore ornate chair there. It was the only denotation of status.

“Where is the king?” Aegon inquired of Grand Maester Orwyle. Mellos had retired back to Oldtown at the close of the nameday festivities to live out his last days in quiet. Aegon had felt relief at the change; the younger maester was far easier to deal with and didn’t look at him with rheumy eyes full of disdain.

Orwyle inclined his head to both of them, his hands folded beneath the large, gray sleeves of his robe and his maester chain clinking. “He is recovering from the long journey. He has bid the queen and Hand to handle these discussions Lord Elmo has…” The man trailed off, lips pressed together in disapproval, but of what specifically, Aegon didn’t know. “Found need of. It is good that you are both here.”

It was a surprising statement of encouragement that left Aegon momentarily stunned, Abby’s fingers curling into the leather of his riding jacket he still hadn’t changed out of. There hadn’t been time and it wasn’t as if Larys had brought a change of shirt for him. No matter. They were so concerned about his dragon and his title, let them be aware of it. His riding leathers were made of supple black leather with scalloped detailing along the shoulders and down his arms that looked like dragon scales. There was a shimmer in the leather when the light caught on it that gave the iridescent glimmer of gold from the gold thread stitching, and the buttons were gold as well, stamped with dragons. The lining was a fine, deep green and gold wool brocade, and the inside of the neck and his cuffs were a soft shearling lining. High in the sky, even his dragon blood could only do so much, and the garment would prove too warm soon enough. He was already tugging at the stamped buttons with his free hand, his other arm still clutched by Abby.

“Good morrow, my lords,” he called out with every ounce of mustered levity he could, leading Abby towards the vacant chairs on his mother’s right side. “Morning, Lord Hand,” he greeted his grandfather, who stood to Mother’s left, hand resting on the back of his chair. He leaned down to ghost a kiss upon his mother’s cheek, feeling her startle. “Mother, you look well rested.”

“Good morning, Aegon.” Mother’s dark brown eyes widened with surprise, an uncertain smile gracing her lovely face. “You were up early?”

“Nothing like beginning the day on dragonback and greeting Prince Daemon upon his arrival,” Aegon said, a brief, close lipped smile on his face before pulling out the chair to his left for Abby to sit in, and taking the seat immediately to his mother’s side. “It’s good that I returned as early as I did. Lord Elmo! It’s wonderful to see you again, as well as the other familiar faces here.” He grinned brightly at the assembly all while sick sloshed in his gut, the ribbon around his ribs tightening with the edges of panic. A servant poured him a goblet of weak wine.

Lord Elmo Tully was tall and deceptively broad, his coat a deep, dark blue with scarlet, four strand braids that looked like fishbones along his shoulders, red trim along his wrists. As he drew closer, Aegon noticed the buttons along the front of his coat were in the shape of fish, and the brocade pattern along the hem were also stamped in silver scale print. His face was tanner than when he saw him last; clearly a man who preferred riding horseback instead of a wheelhouse.

Handsome, to be certain, and Aegon wouldn’t forget that Tully had also sought Abby’s hand. Regardless of what Larys said, Aegon couldn’t fathom that he was not bothered by losing out on the chance for her. It was foolish to think otherwise. And Aegon didn’t think he could blame her had she picked Lord Elmo Tully over him. Seven hells, Aegon would have picked Elmo Tully had he been in her place.

“Likewise, your Grace.” His voice was low and smooth, water over river stones. While some of the others looked visibly surprised by Aegon’s entrance, other’s did not, and it appeared that Elmo Tully was unflappable as they came. “Although I know this conversation will be a complicated one. As I was stating to Lord Otto and her grace, vassals of mine have come forward with concerns over the past few months and I’m inclined to agree with them.”

His bright eyes cut away to look at Larys who was seated beside his grandfather. Aegon watched him settle comfortably in his chair.

“I must confess, I am confused as to why a contract that is not only approved by the crown, but by our Lord Paramount, Lord Grover Tully, is now suddenly drawn into question, and additionally, why my fellow lords are viewing myself in such a light.” Larys folded his hands on the table in front of him, a glance towards the Tower beside him. “I understand a certain amount of skepticism was raised by some, but as a beloved member of the queen’s household, my sweet sister-”

“There is no record of Lady Abrogail’s wardship under Queen Alicent,” Elmo Tully cut in, the room silent as his deep voice echoed across the large table. “House Tully had first right as your liege lord, Strong. Your father stated he was not interested in warding the girl.”

“Extenuating circumstances, Lord Elmo,” Otto Hightower did not raise his voice, but it carried to every part of the room. Aegon reached for his goblet and sipped from it to hide his confusion, wishing he had bread and some kind of meat to settle the alcohol in his gut from the night before. Larys hadn’t mentioned anything about Abby’s wardship during the carriage ride. Beside him, Abby was still, but her hand reached beneath the table to rest on his knee. It was purely comfort; for him or her, Aegon didn’t know, but he dropped his free hand down to tap two fingers against the back of hers in reassurance. “Lord Lyonel Strong was a member of the king’s Small Council, his wife, my niece, and the queen’s first cousin.”

“In addition,” Mother continued with a look of disapproval that he knew well and was grateful not to be under, “I had helped raise the girl since she was a babe. It was agreed between Lord Larys and myself that to remove her from my care would further upset her after all she had already endured. There was no reason to rip her from everything she knew.”

Aegon watched the eyes around the table swivel to look at Abby beside him and he turned their hands beneath the table so he could hold hers. Her fingers were cold and he gripped them tight.

“Abrogail had served as a companion to Princess Helaena since they were young girls,” Larys spoke, his words slow and deliberate. “The crown did not purchase her wardship before our father died, nor after, because I did not sell it.”

“Her ward price was nearly a thousand gold dragons!” Elmo snapped, his jaw ticking. “A portion of which would be paid to House Tully as your liege lord.”

“And the greater portion to House Targaryen, your liege lord,” Mother said sharply, the reprimand subtle but clear. “Are you upset, my lord, that your house lost income in this deal you’ve imagined having taken place?” Elmo’s nostrils flared. Mother frowned and waved to the servant closest to her. “It is early, and we have only just arrived. Please bring light refreshment. I think we could all use a bit of something to eat. I did not have time to properly break my fast this morning.”

Abby relaxed beside him and Aegon felt his stomach rumble as within moments plates were brought in and platters of freshly carved ham and steaming loaves of fresh bread were brought in. A sweet porridge with honey and molasses, morsels of dried fruit tucked inside, was set in front of them.

“You need to eat,” he murmured, spooning some of the porridge onto her plate along with a piece of ham. He helped himself to the crusty bread and slathered the red currant preserves across it, licking a bit from his thumb. He leaned over and whispered, “You are worth far more than a measly thousand dragons.” Abby scoffed but she picked up her spoon to take little bites.

Aegon looked to his mother who was helping herself to a piece of bread with delicate bites, and he realized that she had planned this. Larys had not spoken of Abby’s wardship, only of Aegon and Sunfyre being a threat. To get Tully on the defensive and make him look like his only issue with everything was due to money, not the perception that Aegon was here to cause trouble for him. Aegon looked at the other lords around the table, filing away his realization to think about later.

Elmo Tully’s face was no longer flushed with frustration. In King’s Landing, the man had been quiet, observant, but he’d also been with his father, who was the ruling lord. He leaned in conference with Lord Piper beside him, nodding quietly before straightening.

“Clearly there is much confusion that needs to be clarified for the peace of our vassals,” Elmo began again, his jaw no longer clenched and a slightly more relaxed curve to his shoulders. “Many have been under the ugly assumption that the laws of wardship were not followed. As we all know, the practice of warding our precious children is what helps keep the peace, strengthens ties, and ultimately serves our houses and the realm.”

“I completely agree with you, Lord Elmo,” Mother smiled her tight lipped smile that brought the youthful light back to her face. Elmo averted his eyes briefly and Aegon’s own narrowed a touch at the man’s reaction. “I can assure you, Lady Abrogail was never my official ward, although there are those who used the term for ease of explanation. She served as my daughter’s much loved companion, and I imparted the knowledge I had to her future role as a Lady just as I did when her mother was alive.” She let the silence hang with an expectant look.

Aegon noticed that neither his mother nor Elmo Tully offered any apology to one another.

“With that matter settled,” Otto said, wiping his fingers on a soft towel to be handed to the servant. “You made mention of several disturbing accusations towards the Crown that we felt were better discussed in casual conference behind closed doors than in the throne room in King’s Landing.”

“Several of my vassals expressed discomfort with Houses Bracken and Blackwood as well as House Tully being called before the Small Council. Additionally, this summons was then accompanied by the announcement that the king’s eldest son would be the next Lord of Harrenhal.” Elmo pushed his half empty plate to the side, the last bite of crusty bread abandoned. ‘A travesty,’ Aegon thought, and popped the last piece of his bread into his mouth. It was a little too big, his cheeks puffed slightly around it, but there was no choice but to commit. Now he was keeping up with the information Larys had given him. So not only did Elmo, who was pretending to be the acting Lord over his dying father, believe that Aegon was coming for his seat, but he also clearly believed that House Targaryen had what? Stolen Abby? Held her hostage to take her claim?

Aegon’s gaze flicked to his mother and grandfather briefly, but both their faces were impassive, schooled features impossible to tell what it was they were thinking.

“To be clear on the concern,” came the rasping voice of Lord Piper from Elmo’s right. The lord was older, thin as a reed, his graying brown hair curled around his ears and neck. “The Brackens and Blackwoods will tear each other apart any chance they get. It is an issue that myself and fellow houses are concerned about. We were fortunate that under his Grace, King Jaehaerys, peace had been brokered. With the wedding of Lord Bracken’s daughter to House Karstark and the discussions held in the capital, tensions appear to have eased. Some feel that this was the decision behind this marriage, and the presence of the crown in the Riverlands.”

The quiet after the statement was uncomfortable, and Aegon coughed as he swallowed his piece of bread. That also matched with what Abby had said Lythene Ryger had told her all those months ago. He ventured a look to his bride. Her face was pale except for the splotches of bright color in her cheeks, her rosebud mouth pursed with discomfort.

“Then allow me to gladly free you of these misconceptions, my lords,” Mother said, her chin tilted up and her gaze meeting each lord and lady in turn before finally landing on Elmo Tully. Her elbows rested on the arms of the ornate chair, hands folded loosely in front of her. She was utterly relaxed now and Aegon found himself mimicking the posture, even if he felt nervous and on edge. The food in his belly helped. He could feel Abby’s anxieties from her place beside him as keenly as if they were his own. She needed him to be calm. She needed his strength. His mother needed him to be reasonable. He could do this. “During Lord Lyonel’s time as Hand of the King, he and the king had discussed this betrothal. I had also discussed this betrothal with him on numerous occasions. Harrenhal had nothing to do with these conversations. Unless there’s the implication that he had a premonition of what was to happen here…”

The air rushed from his lungs, accompanied by a surprising sense of relief. Instinct compelled him to lift Abby’s hand and press a light kiss to her knuckles, holding her hand in both of his for a moment. She was finally starting to warm up and he looked to see her tension ease and finally relax back in her chair, if only a little.

Elmo Tully held Mother’s gaze for a long time, their eyes locked in some sort of silent conversation or contest, Aegon could not be sure.

“This idea that the crown would overstep themselves and park a dragon on your doorstep over squabbling houses is ludicrous, Lord Elmo,” his grandfather finally said. “We understand how the perception could have come about. Those who wish to sew discontent will always look for nooks and crannies to slither through.”

“No?” Elmo asked mildly, an arch of his brow as he propped his arms on his elbows, large hands folded in front of him. He wore no rings on his fingers, Aegon noticed. “Law states that through her marriage, Harrenhal will become Prince Aegon’s. He is not bringing lands to this marriage and instead, Lady Abrogail’s dowry is providing everything in this union. Seven protect her, should she pass without issue, Harrenhal becomes the prince’s… and then the lands will eventually pass to the crown.”

The implication was clear. Aegon was still the eldest son. Should Viserys change his mind on matters of succession and Aegon named King, then Harrenhal, its income and lands would pass from the Riverlands and become part of the Crownlands.

“The prince is bringing a dragon to the marriage,” his grandfather’s voice was equally mild, even amused.

“Should Prince Aegon pass without issue, Harrenhal will still be in the hands of my sister,” Larys spoke, reaching for his goblet. “It will not default to the crown, nor the prince’s next of kin. Abrogail will maintain her hold.”

“And what is to prevent the crown from simply marrying her to another one of the king’s sons?” Lord Mudd spoke this time. It was the conversation that his father hated and could only happen with him still abed. Aegon instinctively felt the prickle of anxiety and the shortness of breath that came when discussions that edged on the succession, as well as the terrible idea that Abby would just be given to Aemond or Daeron. Daeron was just a boy and the idea of Aemond and Abrogail in that way made Aegon’s blood boil, teeth aching to snap his jaw around his brother’s throat and rip it out. It didn’t matter if Aemond was betrothed, or if he didn’t covet Abby in the least. The mere thought of it incensed him.

She belonged to him, and to think her alone and vulnerable without him had Aegon threading his fingers through hers, the closest he could come to splitting open his ribs and trapping her inside where she’d be warm and protected, worth more than a thousand gold dragons or this castle or her inheritance.

Abby squeezed his hand with both of hers, thumb stroking along the back of his hand and he looked down at her. She was there, he was there. The tension eased only some.

“And should Lady Abrogail pass in childbirth without issue?” Posed Tully this time. Aegon thought he was going to be sick at the thought of it. The talk of all this death, hers and his, it hung over him like a specter, as if it were an unspoken wish. “Prince Aegon would hold ownership-”

“I do find it interesting how we are so quick to assume that I will die within a month of their marriage and not live a long life,” Larys cut in, a placid smile on his face. “It is only a deformed foot that I live with, not palpitations of the heart or fever or grayscale…” He trailed off with a wave of his hand. Tully and Lord Mudd both shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Beside him, Mother lifted her goblet and he could see the amusement on her face that she was trying to hide. Larys’ words were enough to cut through the tension and Aegon huffed out a snort. Abby giggled quietly beside him.

“Apologies, Lord Larys,” Elmo said. “But these are important discussions.”

“And the assumption that I myself would not have also thought of and worked out with the final negotiations?” Larys Strong shook his head, lips pursed. For a man who did not speak often, he had slid into the moment well. “I must say, the lack of faith you appear to have in me not only as a lord of a holding, but a member of the Small Council, and your direct vassal are fully on display and I am concerned that if these things were shared by Lord Grover, that it was never brought up during the prince’s celebrations.”

Once more, Aegon saw that Larys Strong had Elmo Tully on the back foot in front of several of the houses in attendance. There was no illusion to the privacy of this conference. Not from the servants in attendance, nor from the lords and ladies who would discuss this with others. He wondered if this was normal discussion between vassals and their lords. The mediation between Houses Bracken and Blackwood with House Tully in attendance had gone differently. His mother had defended House Tully when certain implications had come up. It was exhausting to watch and process, and Aegon felt like they were circling.

Elmo’s face hardened. “Lord Strong, you leave the running of Harrenhal to your castellian. You have not been in the Riverlands for any extended period of time since before your father took office as Master of Laws and later Hand of the King. I correspond more frequently with Ser Simon than I have with you until recently. What am I left to assume of you, my lord?”

“To be asked to serve the realm is the highest honor, Lord Elmo, and I do not regret my position, and neither did my father. Each raven sent to Harrenhal is reviewed and passed onto myself where my replies are sent directly to House Tully. I do not know the workings of the paramount house, and I am disinclined to assume anything, as it serves none. Your concern and those of my fellow vassals are noted, and our great queen and Lord Otto have been nothing but above board in our negotiations between the prince and my sister.” He inclined his head in the direction of Mother and grandfather, who returned the gesture. “Queen Alicent and her father work tirelessly with the king and any concerns that you have with his Grace's choices and decisions should be brought up directly with him.”

Silence filled the room once more and Aegon looked at Elmo Tully, stone faced and displeased at the failure of whatever outcome he’d been hoping for.

“Your concerns for Lady Abrogail are well intentioned, Lord Elmo,” Mother said. “And you do well to bring the concerns your vassals have to us, although I do wish we had discussed these sooner, and not on the eve of my son’s wedding.” The gentle rebuke was a statement of the obvious and she leaned back in her seat. “The assumptions made that the crown would engage in duplicitous behavior to undermine the sacred agreement between vassals and their liege lords will not be taken to heart and will be left at this table. I can also assure you, Lord Elmo, and your fellow lords, as well as Lord Tully, that the king and I thought long about this betrothal. The king had discussed this previously with Lord Strong and subsequently the new Lord Strong, and was happy to join our families. If there are further concerns, then when his Grace has recovered from the journey, we will be more than happy to discuss any lingering concerns. Are there?”

“Lord Mallister isn’t here because of Ironborn ships spotted near the Cape of Eagles.” It was Lord Ryger’s turn to speak up now. “They raided a few of the villages along the bay last year.”

“Then a dragon here in the Riverlands will be helpful,” Aegon declared with a grin. Not that he was happy about burned villages, but they were much further from his mind than this prime opening. “King’s Landing is but a few hours flight from here, so I would imagine the Cape of Eagles would be similar. It could be enough to scare them off.”

A murmur washed through the room, the tone much different than the distrustful gazes and whispers that held them only moments before. It didn’t matter if Elmo Tully and the other lords believed his mother and grandfather or not. Aegon had seen the opening to something that mattered far more: the safety and protection of these people. Flush with finding his way, Aegon stood, chair scraping across the flagstone, and tugged his riding leathers off. It was much too hot and sweat had started gathering along the nape of his neck. He rested a hand along the back of Abby’s chair, his body inclined towards hers.

“I understand your concerns, and I have listened to them in earnest. If you can be reassured of my commitment to your house, Lord Elmo, and to our fellow houses, then take this thusly. Our children will be of the Riverlands. I am as much invested in the safety and wellbeing and protection of these lands from the Ironborn and whomever else chooses to attempt to press advantage. I swear myself to this. And if there are still sore feelings over… whatever happened in the past in regards to wardship, then I would happily ward one of your sons, Lord Elmo. My younger brother, Daeron, would benefit from boys his own age, as he will be here squiring for my uncle, Ser Gwayne.” Aegon tilted his head, catching Tully’s gaze with a slight smile. “Ser Harwin spoke positively of his time squiring with you at Riverrun in his youth.”

“He did,” Abby said, her voice soft but steady. “And perhaps we can discuss in the future one of our sons fostering with you at Riverrun. My father always reassured me of the ease the partnership between our houses had, and we would like to continue that tradition. I may have grown up away from here, but the rivers run through my blood; Harrenhal is my home. Our people are my kin. The prince speaks truly. Our children will be raised with the customs and traditions of our home, and Aegon and Sunfyre will fiercely protect the sanctity of our realm.”

Many heads were nodding and Elmo’s gaze pinned Aegon in place and he met it without hesitation. Whatever his mother and grandfather plotted, it was beyond Aegon’s knowing. What he did know was that he needed to prove himself to Elmo Tully and the Riverlords, and finally start ripping these assumptions that he was some eager villain set to usurp everyone in his path. He tried to convey that in his look, his hand dropping from the back of Abby’s chair to her shoulder, fingers curling protectively over her slim shoulder. He didn’t want the throne. He didn’t want Tully’s seat. Aegon wanted a home.

Abby, and Harrenhal, were what he wanted.

Abby sat still as Sarra Frey wound spring flowers into her hair and Lythene knelt before her, tracing blue ink along her hands and bared arms. The gown she wore had slashed sleeves, a style she did not often wear without tighter sleeves beneath and the cool air spread goosebumps along her skin. Coupled with the ticklish tracing of the cold woad, she was doing her best not to shiver too much.

“You all have strange customs,” Rhea Royce said, crunching into a juicy, red apple, the juice running down her chin and she swiped it away with the back of her hand. “Won’t that paint turn her blue for days?”

“They make you visit the Bronze Kings for blessings at Runestone,” Cousin Cassana pointed out with a laugh, handing over fussy little Dyana to her mother, her elder sister Deirdre. “You know how those crypts are. I still feel like I’m being watched.”

“Besides,” Deirdre added, cooing at her daughter. “Woad doesn’t stain, and most certainly won’t stand up with all the wedding preparations.”

“Ah yes.” It was Wylla’s turn now, knocking her foot against Rhea’s knee as she leaned against a moss and ivy covered stump at the edge of the blanket. “We’re making an Abby stew of hot water and goat milk. What could survive? Lythene, do you think we could go ahead and paint her all over? Is that a custom here?”

Abby rolled her eyes with a smile as the women around her laughed at the joke. “I am sitting right here,” she pointed out in mock exasperation. “I like this. It lets me feel closer to my family.” Her cousins would remember if her mother had partaken in the riverland custom. She knew, of course, that Aunt Mya certainly had, as did great-grandmother Sabitha. Mayhaps her grandmother, Addison Lefford, did as well, although she was also technically a Westerlander. Abby had been overly worried that she wouldn’t get this, that the queen would overrule it in the name of legitimacy for Aegon.

She might have, until Elmo Tully and the other banners sat at the great table the day before to accuse dragons of coming to feast on fish.

Sarra’s fingers snagged on a knot and Abby hissed at the painful pull while the other girl immediately apologized. “Almost done,” she promised.

“I’m nervous,” Abby said while Lythene finished the swirl up near her shoulder. The green gown was not the traditional blue of a Riverlands bride, and it wasn’t anywhere near the style that usually was done, but it had made do in a pinch and Abby did her best to ignore the pang of inadequacy that kept threatening to surge up. It was a low, little thrum in the back of her mind, telling her that she was a false thing, that she had no claim to a heritage she’d been taught to be proud of, for she had not spent long summer days in the fields chasing lambs or taking oaths and prayers beneath the weirwoods and the seven in the family godswood.

It was said that the Harrenhal godswood was the largest in the realm - even bigger than Winterfell’s, which Abby had a difficult time believing. Wylla had no answers to it, since it had been some time since she had seen her cousin, the now Lord Cregan, but said that Harrenhal’s was very large. It was as if a whole forest had been encased in the castle walls. Abby thought it more than a little strange, since Harren the Black had no issue in chopping down every remaining weirwood grove for leagues to build the fortress, yet he left this one standing and even protected. Was his wife a maiden of the Riverlands? Had she managed to appeal to some sliver of better nature to protect this one tree from being sacrificed to Harren’s hunger? This tree that was witness to the fall of crimson leaves and bone bark, chopped and stripped and brutalized and splashed with blood of their people.

Wylla tugged on her hand and pulled her from the spiral of thoughts that clouded what was meant to be the happiest of times. “You. Get over here.”

“I am,” she grumbled and allowed Wylla to pull her along, gripping her skirts to make their way through the untended and overgrown path. A stream ran through the godswood and Abby let the sound of rushing water push away the shadowy haze that her thoughts had turned to more frequently since they’d arrived. What a sour and unhappy bride they must think she was. Wylla tucked their arms in together and she relaxed into it after all the time apart, finding comfort in her friend and her unwavering spirit beside her. The other girls laughed ahead of them, Rhea lingering on her own as she took in the sights and the crunch of her apple. Cassana, Deirdre, and little Dyana followed a bit behind, the sister’s catching up after their years apart. She was not alone even if the presence of what was lost lingered in every birdsong and every shadow of the towers. “Father would not wish me sad,” Abby confessed for Wylla’s ears alone. “But I cannot help it.”

“Of course you can’t,” she said reasonably. “But he would not want his absence to hinder your joy. You are happy, aren’t you? If you are not, I will deal with Aegon myself.”

“Are you simply looking for an excuse to do so?” Abby teased and Wylla had the grace to flush at being caught out.

“No, not… he’s been better.”

“He has. And I do like to see the both of you getting along, even if it’s about minding me like I can’t take care of myself.” She shook her head but there was a warmth of fondness at their apparent arrangement. Abby did not need minding; she was capable of looking after herself, but it warmed her to know that they were looking after her as well. “I am happy - to answer your question. I trust the gods to ensure that athair knows of my happiness, and mother sees it too.” Abby rubbed her thumb against Wylla’s black and silver sleeve to reassure her and herself, and found that her mood had lightened as they trooped their way through the woods.

“Here we are,” Deirdre announced, bringing the group to a stop. They had followed the steam through the forest for a good quarter of an hour, the path clear if overgrown. Here they came to a stop, not quite at the heart tree. Abby would make the final trek herself. Her elder cousin came to her side, a soft smile on her face and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Go, a leanbh, and speak with them.”

Her hands shook and Abby wiped her palms along the green wool of her gown. Wylla squeezed her arm with encouragement and they parted for her, letting Abby push through the last of the trees on her own.

Past the oaks and the evergreen, the bone white boughs of the great heart tree rose up. The stream widened here into a pool at the foot of the weirwood. Abby’s arms exploded into goosebumps and a hard shiver rolled down her spine, like the rushing of the water over the moss covered rocks before her. It was larger than the one in King’s landing, twisted and broad, reaching as high as it could towards the sun above. Her eyes searched for a way to approach, as she did not have any little raft to cross the waters. She remembered warnings as a child to be careful of the stream as there were spots that were far deeper than they appeared. Finally, she found the sliver of forest floor that reached the tree and she crossed it, another shiver coursing over her as if she stepped through some sort of threshold.

Before her, the tree stood, ancient and all knowing, holding the spirits of all who came before them. Abby noticed, being this close, that none of the other trees came near, as if they knew the weirwood needed room in this captive place.

You’re alone.

The thought struck Abby like a crossbow bolt between her ribs and she blinked past the tears that filled her eyes. The weirwood tree was alone here and it must be so foolish of her to feel such empathy for it but she couldn’t help it.

“I have returned,” she said, dropping her skirts and staring up at the angry face of the tree. “I have been gone for so long I do not know if I remember the song of the rivers, but I know that it’s called me all these years.”

There was no answer. Of course there wasn’t, but she waited all the same, meeting the hateful eyes of the visage before her. It was no surprise to her that the weirwood looked angry. It had watched slaughter and pain. Helpless, the both of them were when it came to the protection of their family, and Abby felt the heat surge through her chest, the anger she so rarely gave into burning brightly in this moment.

“I can’t bring them back, and I wish I could make them pay for what they’ve done,” she cried and closed the distance to stand closer to the face. So close now, she could see the fissures in the bark and so clearly the red staining of the sap. “I can only vow to you, on my life and my children, that we will protect these lands from fire and salt, from the cruel reach of our enemies.”

These were not the blessings asked from a blushing bride. Abby didn’t know what feeling possessed her. She only knew the certainty that the weirwood’s loneliness and her own could not be bidden. They shared this thread, this lonely thread, and she inhaled sharply. “You called me all these years, didn't you? You are why this place has always felt like home to me when I had no answer for it, isn’t it?”

The leaves whispered in the wind.

The stream continued to rush.

Abby continued to meet the angry gaze of the weirwood staring back at her.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was gone for so long.” Abby took a step, pulling her skirts up to make sure she didn’t trip climbing over the large, gnarled and moss covered roots of the tree. Tentatively, she reached a hand out as if touching the face’s cheek. She was meant to be saying prayers and asking for blessings like the Children of the Forest were above her in the boughs, listening and taking note.

This felt more right. She didn’t understand why but only knew that it felt like whatever had drawn her away from camp the other morning and towards the Red Wood. Abby wished she could put it to words. She wished that she understood all that was happening.

“Sióg bheag.”

She was speechless, her fingers curled against the trunk and her other hand gripping her gown. She could only hear the stream and the water. She couldn’t hear little Dyana’s babbles, or the laughter of Wylla. Abby shivered again. There were no dragon calls, she realized. There was nothing except the pool of water and the weirwood and them.

The man was tall. At least, Abby thought it was a man. He stood on the other side of the tree, the water of the pool lapping along knees covered by rough, dark green trousers, his tunic woven of leaves of dappled green and red, his arms bare and big like the strongman she’d seen fight the last feast day of the Warrior. It was the antlers that her gaze was ultimately drawn too. Antlers that looked like they were sprouting from his wiry red hair, bone white as weirwood boughs. His face was square and ruddy and worn, skin like leather, his beard long and hairy.

“Níl aon rud sa saol seo ach na crainn agus ní bheidh muid beo ach ar feadh tamaill bhig,” the man spoke, his voice rough as river stones, worn as if abused by smoke. His eyes were dark and his gaze impossible to tear away from. Abby frantically attempted to discern what he said. Trees? Life?

“I…” She swallowed and forced herself to breathe. She did know these words, even on a long forgotten level. “We will only be alive a short time… Pangur Bán… Pangur Bán….” Abby sang the last words uncertainly as the lullaby tugged at her deep memory. The words cracked from her, creaky from disuse as she sang. “An dorchadas a chasadh chun solais…”

Turn the darkness to light.

Silence fell and the weirwood’s leaves shuddered. Something tickled against her hair and cheek and Abby lifted her hand to pluck away one of the crimson leaves that had fallen.

“Duais tine gréine,” he said, tilting his head up to the sky. “Duais fola.” Prize? Sun prize? She didn’t not understand what sort of prize he meant by fola, a word she wasn’t familiar with.

“I don’t understand,” Abby confessed. Her voice trembled and she hated it. She hated that she was struggling with words spoken to her in the cradle. Words that were a part of her but long left unspoken and now rusty and creaky with disuse. “I want to understand.” She tilted her head, watching the way the antlers looked beneath the dappled light. “You’re from the Isle of Faces, aren’t you?”

He inclined his head slightly in what she could only assume was confirmation and she bowed her head in return. The Green Men were the protectors of the weirwoods, of the most ancient practices. Pilgrims seldom visited the Isle, but they did, many choosing to stay among the small community to pray, to protect the trees, to practice whatever vestiges of the magic that was left before the Children had vanished far away.

She tried to find the words and they came out pathetic to her ears. “I came for my wedding blessing. I didn't mean to disrupt your quiet.”

“A bride for Harrenhal.” The common tongue was so clear that Abby blinked, stunned into silence. “They leave quickly. Sickness. Water. Poison.”

Harwin’s mother had died from Winter fever and her own had died from a long illness. Larys and Cory’s mother had drowned. None that she knew of had been poisoned.

A bride with a broken neck. How tragic.

Abby’s knees buckled and she sat heavily down on the gnarled roots as the air was knocked from her. She tried to swallow and push the words out but her throat was closed and her eyes were hot. A shudder rocked her frame. She was so exhausted from her grief that Abby thought she should find it a relief that it would not be her grief to bear this time, but the idea of being parted from Aegon, from leaving him alone to the further machinations of his mother and grandfather, to whatever the realm chose. Would they think he had poisoned her? Would he be held up as the criminal by Elmo Tully?

To not wake up in his arms every morning? To not taste his kisses, to not feel his arms around her holding her together and trying to lend her strength?

It was a damning hell. It was not peace. It was not solace, it was agony.

“In four moons, you will be blessed.”

She blinked past the angry tears in her eyes. “What? But you just said-”

“In four moons, the gods will bless you.” He turned in dismissal and she pushed from the roots, crying out after him to ‘Wait!’ but he didn’t. What did this even mean? Was she going to die in four moons? Would the gods save her in four moons?

“Please! I don’t know!” She cried again, tears rolling down her cheeks. The Green Man mounted the bank and Abby drew back as she got a look at his legs. They weren’t human legs, they were like a deer’s: bent and furred.

Then, he was gone and Abby was alone.

Her and the weirwood tree.

Did you like this chapter? WHAT ARE YOUR THEORIES? What excited you the most? What questions do you have? I'm here to answer! And if you don't know what to say, please reblog to spread the love <3 THREE CHAPTERS LEFT.

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[lavenderapollo]

more things from my production of hamlet that permanently altered my brain chemistry

getting to pick out my own costume, wearing an old peacoat that i eventually took with me to college

all of the tiny details of my costume that nobody but myself noticed

horatio wearing a tiny heart locket because of the whole “heart’s core” thing

horatio fiddling with the necklace while watching the play within a play, while watching the fencing match

our director cut the script to create a deeper relationship between horatio and gertrude while hamlet is away getting captured by pirates

the letter scene

hamlet and horatio reading hamlet’s letter in sync, except hamlet reads “horatio” alone in the beginning and horatio reading “hamlet” alone at the end of the letter

horatio going straight from the letter scene into a conversation with gertrude about ophelia’s health

horatio being in ophelia’s mad scenes, watching her break down and cry, assisting with her wheelchair

gertrude relying on horatio for the truth about hamlet’s whereabouts

horatio staying with gertrude as she dies, then attending to laertes, then finally, to hamlet

our director remind our hamlet to “die center!!!”

hearing the bows music for the first time (the other side by david gray)

wittenberg crew making each other friendship bracelets (r&g had matching “rosie” and “guildy” bracelets, ho&ham had bracelets that read “good night” and “sweet prince” respectively)

making myself a bracelet that said “L + horatio”

THE GRAVEDIGGER SCENE

wearing my peacoat in the final scene, then tearing it off to give to laertes as he’s dying

hamlet holding claudius’ head, forcing him to drink the poison, then finishing him off with a small little nick to the ear, giving claudius a taste of his own medicine

ophelia having one fleeting moment of clarity when she sees laertes, running to hug him

polonia taking an awkward family photo with her kids, chastising them for not smiling enough

(accidentally photobombing those photos during rehearsals)

i mentioned yorick hot potato in the last post, but i didn’t mention that i pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer after tossing the skull away

the lighting, the set

having to carefully fumble my way offstage once the lights went down, the three times i almost tripped over a foil

and the one time where i actually did

after that they put glow tape on the stage

our set designer crafted an entirely original crest for the hamlet family, using nordic, danish, and even some tolkien characters for inspiration

seeing the set for the first time

our first time staging the death scene

there’s a photo of me in my lil spot by hamlet, surrounded by dead bodies and bathed in red light just kinda going like 😁👍👍

crushing the other teams at shakespeare trivia during our closing night cast party

[g0g0at]

Malevolent part 46

I’ve got thoughts and theories about Malevolent part 46, but it’s my bed time so I’ll save those for tomorrow.

Until then, have my live reaction. Spoilers of course

Creepy start (Arthur trauma in droves)

If an episode starts with Faroe, it’s gonna be rough

Tree things

Spooky spooky

John being caring as is his way recently

Sounds like he was dreaming

Nawwww is Arthur his ligh- oh nvm LILLY MENTION!!

Arthur is half asleep for all of this hehe

Love Lilly? Interesting

Oh we’re going real far back now guess I gotta do a s4 relisten

OMG HOW FAR WE’VE COME IS PLAYING

“Her coming had driven out the world”

I thought he was gonna talk about Arthur ngl

“You gave my friend so much”

SCARY CHILD

THEY WERE HAVING A SWEET MOMENT

Arthur you have been talking about the air and sensing things a lot

Ruh roh beings in the woods

Working together properly nice

“My eyes” not our? Mm language shift

Willow a whisp

A pretty scene

Where is yorick rn? Keep his mouth shut it seems

FUCKING KID LAUGHING

Uh oh he’s being pulled in

He sounds so hopeful

I’m worried

John like “uh what huh??”

Oooh this is interesting

Reminds me of the Nøkken kinda

Don’t follow the light don’t follow the light DON’T

Oh that REALLY REMINDS ME OF NØKKEN

YOU SURE ABOUT THAT ARTHUR YOU SURE

The spooky houses??? ARE YOU SURE??!!

Oiya they are FUCKED

Cult shit?

Cult shit.

Black stone DUN DUN DUN

The sound design is very nice this episode (I say that every episode)

NOT A FUCKING KID

DON’T DO THAT TO HIM

STOP

STOP

ARTHUR

bro got fucking robbed by WILLOW O WHISP!!

WAIT YORICK GOT KIDNAPPED

I feel like some of those things were actually kinda useful

YEAH FUCK HER

Ohhh idk about we dunno who she is

I like how John and Arthur are their own mystery to themselves

You guys are going in circles in here GET MOVING!!

GET MOVING

This episode does feel very fairy tale esc

Very the beasts lantern

WILLOW TREEEEEEE

Guys this is obviously a trap

YOU CANNOT

“We will” YOU ALREADY AREN’T

oooh this episode is really interesting

Guys focus. Guys keep it together

It’s interesting seeing a child as a threat it’s a very unique twist on fairy tale narratives

JOHN JOHN FOCUS

This epsiode is trippy

It’s interesting to see them BOTH enthralled by something

NO NO NO NO NO

AW FUCK

Why is he breathing like that

Nuh uh this is bad

Huh?

What has he got there?

I’m worried

A deer?

GUYS YOU DON’T FUCK WITH DEERS

OH FUCK THIS IS CWD ESC

Arthur’s parental instincts shining through at all times

Uh oh you guys

Arthur sounds so scared

DON’T FOLLOW HIM

There you go, FOCUS

Come on come on you can do it

This episode is SO TRIPPY

It’s hard to tell when they’re being hypnotised and when they’re being earnest

FAIRY CIRCLE DON’T TOUCH THAT

NØKKEN NØKKEN NØKKEN

GRAVES??

EXACTLY WHAT YOU SAID WOULD HAPPEN GUYSSSSSS

DON’T DRINK FROM IT

DON’T DON’T

RIVER OF THE DEAD RIVER OF THE DEAD

Alarm bells are ringing

YEAH THAT WAS A REGULAR STREAM THIS IS NOT

Don’t drink good good

You’re getting caught up in technicalities

Another one of Arthur feeling something in the air WHAT is up with that

Like that one mass organism forest

I feel something BIG is gonna happen

Infinite night? Interesting

Pocket dimension forest?

Wandering woods part 2

DON’T BITE OFF ANOTHER FINGER THAT’S ALL I HAVE TO SAY

FAIRY RING

DON’T STEP ON IT YOU DIPSHIT

STOP SNIFFING THEM

Everytime I think they’re in the clear he goes on another trippy tangent

William mention but at what cost

Oh this is making me so nervous

They sound so happy but god it sounds like they’re high

Maybe they are

HE’S DANCING?!!!

NØKKEN NØKKEN

Oh my god my brain is just screaming “WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG”

NØKKEN NØKKEN NØKKEN

What what what what

Oh my god my stomach is dropping

What is happening what is happening

WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

Oh I hate this so much so much so much

What is happening I hate this so much so much so much

WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT

NØKKEN NØKKEN

OH MY GOD THE SOUND DESIGN

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK

Someone with his voice? Oohohohoohoho

This is fantastic

Oh this is is OTGW

New Harlan voice making me jump up and down

The audio balancing is fantastic

Any doubts I had about where s5 were going have been dashed this is phenomenal

You’re gonna get munched

“They come and bury only the scraps of the lambs they lead”

Cleansing fire… day of wrath

So the village was a cult…

They voice sends chills up my spine

How it’s slowly moving away from being Arthur to something else

Horig?

Omg tree entity my fave

Horig can cut him off from John?

Oooh the sound ooooh

Arthur what are you offering

Arthur why are you doing this

Arthur

Arthur you’re talking about children here, you know that right? Arthur??

Oh WHAT

AN APOSTLE

Oh this took a TURN

JOHN SLEPT!

Silver lining to that fuckery

Back to the stream?

John being comforting :DD

Nawww John got to sleep

Arthur you gotta be transparent with him that’s part of the deal

Why does he need to get to the stream so bad?

Oh he wanted to get out of it

Oh it really is like the mass organism forest omg

Ah ok it was a ploy. Well done Arthur

Arthur… are you suggesting mass murder?

Enacting justice… how very Day of Wrath of you

I TOLD YOU IT WAS DEAD BODY WATER YOU FUCK WADS

Eww don’t vomit in my ear

Horig’s followers are daba-doo-dead

Great epsiode! Deeply unsettling, can’t wait to see the ramifications of this

[elijasz]

Malevolent Part 43 "The Witch" thoughts

Notes made as I listen to the episode.

Oh hearing John say "I am the king in yellow"!

Not a fragment of the king in yellow. Just the king in yellow.

Giggling and kicking my feet right now. I know John thinks it suits his agenda right now to say "who he truely is" but it still makes me smile like an idiot.

And its very aromantic of me to say this but noone can ever make me feel what these fictional little men/entities in my favourite horror podcast are making me feel.

Go little fictional man/entity! GO!

"who?" YES! Fuck his ego up! FUCK HIM UP!!!!

Man, I love people using the power of titles, just to be met with indifference. That's my shit.

Wow John is easy to break. Good to know.

I love the witch. She's disgusting and terrible but she's a ✨️ Girlboss ✨️

"You care for [him]. Tell me Yorick!"

"He most definitely does, my queen"

"GODDAMMIT!"

"I connected with him....THAT ALONE WASN'T ENOUGH TO MAKE ME QUESTION WHO I AM!" honey...baby...John, darling....You didn't even know who you were, my sweet child. Also isn't that a bit too defensive? A liiiittle over the top, don't you think?

The nurse again. Talk more about her, John. I need to confirm something.

When John starts talking about the nurse but doesn't say anything to confirm or deny my Lillith theory:

Damn the witch has been through some shit. Give her a break. She deserves to cause a little suffering. Maybe just not to Arthur? Maaaaybe someone who has suffered less? So also not John.

Honestly the conversation with the witch is just a whole weird therapy session for John and the witch. Its likely noone will emerge from this better than before but it's definitely some weird therapy.

New info on the dark world? Nice. John had a little snackie? Uhoh, did the king in yellow fall to gluttony? How very human of you, Johnny boy.

Oh? Kayne is more powerful than you, John? Are you sure? Are you really sure on that?

Yorick, after saying nothing for a while: "I remember you, my king!" He just doesnt care at all, he's licking the dirty shoes of whoever holds any power. Disgusting. Free. Unbothered by morals or pride. He's worthless, he's my everything, he disgusts me and I love him. I'm ashamed for him and I am proud of him.

Hehehe, yes John, admit you lied. I'm sure Arthur isn't listening at all and is just unconscious. (He probably actually is. Would work better for the narrative.)

I love how John says "Fuck you". I wish my "fuck you" sounded like that. My gender? Oh its fucking the king in yellow from the hit horror podcast Malevolent.

More witch therapy for John. Good for him, good for him. He's getting fucked up real bad.

Noooo please witch, don't manipulate my emotional comfort entity into abandoning his humanity. (DO IT!)

HIS LOVE FOR ARTHUR SAVED HIM!!!!

"Do you miss being the king?" That's not an easy question to answ....oh. Oh John, honey that was not the right answer. You shouldn't have said that. I bet she's going to...jup. Jup she's stabbing him.

The witch:

John, manifesting:

LMAO, I told you she's a girlboss! Get him! Humble him! Make him believe that he needs to gain power and make him make Arthur his domain. Make a guy your domain John!!!! The witch controls her domain fully and is stronger within than an old one. I wonder what would happen if an old one (the king in yellow aka John) made Arthur his domain.

"Orthur :(" yeah you're still alive even with Arthur dead. Now untangle that complicated ball of feelings John.

Witch, that's a stupid question and stupid things to say about hope and all that. John did change. If he didn't, you'd be dead.

John is a bad liar. Luckily the witch rolled a shitty insight check.

Monologue time!

Bet reviving Arthur won't work because he's human.

Oh damn I was wrong, maybe? Well, there have to be complications then. I wonder what the complications are. I love complications. :)

[bookholichany]

Had the strangest dream ( nightmare?) last night. It was Hamlet and he got back from that journey to England where he was kidnapped by the pirates but...he was not unharmed. He was there standing with Lavinia's faith thrusted upon him. He kept wandering the graveyard and the gravediggers ran away as they saw him. He stood frozen, staring inside a grave at the skull that was once his dear Yorick, shaking like a leaf and he started to trash around in a sorta agonizing frustrated dance. That was how Horatio found him. He looked upon him as he moved like a tree in the wind and asked

"Who is this? My sweet prince, that flies away so fast?"

And he approached him in the most gentle manner almost sobbing as he continued

"Speak, gentle prince. What stern ungentle hands hath lopped and hewed and made thy body bare?

Of his two branches, those sweet ornaments

Whose circling shadows I have sought to sleep in? "

He tried to reach for Hamlet but he shied away. " Why dost not speak to me?" Horatio almost screamed frustrated and crying. Hamlet stilled and tensed as if wanting to unleash a scream of his own but when his lips parted in his silent scream it was blood that poured out.

Some of it flying in the wind and staining his once dear friend's bones and then he finally fell to his knees.

Yip that was the dream. I'll go die now...

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

For Griffith:

🛏️ What does your OC’s bed look like? What would they like their bed to look like?

📅 If your OC had one day left to live, how would they spend it?

Griffith Tyrell, my darling, my sweet pea, my little guy, my unrepentant manwhore 💚

🛏️ What does your OC’s bed look like? What would they like their bed to look like?

So, technically, Griffith’s got 2 beds: one at Runestone & one at Thorn Hall. There's some overlap & some difference between both, & the overlap is the important part because that's his choices there.

At Runestone, he has a fourposter bed with really dark wood, intricate carving on the posters, there's a curtain he can draw for privacy. Everything skews pretty dark & kinda cave like there because that's just sort of The Vibe. His setup at Thorn Hall is one of those with, like, the really tall headboard. The wood is lighter, there's a scene from the story of Garth Greenhand carved into the headboard, there's an absolutely ridiculous (& decadent) amount of pillows. Neither of these is bad or incorrect for him, they're just different energies & he likes both pretty well. In an ideal world, he'd have the privacy curtain & the obscene amount of pillows.

In terms of overlap, both beds are pretty sizable (he needs room for his lady friends), the bedding is green, you could bounce a silver stag off the corners of his bedlinens. There's always extra blankets or furs or a quilt folded up at the end of his bed, he doesn't usually need them he just like having them there--usually for someone else, sometimes for when he's sick & is about to go Pathetic Man-Cold Mode. Aside from the abundance of pillows at Thorn Hall & the possibility of extra blankets, his beds almost don't look like anyone is using them until someone's actively in the bed because of how Crisp And Orderly™ he likes his things.

📅 If your OC had one day left to live, how would they spend it?

Suckin' & fuckin', next question

Okay, in all seriousness now: he'd have every single minute of that day scheduled. Ideally he'd have his morning meal with his family from The Reach, he'd go flying with his mom & horse riding with his younger sisters, he'd hang out with His Boys (Yorick’s oldest sons & Aegon) & get wine drunk in a tavern. He would fuck his main girlfriend & maybe consider nutting in her if she made a really good argument as to why he should (like "it's both our last days" or something), so I wasn't lying when I said suckin' & fuckin' lol, he'd just also do this other stuff

[sunfallsprophet]

[ ➻ continuing from here! @jetblackknight ]

ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏᴏʟ ꜱᴏ ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ. Playwriting and roleplaying weren't skills that the shaman considered to be valuable, least of all to them. They enjoyed the occasional tragicomedy, the slow descent into madness that every Hamlet fell victim to. But any foolish and young Danish man could stumble into insanity. It was the whoreson jester, Yorick, that trotted straight into oblivion and knew more than poor Hamlet ever did. And unfortunately for the ever-somber Vergil, Djahima quite enjoyed their version of gibes and gambols—that is, fumbling around with his shirt button as if they couldn't strip him of his top with baffling ease. It seemed to them that Vergil was playing right into their hands while his trembled.

He asked them a question, but Djahima did not respond so fast. They observed him in silence with eyes that mimicked beautyberries, soft and opaque purple. Any information he might've hoped to harvest from their expression was not so easily given. This, too, was a part of their foolhardy methods; how could they pass on an opportunity to make him squirm, this man and devil both, just a little bit?

"...Pink is very lovely on you, my little nightingale." Djahima brushed the backs of their fingers against his cheek. "And yet you wonder why I try so hard to fluster you." They let out a low chuckle, finally breaking their pokerface to give him their signature crooked smile, lone dimple and all.

Djahima had not forgotten about their other hand, of course. They gently kneaded his pectoral as their face moved closer towards his shoulder. Full lips grazed the crook of his neck, or perhaps not; the touch of their lips against his skin was so careful, so delicate, that it could have even been a shallow breath. The palm on his firm breast moved just an inch or two downward and diagonal so that the pad of their thumb could oh-so tenderly moved back and forth against the hardened nipple.

"Do not worry, sweet thing—you are doing well. Tell me: is there something that you want, Vergil? Ain't gotta be shy, now."

[littleladymab]

OC in 15

HELLO NEW TAG GAME tagged by @wintherlywords thank you!

Rules: Share 15 lines of dialogue from an OC that capture their character, personality, or vibe. Bonus points for using dialogue without other scene details, but you’re free to include those as well!

Sorry for any of the formatting looking funky I gotta run but wanted to get this up before heading off to gaming!

I'm doing this for Best Girl Ayn Starling -- it's a combination of stuff from her POV, her texts, the blog she writes, and from other character's POV

Please consider this an open tag!

“What makes you think I know?” Both Ming and Carmel give me A Look, and I release a sigh and an overly dramatic shrug. “Okay, so, I do, but I don’t like that you automatically assume that I do.” 

If it’s a come-on, he’s getting docked for such an obvious line. He is handsome though, in a sort of I played Hamlet in a college production sort of way, with dark, artfully styled hair, amber eyes that look like they could use another dose of caffeine, and tinted glasses perched on a broad, flat nose. Not to mention, he’s somehow managing to pull off all black without making it look weird, even though his natural tan speaks of an indoor pallor.  Oh, yeah, he’s definitely the type to hold a skull and Alas, poor Yorick me. It’s fine, I could be into it.

I would be that person in the library until they have to drag me out kicking and screaming. Silently, of course, because it’s still a library. 

From: Ayn Starling  I understand that, but I’m also going to ask that you respect me as a person and consider, maybe, answering me properly.  From: Ayn Starling  Maybe not now, and not about this, but at one point.  From: Ayn Starling  I’ll let you decide what to do about Zone because you’re right, he isn’t my concern.  From: Ayn Starling  Everything else is up to you.

“Christ, I hope that there’s not more than one Jonas Quinn.”

“I turned thirteen and you gave me some of your whiskey. You told her that you thought it would be funny.”

And, with equal angelic poise, Ayn answers, “Of course not. I don’t think you peg many women.” 

“Holy shit, Lysander, she made me do them until I left the house. I know she had her own plans for you when you lived with us, trying to clean you up and turn you into a functioning member of society and all that, but I was being groomed to be a miniature version of her. She was probably secretly arranging a marriage between one of my father’s coworker’s sons or something.”

 My fellow citizens: We speak for those who cannot. The voice of the hallows and haunts. The voice of the abandoned, the lost, the forgotten — all hope abandon ye who enter here.  We will not be silenced. We will not be cowed, corralled, cornered.

“Someone is calling out ALICE — specifically, the Program Manager — on their approach to the game,” Ayn adds. She turns to Fletcher, eager, since he understood her reference. “We were promised a way out of this city, right? Then why play a game when they should be that benevolent being and let us go without having to participate in their missions?”

“I thought...” The fingers of her free hand drum over the ceramic surface of the mug, revealing the logo in flashes. “I thought that I could be good enough for you this time.”

“Do you think what we’re doing is even worth it?” Her hand lifts and gestures to the shop around us — to the rest of Eminence. “Meliora. This is beyond you and me, I think. We never... We are two different shapes that tried to fit together.”

“I thought it was obvious, Darling,” she says with a pretty smile that is altogether very sweet and dangerous. “I want the people of Eminence to start fighting back.”

“I’m mad because we’re still fighting. Are you angry because I’m not wearing any pants?” 

Having chosen to participate in Meliora has proven to ALICE, to Patrick Mercer, to everyone reading this blog, that you were worthy. Not only of the truth or a way out, but worthy of being able to make your own choices.  You made the right decision, whatever it was.  No matter what has happened over these past few months, never, ever, regret that. 

[frenzyarts]

I just read A Slowly Beating Heart again and I love it more each time I read it. I love how your art style blends everything together so nicely. Also, I’m obsessed with Yorick and her relationship with Rune (they remind me of my relationship with my friends). Great job, love it.

This is so sweet that it made me cry 🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️💕💕💕 I’m so so so happy to hear that you like my comic!!

This is normally the kind of content I would only release on Patreon but this made me really happy so here’s a little behind the scenes, as a treat 🥰 I’m working on revamping old pages so that every page has the same font. I made a font that’s just my handwriting, and then had Rune say a bunch of nonsense to test it out:

So far everyone I’ve shared it with has been vibing with this font and it’s easier to read than the last one I made so this is gonna be asbh’s new official font 🥳 the name of the font is Frenzy Script!!

[czenzo]

czenzo fic masterlist

All for the Game | The Foxhole Court

♠︎ Overcome ( G / 3,495 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Andrew Minyard/Neil Josten, Sir & King, Animal Sickness, Domestic Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending

♠︎ red plaid, yellow stitching ( E / 1,306 ) – ao3

Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Pining, Plaid Pants, Shower Masturbation, Fantasising

♠︎ soft and sweet, firm and steady ( E / 1,658 ) – ao3

Andrew Minyard/Neil Josten, Post-Canon, Weight/Muscle Gain, Thigh/Arm/Stomach Fixation, Soft Beefy Andrew Appreciation

—

Ao No Exorcist | Blue Exorcist

♠︎ The Joys of Working Retail ( G / 5,039 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Okumura Yukio/Shima Renzo, Alternate Universe: Convenience Store, Modern AU

—

Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

♠︎ Go Big or Go Home ( G / 4,348 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Aizawa Shota | Eraserhead & Shinsou Hitoshi, Sickfic, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort

♠︎ Misguided Ghosts ( M / 4,292 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Aizawa Shota | Eraserhead & Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Alternate Universe – Lockwood & Co, Ghosts, Angst

—

Carry On | Simon Snow

♠︎ On the Hunt ( M / 8,402 / ongoing ) – ao3 / tumblr

Simon Snow/Baz Pitch, Werewolf Simon, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

—

Haikyuu!!

♠︎ nobody loves you like I do ( G / 5,862 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss

—

Heartstopper

♠︎ falling for you all over again ( G / 3,445 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Nick Nelson/Charlie Spring, Temporary Amnesia, Comfort, Group Chat Shenanigans

♠︎ Nick and Charlie (& Nellie) ( T / 3,381 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Nick Nelson/Charlie Spring, 5+1 Things, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Nellie getting excited and interrupting

♠︎ Seven Years ( M / 16,259 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Nick Nelson/Charlie Spring, Post-Canon, Post-Break Up, Adult Nick & Charlie, Exes to Friends to Lovers

♠︎ Thick Thighs Save Lives ( E / 2,974 ) – ao3

Nick Nelson/Charlie Spring, Post-Canon, Thigh and Ass Fixation/Worship, Mutual Masturbation

—

Harry Potter | Marauders

♠︎ now I hold the guilt on my hands ( E / 1,662 ) – ao3

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/James Potter, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex (sort of), University AU

♠︎ you fit well together ( T / 8,693 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, 5+1 Things, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship

—

Inazuma Eleven

♠︎ food (and a kiss) is the best medicine ( G / 3,585 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Genda Koujirou/Sakuma Jirou, Sick Fic, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss

—

Lockwood & Co.

♠︎ Consequences ( T / 2,335 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood, Fluff & Humour, poor attempts to cover up a hickey

♠︎ Dear Yorick ( G / 1,456 ) – tumblr / full zine

Tea Toast & Ghosts Zine, Magazine AU, Advice Column, The Skull

♠︎ In Record Time ( T / 5,117 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Lucy Carlyle/Quill Kipps/Anthony Lockwood, Soulmate AU (shared injuries), Light Angst, Sharing A Bed

♠︎ Just An Act ( T / 6,360 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood, Case Fic, Jealousy, First Kiss

♠︎ Misdial ( G / 20,348 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood, Modern/University AU, called the wrong number AU, First Kiss

♠︎ Revenge ( T / 1,514 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood, sequel to Consequences

♠︎ Skullyle Internet Friends Series – ao3 / tumblr

[ 1 ] Pretty Boy ( T / 2,086 ) – ao3 / tumblr

[ 2 ] Missed Call ( T / 3,440 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Lucy Carlyle/The Skull, minor/brief Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood, Internet Friends, Modern AU, Coffee Shop AU, Mutual Pining

♠︎ step into the moonlight (and throw your weight into me) ( G / 1,439 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Lucy Carlyle & Anthony Lockwood, Angst and Comfort, Book Spoilers

♠︎ The Final Applicant ( G / 2,832 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Lockwood POV, Lucy’s interview, Rewritten Canon

♠︎ Watch Out for Skull ( T / 13,126 / Ongoing ) – ao3 / tumblr

Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood, Lucy Carlyle & The Skull, Modern AU, Cat!Skull, Pet Sitting, Strangers to Friends to Lovers

♠︎ Young, Alive, Together ( T / 4,363 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood, Valentine’s Day, Angst, Poltergeists, First Kiss

—

Professor Layton

♠︎ Secrets ( T / 9,856 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Alfendi Layton/Lucy Baker, Post Canon, Pining, First Kiss, Angst with a Happy Ending

—

The Quarry

♠︎ Summer Loving ( M / 13,097 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Abigail Blyg/Nick Furcillo, Crushes, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Pre-Canon, Rewritten Canon, Post-Canon

♠︎ The Quarry: Prologue ( M / 6,433 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Rewritten Canon: the game’s prologue, in the form of a written story

—

Yuri!!! On Ice

♠︎ meet me in the morning when you wake up ( T / 1,391 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Angst, Death, Old Age, Memory Loss

♠︎ sea, sand, and sun lotion ( G / 849 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Beach Day, Fluff

♠︎ warmth ( G / 782 ) – ao3 / tumblr

Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Fluff, Blizzards & Snowstorms

[simonnebethel]

For the OC game, wine, cherry, and pomegranate. On Yorick maybe ? 👀 But you can do it for anyone you want, I don’t mind have fun with it lol

Yorick it is ^^

Wine - How do they act when drunk? Yorick is a lightweight. Like, one shot and he's down. His species doesn't pair well with alcohol. If he wants to get drunk but not die of alcohol poisoning, he has to dilute it with something else. That being said, he is very goofy and sweet, but will definitely pass out at some point.

Cherry - Why did you create them? I don't remember, lol. They came into existence around 2021-2022, during my senior year of highschool, but didn't have a name until a few months later(was studying Hamlet 👀). I think I just wanted to make a jester character with a wild personality. The vampire qualities and non-human appearance came later. Pomegranate - Which myth would they relate to most? Hard to say. Maybe one where the hero takes revenge? He's very big on revenge, but not very big on reading, so he doesn't know that many mythical figures. I also don't know any 😅

[blackbird0blog]

Naruto Fanfic Recs

A great crack OC/SI-insert. I just wish there was more!

Summary:

Being somehow reincarnated into a world you previously thought was fictional and is filled with bullshit ninja magic killers isn't fun. It is even less fun to find out that any foreknowledge you may have been able to use to your advantage is pretty much as useless as your ability to quote pop culture references like a champ.

Preview:

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, and very, very far away, I did not have to deal with this shit. This kind of language may shock you, but while I look like an adorable eight year old, in actuality I have almost twenty eight years of experience and the temperament of a crotchety old man. If I had a lawn – oh man you can bet no one would be stepping on it.

I raise a darkly tanned hand to the sunlight and sigh, blowing a wisp of blue hair out of my face. I had initially been overjoyed upon realizing that I had maintained a relatively similar skin tone to my original body. My curly hair also returned for a second round. But, of course, I cannot have nice things.

I may be in an anime, but my hair color is just ridiculous. I have blue hair. When I say blue, I mean blindingly bright HEY I’M RIGHT HERE CAN YOU SEE ME I will burn out your eyes aqua blue. Not even the nice shade of blue main characters get. It is pretty awful. And with this whole ninja gig it’s probably gonna get me killed.

Oh, yes. Ninjas.

Lucky me, I was reborn in the Narutoverse. Apparently. Huzzah.

Honestly, this was not a hit my already waning sanity could really afford. Not only was I pushed on into reincarnation instead of facing the pearly gates, but I found out I was spit out into a supposedly fictional world.

I mean, after a couple months of my baby self drooling all over myself, I could kinda get over it. The whole “reincarnation” thing. Well, as long as I never think about my family, all my friends-

-painpainwhyaretheygonecomeback-

-Yeah. As in, can’t think about that at all. Ever.

…Hm, where were we?

Ah, yes. Basically, I can get over the whole “reincarnated” part. Not so much the whole “living in a military state that fully endorses the use of child soldiers and freedom is a thing of the past” part. I am an American. I was practically suckled on the sweet nectar of freedom.

(I may no longer take myself or life in general seriously. If you hadn’t guessed.)

One must also consider the blazingly ridiculous things that happen to this world. I could only stomach so much bunny goddess before I was out. Like, how would I even go about fighting half of these things without OP to the max abilities? Well I’m not planning on it, so I suppose it’s a moot point.

To put this in perspective, while it has some relative good points, I really dislike most of the Leaf’s dictatorship, freedom sucking, shove-you-full-of-propaganda self. My life is in ruin.

I sigh again and gaze at my elevated hand, “Poor Yorick. Alas, alas.”

Hm. What was the rest of that quote?

I hear a sigh, “Miki-kun, please stop interrupting class.”

I look up and see Iruka-sensei staring at me, his gaze slightly pained. His hand is frozen half-way in his now habitual motion of massaging the bridge of his nose. Ah, that poor man. He is some of most fun I have in this life. I can’t help but feel a bit bad though. The only other kid that gets his blood pressure this worked up in Naruto.

Even then he tends to resort straight to yelling with that one. I can tell he doesn’t know how to deal with me. I’m too out of the norm from what he’s used to. My personality, or mostly my seeming babbling words, tends to put most people off kilter. I don’t make many friends this way. But I also tend to be able to do whatever the hell I want without much censure. Are you going to talk sense into crazy?

I blink guilelessly, my arm still posed in the air, seeming to be ignorant to the stares of the whole class. The kid next to me slowly scoots away. I say, “Ah, sensei, I am very sorry. I’m sure no one could concentrate, that having been such a half hearted recital. Perhaps again…”

I sit up straight as if to project my words, but only get out an “Ala-” (ah, now that I think of it, “Alas” goes first, right?) before being cut off.

“NO, no, that’s just- fine. Miki-kun. Please keep further comments in your head unless they are related to class.”

The rest of the class laughs as I bob my head complacently. I consider the pros of telling him why the works of Shakespeare are relevant to all matters of life, but decide not to push him. Iruka-sensei is a good guy all things considered. I don’t like to mess with him too much.

Too much.

He goes on to lecture about whatever this class is on. I think I’m in history. It would be super interesting if the amount of propaganda being shoved down my throat didn’t make me want to choke. Like, this is North Korea level of censorship right here. I’m kinda surprised we don’t pray to the first Hokage, given how much he’s propped up in our books. To the point he is literally called the god of shinobi. Then again, I guess the appointment of real Ninja God goes to the Sage.

I mean, it’s not that I think all the facts in this damn book are straight wrong. If Konoha wins (we always win), it’s recorded as a win. If we lose (Konoha has a history of very few tactical retreats), we lose. This happened then. These institutions were established here. The spin they put on everything is what makes me dizzy.

“The honorable first Hokage singlehandedly brought the entire world of shinobi out of the dark ages. He established Konoha and brought prosperity to the land, making a safe haven for all of her citizens. Now it is your turn to uphold the First’s Will of Fire and keep Konoha safe for the generations to come. Blah, blah, blah.”

Come on, the textbooks tell you to do things. This is not even trying to look like unbiased learning. It hurts us.

Most of the cultural and historical stuff goes like this in every book available to civilians and academy students. I can’t vouch for stuff available to ninja level, but it’s overall disappointing. Having been an International Studies major, cultural stuff is kinda what I do. Did. Whatever.

I can piece stuff together from what I knew previously and what I can get wading through politically charged texts, but it’s not easy going. If I had been a Clan Kid I may have been able to get my dirty paws on some choice info, but no such luck. You’re looking at an Oliver Twist. Olivia Twist? I still can’t quite grasp the state of gender equality here. Kunoichi are generally badass, but a significantly less amount fill out the forces. In fact-

I’m ripped from my musings by the ring of the bell. The kids quickly fling themselves from their seats and run to the door, ignoring whatever Iruka is trying to yell over them. The kid next to me seems particularly eager. I casually take a look at my hand and see that I had accidentally been carving pieces of wood from my desk. Again. Oops. Time to go before sensei notices.

I push my hands against my mutilated desk and attempt to casually mosey my way to the door. I skip down the steps, not trying particularly hard to avoid the stragglers. I take a glance at Iruka out of the corner of my eye. My inattention causes me to bump into someone. Red fills my sight.

Small hands quickly push me away, causing me to stumble. Bright blue eyes glare into my brown ones, and a sharp tooth scowl fills my vision. “Hey, watch where you’re going!” Uzumaki Naruto growls at me, his spiky red hair disheveled.

Ah yes, did I forget to mention that Naruto has red hair and the plot is shot to hell and back?

Silly me.