#his movement does not feel correct i cannot explain it

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

It's not Jake.

I'm going to tackle this bit now. It will forever bother me. I think it will forever be a point of argument in the fandom until the word of god (Diab) comes down and explains it all. Even then, there will always be room for argument.

So let's argue.

Marc with Dr. Harrow. I missed it the first time I watched it. (It was on a small screen with poor sound. I should have turned on the subtitles.)

He doesn't know what's going on. He doesn't know where he is but he feels terrible and he's in a situation he's been in before.

Marc knows how to play the game. He might be bad at social situations, but Marc is stubborn and despite his self destructive tendencies, he's a survivor.

From knowing how to please his mother to keep her happy to knowing how to keep the school happy to keeping his father happy.

He also knows how to keep the doctors happy.

You can see the wheels turning as he figures out what Dr. Harrow is looking for and what the right thing to say is. You see him looking around and taking everything in the room in.

Something he learned in the military and then as a mercenary. What is around him? Know the land. Know the space. Know the tools. Know the exits. Know the enemy.

It's so subtle how his eyes move and stare. Every movement of his body is absolutely still and stiff except his eyes. Don't move. Don't draw attention. Don't give yourself away.

He talks about the talking hippo. Corrects him stubbornly. Like a child correcting a parent that gets their drawing or story wrong.

He talks briefly about Steven. He really doesn't want to discuss Steven with Dr. Harrow. Even now, he's trying to protect Steven.

Honestly, Marc is probably unsettled by how Quiet Steven is being. He can't hear him. He can't feel him. He was reaching for him before in his reflection.

Has this happened before? Are the drugs messing him up? Is this even real? You can see it in his eyes as he is trying to work out what has happened. What if it's real? What if Dr. Harrow is right and all of it was in his head?

But he knows things are off. You see him look at the cane and the sandles. He KNOWS something is wrong, but he can't place it.

And then Dr. Harrow asks about the boy.

Now Marc knows this is wrong. He would never have talked about Randall. This is the last thing he'd ever willingly bring up.

You see him instantly shut down and he's made his decision.

I've seen a LOT of arguments that this is Jake. But I don't think so. We, the audience, have not been properly introduced to Jake and his face has been purposfully hidden from us each time he does flicker in. This is not Jake. Jake is still hidden. And Jake would NOT have tolerated Dr. Harrow.

Even if Dr. Harrow was a new alter (persecutor?) created after being killed, Jake would have put him in his place. As protector and possible Gate Keeper, NONE of what's going on would have been tolerated at all. Jake is organized and patient. Jake takes charge when needed and gets the job done.

This is Marc. This is the Marc Spector that you don't see.

As I mentioned in a previous post, Marc cannot mask in the Duat. Every piece of Marc you see is pure and uncensored.

You see Marc play the game but the second Roro comes up, Marc is done.

This is the Marc that is dangerous (Mercinary, special forces, Marines, skilled beyond reason in combat) and also the Marc that is desperate. He's cornered and he will chew his own leg off to get out.

He doesn't know what's out there, but he knows that Steven is being kept away and he needs him.

So why does Marc grab the sharp pointy pyramid? Why does it look like he's trying to first stab them then stab himself?

Well, up to this point, Marc has figured out that he's been shot. He's found Steven outside of his body in a very unlikely situation, and nothing feels real.

He's also jumping scenes. From being with Dr. Harrow to being with Steven.

A part of him is scared it's real. A part of him is scared it isn't.

If it isn't real, how can he get out of it? Perhaps if he takes more damage he'll go somewhere else. Perhaps he'll go back to Steven. Perhaps he thinks it's a dream and he'll wake up next to Layla.

Look at his face. Beaten up. Broken nose. Heavy bags under his eyes. One pupil even looks larger than the other. Severe bodily trauma. (From getting shot? From getting into fights? From some form of brain damage?)

Now, speaking of Jake... I wonder how much of Teenage Marc was really Teenage Jake trying to keep them safe. I can't imagine their teen years being good at all. There's a good chance that their teenage years were utter misery and things probably escalated to terrible depths.

(Anyone else notice that three times we see Baby Marc, it's his birthday? I'm willing to bet every birthday his mother came for him viciously.)

I'm willing to bet that any previous clash he had with a mental hospital deeply involved Jake. One of them started fights and one of them played the game. Marc would get into fights, but Marc also knows how to play the game thanks to his mother. Jake would have wanted them out of there. He may have fought or he may have tried to take control to keep them safe.

So in this situation, Marc has been separated away from Steven, his emotional support and protection. He has been separated away from his physical protection and stabilizer.

And Jake DOES stabilize Marc. When Marc flies off the handle in a rage. When he has flashbacks. When he gets drunk and trashes a hotel room... Who steps in to settle things down? (JAKE'S FUCKING GLOVES WERE IN THAT HOTEL ROOM ON THE NIGHT STAND AS IF THEY HAD BEEN WORN AND TOSSED ASIDE. JAKE WAS THERE.)

So without all of Marc's safe guards, Marc is sitting there in a terrifying situation and his biggest trauma is brought up by a man that he knows he can't trust.

Look at how the episode starts. The cave. The running water. The screaming boy for help. His mother blaming him. It's all right there. Right on the edge of his mind like a bad flashback.

The last thing he wants is to be back in that cave again. Is to see his brother drowning again.

He's going to fight. If he wasn't so disabled by the drugs and injuries he would have burned the whole building to the ground if he could have.

I do have to wonder, though... Marc keeps going back to Dr. Harrow when things get too stressful there. Like a sort of time out. A time for him to try to process and make sense of things. He breaks down when Steven demands to go back to the room. Total melt down. The time out forces him to deal with it. To see it.

Even Steven goes there when he becomes overwhelmed and needs a time out to see what's really going on.

Dr. Harrow was very interested in speaking to Steven. He even mentions that it had been a long time since he had seen Steven. That Steven was the one that brought them there.

It's doubtful that Jake ever made it there. Dr. Harrow (and the real Harrow) had no idea about Jake. And Marc doesn't know about Jake, as this is Marc's processing time.

But what if Jake had made it there? What if Jake had it all figured out? What if Jake had gotten locked up on purpose?

Steven and Jake, literally compartmentalized by Marc.

Perhaps a Meta for another day.

[agaypieceofcheese]

Quite a long read folks, basically a theory pamphlet. This is a response I gave to an anarchist, some stuff doesn’t make sense without full context. Though I feel like this should help articulate specifically the faults I, and many other Marxists, have come to in understanding why anarchism must be fought intensely within the party.

(…)I have had wonderful experiences with those comrades, but it’s because of our shared ideological understanding. Individualism is not good at building social movements, because social movements are inherently collective. That is not to say the individual doesn’t matter, but just as you cannot separate thoughts from matter which thinks, you cannot separate the individual from society.

To formulate a movement around individualism means it cannot evolve with society, but with individuals. This lack of societal cohesion is the reason that we have never seen a long term successful anarchist movement.(and why Mao was correct in his analysis of continual social revolution) So again I ask you, show me specifically where centralized leadership is used by the most reactionary groups?

If you want to point to 20TH century socialist states, I say again that the problem isn’t too much centralizing, but the opposite of too little. On the contrary, it is in fact anarchism which is ensnared by reaction.

Let’s be specific, the USSR was, and still is, often considered the example of socialism. Of course, anarchists criticize it for “authoritarianism,” so called. Let’s look at that word, it is using the term ‘authority’ with negative connotations. That alone, in the Marxist understanding, makes you reactionary.

You see authority, and though its material conditions under socialism is different than that of capitalism, it is still derided as authoritarian. Often heard from the less-read left(note; I don’t mean that negatively, I simply mean that while studying Marxism, and anti capitalism generally, it superficially seems as though we share the same goal; that is untrue, as I will explain further down)that anarchists want the same thing as Marxists.

While this may seem obvious, the desire for a stateless, classless, moneyless society does seem identical to the anarchist desire. It is, however, a monumental difference. The desire of the anarchist is that of the abolition of authority and hierarchy generally, not merely in relation to property. In that sense, anarchists go one step further than Marxists.

However, that one step takes the theory of socialism, and then utopian-izes it. To ask for the abolition of hierarchy is idealistic, at best, as hierarchy has existed since the beginning of the homo lineage. Marx himself corrected this idea that we(re:Marxists) want an equal society, and we do not. That is to say, we wish for equality, and that wish can only be fulfilled through the revolutionary seizing of production.(the most ‘authoritarian’ thing possible is any sort of revolution, as Engels notes)

This taking of what is rightfully ours does not make us equal, as the NBA player will never be completely equal to that of a wheelchair bound person. To wish for us to be equals, under no authority, is not to wish for equality, it is a pipe dream.

Returning to my original point, this lends itself to reactionary, often dogmatic, thinking of successful Marxist revolutions. Additionally, I’ve often anarchists consider things like the de facto military transition state in Burkina Faso to be, more or less, a dictatorship bordering on African nationalist fascism. Needless to say, that feeds very well into the mainstream liberal hegemony

[edenityy]

( chapter sixteen ! )

"My Lady, it is time—"

The morning is bright despite the events of the night prior, shining streams of sunlight into Leah's temporary bedroom. The day could seem near perfect if it wasn't for her inability to sleep. Sadly, the faint sound of chirping birds does nothing to calm her nerves as she sits at the vanity, keeping her breaths steady.

Leah, to much surprise, "awoke" quite early, prompting Thomas' to stop in his tracks when he enters the room with the goal of waking the girl. She dressed herself, albeit not particularly well, but the Barrett decided it best to attempt herself. Any plan to avoid being in close proximity to the butler is clear, even in the way she keeps her gaze away from his presence standing in the doorway.

"My.. What have you done, My Lady?" Thomas speaks slowly, taking a moment to observe the sight of Leah in a delicate lilac dress, the back open to expose a poorly tied corset. "I do not mean to offend but you look a mess."

Grabbing a puff, Leah lightly powders her face and tries to ignore the way her hair sits out of place in a terrible attempt at recreating a hairstyle Anna has done on her numerous times. "You are a man, you should not be in a lady's room."

Stepping further inside the room, Thomas quietly shuts the door behind himself and approaches the seated teenager. He examines the damage, certainly fixable, but mildly entertaining to him. Reaching down to undo Leah's dress, the demon is met by a near shove.

"Do not touch me!" yells Leah, her breaths staggering.

Thomas glances at the brunette through the mirror, making no move to step away. If anything, he gets closer to pull on the laces of her corset, pushing the sleeves of her dress off her shoulders.

"You certainly cannot step out of the room like this. Do you intend to hide all day?" asks Thomas.

Staring in apprehension, Leah allows the butler to adjust her mistakes but keeps a watchful eye on his movements. "I could not find Meyrin.." she murmurs.

Thomas gently forces Leah out of her seat to get a better view of what needs fixing, already working on the dress aspect of her outfit. The atmosphere of the room is chilling and full of one-sided discomfort, only the sound of fabrics moving against each other fills the space.

"Are you going to pretend last night did not happen?" Leah's voice is quiet but is easily heard through the silence of the room.

Thomas eyes his master's face through the mirror with a smirk. "Why explain what you cannot comprehend?"

The young Barrett takes in a deep breath through her nose. "Well it is clear you are not human," her voice shakes.

"You are correct," chuckles Thomas. "I am what you could call.. a demon."

Leah's hands grip the table tightly upon hearing his words, flinching when Thomas reaches up a hand to fix her hair. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she closes her eyes to think before quickly opening them back up with a glare, watching the pieces of brown strands fall across her shoulder.

"Do you not find that quite pathetic?" she keeps her voice firm despite the fear she holds within her.

Braiding chunks of silky hair, Thomas raises a brow in interest. "What do you mean?"

She shivers when feels his cold fingers brush against the back of her neck. "It is obvious you can be anything you would like, yet you choose to be a butler."

"I do it for you," a ghost of a smile appears on Thomas' face. "I choose to care for you. It is the perfect way to be close to you and observe your every move. You've piqued my interest, after all."

"You could have been anything. You could have trapped me in a marriage with you," Leah turns her head over her shoulder. "Yet you decided to be nothing more than a mere butler."

Thomas fights back a chuckle, reveling in her attempts to hide her fear. "I suppose you have always been quite smart, haven't you?" he recalls all the times he has seen her excel in her studies.

Silence befalls the two but it is short-lived. Taking a step away from Leah, Thomas looks down at his work.

"There. Don't you look much better now?" he tilts his head almost in a way of mocking her.

Leah glances into the mirror, upset to acknowledge that he did a good job. All the butler receives in return is a silent 'hmph'.

"I want something entertaining to do," complains Leah, feeling drained after days worth of events with Elizabeth. "Perhaps I shall return home today?"

Cleaning up the small mess, Thomas takes a step back to approach the door and open it to allow the girl out. "Lord Phantomhive has returned today. Surely you would like to spend time with him?" he suggests.

The Barrett steps out of the room and watches Thomas follow after her, strangely feeling at ease despite her recent discovery. "I'm not sure if I would.." she mumbles and recalls the blue-haired boy sleeping in the bed with Doll.

Thomas raises a brow but makes no further move to question the girl, knowing that she is easy to become upset. He instead chooses to follow her down the hall as he regularly would, going about his work as if Leah hasn't made a terrible discovery about his true identity. Not that she can do much anyway.

— ౨ৎ —

"I believe they are in here."

Opening the door, Thomas steps aside to allow Leah to pass him by, only for them to be met by Sebastian and Nina Hopkins going head to head. The aura in the room is full of displeasure, which Leah can only assume is from a disagreement.

Perking up at the sound of the door, Elizabeth smiles upon seeing her friend. "Leah! You have been gone all morning!" she exclaims, bounding over to the door.

"There was a small problem but it has been fixed now," Leah reassures her friend and places her hands in the smaller pair.

Ciel, now walking over as well, stares down the butler behind Leah before offering a small smile to the Barrett and observing her in the color she hardly wears. "I tr—"

"And who is this?!"

Running over unnaturally fast, Nina grabs ahold of Leah's arms and causes the teen to stiffen, looking at every crevice her eyes can gaze upon. She moves Leah every which way, observing her from numerous different angles.

"This is my betrothed.." Ciel grimaces as he watches Nina pull at Leah's face, gushing over her features.

Clearing his throat, Thomas speaks up from his spot behind Leah. "Lady Leah Barrett is the daughter of Marquess Barrett."

"Marquess Barrett?" Nina raises a brow, her face uncomfortably close to Leah's. "That businessman from America?"

Leah nods with a forced smile. "I was born in America."

Marveling at the Barrett's intricately decorated dress and the accessories that accentuate her features, Nina turns to Ciel with an almost harsh look. "Why did you never mention a fiancé?! She is absolutely breathtaking, look at her!" she grabs ahold of Leah's cheeks and brings her face closer to Ciel's.

"I never deemed it necessary. You are a tailor, why would I mention my betrothed if it is not needed," says Ciel, looking at the way Leah's cheeks squish under the hand.

Nina shakes her head and releases the girl's face, only to drag her further into the room. She pulls out a line of measuring tape and immediately attempts to get to work, disregarding the clothes constricting her efforts.

"I rarely see women so tall, I must measure you!" Nina wraps the tape around Leah's arm, "And your face, those eyes. Marvelous!"

Face heating up amidst the praise, Leah shifts awkwardly before the interaction is interrupted by the blonde butler behind her.

Thomas clears his throat. "I'm afraid it is time for the Lady to eat," he stares down at the tailor.

Despite the hope, Nina doesn't take this entirely well. Her face contorts into a glare as she challenges Thomas, standing her ground despite the situation involving another person.

"There is plenty of time in the day for that! Can you please go waste time somewhere else until the fitting?" The tailor promptly grabs the other people in the room to shove them out of the door, keeping Leah behind. "Well, get out, get out!"

The Barret's lips purse as she fiddles with her hands. "Where is the rest of your attire..?" she asks, eyes slipping to Nina's legs which are partially exposed due to her shorts. 'That is.. unladylike.'

She gets no response in return though as Nina rushes to get her clothes off for accurate measurements, leaving her stuck in the room.

— ౨ৎ —

After much gushing over Leah's features, Nina is finished recording numbers and sees the teenager off, only to announce that Ciel and Elizabeth are ready for their fittings.

Leah walks out of the room slightly disheveled but better than what she had done with herself in the morning, brushing past Elizabeth who runs inside. She hardly notices the glance Ciel spares for her or the fact that he doesn't move from his seat.

"I have prepared tea and pastries, Lady Leah. Do help yourself," Sebastian perks up at her entrance.

She pouts, "I don't want your tea."

Both Ciel and Sebastian seem a bit surprised by Leah's attitude, typically only seeing it extended towards Thomas. However, today it appears to be open for everyone she crosses.

Watching her take a seat at the table, Thomas approaches to lean down but keeps a respectable distance. "My Lady, you haven't eaten in three days. Please do consider something to fill your stomach," he doesn't even try to whisper, only slightly lowering his tone.

"Three days?" Ciel asks in exasperation.

Inhaling in irritation, Leah shuts her eyes to pretend the world isn't around her. "Do you ever stop talking?" she questions the butler.

"Three days?!" Ciel once again asks, raising his voice a little higher after being ignored.

Thomas straightens his back. "The Lady does not like to eat often. She believes she will become too big and that you won't think she is beautiful anymore," he almost gleefully spills Leah's thoughts.

Shoving her head onto the table, Leah releases a sound that almost sounds like a groan and covers her head with her arms. "Thomas!" she yells.

The Phantomhive's face softens for a moment, "Leah.. that is ridiculous."

Leah doesn't respond to his attempts at comforting her, keeping her head buried in the table. She can hardly bring herself to even peek over her arms, not wanting to face potential scrutiny for her actions. 'This is so embarrassing..'

Thomas glances down and pushes a teacup in her direction. "Someone would have found out eventually, My Lady. You need food to replenish your body," he says firmly.

Making no further attempts to argue, Leah instead opts for smacking Thomas upside his head with the strength she can muster. The sound travels through the room before she simply settles on repeatedly hitting him, ignoring the looks she receives as she watches Thomas fall to his knees.

"All you do is irritate me!" she yells, feeling the fear for the demon dissipate.

Keeping himself on the floor, Thomas takes the blows to his head with a content aura and nearly smiles. "Yes, My Lady. I am very sorry."

Leah continues to hit Thomas before she pauses, gripping him by the hair to see his face. The girl pouts as she observes his smile and drops his head from her hand, turning around with a huff.

"Why have you stopped, My Lady?" asks Thomas.

"I'm not going to hit you if you clearly enjoy it! You are so pathetic, it is disgusting. Get out of my face!" Leah yells and crosses her arms, sitting down once again.

Both Sebastian and Ciel share a glance, unsure of how to react to the situation playing out before them.

"Ciel! Make haste, we do not have all day for the fitting!"

Elizabeth's voice rings out from a few rooms away, breaking the atmosphere in the room. The Phantomhive rises from his chair and backs out of the room, leaving Leah with the two demons as one slides her a plate of food, almost earning a slap.

— ౨ৎ —

"Oh, you look stunning!"

Back within the walls of the fitting room, Nina is beyond joyed at the sight of Leah in the clothes she made. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it is a perfect fit, hugging her figure and complimenting her features.

Leah, unlike the tailor, is far from happy as she keeps her gaze firmly planted on the wall, hellbent on not looking at shirtless Ciel mere feet away from her. Although occasionally her eyes flicker to Elizabeth who stands in front of the folding screen with a giggle, only now not looking at Ciel after he voiced his embarrassment. 'I truly don't understand how Elizabeth could just look at him. I might as well die in here.'

"Look!" Nina shifts Leah around to face a full-length mirror, "What do you think?"

Staring into the depths of the mirror, the Barrett's eyes wander, taking in the outfit adoring her body. It is red, very red. Ruffles decorate the outside going down to the bottom, a thin chocker wraps around her neck, and a flower cut from fabric is entwined with strands of her hair. 'This looks awfully familiar.'

She gazes down at her unlowered hems, still exposing a tiny portion of her ankles. "I look like— Madame Red.." Leah whispers.

Nina's eyebrows furrow for a moment before they rest once again, almost as if she recognizes the name. However before she has the chance to respond, the door is slammed open.

"Hey, Ciel!" Prince Soma stands in the doorway with Agni behind him, a look of pure anger painted across his face and a clenched fist, "Why did you secretly return to the main house?!"

There is hardly a moment to react when Sebastian swings a drape and Ciel is suddenly wearing a shirt again, but the demon is not fast enough for the mark on Ciel's back to go unnoticed by Leah. She knows better than to comment on it though, keeping her mouth shut to avoid potentially offending her fiancé.

Soma and Agni move to passively meet Elizabeth, who they seem to naturally be kind to. It isn't until that the Prince notices Leah that the room perks up.

"Ah! Little sister!" he smiles brightly and runs over to envelop Leah in an unexpected hug.

Leah awkwardly gives Soma an askew glance. "Prince Soma?"

"Little sister?" questions Ciel.

Keeping his hold on Leah, Soma chuckles. "She is your fiancé, of course, that makes her my little sister!" he nods.

"How does it make her that?!" Ciel shouts, now beginning to get irritated.

To no one's surprise, the Phantomhive's words are ignored in return for Soma immediately wanting to enter the dining hall, Elizabeth also joining in. Agni is stationed beside them with a pot of curry, prompting Leah to attempt to run away but Thomas is quick to catch her.

"Wait, the dining hall is still damaged," Ciel sweats.

"Please relax," Sebastian places a hand on his chest. "Dinner preparations have already been made. It cost an arm and a leg, but it's perfect as always."

— ౨ৎ —

Stars shine above Phantomhive Manor, casting a calming glow through the windows. But it is tough to beat the fire that crackles in the fireplace, illuminating the room and the numerous bodies occupying chairs and lounges.

Soma and Elizabeth hold a discussion over a game of cards, the Prince telling the blonde all about the few things he can recall from the past days.

"He was bedridden?!" Elizabeth yells in surprise.

Staring down at the cards in his hand, Soma nods. "Yep, that's why I thought I should give him something nutritious and make curry."

The Midford has little chance to protest to her cousin before a teacup is placed in front of her, ignoring Leah's rather loud whispers to Thomas who hardly seems to be listening. Leah's attention is not even caught until Sebastian points out that Ciel is sleeping in his chair, leaning to the left with a slightly ajar mouth.

"It's been a long time since I have seen the Master's face this relaxed," Sebastian allows a smile to cross his face. "It's probably because he was able to spend a nice, free day with everyone."

For a split moment, the Barrett's eyes soften but harden just as quickly.

Elizabeth smiles, "Goodnight, Ciel."

"I want to go home," Leah deadpans.

Thomas shakes his head, fighting a sigh as he glances down at the girl in her seat.

"Sometimes you ruin the mood."

[drdemonprince]

hi! so a couple months ago, my workplace (a public library) had an outside organization come in to give staff a training on neurodiversity. at the end of the training, the presenter mentioned that her organization does ABA. looking into this place online, it seems like they have a lot of unhappy clients, including some who say their kids have been abused there. i want to make a stink about this, but i’m worried about being shot down or facing retaliation, especially because i’m fairly new to this job. do you have any advice on how to handle this conversation in a work environment? thank you!!

UGh that is so horrible, I'm sorry you had to deal with that anon. I think you can make a stink about it, but be clear first about what your ask even is. Do you want your department to send out information correcting the misinformation about ABA? Recommending an alternative resource for employees to opt into checking out? Do you want your organization to hire a completely new speaker to do damage control (email me if you want)? Do you just want them to know that this organization is bunk and get them put on some kind of list so that they will never be hired again?

Next, who else can you include in advocating for your desired outcome? Is there a neurodivergent employee group? A union? A general purpose company DEI group? Do you have neurodivergent coworkers or ones you know to have similar political alignments to yours? Talk with them and strategize and see if you can get more people on board and willing to sign a letter or attend a meeting about this.

The last bit of prep work you'll want to do is gather resources that explain why the Autistic community does not support ABA. ASAN is a good place to start, as is Stop the Shock, and you can also mine the citations in my book on the subject for a few sources to link to. You want to be able to present these to leadership while you make your requests, knowing they probably will not read it -- but if they see there's a large volume of information backing you up, and a whole social movement behind it, and multiple angry employees, they are more likely to do something.

Finally, watch your back and have a realistic gauge of the place where you work. Is dissent punished? Will you be mocked or treated like you're the problem for raising this? Do you have a fluffy feel good liberal org that could successfully be guilted into a symbolic gesture in the direction of the right thing? What is this worth to you, and what leverage do you have without having to worry about losing your job? Sometimes neurodivergent people do get fired for speaking up. Hell, sometimes they get fired despite being the heads of their company's diversity ERG. So please, please be careful. You cannot ever trust your boss to do the right thing or care about you, and you cant trust HR either. This is why having the support of multiple employees is crucial. If you work in a library I'd say the odds are better than usual of being heard out, and your resources actually being read by some employees...but tread carefully regardless!

[screamingfromuz]

weird how you reblog posts saying Israel was founded on genocide while also reblogging posts saying the IDF has some measure of honor. like did you see the video of how they shot an Israeli citizen thinking he was Palestinian? Yuval Doron Castleman wa shis name, and the video is not hard to find. the had his hands up in the air, and he was shot multiple times. this happened in the past 24 hours. was there a specific point where the state of Israel became good?

you talk about Jewish people feeling unsafe around anti-Israel talk, but do you ever wonder if people of color feel unsafe around you, and your excusing of ceuel and dehumanizing police forces?

you are very funny to me, you kind of people little anon. So full of yourself yet cannot comprehend complex concepts of grey morality.

I don't fully agree with everything I reblog, I reblog things I believe are important to talk about.

The founding of Israel has several faces that should be acknowledged. It was both a victory to an indigenous land back movement and offered a desperately needed sanctuary for hundred of thousands that would flee, and horrible disaster to another indigenous group. This does not contradict. For peace to exists we must acknowledge the co existence of those narratives. Horrible things were done in 1947-1949, by everyone involved (Britian, Israel, Palestinians, Jordan, Egypt, Syrian, Lebanon), and ignoring or diminishing it is foolish. On the other side, blowing it up is just as stupid and destructive.

using the correct term is important, as using the wrong terms might leads fools such as yourself to misunderstand the problem, and worsen the actual problem by "trying to help".

the IDF takes extreme measures to be careful with civilian life while simultaneously being careless with it. Again, both things are true as the same time.

Me saying that I do not consider the actions in Gaza genocide, does not mean I agree with all of them. as explained in this post (and it various reblogs), the use of the word "Genocide" is done as a way to shut down conversations and vilify Israel. The things that are happening are horrific and I hate it, I mourn every death. But as I refuse to call this a genocide, any criticism I will have will be either dismissed or twisted and used against me. For that reason, I limit my criticism to Israeli circle and the real world.

I saw the video, of course I did. And what do you want me to say? that it is horrific? That I knew that something like this was gonna happen at some point? The soldiers fucked up, they will be trialed for that. This are problems that stem from militarized society that I fight against.

Israel is a state. It is not bad or good in your simplistic moral scale, like any other country on the planet. But Israel is my home, and I would not abandon if even if it is fucked up in here. There have been 9 months of protests before the war, people are still protesting and sighing petitions and working to build a better future here, for all of us. just like the people in Poland and in Hungary, we want a better country. The point is that you don't care, you don't want Israel to exist. You are calling or erasing Israel from the map without understanding the devastating consequences of such action. You don't care about our effort and our criticism unless you can twist if to the support of the eradication of Israel.

what you fail to understand, is how much your "anti-Israel" talk is toxic, destructive and full of antisemitism. Of course we feel unsafe! you are not criticizing Israel, you are calling for it's destruction and to the horrible consequences to the Jewish people that will follow.

I have talked about this, many Jewish and Israeli talked about it, but the amount of hate a vitriol your kind spew, the silencing methods you employ does not leave a place to our criticism. Nuanced opinions of the systems of violence, the militarization of the Israeli society, about the ties between culture and crime, of neglect, those are swept aside as they do not satisfy your "Israel bad" criteria.

Understanding the actions taken and explaining them is not endorsing or supporting said actions. it's called having an understanding.

I understand that this ask is a result of your underdeveloped moral compass, and truly hope you would be able to develop a healthy one little anon.

You don't know me, you see fractions of me through a screen, pieces of opinions I share on this wretched hell hole in hope of a good constructive criticism, in hope that by speaking out people will feel less alone.

for summery anon, life is more complex then your little fanfiction version of it. I hope you grow out of this mindset.

[sage-green-kitchen]

A Vindication of the Rights of Women and Pride & Prejudice

In the 1790s, the ideas of the Enlightenment and the Romantic movement were conflicting within society. During this time of change, revolution and new ideas, the idea that women would get rights was very prevalent in society. One woman during this time period who saw the change and wanted to apply it to women was Mary Wollstonecraft. Her theory of feminism was that in relationships men should overcome prejudices and treat their wives as equals, women should marry a man with good manners that treats others as equals, education should be equal, ideas of equality start in childhood, and that men and women are equals when it came to coming up with academic theories and writing academic sources.

Overcoming prejudice is a theme throughout. Wollstonecraft Argues that men are prejudice against women and what they are able to do and what they think about. She writes, “Men, in general, seem to employ their reason to justify prejudices, which they have imbibed, they cannot trace how, rather than to root them out.” (Wollstonecraft). She further argues that education leads to their prejudices and that men should learn how to treat their wives as equals who are capable of doing many things. She also thinks that overcoming prejudice would lead to more fairness in relationships and that wives would be academically equal to their husbands and be their friend. On this argument, she writes, “Love is, in a great degree, an arbitrary passion, and will reign like some other stalking mischiefs,[…], the foundation of friendship, because it is often excited by evanescent beauties and graces, though to give an energy to the sentiment something more solid must deepen their impression [...] to make the most fair— the first good.” (Wollstonecraft) She thinks that women should not focus on love but on what opportunities their husbands provide them, how they are treated, and whether or not they are a good match in intelligence.   

In Pride and Prejudice, both Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth must overcome prejudice to end up getting married at the end of the book. Elizabeth had a bad first impression of Mr. Darcy and thought he was vain and did not treat women well based on his comments and actions. She did not immediately forgive him, she waited until she saw evidence that he treated his staff and family well and that he would treat her well. The novel states, “gradually all her former prejudices had been removed.” (Austen, Page 332) This matches with Wollstonecraft’s ideas that women should not depend just one love, but should marry for the character of the man and the woman having a common ground and belief with him.   

Mr. Darcy is arguably the most prejudiced character the book. In his first marriage proposal he states, “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”(Austen, Page 174) This shows that his prejudice against Elizabeth’s economic class and that it is something he sees as an important part of a person. By making his character so focused on prejudice, this shows a connection to the Wollstonecraft idea that men are more prejudice and need to see all women as equal in capability to them. The novel also explains that his prejudice was formed in childhood. Mr. Darcy says, “As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit.”(Austen, Page 332) This supports Wollstonecraft's focus on how childhood and education makes men not as prejudice against women. She believes that good education leads to more accepting people and society and that ideal of equality should be introduced in childhood. Darcy shows this because he had a very conservative education on both women and social class, so he was more prejudice.   

Wollstonecraft does not argue against marriage. She talks a lot in A Vindication of the Rights of Women about marriage and relationships and how they can be mutually beneficial for both men and women. One thing she focuses on is what women look for in a man. She writes, “Men look for beauty and the simper of good humoured docility: women are captivated by easy manners: a gentleman-like man seldom fails to please them, and their thirsty ears eagerly drink the insinuating nothings of politeness, whilst they turn from the unintelligible sounds of the charmer—reason, charm he never so wisely.” (Wollstonecraft) She explains that women see manners and treating others well as important. This standard should be maintained because it leads to women having better marriages with men who are not abusive or oppresses their desire for education or purpose. Wollstonecraft thinks they should look for a smart person who does not just complement them, but also holds intelligent conversation with them.    

Elizabeth Bennet finds manners to be very important. She says,“your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike”(Austen, Page 177) Darcy’s arrogance makes him undesirable to her. She has the exact mindset Mary Wollstonecraft argues a woman should have when looking for a husband. Because he saw her as less than him and was rude, she did not like him even though he had a lot of money. One of the reasons her mind changes is because she sees how he treats his staff. They say to her, “I have never known a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old.”(Austen, Page 223) This shows that he is kind and does not treat people disrespectfully, no matter their gender or class. This was important for Lizzy because she valued how he treated other people. How men treat other people being considered a deciding factor in a woman’s choice to marry them is a Wollstonecraft idea and Elizabeth shows this through her change of mind after learning he is a kind person.   

Mary Wollstonecraft argues in her book A Vindication of the Rights of Women that women would have more equality in society if men overcame prejudice, women should choose husbands based on how they treat people and how well-mannered they are, that women should have equality to men, and this can be achieved through equal education, an equal childhood participating in the same activities together, and by including women in academic works and writings about history and society. Jane Austen shows marriage equality for women in her novel Pride and Prejudice, she achieves this through the relationship and the overcoming of prejudices between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.

[appocalipse]

home → steve harrington

a/n: this is part 2 to those things you said, cause i'm a sucker for angst with a fluff ending.

“At least let me drive you home.”

Steve's voice seems to echo down the deserted street as he follows after you, walking just a few steps behind; a distance that's respectful but makes his chest ache, ache so much he feels the need to look down and make sure he's not bleeding. He's not.

He can hear the sound of your heels against the asphalt clearly. This is the only answer he gets.

You don't live close enough to be a comfortable walk — that's why he gave you a ride in the first place. It's a long way and it's cold.

“Y/N,” he tries again, wondering if you'd at least let him put his jacket over your shoulders. He tries once more, louder this time, “Y/N.”

Steve thinks he just saw you shake your head and sigh, a huff, angry. Well, damn it. He's known you for a long time and doesn't doubt for a second that you'll be able to keep silent until the end of the night. Until the end of your lives even, he fears.

You are that stubborn.

Steve doesn't know what life is like without you. You've been there for as long as he can remember, curious eyes and kind words. He knew you were more than he deserved from the start.

Warm hugs he'd never receive at home, a hand always extended to him without asking for anything in return. He was always too proud, always too confident, but with you it was different. Steve felt like he was always walking in the dark with other people, with the popular guys from school, with the countless girls he took on meaningless dates... even with Nancy Wheeler, at first. But you saw him for what he was, clearly. Not King Steve. Not a popular guy. Just Steve.

And now he is afraid. Because love and fear had been pretty much the same thing to him for a while — a thing that did nothing but make him vulnerable, prone to loss. Prone to abandonment.

Fuck this.

“I love you too,” he yells, and the sound of his husky voice floats down the empty road to you, walking right in the middle of it.

You cannot ignore this. You cannot ignore this.

He watches as your naked legs come to a stop, hands balled into fists, clenched tightly. You stopped walking almost as if you had hit something solid, an abrupt stop, as if someone had held you tightly in place.

But you don't turn around.

He's sure you heard what he said. He is sure.

The wind whips your hair and Steve sees your shoulders rise and fall quickly. You're breathing heavily.

He doesn't know when, but he's stopped walking, too. Four steps. It's what separates you two; only four steps.

But it somehow feels like you're on the other side of the country.

You look at him over your shoulder, not wanting to turn around. “What did you just say?”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, nervous.

“I love you,” he says again, hoarse and shaky. He tries once more, correcting himself, feeling vulnerable under your stare. "I'm in love with you."

You laugh, but it's the first time the sound makes Steve cringe; it's rough and humorless, bitter. You don't believe him.

“Don’t be absurd."

“I do love you.”

“Stop it-”

“I do, I love you, I-”

His voice becomes loud once yours does and now it's a fight and it's stupid, angry voices resounding in the middle of the night; even though the road is so empty that a whisper is more than enough to be heard.

You turn around now, shaking your head vigorously, furiously, in denial, chest rising and falling in a frantic breath as he counters every movement of your head with those three words, again and again.

God.

Shit. Crap. Fuck. All the swear words in the entire world pass by Steve's mind, and still none of them are strong enough to explain the suffocating frustration he feels — you don't believe it, but it's true. It never ceases to be true, it never did, not even now, when he's repeating and repeating, never tiring of doing so.

But he wants you to listen. Wants you to believe.

His legs almost move on their own, a reflex, because there was nothing else he could do but close the distance between you two and hold your face in his hands. “Look at me,” he asks gently, one hand at each side of your face preventing you from shaking your head again.

You're looking down at the ground, though there's nothing there. Steve slowly tilts your head up to look at him.

Still, you don't.

Your eyes are closed.

He sighs. "Listen to me, Y/N, and get it into this pretty little head of yours, okay?" You bite your lip and swallow, and the movement makes Steve's eyes drop to your mouth. “I love you. I'm in love with you. I understand if you're afraid- I screwed up, I know, but-”

“Stop, stop it,” you're frowning now, and the sadness in your voice makes Steve's heart ache. “I don't want your pity. I don’t want you to settle for me because I was too stupid to keep my mouth shut.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“I believe you love me, Steve,” you say, opening your eyes to look at his. “As a friend. You don't…" your cheeks flush, "...want me.”

Steve fights the urge to laugh. The idea is absurd, ridiculous — it borders on fantasy. “You're kidding,” he says, “you must be. You're blind if you never noticed the way I-how I-" he stutters, you frown deeper and he has never wanted to kiss you more in his entire life.

He stops himself from doing so, gaze moving from your lips back to your eyes — insecure and hopeful.

"Jesus. Ever since that night in the bathroom, you’re the only thing on my mind- no, scratch that, I think you were always on my mind, always, even before that.”

“Steve-”

“Let me finish. Please?” you blink and go silent, big eyes staring up at him. Steve takes it as an agreement. "That night when I climbed up your window and kissed you... I wasn't drunk."

"What?"

"I hadn't had a single drink that night."

"But you were sad."

"I was," he admits, for it was the truth. "But not just for Nancy. I mean, I did feel terrible because of how things happened, but...I was also thinking about you, about what you said that night...that loving me was like drowning."

He brushes his thumb across your cheekbone and it's so tender, a seemingly unconscious movement; a sigh escapes your parted lips and you blink, keeping your eyes closed for a moment, a long moment, before you manage to open them once again.

“I don't want you to drown anymore, Y/N. I want you to breathe… with me."

Steve leans in, barely aware of what he's doing until your upper lip touches his; one touch, a single touch, and he freezes — or rather, he's on fire. Sparks, electricity, whatever you want to call it, he feels it. And suddenly, he understands why so many songs are about love and nothing else.

“I love you,” he looks at you from under long lashes, gaze lost, longing, every word murmured against your mouth. “Home was never a place to me- it has always been you.”

And you finally believe him.

You tilt your head and press your lips to his. This moment has crossed your mind many times in the past — what it would be like, what he would taste like, how long it would last. But these questions have no answer; your mind is suddenly blank, your thoughts not making any sense.

Because love can't be explained, it can only be felt.

And God, you love this boy — and he loves you.

a/n: i want to thank everyone who read and left a comment on part one — this wouldn't exist without you!

[bumblesimagines]

When Fire Meets Fate

Part 6

Request: Yes or No

For anyone who may get confused, the last timeskip takes place in ep 6 when everyone has now aged up

~~~

Peering at the purple bruise covering his side, (Y/N) ran his finger over it and winced, pain shooting up his spine when he pressed into the skin. The previous night's events replayed in his head: a splendid feast, gleeful dancing, and then chaos. He knew little of Ser Joffery Lonmouth, other than his relatively close friendship with Ser Laenor. He'd heard whispers from gossiping maids about how Ser Joffery had allegedly insulted Ser Criston Cole, resulting in the knight losing his temper. Others rumored Ser Criston Cole seemingly attacked the young man for no real reason. 

"Purple isn't your color." Looking up into the mirror's reflection, he blinked at the princess. Rhaenyra grinned cheekily at him as she approached, tilting her head down to look at the bruise. She hummed softly and reached out, gently placing a cold finger over the darkened skin. Her eyes, however, slipped away from the bruise and instead inspected the bare skin presented to her. 

"How is Ser Laenor?" (Y/N) asked, releasing the crumbled-up shirt and letting it fall over his stomach, efficiently blocking her view. Rhaenyra pulled her hand away and flushed lightly, softly clearing her throat.

"He left for Driftmark this morning. They'll be burying Ser Joffery there, per Ser Laenors' request." Rhaenyra responded, fingers toying with the necklace her uncle had gifted her. "I truly can't imagine what it must feel like to lose a trusted friend so unexpectedly." Smoothing the back of her dress, Rhaenyra lowered herself onto a chair, setting her elbow on the bronze armrest and running her fingers through her hair. "What could've possibly set off Ser Criston?"

"Jealousy, perhaps." (Y/N) murmured, approaching his bed and gazing down at his coat. He reached out, dragging his finger over the green fabric and gold designs, colors that he'd been wearing for years. But after the power display his sister had done the night prior, he thought twice about wearing them with tensions so high and gossip spreading like wildfire.

"What makes you believe it is jealousy?" Rhaenyra questioned, leaning on the armrest to look at him, thin brows furrowed and causing wrinkles to form between them.

"I was told some rather interesting information last night. I suspect, if they are telling the truth, Ser Criston reacted out of intense jealousy that he directed onto the unsuspecting Ser Joffery. If you cannot harm someone, you harm those closest to them and Ser Joffery seemed awfully close to Ser Laenor." The Hightower answered, lifting the coat from the bed and cradling it in his arms for a moment. He heard the wood of the chair scrape against the ground as Rhaenyra stood up from it, turning his head to watch her approach.

"What exactly were you told?" 

"Nothing worth losing sleep over, Nyra. You and Ser Laenor have an agreement, correct? He does not care about your maidenhead being taken by another."

"(Y/N)-"

"Which reminds me," (Y/N) folded the coat into a square, breezing past the stunned princess to put it away and pick out another. "How was your night?"

Swallowing, Rhaenyra rubbed her covered forearm before speaking. "Ser Laenor was too grief-stricken to focus on anything. He promised Lord Corlys he'd be ready after the funeral." She explained as (Y/N) slipped his arms into a maroon-colored coat, adjusting its collar and buttoning the ends of the sleeves. Rhaenyra turned, her long dress whooshing around with her movements and hair slipping over her shoulders. 

"I do not love Ser Criston Cole."

"I know."

"And what happened between us-"

"I do not care, Nyra." Rhaenyra closed her mouth, a confused exhale escaping her. She walked closer to the young man, fingers coiling around each other from nerves. (Y/N) regarded her with an amused look and brought his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks. Her eyes bore into his, fingers pulling away and instead wrapping around his wrists as she searched his face.

"Why do you not care?" She asked softly.

"Because if you wanted him, you would've gone to him first." 

"I admire your confidence." Rhaenyras' confusion gave way to amusement, a soft giggle slipping past her lips. Her hands left his wrist as she took a step forward and slipped her arms around his neck. Her eyes twinkled with mischieve and she tilted her head, grinning up at him. "I believe we were rudely interrupted last night."

"Were we?"

"Mhm, we were." Rhaenyra leaned forward, brushing her nose against his. His breath fanned her face and she felt their lips brush briefly, excitement pooling in her stomach and sending a flurry of butterflies fluttering around inside her. Closing the distance, she pressed her lips against his, nails scraping against the nape of his neck. (Y/N) dropped his hands to her waist, digging his fingers into the cloth of the dress and pulling her closer. 

"You're married, Rhaenyra." (Y/N) muttered against her lips, feeling her chuckle softly and slip her hands under the coat, shoving it down his arms. 

"Only days ago, you sent me away because you didn't wish to ruin the wedding night for my husband." She breathed, placing a fleeting kiss on his lips. "But, as your future queen, I command you to ruin it."

                    ✶        ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶

Another scream tore from Rhaenyras' throat and (Y/N) grimaced, sharing a glance with Ser Harwin as they stood before her bedchambers. Her pregnancy had been sudden and unexpected yet widely celebrated throughout all the lands. King Viserys had been beyond thrilled, throwing a feast and many tourneys in celebration of his future grandchild despite the fears clouding his daughter's mind. Her mother had suffered greatly, grieving many stillborn children and being betrayed by her own body and husband in the end. The prospect of dying covered in her own blood with a sliced belly sent chills down Rhaenyras' spine, no matter how many times Ser Laenor assured her he'd choose her over the babe if it came to it. 

The labors had begun early in the morning before the sun had even risen and Rhaenyras' crying and screaming had been echoing down the hall for ages. The first babe was always the worst had been Princess Rhaenys words as she entered the bedchambers with her husband in tow. The two, more so Lord Corlys, had demanded to be in the room to witness their grandchild and the future of the kingdoms being born, despite Laenors' protests that they wait elsewhere. (Y/N) didn't have the luxury of being at her side, so he stood outside with Ser Harwin, being forced to listen to Rhaenyras' cries, screams, and curses. 

"You bitch!" (Y/N) snorted softly, digging his teeth into his bottom lip as he listened to his lover scream at the midwives attempting to help her. She hadn't relented in her curses, though they were occasionally followed by a strained apology and another agonizing groan. The muffled voices of Laenor and the maesters encouraging her seeped through every few seconds, something (Y/N) wished he could do.

"She's certainly fiery." Harwin chuckled as the clicking of metal hitting the solid ground filled the hallway. Looking down the hall, the two men watched King Viserys and his wife approach with their guards at their heels. Alicents' hand rested upon her swollen belly, her own pregnancy nearing its end as well. The brunette narrowed her eyes at her brother and frowned, taking a glance at her husband.

"What are you doing here, Brother?" She questioned, straightening her shoulders and quirking a brow. "I'm sure Princess Rhaenyra-"

Lifting his hand, King Viserys stopped Alicent mid-sentence and offered her brother a tired smile. "How is she doing?" He asked, sounding rather breathless. His health had been in a steady decline the recent years but nothing would stop him from seeing his daughter and first grandchild. The piercing cry of a babe pulled their attention toward the closed doors and King Viserys quickly entered the room, followed by his wife and (Y/N). Alicent glared back at (Y/N), wordlessly motioning for him to leave the room but he ignored her.

Rhaenyra lied covered in a layer of sweat, blood, and other bodily fluids. Her hair stuck to her wet skin, her chest heaving, and hands tightly clutching the sheets. She lifted her head, exhaling deeply upon seeing (Y/N) and giving him a tired smile as her body relaxed. (Y/N) turned toward Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, throat tightening when he took in the babe in the older man's arms. The babe had been wrapped in dark blue cloth but the mop of unmistakably brown hair had caught his eye first. Apart from the babes' cries, the room had fallen otherwise silent as those present absorbed the situation. The older princess's lips pressed into a line, eyes shifting over to the Hightower.

"A boy, Y-Your Grace." A maester offered King Viserys a meek smile and he cleared his throat, taking the bundle into his arms. Alicent tore her gaze away from the babe and turned to her brother with wide, furious eyes. (Y/N) met her gaze and inhaled through his nose, looking away from them and toward Rhaenyra as Laenor and a midwife helped her into a sitting position. 

"He's perfect." King Viserys whispered, adoringly staring down at his new grandson. The newborn quieted his cries and calmed, tiny fingers grabbing his grandfathers' thumb as soft coos left him. King Viserys smiled, completely taken by the young boy. "What is his name?"

"Perhaps, Joffery?" Laenor attempted.

"No." Lord Corlys finally spoke, eyes remaining on the newborn. "He should be given a name fit for a king." His wifes' gaze snapped toward him and her brow quirked but she remained silent. Nobody dared to make a comment about the newborns' rather obvious lack of Targaryen features, though the glances shared around the room said enough. Velaryon blood did not run through the newborn's veins.

"His name will be Jacaerys Velaryon," Rhaenyra announced and the older men nodded their approval. The name brought a wide smile to King Viserys face and he approached Rhaenyra, handing the bundle off to her and affectionately stroking the back of her head. Rhaenyra lied back on the pillows, finally looking down at her son. 

"You did well." King Viserys praised, leaning back and smiling warmly at his growing family. Lord Corlys inhaled and looked at his king, clasping his hands together behind his back and lifting his brows.

"May we speak privately, Your Grace?"

"Yes, of course." King Viserys sighed, glancing at his daughter before he followed Lord Coryls and Princess Rhaenys out of the room. Alicent lingered, teeth nipping at the skin of her lips and nails digging into the skin of her palm. She whirled around, sighing heavily as she exited the room with the midwives and maesters following to give Rhaenyra some space. 

"How furious is your father?" (Y/N) asked Laenor, taking a seat at the edge of the bed, being careful to avoid the bloody sheets. Laenor brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it, shrugging his shoulders and giving him an apologetic look. 

"Not furious enough to accuse you outright." He replied and Rhaenyra hummed softly, lifting the bundle toward her face and pressing a soft kiss to Jacaerys forehead. 

"Regardless of parentage..." Rhaenyra began, looking at the two men. "Both of you are his father." She smiled fondly, gently bouncing the newborn to keep him from breaking out into sobs again. She leaned forward and winced, shakily exhaling before she offered the bundle to (Y/N). The Hightower tensed but hesitantly took the baby from her, pressing the bundle to his chest. Jacaerys opened his eyes and (Y/N) half-expected him to break out into sobs but the baby instead stuck his fingers in his mouth and stared up at him curiously. Big brown eyes. Just like Alicent and their mother. Their father would surely curse him when news reached Oldtown. Another reason for his family to distance themselves from him. 

"He's a Velaryon and a Targaryen, even if he has Hightower blood. My family would never accept him as one of their own." (Y/N) murmured, watching Jacaerys eyes flutter shut, tiny chest rising and falling steadily. A stain on the family, even with royal blood. A bastard the religious Hightowers would despise. 

"Come now, little one." Laenor smiled and took the baby into his arms, cooing softly. (Y/N) stood up, looking back at Rhaenyra. The princess had already fallen asleep despite her uncomfortable condition. She deserved a warm bath and clean clothes.

"I'll fetch a maid to clean the sheets and get Nyra dressed in something that isn't covered in so much fluid." (Y/N) glanced at his son one last time, running his finger over the hair on his head. Turning, he walked toward the doors and opened them, pausing when he noticed a servant about to knock. 

"Queen Alicent requests your presence in her room, Lord (Y/N)." The servant announced, straightening up.

"Could you fetch some maids for the Princess? She's in need of some care." (Y/N) watched the servant nod and bow his head before he headed off down the hall to fulfill his request. Harwin pushed himself off the wall and tilted his head, arms crossing as he took in the lord.

"How's the babe? Lord Corlys appeared rather-"

"He doesn't look Targaryen." (Y/N) interrupted Harwin quietly. The knight took a moment to soak in his words, eyes slowly widening and stance going rigid. His jaw went slack and he leaned forward in shock. "He looks like a Hightower and the Velaryons know it." 

"But-"

"We'll speak later. If I don't show, Alicent will come looking for me herself." Harwin swallowed and nodded, looking back toward the closed doors. (Y/N) turned and headed down the hall, the surprise of it all beginning to chip away. A healthy boy with Hightower features. A boy who would eventually be called King Jacaerys. His son. (Y/N) marched on despite a wave of lightheadedness washing over him as the realization settled. He had a son. A son he couldn't parent for the sake of keeping the peace between the families. 

"Your Grace." (Y/N) called as he entered his sisters' bedchambers and Alicent ripped herself away from the window, dismissing her servants with a steely look and wave of her hand. The maids quickly left the room, sparing glances at each other and whispering. When the sound of the door closing echoed in the room, she addressed her brother with a seething glare.

"A bastard, (Y/N). You've sired a bastard with a princess."

"I assume you've already sent word to Father?"

"Of course!" Alicent hissed, walking forward, only stopping to place a hand on her belly. She winced and grasped the top of a chair, carefully lowering down and taking a seat. She inhaled deeply and brushed away brown strands from her face. "This isn't how I envisioned you becoming a father. That child is pure Hightower. He should've been Velaryon."

"Laenor is his father, Alicent. He has his name and will use it until he sits the throne as a Targaryen."

"You and I both know Laenor had no part in his creation. He has the same hair and eyes as our brothers. Even if the Velaryons accept him and claim he is a pure Velaryon, he is yours and soon everyone in court will know it unless..." Alicent trailed off, lips parting as she sank deep into thought. "Unless he is believed to have been sired by someone else."

"Alicent-"

"Ser Harwin Strong." Alicent breathed, head snapping up. "He and Rhaenyra have gotten close over the years. The boy could pass off as his."

"He is my friend." (Y/N) sneered.

"And if anyone questions who the father of that boy is, he will take the fall for your mistake. His father is the trusted Hand to the King, he will be fine. You are my brother, (Y/N). You told me you spent your life protecting me, now it is my turn to protect you."

                    ✶        ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶

"Have you heard anything about the Princess?" (Y/N) asked the servant hurrying past him. The maid parted her lips but nothing came out, gaze drifting past him and down the stairs. The Hightower turned, a soft scoff of disbelief leaving him as he watched his lover struggle up the stairs with a new red bundle in her arms. Laenor held her arm, keeping her upright and quietly speaking to her.

"Rhaenyra!" He scolded, heading down the stairs and meeting them in the middle. Laenor gave him an exasperated look, showing his innocence in the princess's determination to walk up a flight of stairs after just having given birth. Targaryens were notably stubborn individuals and Rhaenyra proved it every day.

Rhaenyra released a shaky breath, blowing a strand of silver hair out of her face. "You can blame your sister for this." She winced, holding the bundle with trembling hands. "She ordered he be brought to her immediately."

"He?"

"Another boy," Laenor confirmed with a wide smile. One would mistake it for pride but in truth, it was happiness for his dearest friends, even if the boys saw him as their father instead of (Y/N). "I suppose it's true what they say about Hightowers only having boys." His voice dropped to a playful whisper and (Y/N) chuckled, taking Rhaenyras' other side and gently taking her arm. 

"A curse, truly." He replied softly, gazing upon his third son. Jace and Lucerys, or Luke for short, would be thrilled with the news of a new brother. Corlys hadn't been in the room during Luke's birth but he'd been first to enter, perhaps searching for a crown of silver but he'd only been greeted by wavy hair similar to Alicents'. It seemed he'd given up hope with their newest child as he'd kept to Driftmark. Both boys had been raised with Laenor as their sole father and a mixture of rumors of who had actually sired them. Alicents' rumors of Ser Harwin being the father had many believers, including (Y/N)s' own nephews and niece. But there were those who believed the boys to be Hightowers. the Velaryons amongst those believers. The only one who refused to entertain the rumors had been the boy's own grandfather, King Viserys. 

"I can speak with her-"

"You and Alicent only ever argue." Rhaenyra breathed, wincing again and groaning softly. "And we've gone too far to turn around now." She added, stopping briefly to catch her breath. Laenor sighed heavily and reached down, bunching up some of her dress and lifting it slightly so she'd be able to walk better. Rhaenyra gulped down some air and pushed forward, climbing up the last set of stairs and heaving in relief when they reached the top. They continued down the hall, stopping before Ser Criston Cole. He bowed his head and pushed open the door to Alicents' room, watching them enter. Alicent stood by her window as a maid worked on her dress. Maids walked about the room, cleaning and putting away things. The maid at his sister's feet stood and curtsied, pulling Alicents' attention away from the window and toward the three.

"Rhaenyra," She breathed, eyes wide. "You should be resting after your labors."

"I have no doubt you would prefer that, Your Grace," Rhaenyra responded, wobbling slightly. Alicent took notice, eyeing her exhausted figure and sighing softly.

"You must sit. Teyla fetch a cushion for the Princess." 

"There's no need."

"Nonsense." Alicent brushed her off, nodding to Teyla as the redhead placed a cushion down for Rhaenyra to sit on. Despite her previous protest, Rhaenyra gladly took a seat, shoulders lowering in relief. Alicent stepped off the stool and approached them, attempting to get a peek at the child in her arms. 

"What happy news this morning." King Viserys called as he entered, hair disheveled and pace slow. (Y/N) bowed his head and moved to stand behind the seat, looking down at Rhaenyra and the babe. Laenor smiled at the King and nodded, gingerly picking up the newborn when King Viserys asked for him. Taking his newest grandson into his arms, he smiled widely.

"A fine prince." He whispered, love and adoration written all over his features. His glee even brought a small smile to Alicents' face. "You will make a fearsome knight. Yes, you will." King Viserys cooed, chuckling softly when the baby made noises in turn.

"Does the babe have a name yet?" Alicent inquired, turning back to Rhaenyra and Laenor.

"Oh, we haven't-"

"Joffrey." Laenor interrupted. Rhaenyra blinked at him, pressing her lips together and furrowing her brows. "He will be called Joffrey."

"An unusual name for a Velaryon," Alicent muttered, looking at her brother with a disapproving frown. (Y/N) pursed his lips and looked away from her, head shaking slightly. 

"I do believe he has his father's nose." King Viserys smiled and Laenor forced an awkward chuckle, nodding in agreement. (Y/N) bit the inside of his cheek and reached down to graze his fingers against Rhaenyras' shoulder. The princess hummed in contentment, eyes closing for a brief moment. She almost nodded off, only opening her eyes when Joffrey cooed.

Clearing his throat, Laenor looked at her father. "If you don't mind, Your Grace, your daughter has exerted herself heroically and should rest."

"Of course." King Viserys nodded, allowing Alicent to step in and take a closer look at the child. She smiled sweetly, taking Joffrey into her arms and walking toward the door. Rhaenyra nervously watched her, rising from the baby blue couch as King Viserys took her hand. (Y/N) parted from her side to approach his sister and son, watching her hand him off to Laenor. He knew his sister would never hurt a babe, much less one she knew was her nephew. Alicent didn't have that type of hatred within her. But (Y/N) couldn't help the uneasiness that swelled in his chest.

"Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. Soon or late, you may get one that looks like you." Alicent whispered, offering him a smile before she stepped away and walked toward her husband. Rhaenyra joined them, walking awkwardly as she exited the room, keeping a hand pressed to her belly. 

"You don't think to consult me before you name my child?" Rhaenyra questioned. 

"He's our child, is he not?" Laenor frowned, gently bouncing the baby in his arms when he fussed. Rhaenyra glanced at him, pure exhaustion on her face.

"Only one of us is bleeding."

"Joffery is a fine name, Nyra." (Y/N) muttered, raising his brows at her when she looked at him in disbelief. "Certainly not a name I'd choose but a fine name nevertheless." Pursing her lips, Rhaenyra stared at him a moment longer before looking away, letting the topic go with her lover's input in mind. Laenor gave his friend a thankful look and the three made their way to the boys' room. Rhaenyra entered first, greeting her sons with a wide smile. The boys stood up and detached themselves from Harwin's side, excitedly showing their mother the egg they picked for their new sibling. (Y/N) chuckled, running his fingers through Luke's dark hair as Harwin helped Rhaenyra sit. 

"A good choice." (Y/N) praised his boys and they smiled widely, looking back down at the egg.

"Not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit. I thought it best to escort the lads." Harwin explained, studying the boys. (Y/N) moved away from them, approaching Harwin and giving him a small smile. Harwin returned it, lifting his hand to touch his chin and stroking it with his thumb. 

"Another boy, I heard?" (Y/N) nodded, resting a hand on Harwins' side and giving it an affectionate squeeze before he faced Laenor. The Velaryon bounced the little one, cooing softly as he stepped closer to (Y/N), carefully passing him off so (Y/N) could hold him. (Y/N) hummed softly, feeling Harwin loom over him to look down at the prince. Joffrey slept soundly, even as his brothers attempted to get a look at him before Laenor pulled them away and out the door.

"Laenor named him Joffrey." (Y/N) told Harwin, feeling the knight slip his strong arms under the bundle and take him. (Y/N) smiled softly at Harwins' tenderness and took a seat beside Rhaenyra, letting the princess melt against his side and rest her head against his chest.

"Asleep in front of the Commander of the City Watch." Harwin tsked playfully, staring down at the boy. "Terrible lack of respect." 

"I'm afraid he gets it from us," Rhaenyra muttered tiredly, eyes threatening to close. (Y/N) slithered his arm around her shoulders and gently played with her tousled hair, slowly lulling the princess to sleep. Her breathing slowed, soft snores eventually escaping her as she fell limp against him. (Y/N) chuckled softly, looking back at Harwin.

"Terrible lack of respect." He repeated playfully and Harwin shook his head, continuing to gently bounce Joffrey in his arms. They remained in blissful silence for a little while longer until (Y/N) stood, slipping his arms under Rhaenyras' knees and scooping her up into his arms. He brought her to the bed, laying her down and pulling a blanket over her shoulders. Pecking her temple, he rubbed her shoulder and stepped away to approach Harwin and Joffery. 

"I'll fetch a wet nurse soon since it seems the Princess is rather occupied," Harwin said, glancing up at the sleeping Targaryen with a small smirk. (Y/N) nodded, reaching up to stroke the head of his youngest son.

"Jace and Luke will be riders soon. I have no doubts this little one will become one as well." (Y/N) muttered, turning his head to look at the pot holding the dragon egg. "It worries me."

"They're Targaryens, (Y/N). It's in their nature to ride dragons." Harwin reminded softly, taking Joffrey to his crib and setting him down, allowing the baby to rest properly. (Y/N) sighed, rubbing the side of his neck and nodding but his words did little to ease his anxieties. He hadn't expected fatherhood to be sprung on him so suddenly and now, he had sired three boys who were destined to take to the skies on dragons.

Noticing the look on his face, Harwin gave a small smile and approached him, gently taking his face into his hands. "They've got the blood of kings in their veins. They were made to ride dragons and conquer kingdoms. Your boys will be knights, leaders, and kings. Just like their ancestors."

[tellmethisisnottumblisnextfuckup]

Hello I’m a Larry but I feel like they broke up a couple of years ago. I’ll also say I’m more of a Harrie and his music makes me believe he’s been in other relationships. But I’m also willing to be convinced otherwise!! The hopeless romantic in me wants to believe in the strength of their love so I guess my question is what evidence have you gathered that makes you believe they’re still together even now? I know this might be a lot to ask. Thanks in advance !!!

I’m this close to grabbing a digital pen and correct Larry to Larrie. (Did you know it’s one of the signs of having trolls in the dungeon)

Anyway. I do want to answer.

Life. Dear anon. It’s life that taught me everything. Do tell me when you time their break up - because I’ve been here since more than “a couple of years ago” - i know it’s super easy to throw this sentence - but you’re telling this to someone who has been here lol - and I wasn’t in my diapers on the playground when these 2 fell in love. So when do you time their break up? Because you know they’ve lived half their lives in the spotlight, in this industry and time and time again -let’s just say day-by-day week-by-week only proved the immense respect, and love they feel for each other. We’ve had these naysayers like you in the years, so this is nothing new but you know what? None of you are ever able to point out a period which proves that these 2 have broken up.

This is not a movie or high school. They have fought tooth and nail for their love, for their freedom, they “hid” it when they had to, but even then- jeez it gives me chills to remember all those moments- even then an eye movement, a caring look, a hidden touch, the other’s reaction- it just gave it away. And not to mention how fucking obvious they were when they didn’t hide it and just let it all out.

Life. Because I happen to be in a loving and supportive relationship since 2007. Because love isn’t a break up - getting together- break up- getting together spiral. Love is about trust, and respect, and growing together, being better together, finding your best friend in the other, it’s about fighting for what you two have together. That’s what they did when they were babies - fighting w modest, sony, whatever you want to add here. They don’t need to fight though because as soon as the cameras stop rolling they’re an out-couple to the surprise of no-one in this industry.

Life because we have 5 people in the same band and always these 2 seem to be so goddamn unlucky to share clothes ON A CONSTANT (to be PC), who finish each other’s sentences, who when even making eye contact making the other 3 look aside to their handlers with a pale face, always these 2 who in the band disappeared at the same time, who even AFTER 1D were still disappearing from the globe at the same time and reappearing at the same time, who had to have 235 stunts running at the same time to make them straight otherwise if you strip these stunts down all you have is two singers w constant denial of their sexuality. (Remember what Sir Elton John said..), it’s only these 2 whose teams work still to this day to make you and others believe H and L aren’t even in the same continent because god save them from cutting all their record incomes.

Life. Because WHY. You cannot explain why this happened in 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014 (you’re damn right I’ll type all the years out), 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021 and keeps happening in 2022 spring- summer.

Life. Because you learn what is THE LOOK. What it means that “when you know you know”. Because you learn that 16 year olds don’t just utter things out like always and moving in together and home. Because it IS possible to be and still be with your first love.

Life. Because relationships do not have an expiration date, because it can happen, because it does happen. Because those looks and touches were the very thing that drew me here in the first place and you cannot fake this shit.

Life. Because you can be w your SO together for years and they’d still say they’re not willing to have ONE innocent couple tattoo.

Life. Because celebrities lie. Money talks. Paps are paid. This industry is homophobic. Media shows what is paid for. What you see - they want you to see that.

Life. Because you learn to look at what you’re not shown, what you’re not told.

Life. Because in the 242 million pregnancies people have a year, they DO show at 8 months. 🙃

And finally: Because they’ve come so far from Princess Park and that lyric fits no one and he’s a habit that he CAN’T BREAK and he’s happy to shout this out every night to his fans anon.

Life. Because the strength of these words, all their goddamn lyrics goes deep in your heart and you know it’s not just some cheap 1000 words Y/N on goddamn wattpad.

Have a nice Saturday anon! 💚💙

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Hello! Did you by chance see the article on Hey Alma that came out today (9/29) by about being anexvangelical Jewish convert and also an Atheist? People seem to be very angry about it, and see the person's actions as appropriative based on the way she talks about her reasons for conversion, but I (a Jew by birth myself) am genuinely having a hard time seeing the problem--to my eye it seems that if born-Jews can be Atheists, there is no reason a convert cannot do so as well, and still be genuinely a Jew and feel called to other parts of Jewish experience. I think some of the rage is that she came from an evangelical tradition that was appropriative, and part of her call to Judaism was that she wanted a faith community and went to Judaism because it felt familiar, comfortable. A lot of people seem to feel like if you're not converting out of spiritual desire, then why do it, and see her need for community and rootedness as better served elsewhere. But it seems to me like she's come as a genuine participant, learner, and seeker, if not of god exactly, and that all the rest is between her and her Rabbi. But people are REALLY mad about this, and if there is something I'm missing, i want to understand what it is. You often have really interesting and nuanced takes about these sorts of things (conversion, appropriation, the intersect of ex-christian-experiencing those things), so I'm just very curious to hear what you make of it, if you're willing to share.

Hi! Thank you for your kind words and confidence in my ability to unpack this... situation.

I assume this is the article you mean?

I think part of the problem here is not that you can't be atheistic or non-theistic as a ger - plenty of valid Reconstructionist gerim fit that description - and rather that this article was framed in a deliberately provocative presentation and tone. It's on Hey Alma so that's not promising.

There aren't comments on the article itself, so I checked Twitter and there's like, one or two comments defending her in a sea of criticism, much of it unnecessarily cruel. That said, I think the article I linked has been edited. This is what the article says as I read it now:

And this is a screencap I saw on Twitter:

The first one is fine (if somewhat confusing as to what her point is); the second one is big yikes. 😬

If this was changed, then it's very possible that other edits were made as well. Even just this one change from the original shows that the original piece very much has a "not like other girls" vibe to it that I don't appreciate.

All that said, Judaism is an orthopraxic religion, so I'm a lot more interested in what an atheist convert does and how she acts than I am in dissecting her exact beliefs beyond just "does she pass the sniff test?"

At the end of the day, she either had a valid conversion or not. If not, then she's not Jewish and Hey Alma should retract the piece and issue an apology. If she did have a valid conversion through an accepted Jewish movement, then the issue of whether she should have been converted or not lies solely with her conversion rabbi and beit din. They are the ones who act as gatekeepers for the community and it is their professional responsibility to decide if someone's motives are correct and if their behavior backs up their stated goals and motives. If they think a conversion is a bad idea, it is their job to work with the person to explain why it's not a good fit and to gauge sincerity if their reasons shift.

And look, there's a lot worse reasons to convert than a sense of belonging to the Jewish people and a search for community. There are people who try to convert solely to be able to speak about their anti-Zionism "as a Jew" rather than as a plain old vanilla gentile. There are also people who try to convert because they think it will bring them closer to Jesus and/or allow them to "connect to The Holy Land." There are people who try to convert because they think it will make them richer or give them better networking connections. There are people who grudgingly convert rather than break up with their Jewish fiance. There are people who try to convert because they think it will make them more interesting. There are people who try to convert so they can be "Jewitches" and deflect accusations of appropriation in their pagan practice.

There are bad reasons to convert, but I don't think this quite crosses that line.

I don't love it, and I don't like her original language about other gerim. Admittedly I am very much a theist and hope that everyone finds the right path for connecting to the Divine, whether that's from an overtly theistic perspective or through a deep appreciation for the vastness of the universe and our part in it. (There's also a conversation to be had about whether the strict binary of theist/atheist is even remotely coherent, but that's for another post.) But it's not up to me. It was up to her rabbi and beit din, who I trust exercised their professional judgment in making that determination.

So yeah, if someone feels like a member of the Tribe and takes the right steps to formally join, including commiting to living a life of Torah and mitzvot, even in the absence of a belief in G-d, then who am I to judge? A rabbi and beit din found this person worth converting, and absent other indications of intentional malice or deceit, she's a Jew and people need to chill out.

When did we start holding by Beit Shammai rather than Beit Hillel?

[theultimateultimateweapon]

Kirby: Meta Knight and the Knight of Hades (Chapter 10)

Morpho Knight swung his sword down the slope, releasing a powerful shock wave. The crescent-shaped waves hit Meta Knight in quick succession.

Meta Knight flew left and right, but his arm was hurt and he groaned in pain. Morpho Knight didn’t even look tired.

Meta Knight remembered what happened in the underworld. In that world, he couldn’t feel tired, hungry, or pain at all. The red knight might not feel any of those feelings no matter how much he fights because of the power of the butterfly of Hades.

If so, does Meta Knight have no chance of winning…?

(No, it can’t be...) Meta Knight gripped his sword and thought. (Those who do not feel tired do not understand the breath of battle. Those who do not feel pain cannot read the movement of their enemy.)

Behind Meta Knight were King Dedede, Kirby, and Blade Knight. Both the great king and Kirby fought desperately, but they had finally lost their strength.

Only Meta Knight was standing. He didn’t know if he could get through this mess. Already, just breathing was painful and his whole body hurt.

(Good. I feel tired and painful because I am alive!)

Meta Knight gathered his strength and jumped up, slashing at Morpho Knight.

However, he repelled it easily.

Morpho Knight slashed violently at Meta Knight’s landing.

Due to his tiredness, Meta Knight, who had been struck before, couldn’t move. He held his sword over his body and guarded desperately, but the damage was great.

His head was fluttering. His eyes were hazy, and his feet were swaying.

(Will I… will I go to the underworld again? This time, forever?) When such an ominous idea came to him, something happened.

“Meta Kniiiiight!”

He heard a loud voice. Waddle Dee’s voice.

Meta Knight raised his face.

Waddle Dee overcame a broken pillar holding something.

“Don’t come any closer!” Meta Knight shouted out.

Waddle Dee turned around, gained momentum, and threw what he was holding in his hand.

“Meta Knight! Here…!”

Something flew through the air. Meta Knight quickly reached out and took it.

Immediately, Meta Knight’s whole body shook. His fatigue and pain disappeared as they were swept away. He felt the power in his hand.

“My treasured sword… the Galaxia!”

It’s unmistakable and genuine. Meta Knight held the Galaxia high. A bright light spilled from the tip of the sword.

Morpho Knight attacked. Meta Knight lightly dodged, shook up and jumped high.

“Spinning Knight!”

While spinning in the air, he slashed at Morpho Knight.

Morpho Knight flinched and was struck down.

Then, immediately, he held his sword horizontally and drill slashed!

Morpho Knight was blown off and struck against a collapsing wall.

Meta Knight had completely regained his power. The Galaxia gave him strength. And the Galaxia was also strengthened by returning to the hands of its true owner. The sword fighter and the sword, united for increased power!

However, Morpho Knight wasn’t finished.

When he stood up, he swung his sword down and sent crescent shock waves one after another. They flew with tremendous speed, but Meta Knight didn’t give up, dodging one after another, getting closer to him.

“Take this-!” Meta Knight swung after Morpho Knight. 

Morpho Knight disappeared suddenly. He escaped with teleportation in an instant. Morpho Knight materialized above and behind Meta Knight.

Meta Knight looked back, feeling sick.

Morpho Knight slid in and rushed through the air.

It was tremendous speed. Meta Knight couldn’t dodge it.

“Kah…!” He was moving before he realized.

He grabbed the Galaxia, held it in front of him, and took a strong stance.

At the moment of attack…

“Galactic Counter!”

A deadly mystery that uses the enemy’s attack power against them!

There was no delay, the timing was perfect.

“...ts!” Morpho Knight stiffened his whole body and his attacks were slow.

The game was on. Meta Knight quietly stared at the enemy.

A streak of light spilled out of Morpho Knight. The lights gradually increased, two, three, and the brightness increased. His mask, his sword, and his wings on his back were swallowed by the white light. The knight turned into a ball of light and disappeared with a burst.

After the knight disappeared, countless red butterflies were dancing. The butterflies flew turbulently, fading little by little, and eventually disappeared as if melting away.

“Meta Knight…”

Meta Knight, staring at the disappeared butterflies, was called and turned around.

It was Kirby. He had been injured in the fight, but seemed to regain some energy.

“Did you win?”

“...Yes.”

“Meta Knight really is strong! I couldn’t do it at all.” Kirby looked a little sick.

Behind him, King Dedede stood up slowly. “Uh… Uugh…!”

The king, leaning on his hammer, managed to support his body and said with envy. “I was supposed to do it… I could’ve mustered the strength…!”

“Didn’t you turn and run?”

“I didn’t run off! I was getting a better vantage point!”

Blade Knight also stood up, in tears. “Meta Knight, sir, wow, you’re safe!”

“Yes. No need to worry about me.”

“But what happened? I could have sworn you were on the battleship Halberd…”

Waddle Dee rushed in before Meta Knight answered. “Meta Knight! You won!”

“Waddle Dee.” Meta Knight turned to Waddle Dee.

“I’m grateful you returned my strength with the Galaxia. Thank you.”

“I just carried it. It was the Galaxia that strengthened you…”

Waddle Dee jumped up. “Wait, we still need your help! Your knights are in a hole!”

“A hole?”

“This way!”

Meta Knight followed Waddle Dee to the knights.

The rescued knights were quiet, even surrounding Meta Knight. Everyone’s hearts were so full that no words came out.

Meta Knight opened his mouth. “It was foolish of me to worry, everyone fought so well.”

“Meta Knight, sir…!”

The Meta Knights wept as if the thread of tension had broken.

Sword Knight said. “You’re the real Meta Knight, aren’t you”

“Do I look like a fake?”

“No! You’re definitely real! There’s a big difference!”

Sword Knight saw Beryl crouching down.

Mace Knight snuck behind and grabbed Beryl’s head.

Axe Knight asked, “Let’s punish him for what he’s done. What do you think?”

“Hm…” Meta Knight thought about it.

Beryl was shaking, rattling. 

Javelin Knight spoke. “Let’s tie him to the bow of the battleship and let him enjoy space travel.”

Trident Knight replied, “Why don’t we send him to Castle Dedede? Let the Waddle Dees take a break and let him do all the castle work alone!”

Axe Knight added, “No, let’s send him to all the towns he destroyed and make him fix them back up again! First, Dreamland!”

Meta Knight spoke. “That’s still too kind. Let’s tie him up so he can’t move and have Kirby perform a song for him.”

“Eh!?” Kirby was surprised. “Why do I have to sing for this guy!? What a waste…!”

“...No, trust me.” Meta Knight told Kirby. “Persuade him with your wonderful singing that he should never do anything wrong again.”

“...Eh? Persuade him?”

“Listening to a wonderful song can change someone’s mind.”

“Oh yeah… songs have the power to move hearts. I see!” Kirby was determined and nodded. “I will sing! It’ll be a moving song that will gentle the heart of any villain!”

“While you’re at it, would you like to serve your home cooking as well? You should make a special dish that will make him cry with excitement.”

“Okay! Looks like Meta Knight is kind to his enemies.”

“Waddle Dee.”

Waddle Dee, who was swaying and listening to the story, jumped up when Meta Knight called out. 

“Ye...yes!”

“I’ll leave it to you. Hold Kirby a concert and set up a special seat for Beryl. Don’t forget to serve Kirby’s special dishes. Have Beryl eat until he is full.”

“Uh… uh… uh, yes…!” Waddle Dee imagined it and nodded in tears of fear.

(Me, Meta Knight…! What a terrifying thing! Kirby’s song is so terrible it could crack the walls of Castle Dedede, and Kirby’s food is so bad he could lose his appetite for the rest of his life…!)

Kirby said with a smile. “Heh, I’ll do my best! Let’s work together, Waddle Dee!”

“Ah… okay…”

“What should I sing? I have to sing with all my heart so Beryl doesn’t do bad things again… of course, I’ll do my best to cook too… Wow, I’m excited! Hey Beryl, I hope you’re looking forward to it!”

“Oh, oh. I’m sure I’ll change my mind.” Beryl was relieved and grinned.

The Meta Knights and King Dedede whispered in the shadow.

“Beryl’s acting like he’s saved.”

“How stupid, he doesn’t know the horror of Kirby.”

“Meta Knight is too cruel. No matter what he did, I’m sorry for Beryl.”

“How could sir make such a proposal…”

“Wow, he’s not kidding around! Good luck, Beryl!”

Meta Knight turned over his cloak and started walking. “Well then, let’s go back to the battleship Halberd.”

“Yes sir!” His subordinates saluted in unison and lined up.

Captain Vul and the Meta Knights were enjoying tea time leisurely for the first time in a long while.

Meta Knight wasn’t there. It seems he had something to do, so he went out without telling them where he was going.

Captain Vul was talking about, of course, Meta Knight.

Axe Knight said. “Even so, it’s strange. Why did Meta Knight, who had been unconscious on the Halberd, appear in the ancient temple?”

Captain Vul replied. “I have an idea, but I can’t quite explain it. I think…”

Captain Vul took a sip of his tea and continued.

“At that time, Meta Knight’s body and mind were disjointed. His body was in a bed in the Halberd here, but his mind was wandering somewhere else.”

“...Huh.”

“Usually, the wandering heart returns to the body. However, Meta Knight is a very strong person, so I think this time his body was called to his heart.”

“...Hmm.”

Blade Knight said. “Meta Knight has a strong body, though.”

“...Well, that is correct. However, if anything, his heart is stronger!”

“Persuasive, if not…” Sword Knight muttered.

“At that time, Galacta Knight took a big hit. Moreover, he was combined with the red butterfly to become even more powerful.”

“Yeah, but what about it?”

“I think I’ve got it. Meta Knight’s desire to fight a strong opponent called to his body.”

“I see, then I understand.”

The Meta Knights nodded.

“Meta Knight’s enthusiasm to fight can be a bit overkill.”

“Hold your tongue. Meta Knight doesn’t like fighting. He likes to make himself stronger.

“Regardless, his desire to fight a strong enemy caused a miracle.”

“As expected from our master!”

Around the time when the peaceful tea party was held on the Halberd, Kirby’s special dinner concert was being held in the basement of the Castle Dedede.

Meta Knight was standing alone in a flower garden of Dreamland.

A pleasant breeze blew and the colorful flowers swayed.

Meta Knight picked up a yellow flower and took a deep breath. It had a refreshing smell.

“It has a nice scent. Pink was… too sweet, wasn’t it?”

Meta Knight couldn’t forget Papi’s happy voice. The whole time he was trying to stop Meta Knight from returning to the original world… At the very end, he was desperate to save Meta Knight. Without Papi, Meta Knight wouldn’t have been able to return to this world.

He wondered, what was Papi doing now? Was he fluttering around looking for someone to talk to?

At that moment, a white butterfly flew by and perched on a yellow flower. It was slowly drinking from the flowers.

Meta Knight muttered in a small voice. “If one day you go to that world, let me know.”

The butterfly stopped moving, as if it had heard Meta Knight’s words.

“I’d like to thank that talkative butterfly with light blue wings. Papi was a good guide… no, a good friend.”

The butterfly fluttered away, and began to fly from flower to flower.

Meta Knight quietly watched until the butterfly disappeared.

(Chapter 9 - Table of Contents)

(The end, thank you so much for reading and all of your support!)

[raymondebidochonlifechoices]

All fans are equal but some are more equal than others. NOT.

There’s been quite a few people in the fandom lately getting very stressed, feeling they’re obligated to constantly be on the defensive re: their fandom choices.

Apparently, whoever has a different opinion about a character or a ship must be said character’s/ship’s stan i.e. overzealous and/or obsessive, i.e. not an objective viewer. Even worse, they must be a dreadful person, who condones a number of moral offences that said character/ship perpetrated (or is thought to have perpetrated). Because, of course, the only acceptable reason for appreciating/enjoying a fictional character or dynamic is their morality. And, by that reasoning, fans who support the correct character/ship must be better fans and better people.

Nothing is more ridiculous than the notion of the objective fan. An “objective” fan is called a “viewer”. You and I, Riverdale friends, we are not just viewers. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have created blogs and dedicated hours of our lives to a fictional couple from an extremely mediocre show. We are still undoubtedly capable of critical thought and objective analysis but we are also aware of our own emotional investment in the show. (Or, at least, one hopes). As a fandom, we engage in activities that exist independently of the show. Fandom is a space of free expression. No one gets to play the higher moral card here. Needing to loudly tell everybody how wrong they are? That’s not the sign of an objective viewer. That’s the sign of a viewer who is also extremely invested, just for different reasons than I am.

Are we seriously holding the morality card over people’s heads for a show that used a poc woman’s pregnancy (Toni) as the means to retroactively establish trauma for a white male (Kevin), all the while touting it in every media possible as a woke response to the BLM movement?!

Are we seriously holding the canon card over people’s heads for a show that treats its 5th(!) season as a tabula rasa?! If the Lodges new backstory in 5x12 shows anything, it’s that s5 is not a time-jump. It’s a reboot.

There are so many people “enlightening” others on their inability to understand canon …

Seriously? That’s the hill you’re willing to die on? Canon Riverdale? You think that people don’t understand what they’re watching? That they’re interpreting canon incorrectly?

No, but seriously: canon for a TV show consists of what the characters say, what the characters do and how the actors portray them. Does this really apply to Riverdale?

Let’s take Donna for example.

Canon explicitly tells us Donna did what she did to avenge her grandmother. At the same time none of her canon actions were against the people who were actually responsible. So, riddle me this, fandom friends: why did Donna do what she did, as per canon?

Let’s try this another way:

Donna is a psycho bitch. Both in terms of Riverdale’s canon (the writers’ intention) and real-life criteria. To create a tag that reads “Bonna for ever uwu!” is deranged.

On the other hand, her character is (like a lot of Riverdale’s characters) an inconsistent caricature. Canon uses ridiculous dialogue and a lot of the Bonna scenes are cartoonishly enemies-to-lovers tropey. To create a tag that reads “Bonna for ever uwu!” is hilarious.

This doesn’t mean that Bonna is a canon couple. It does mean, however, that a Bonna crackship is based on Riverdale’s campy and over-the-top canonic writing.

A viewer who thinks Bonna is disgusting is not more “objective” or more “correct” or more “true to canon” than a viewer who thinks Bonna is funny. Nor are they a better person for it, and this cannot be stressed enough.

Similarly, who is canon Cheryl?

1. Cheryl is an absolute bitch: if a privileged student was calling an actual homeless boy a hobo in your real-life school, you would neither think her a queen nor use “hobo” affectionately in your tags, comments etc.

2. Cheryl is a deeply traumatized person: her father killed her brother, her mother killed half the town and forced her in conversion therapy, she attempted suicide and more.

(Note #1: this more does not mean more than the other Riverdale characters).

(Note #2: nor is it an excuse for her rudeness, affectionately called “mood for chaos” by the writers).

3. Cheryl is also a caricature of the archetypal mean girl who’s there for laughs and meta comments. She’s not to be taken seriously.

4. Cheryl is lgbtq+ representation …

5. … who canonically shits on other lgbtq+ characters.

6. Cheryl is one half of Choni, who are canonically presented as an uber couple.

7. Choni is also, as per canon, a couple with an acute power imbalance (cough!gaslighting!cough) that visually very clearly panders to the male gaze.

But most importantly:

8. Cheryl canonically is not the sum of her parts. The different facets of her character do not intermingle in any meaningful way.

Was Betty kissing Archie specifically a sore spot for Jughead?

Canonically no [2x14]. But, also, canonically yes [5x03, 5x10].

Are there seriously fans that are astonished that Betty is making some highly questionable choices while investigating?! Did they just discover Dark™Betty/Killer Genes Betty? That is canon Betty! Was it ok before because she was then smooching Jughead instead of giving him the cold shoulder? Honestly, the only newly outrageous part of s5Dark™Betty is the fact that she still believes in “killer genes” despite having spent 4 years at Yale …

As for liking/disliking Betty and morality …

Look, I’m going to be very honest: I am NOT particularly enjoying s5 Betty. And it’s not because of b*rchie.

S5 Betty has 99 problems but the sexcapades ain’t one.

For me, it’s the fact that she’s turned into s1 Alice 2.0. But surely that’s not news either? Ever since the first info about the time jump, everyone and their mother have been speculating about the teens becoming their parents …

Just because Jughead is better written (and written to be more likable), it doesn’t make him more worthy of redemption. Just because the writers are keeping Betty’s redemption “secret” (insert eye roll) for their big reveal in the season’s penultimate episode, it doesn’t mean she won’t have one.  

Simply put, the writers have made Jughead more likable. He’s still the underdog. He’s the only character in Riverdale actively trying to deal with his trauma, since the very first post-time jump episode (working at Pop’s explicitly to fend off the debt collectors). He has scenes with a new and extremely likable character (Tabitha). He has the only new plot line (the Mothman). Said plotline is narratively already tied to both his unknown past and the town’s destruction by Hiram. His behaviour is explicitly explained, even as his recent trauma remains unknown. He’s transparent.

In comparison, s5 Betty is traumatized but not the underdog. Her trauma (TBK killer) is both known to us and a repetition of previous storylines, which makes it narratively less exciting. She is completely disconnected from any other storylines. She comes out as being judgmental and self-interested: telling Tabitha Jughead’s not her business while previously accepting his help? Berating Polly for lying while not keeping in touch and lying about her own life (TBK)? Please note: I’m not saying there isn’t a reason behind her behaviour, just that it comes out in a negative way.

You don’t like Betty’s current behaviour? You don’t consider trauma a good enough excuse? Cool.

You feel sorry for what she’s going through? You consider trauma to be a valid explanation for her behaviour? Also cool.

Personally, I don’t give a flying fig, either for Betty’s trauma or Jughead’s. Because, even though Trauma™ is s5’s actual mystery plot, narratively speaking, trauma never affected the plot of the past 4 seasons, nor s5 trauma will affect future plots, once revealed. And you know what? That is also cool.

None of the above is better.

And just because I’m not enjoying Betty right now, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want her to overcome her current situation or that I won’t cheer for Bughead like a River Vixen on fizzle rocks, once they reunite.

This thing though, where people are made to feel as if they owed anyone in the fandom an explanation about why they like the things they like, because, somehow, their preferences are a reflection on their character or their cognitive abilities to read a TV show? This is a joke.

There is no “wrong” way to consume any show, let alone Riverdale, with its fractured format, its short-term memory and its see-sawing characters.

Look, everybody’s here for their own reasons. For most people this is a place of escape. No one’s escaping better than the other, because of how they enjoy their teen TV show ... 

[candyopala]

Stuck in his Ways, Chapter 12

Summary: Obito and Y/N create a new joint technique and Obito inches closer to an important verdict about his weird feelings. Y/N gets more and more sure about them. 

Words: 2.4k

AO3 

Thank you for reading! Leave a like or comment if you enjoyed, it helps me a lot! (Author’s note in the end of the chapter)

“Let me get this straight” Y/N says, her brows furrowed in thought.

“Right, shoot.” Obito responds patiently.

“You can teleport into other dimensions, become intangible, predict movements, copy jutsu instantly, see chakra energy and use the one of the most powerful genjutsu with that eye of yours?”

“Don’t forget about recording everything I see when it is active. And that’s only my eye; I can do other jutsu, of course.” He corrects, proud of himself and his prowess.

“Well, shit. Anything else I need to know for our strategies?”

“Oh! I have some special cells from the first Hokage that help me heal really quickly and gives me extra chakra. In addition, as you know, I have a proficiency in fire type jutsu. That’s all.”

“Fuck, that’s a lot to remember.” She laughs as she stands on her feet, walking away from the tree they were both sitting under. “Come here Obito, I think I have an idea for us.”

Obito slowly gets up, watching as she centers herself in the middle of the training grounds. As he lazily follows his teammate, he wonders about how the past week flew by. Things are still as awkward as they were in their last outing, but it feels comfortable to him, as weird as it sounds. The Uchiha has become addicted with the rushing feeling he experiences when they are both alone, talking about nonsense.

Despite its effects to his sanity, the anxiety he feels around her makes him want more and more moments with her. Not only those moments, but also moments where he gets to make physical contact. Now that he has a minimal amount of it, he longs intensely for situations where they might share an accidental or innocent touch. He feels this certain possessiveness around her, the natural instinct of keeping himself close and in touch with her. Obito feels bad for being so addicted to it, but he just knows he cannot stop what he has been feeling lately.

What am I feeling?  

He feels utterly stupid, he is sure about that. So stupid for not being able to control his urges or for acting like a fool near her. Instantly, he becomes self-aware and tries to close the smile creeping upon his lips, but to no avail. He just gives up on thinking about this matter for now. Lord knows he has been wondering about this too much.

As Obito finally reaches the center of the field, Y/N starts explaining her plan:

“So, we’re compatible, right?”

“…Uhm?” Obito tries to control his blood flow, trying to avoid letting his face dare to go red.

“Our chakra natures, they’re compatible. Fire and wind?”

“Oh, yes.” He pauses, clearing his throat before continuing: “What do you have in mind then?”

“You know the whirlpool your sharingan creates when using kamui? That fire jutsu you do with it, dance bomb something?”

“Yeah, bomb blast dance.”

“Right!” She continues with an excited gleam on her eyes, “We could increase that even more with my wind style! And then add my blades plus some other tricks.”

Obito seriously ponders her proposal. He got the general idea, but he worries about the practicality of it.

“Wouldn’t this be risky for you?”

“I’m fast, I can do it.”

“No, we’re not doing it Y/N.”

“Pleaaaaase! Come on!” She throws a playful smile at him, trying to convince him of doing as she pleases. “I promise you anything! I’ll even drop the sewer boy thing!”

Fuck, this woman will be the death of me…

“Fine. Promise me you’ll be careful”

She nods at him, agreeing with the proposition. After some minor explications about her plans for the technique, they both put it in action.

Obito places himself in a fixed position, with Y/N right behind him. He does the signs for the basic Uchiha fireball jutsu and activates his kamui, causing the flames to dance around in a whirlpool and taking over and immense area.

Y/N emerges from behind, kicking the ground and following the whirlpool, creating wind with her increasing speed. She runs along the flames, spreading them even further and avoiding them at the same time.

Fire blasts with full force and breaks everything on its way, including the soil surrounding their target area.

As she reaches the end of the whirlpool, she appears to falter in her steps, accidentally falling into the flames. The clone pops, revealing the real Y/N, who launches across an intangible Obito with her swords, finishing the attack with a surprise blow of the sword, previously hidden behind her partner.

As she finishes it, she looks back at Obito. Her hair is all messy from launching herself at an incredible speed. Her smile is wild, taken over by the adrenaline of combat. Obito feels all of those things again, but he is happy for it.

She will be the death of me.

“We did it!” She puts her arms in the air, celebrating the creation of their new joined technique.

Obito catches up to her, approaching his teammate. On a whim, he hugs her hard, interlacing his arms on her waist and burying himself on her neck, all while picking her up from the ground and spinning.

“Fuck, we did it! We did it, Y/N!” He says, as he also explodes in happiness as she giggles in his arms.

Obito had been trying to modify his fire jutsu for ages; he finally did it, thanks to her. The Uchiha is amazed on someone so new to the practice of jutsu surpassed his creativity in creating new techniques.

He finally puts her down, scratching his neck in embarrassment upon realizing what he just did.

“Sorry, got carried away.” He laughs sheepishly, trying to justify himself.

“Don’t worry about that, relax.” She soothes him as she tries to smile a bit, also taken over by self-consciousness.

Obito kicks some dirt around with his shoes and then looks at the sun, trying to think of something to say and catching his breath. By its position, it is almost noon, lunchtime.

“Fuck”

“What?” She asks him, confused.

“Forgot my lunch at home today.”

“Shit. Me too, I didn’t even bring a backpack.”

Of course, they both forgot their bags. Obito decided to invite Y/N for training on Saturday at the last minute, the two of them for sure went out on a hurry. Both break into laughter as Y/N’s belly makes a noise, indicating her hunger.

“I have an idea, come with me.” He says, guiding Y/N into the nearby Uchiha district.

 ~”~

 Y/N follows Obito into his family’s district on the outskirts of Konoha. Crossing the big gates, she finally sees other Uchihas from up close. Since it was too late in the evening the last time she came here, uninvited, she did not have the opportunity to check if they were all like Obito or not.

Glancing at the men and woman walking down the street, she could definitely notice that the good looks were a family thing. Everyone had that same sharp look and features, although Obito seemed to be a lot bulkier and rough than the rest of them. He clearly stood out in the midst of them. She concludes that although his genes might already favor him, he is truly blessed with outstanding looks.

Stop thinking about that, damn…

She cannot stop, not anymore. At this point, she figures that she might be sick in the head in some way. These inappropriate thoughts about her partner and mentor keep flooding her mind, along with the unmistakable longing for his presence when he is absent.

Here they are, training on a Saturday, all because she is incapable of setting limits between them and backing off. Incapable of containing the dreadful things she is feeling, things she knows well enough and is utterly scared of acting upon.

This far into it, she knows it is not only a crush anymore. This last week has been torturous, since she suspects that he has been acting so weirdly because he is figuring out her secret, she is genuinely scared of losing her friend.

You know what this means. Control yourself, he wants nothing to do with you, not like that. Why would he?

She tries to concentrate back into the present again, walking closer to Obito to not lose track of him. People along the way stare at them both of them, especially at Y/N, a stranger to the district.

Obito stops to talk to an older woman by a house near his, the woman dawning dark hair like his. She approaches the both of them:

“Hi! You must be Y/N, right?” the woman says, greeting her.

“Hello! Yes, nice to meet you!” she responds, trying to be the most courteous as possible.

“I’m Mikoto, It’s a pleasure to meet you too. Obito told us a lot about you” She says, kindly.

“N-no I did not.” Obito pouts, something Y/N learned he usually does when he feels embarrassed or slightly annoyed. “So, do you want me to help you carry those boxes?” He says as he points at some crates by the door of the house.

“Oh sure! Thanks Obito, I’ll be right back, Y/N.”

Obito grabs two of the crates and enters into the house, signaling silently to her that he would be back soon. Mikoto follows him inside, guiding him. As both vanish inside the house, Y/N notices two presences behind her.

Turning around, she is met with two teenagers, clearly Uchiha too by the black hair and intense facial features. One has long hair and the other, slightly taller than the first one, short hair. Both are standing by a bush, the one they were probably hiding into.

“Uhm, hi?”

“Hi.” The longhaired one says with his expression blank.

“Can I help you guys?”

“Don’t worry, we’re just curious.” The second one responds, a playful look in his dark eyes.

“Curious?”

“You know, about our cousin’s love lif-“ The first one tries to say but gets interrupted by Obito, who storms into the conversation:

“Itachi, Shisui, if you follow me again I’ll make sure you’re banned from the village, got it?” Obito points at both of them with his ungloved hands.

Obito then grabs her hand and takes her away from the pair, doing his best to cut the conversation with his relatives short. Looking at the pair, Y/N sees Shisui whisper something to the longhaired guy, the one she now knows is called Itachi. They both smile as she goes away with Obito.

Arriving at Obito’s house, Y/N is confronted by the silence of it. The place is tidied up, filled with well-kept old furniture. She did not have much time to notice the details of it on her last visit, other things were distracting her.

Obito calls her into the kitchen and she follows him. The Uchiha is leaning on the fridge, looking for food to feed both of their trembling stomachs.

“I think I have enough to make some sandwiches for us, is it okay for you?”

“Yup.” She responds, glancing at the place’s decoration, or lack thereof. The house seems to be as sterile as Obito’s personality when she met him, she laughs to herself. “Hey, where’s your bathroom?”

“First door on the left, by the corridor.” He points as he struggles to carry out a ton of food ou of the fridge.

She heads there and washes up a bit, tidying her hair, still a bit messy from training. She is a bit self conscious of meeting his family all fucked up like she did, but hell, it is not like she would see them often anyway. On her way back, she notices a framed picture on the corridor. One of the very few pieces of decoration she saw on the entire house.

Pictured are a cute girl with brown hair and face paint and a boy wearing a black mask covering half of his face, accompanied by a younger fourth Hokage.

Must be Kakashi and Rin, they look so young in here!

Standing by the side is a boy with messy black hair and a pout she learned to recognize from miles away. He is wearing a cute orange and blue outfit, accompanied by a huge pair of orange goggles on his tiny face. It has to be Obito.

He was such a cute kid, oh my god!

She thinks to herself, trying not to laugh at the fact that the all mighty Obito was such a cutesy child in the past.

“I’m kicking you out if you laugh at the goggles.”

Obito catches her smiling at the picture, making her let out a big huff of contained laughter.

“You were so cute! I can’t!”

He pouts once again, his face as displeased as it is on the picture, although with a more playful tone.

“Come, I made the sandwiches for us, busybody.”

Delicious was an understatement for Obito’s sandwiches. They had the perfect amount of mayo and fillings, it was a godly experience. Y/N just knows she could never cook like this. Obito sits beside her on the island benches, devouring his own sandwich.

Y/N takes a moment to gaze at him while he tries to clean himself up with a napkin. She sees that he missed a spot on the corner of his lip, right beside the small scar he has there. Oh that scar, she had not noticed that one before. It is a small dimple in his lower right lip, cutting through it. She wonders about how it must feel to the touch. On a whim, she cleans the small spot of sauce with her thumb, not quite touching the scar, but still making contact with his surprisingly soft lips.

Obito appears to be surprised by the gesture, but does not move away or interrupt her. He just stands there, with a weird expression on his face. Y/N immediately gets embarrassed by her own action, her face getting redder and redder.

Shit, shit, shit…

A noise coming from the window above the sink interrupts her train of thought:

“Oh my-“

“Shhh Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Aaaaah Ouch!” three separate voices say it at the same time as a loud crack echoes across the room.

Obito and her get up, approaching the window to find out what is going on. On the bush underneath the window lies a thin tree branch with Naruto, Sakura and Sasuke on top of it, all of them recovering from an unexpected fall.

“Naruto! I’m going to kill you!” Obito shouts from the window.

“Run! Run, guys, run!” Naruto exclaims, picking himself up and running away.

Author’s note: I’m finally approaching the final (and coolest) parts of this story, I’m so anxious to share it with you guys! I am a sucker for pinning and the “dumbasses in love” trope, so pardon me for that lol I love to write about people’s fear and uneasiness on how to deal with their own feelings or how to reveal them to someone. I think that there so much emotion at that stage where both don’t know how to act around each other, so many strong feelings to be explored. I always wanted to write about that and I’m finally allowing myself to do so, despite my insecurities and inexperience. Thank you so much again for your support!    

[skzsauce01]

Lord and Lady

Synopsis: The prospect of an engagement to a stranger is what makes you realize your feelings for Hyunjin. Victorian AU.

Warning: none

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: fem!reader x lord!Hyunjin

You are in love with Hyunjin.

It occurs to you when you are nineteen, when you are of marriageable age, when your father shows you an engagement contract to a man you have never met before. A man who is the heir to a banking empire, a man who is said to be even more handsome than Paris from the Greek myth, a man who is in desperate need of a proper wife. Your father tells you of his beautiful estate in the sprawling hills and the even more lavish life you will live like he believes that you will be swayed by these things alone. Your father appears to mean well; he keeps glancing over at you for approval, but you sit in front of him in stony silence.

When he finally finishes his speech, he slides a piece of paper towards you and sets his prized fountain pen across the top. You cannot even bear to entertain him by picking up the pen. You abruptly leave the room, running down the hallway to the stables as your father shouts for you to stop. Fortunately, he does not follow you or ask that one of the staff chase after you.

You only mean to ride around the property to clear your head, but your heart has other plans and leads you to the Hwang estate. You hand your horse to the stableboy and begin searching the estate on foot. It is a bright sunny day, and his younger sister will be wanting to paint him.

You eventually find them in the garden where Yeji is indeed working on her latest portrait of him. It is not quite right, you notice; the eyes are too stern and too cold.

“Hello there,” he greets first. He smiles at you and playfully tilts his head to the side. “Tell me, Y/N, has my sister finally captured my likeness? This is her third attempt, and I’m honestly getting bored of sitting here and doing nothing. Thank goodness you’re here to keep me company now.”

“Stop moving. And this is supposed to be a painting of Apollo, not you,” she corrects. She turns around on her seat and wiggles her paint-stained fingers at you. “Hello, Y/N. If you are here for a social call, I’m afraid I’m a tad preoccupied.”

You shake your head. “No, it is nothing of the sort. I was just passing by.”

“Stay a while!” Hyunjin exclaims. “You don’t have lessons today anyway.”

Yeji agrees since she is growing weary of her brother’s grumbles. They look at you with such eagerness that you weakly nod and stand by Yeji, playing director and telling Hyunjin to look in a certain direction. They chat about inconsequential things, and in the meantime, your stomach turns and ties itself into knots. You are not sure how long you can keep it hidden.

“Any suitors clamoring at your door?” Yeji asks you after you half heartedly tease her about the courtship letters she received last week. “Surely you have some yourself.”

Hyunjin pretends to be nonchalant about the whole affair, but his eyes have strayed away from you. You wring the ribbon around your waist.

“I… My father has arranged for me to be engaged.”

It is like the world has stopped. The low clouds in the sky pause in their drift, the birds go silent, and even the dust swirling in the air is frozen. Hyunjin stares at you, his lips parted but no words coming out. You see his throat bob as he thickly swallows, and you feel your own throat tightening.

Yeji, who witnessed you and her brother’s friendship tiptoe into something a little more, abruptly stands up from her seat. “I’m parched,” she loudly announces. “I think I will head inside for some lemonade.” She picks up her skirts, no doubt dirtying the wool, and hurries out of the garden.

“Engaged?” Hyunjin whispers after she is gone. “Are you jesting?”

“No.”

The silence that follows is deafening. You watch as he mouths swears to himself, a practice he adopted after being caned for using such coarse words at a dinner party. He loosens his cravat, a telltale sign that he is distraught. His mouth twists into something between a purse and a frown, indicative of his efforts to process something he cannot. You have picked up so many details about him over the years, you likely know him better than he does himself.

Slowly he says, “Congratulations on your engagement. Your betrothed is a lucky man.”

“Hyunjin, I don’t care about him.” You walk over to him and hold his hands in yours. He stiffens at your gloved touch, the way your own warmth permeates through the kid leather. “I am in love with you and only you.”

He says nothing. You wait, the sunlight making the back of your neck burn, but Hyunjin merely stands up and draws his hands back.

“Why do you torture me like this?” he quietly asks. “I can no longer have you, yet you tell me of these things.”

“I have not signed the contract.”

“And what does that mean for us?”

“That you and I can still be together. Hyunjin, ask me to marry you.”

His mouth twists again, and all you want is for him to kiss you. Too long you have waited for it. You want to run your fingers through his hair, to finally feel how soft and silky he claims it to be. You want him to pull you close, so close that you can hear his heartbeat and feel his breath on your skin.

Hyunjin Hwang is the man you have been in love with for so long, but it took you a near engagement to someone else for you to realize it.

Your heart pounds when he says nothing. Is he engaged to someone else? Can he not be with you like you have so hoped? Certainly he would have said something if he is betrothed to another woman. Or maybe he is in a position similar to yours. Your head spins with possibilities for why he does not accept you, and you can hardly focus. You lower your gaze from him to the ground where everything is much simpler.

“Y/N, look at me.”

When you see his face, you know he feels the same. Longing drips from his eyes like honey. With a faint smile on his face, he gently cradles your face and brings his lips a hair’s width away from yours. You are able to just feel every movement of his mouth, so you know he feels your growing smile. You let out a shaky breath as he says his next words.

“Lady Y/N L/N, will you do the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes.”

You tilt your chin upwards to finally, finally kiss him, only for him to move him away at the very last moment. He chuckles, and you feel his chest shaking as he does so.

“You rake,” you tease, making him laugh again. What a joyous sound it is! Why have you only become conscious of it now?

He lets you kiss the second time, and you could just melt. The way his lips meld with yours and the way he holds you just feel so right. He tastes of coffee and brandy, and you can imagine yourself kissing him like this after breakfast every day.

He pulls away first, but his thumb still draws patterns on your cheekbone. “I didn’t give you a ring.”

“What is a ring to your words?” you say, sighing into his shirt. You do not care about anything else in the moment. “Come, we must tell my father immediately.”

“Yeji first,” he disagrees, “lest she wonder where you and I have disappeared to. I think it is only fair that she learns of it first anyway.”

You nod. Whenever you told your father that you were going to the Hwang estate for a social call on Yeji, you spent most of the time chatting with Hyunjin. Whenever you and Yeji visited the city, she brought Hyunjin along as a chaperone instead of her governess and made no comment about you and him being a little too friendly. If you realized your true feelings sooner, you would bet your entire inheritance that she would have helped arrange illicit meetings. Yes, Yeji deserves to know of this happy engagement before anyone else.

But until she returns to the gardens, it is only you and Hyunjin.

Your head still rests on his chest, and his steady, even breaths calm your excitement. He is yours now, and you his. Already, his arm wraps around your waist protectively. You quite enjoy the feeling.

Yeji eventually comes back. She holds a pitcher of lemonade in one hand and balances a stack of glass cups in the other. When she sees you and Hyunjin nestled in each other’s arms, she nearly drops all the drinkware.

“My goodness!” she says once she has recovered from her shock. “Y/N, I thought you were engaged!”

You take great pride in telling her, “I am to Hyunjin now.”

She sets down the lemonade on an empty stool and looks back and forth between you and her brother in bemusement. “Then what was all that fuss earlier? Have you been going to the theater without me?”

You explain to her the situation, and she nods along in understanding, a wide grin forming with each sentence. By the end of it, she is nearly dancing around.

“Oh, I knew you two loved each other! And you will marry him and be my sister now!” She sighs and clasps her hands together rejoice. “You must tell your father at once! Go on now!”

She ushers you two away, acting more like an overenthusiastic aunt than a proper young lady. You and Hyunjin laugh at her eagerness and head for the stables.

On the ride back to your family’s estate, you and him trot side-by-side like usual. At a cursory glance, it appears that everything is normal: the gentleman from next door has graciously offered to escort you home after your outburst, and you are ready to be engaged to a banking heir. However, a closer look shows that Hyunjin is watching you more than the field ahead of him and that you are keeping your head down to conceal your elation.

The two of you hand your horses to the stableboy and head inside the house. You lead Hyunjin through the hallways to your father’s office, ignoring the curious stares from the house staff. He must be in there.

The door is ajar, and you knock on it twice. Your father obliges you to come in, and you wish Yeji were here to paint his stunned expression when you stride in holding Hyunjin’s hand. He pushes his chair back and stands up.

“Child, what is this?” he asks, his eyes flickering back and forth between your face and you and Hyunjin’s intertwined hands. He is not upset but confused.

“Father, this is my fiancé, Lord Hyunjin Hwang. You know him as Lady Yeji Hwang’s brother and our neighbor.”

Hyunjin bows, low and sweeping, in greeting. “Good afternoon, Lord L/N.”

“Fiancé? Since when?”

“Since today,” you answer, gazing at Hyunjin with adoration. He squeezes your hand in response. “I love him, and I have loved him for some time now. I will not marry the gentleman you spoke of earlier.”

“You are certain?” he quietly asks. “I see no ring on your finger.”

Hyunjin gives you a look that says, “You should have listened to me,” but you brush it aside. “I’m certain,” you tell your father.

To your surprise, your father throws his head back and laughs. “Child, if I had known about this, I would have arranged this myself with Lord Hwang. I had considered it, but I didn’t think your feelings were so strong.”

“So you will allow it then?” you say.

“Of course. He is more than a suitable match for you now that I see you two like this.”

You embrace your father in thanks, and he whispers a hearty congratulations in your ear. Then, he and Hyunjin awkwardly shake hands as your father welcomes him as a part of the family, never mind that there has been no wedding yet or even an official engagement.

It does not matter to you.

The love of your life is all that does.

~ ad.gray

[author-morgan]

Hello, dear! Best wishes to you, I hope you are doing well. If you take any requests about m!Eivor, could you please write the story about how he saw in his dream (or Valka trip) a reader and fell inlove with them, but then met them in real life? A bit of magic never disturbs. ;D Thank you, I love your writing!

here you are! hope you enjoy and apologies for the wait! guest appearance by Havi!

m!Eivor x fem!Reader 

IT IS A rare thing when King of the Æsir comes to Fensalir of his own volition —leaving behind the golden hall and his score of warriors. He walks at the edge of the water through the tall grasses with Huginn resting on his shoulder and Muninn flying overhead. His gaze lingers ahead to a figure clothed in white, picking flowers and herbs. Frigg —a smile pulls at his lips— my queen. Huginn leaps into the sky when he pushes back his dark hood, stepping closer to where his heart and troubled mind have led him. 

“Havi,” you greet, having foreseen his arrival and the reason for it. Rising from the patch of white blooms —Baldr’s brow, you named them, after your beloved son— you brush the dirt from your hands and smooth down the front of your white gown. He stands before you as few have seen him, vulnerable and seeking guidance for a storm brews in the depths of his mind. The clouds gather, shadowing his clear blue gaze and giving him the countenance of a man walking the path to self-destruction. It is a look you do not like to see in any man, especially your husband. 

He does not explain his coming —long has the giant, Vafþrúðnir, dwelled in your husband’s mind for no other reason save the claim he is the wisest being in the nine realms. Taking Havi’s hand, you lead him to a bench at the edge of the fen-water, thinking of ways to dissuade him from a needless battle of strength or wit. You peer up at him from beneath your lashes, thumb running across his knuckles. “You are ever wise, husband–” Havi’s lips kink into a half-smile at the praise though it falters a moment later as you continue “–but Vafþrúðnir is the all the wiser.”

Two ravens with dark feathers shining like an oil slick in the pale sun come to perch —Huginn sits proudly on Havi’s shoulder, Muninn on yours. If it is only concern Havi has for the movement and dealings of the mighty Jötunn, then his ravens would suffice, but the look he wears is not one of mere concern. Muninn croaks at your ear as though he agrees with your thoughts. You reach up, stroking the feathers of Muninn’s underbelly. “Send Huginn or Muninn in your stead,” you supplicate, watching the crooked smile creep up onto his lips.

“Sweet Frigg,” Havi says, bemused by what he considers your concern, “you doubt me still.”

“Only because you do not see what is more than ten steps ahead of you until you arrive,” you admonish. Havi is wise in his own right, though at times, his temper tried to outweigh wisdom and reason. “You have your doubts,” you tell him with a soft smile, no other knew Havi as you did —sometimes he wonders if you know him better than he knows himself, and oft times the answer is yes, “else you would not visit my dwellings.” He looks away, shaking his head with a soft smile, unable to deny his wife and queen knew him well. You raise your hand to his scarred cheek, bringing his gaze back to you. “Go, dear Havi,” you breathe, “yet know I will not soothe your wounded pride.”

He rises from the bench, and you follow —both ravens leaping back into the watercolor sky. “When has my queen ever done so?” Havi steps closer, his rough hands cradling your face. You tilt your chin up, accepting a kiss as payment for your counsel. 

THE GOD OF Thunder and your step-son comes to Fensalir asking you to tend his father. Havi has been distraught for days after visiting with the Nornir, and Thor believes his beloved step-mother and queen are the only balm for such distress. You go to him in the twilight hours, finding him sitting atop the world with a distant and troubled look. He pays no mind to your approach, save moving to the left on his great throne to make room for you to sit. “What ails your mind, dear Havi?” You ask, sitting at his side —fingertips following the scar on his cheek, brushing through his close-cropped golden beard now tinged with the first kiss of silver. 

Havi turns his head, looking upon you in despair, but there is something else in his solemn gaze too —defeat. He pulls your hand from his cheek, thumb stroking the back of your palm. “Have you foreseen what the Nornir have?” 

Thor had not dispelled the reason behind the storm brewing within his father, but upon his question, you know what is troubling him —for the doom of the Æsir has plagued your thoughts and waking dreams. Though perhaps a worse fate lay ahead should you beget what visions fate had bestowed upon you. Havi is not one to accept his foretold ruin without first attempting to thwart the threads of fate. Information could be a dangerous thing. The difference between poison and medicine often lay within the dose. Sighing softly, you slip your hand free of his gentle grasp. 

“I cannot reveal what I have seen, nor am I privy what others have foreseen.” You lay your hand on his scarred cheek, bringing his gaze to you. The spark in your eyes gives him hope and eases his mind. Sweet Frigg, he thinks, ever the cure for my madness, my rock in a tempestuous sea. Havi covers your hand with his and leans toward you. The rough hair of his beard tickling your cheek before his lips brush against yours. “Have faith,” you breathe upon parting, resting your forehead against his. “Ragnarök shall not be our end.” It is a promise. 

“EIVOR!” WALLACE CRIES, helping his sister bring an injured woman into the longhouse of Ravensthorpe on a stormy night. He rouses from sleep and hastily puts on his tunic, greeting the hunters while rubbing his heavy eyes as they adjust to the dying firelight from the cook-fire and braziers. Eivor does not expect to see a woman supported between the siblings —head lolled forward with blood dripping from her arm and side. It takes him a moment to spur into action, but he takes Petra’s place and leads the injured woman to his chambers, helping her to the straw-and-rag stuffed mattress. 

Kneeling, he brushes aside the hair clinging her to face and freezes, eyes wide. “Frigg.” He breathes the name without a second thought and feels his heart clench. This woman is but a stranger, and yet a part of him has always known her. He is sure of it. Eivor presses his hand against the gash at her side and looks over his shoulder to Petra. It will take more than a cautery iron to heal this affliction. “Find Valka,” he tells the huntress. She nods, bolting from the longhouse as Wallace brings a basin of water and torn pieces of an old tunic. 

Valka comes with her poultices and cordials, kneeling bedside. As soon as she looks between Eivor and the injured woman, the Seer knows. Eivor Wolfsmal may be attempting to escape one knot in the tangled threads of fate, but he cannot run from them all. A bloody hour passes, but when the Seer takes her leave, she tells Eivor the woman will live, for the gods have smiled upon her, just as they smiled upon him. 

GROANING, YOU BEGIN to wake with a pang of hunger and thirst —the dull throbbing in your ribs is only a distant pain. The bed beneath you is soft, the wool and pelt blankets warm. The scent of cloudberries and honey linger in the air, reminders of a home no longer standing and a place you frequent in dreams. A rough hand curls around your wrist, jarring you into alertness, suddenly aware of the unfamiliar surroundings and the man sitting bedside in a disheveled tunic with partially unbound golden hair, hardly awake in the morning hours. “Havi?” You whisper. His is a face you know well —from his kind blue gaze to the scar on his cheek and the curve in a once-broken nose. 

He stares at you. He knows you. Eivor knows the curve of your lips, the gleam in your eyes, even the whisper of your voice. Sweet Frigg, his mind murmurs again and a strange feeling of relief overcomes him —as though a lifetime search has finally come to a close. “Eivor,” he corrects, ripping himself from the dream. Petra told him how they found you in the forest, stumbling away from the largest wolf either hunter ever seen. “They say you fended off a wolf on your own.” Spoken like that, it sounds a heroic deed —you left the beast for dead near a ravine, but the wolf had almost done the same to you. “What were you doing out in such a storm?” He asks, raising a tired brow. 

“Searching–” you sit up with a groan, holding onto your linen-bound side “–for home.” One of his hands covers yours, the other pressing against your lower back. Beholding Eivor, though, you realize your search has ended —you do not know him, but the feeling in your gut and the lightness of your heart in his presence tells you this is home. Dear Havi. Dreams and fate have led you here for a purpose. 

Eyes darting over Eivor’s features, you smile, offering your name. He repeats it, lips kinked. Your name is just as sweet on his lips as Frigg’s, if not sweeter. A moment passes, the silence hanging in the early morning air broken by the low croak of a raven perched in the rafters above your resting bed. Eivor glances up at Sýnin —the raven can sense something too. “You can stay here,” he notes, softly and without hesitance. “Ravensthorpe can be your home.” 

The generous offer makes your heart clench and brings tears welling up in your eyes. He smiles, and now you are certain your searches have finally ended. You pull your hand away from your side and Eivor’s hand, lifting it to his scarred cheek as you’ve done hundreds of times in dreams. Unwittingly, he leans into the touch —he’s done this before, and he recognizes the gentle caress of your thumb as it runs over the jagged scar. Eivor sighs  —all of this and you are familiar. 

Driven by memory, he rises to his knees, seeking your lips with his own. The tickle of his beard on your jaw and cheek is a warning, but you do not shy away —you’ve known him for a hundred lifetimes, and this is only a reunion. Eivor’s lips move against yours, both his arms loosely sliding around your waist. You smile against his lips, fingers combing through his golden beard. There are no sparks, for there is already a deep flame kindled between you both —one that cannot be extinguished in this life or the next. The threads of fate come together, and two halves are made whole. 

[taglist:  @kvitravn @vanillabeanlattes @nemo-my-name-forevermore  @withered-poppies @ananriel @britishhotassassin @maximalblaze @khaoskrossed @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelaen @dynamicorbit @itseivwhore ] if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 40)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: The usual, alcohol abuse (sort of)

A/N: Second part of today’s update! It was originally just one chapter, but it fit to put them apart.

You can find the other part of today’s update, Chapter 39, right here

When you go into the main hall later that night, a call of your name in a voice you know by heart diverts your attention from anything else.

You answer Ivar’s call and stand next to him, nodding distractedly at the thrall that offers you wine. She scurries off to fetch you some, and a memory you long since believed lost comes to the front of your mind.

“Drink,” Sieghild tells you, offering you a cup. You take it between shaking fingers, and the shieldmaiden looks back ahead, in the direction of the grave. “That is how we mourn. We drink.”

You cannot keep the snide tone from your voice as you sit next to her, “Ah, you Vikings and your celebration of death.”

“You worship the Gods of the Underworld, little one,” She states without missing a beat, lifting the goblet of wine to her lips. She looks at you out of the corner of her eye, a silent command you do the same. You sip from the sweet drink, but your throat still feels tight, and your hands still shake. Sieghild clears her throat, “We rejoice when someone sups in Valhalla even if that means they aren’t with us, true. But we are people just like yours, little one, we all suffer at the loss of someone we love,” She takes another sip of the wine, green eyes stuck on the hill that now bears the grave of a mother and her child. “Drinking the way we do for those who are gone from our side, it isn’t as a celebration, it is coated in despair, in pain, as much as your own rituals. We drink because we want to…to be…”

“Numb?”

Your mother chuckles, “Maybe, but we are too proud to call it that.”

Still, you don’t feel like mourning, you don’t feel like this is grief. It feels like death, like a descent, like rebirth; but to you none of that means grief.

Ivar distracts you from your morose thoughts with hands on your hips. He looks up at you with a smile that is a tad more vibrant than usual.

“Tell Ubbe about the…the…” His brows furrow in a gesture you cannot help but find utterly adorable. “C-Chi-la…”

Ivar’s eyes search your as if you are supposed to know what he is trying to say.

Your eyes narrow, but you think you know what he means, and try, “Chiliarchiai?”

Ivar nods, smiling up at you as his hand on your waist moves further down and back, almost groping your ass before you stop him with your hand over his and a silent glare of reprimand that he only grins at.

“Tell him about them.” He insists, a liveliness in his voice you heard only scarce times before. Ivar motions with his head towards his brother, making your eyes slowly leave him to focus on Ubbe.

The eldest prince already has eyes on the both of you, and when you look at him, he lingers on looking between you and his brother before giving you his attention, leaning back on his seat.

Taking a seat next to Ivar and hoping you are subtle in the way you press close to him to dispel the cold, you start explaining, gesturing with your hands as you point out the different parts of the Byzantine army, and how they fight back in the Mediterranean.

Ubbe’s eyes stay on yours, and he leans his weight forward, blue eyes piercing as he tries taking in what you are saying. Eventually, he clears his throat to stop you.

“You are using a lot of words, and I don’t know the meaning to most of them.” Ubbe interrupts, a slight apology behind his tone. You nod, eyes searching the nothing ahead as you try putting a definition behind the words in your own tongue.

“The Skoutatoi are…warriors.”

“They all are, love.” Ivar interrupts, a mocking smile that he hides behind the rim of his cup when you turn to glare at him.

Ignoring his words, you explain further, “They carry shields and use either spears or longswords.”

Ubbe lifts a hand to point at you, as if to indicate he’s figured something out.

“Yes, we saw them. You formed a shield wall with warriors with spears in Dublin.”

“Yes, that was a phalanx, but we could never be as efficient as the Byzantines. For the Empire’s armies it is easy to lead and to hold on to plans, but for us…if we didn’t have Narses it wasn’t so easy to hold formations.”

“The commander?” You nod your head, wondering when you stopped feeling the weight of grief and guilt when thinking or talking about him. “They all fight like him in your homeland?”

You chuckle with a shake of your head, noting the awe and wonder in Ubbe’s tone, “No, he is-…he was one of the best.”

“Was he famous?”

“Something like that. It is said he was a descendant of Theseus, one of the greatest heroes in our history.”

“That’s the bride stealer, is it not?” Hvitserk questions, to which you frown. He makes a vague gesture with his hand, and insists, “You told me about him, he stole from one of your Gods.”

“He didn’t steal, he tried to,” You correct, your chest oddly warm at the fact that he remembers. “He tried stealing Lord Hades’ wife, and thus was punished. But no man, not even Theseus, could steal from a God, least of all the King of the Underworld.”

Shortly after the conversation goes on to other topics, topics that do not feel any less yours than those of your Gods and heroes, even if these are of the realms neighboring Kattegat or their plans across the sea.

And as he talks and argues with his brothers, you take to watching the man you married.

He always was an expressive man. With his hands, with his gestures, with his voice. When you first met you were endlessly enthralled by the movements of his hands and the tells of the furrow of his brow or the narrowing of his eyes; and in the months that came after you learned to listen for the cues in the cadence of his voice that gave as much away as his gestures did.

But when Ivar…overindulges, it is much more apparent, and you find yourself unable to look away. His hands gesture much more wildly, every inch of his face gives away more emotion and more expression, and even his voice is much livelier.

And, more than anything, you notice the way he touches you isn’t so laced by the need to show or display something, by the intent to keep up a façade or an act. Instead, it feels much softer, much more honest, much more him; the way he lays a hand on your leg -though you find yourself having to lay yours over it to stop him from trailing too high up-, the way he grasps your hand and plays with your fingers, the way when he talks to you he leans closer than he needs to -and maybe trails his cold nose up the side of your neck, chuckling devilishly when he makes you shiver-.

The night goes on, and you cling to each of these new discoveries you make, to each of these little figments you are allowed to be a witness to.

Later, in the relative privacy you can earn as Hvitserk dozes off against Thora’s shoulder and Ubbe watches raptly as two men partake in that strange game you never had the chance to ask about, where they each have a rope around their heads and tug; Ivar demands your attention with a press of his lips on the fingers of the hand he holds in his.

When you turn to him, his serious expression startles you a bit.

“The Greeks, you said they came here. Why?”

“I don’t know,” You tell him, and at the instinctual way he tenses up, as if ready to accuse you of something he knows you won’t do, you look into his eyes and offer a low murmur of, “I don’t lie to you, Ivar.”

His eyes search yours, earning a defeated edge you thought the drinks had successfully chased away.

“I-…a smart thing to do would be to kill them.”

Your heart feels struck by a pang of cold, and you shake your head, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” He doesn’t hesitate to say, “What if they come back here? What if they call for you again?”

“They have called for me, and I am still here.”

“Because Stithulf is alive.”

“No, bec-…” You start, but Ivar interrupts you, stealing your breath with simple words.

“I let him go.”

And gone is cruelty, gone is the mask. And gone is your softness, gone is the resolve.

You can only look back at him with wide eyes, feeling your breath quicken because there’s a part of you desperate to understand why you are, while surprised, not bothered by the revelation.

Relief and guilt clog your throat, and makes your next words a gasp.

“You what?”

“We captured him. And I let him go.” He explains, as if this is what you were asking for.

“W-Why?”

The smile he offers is a little bit mad, a little bit broken, a little bit helpless.

It’s looking back at the manic resolve in the blue eyes of the man that told you the reward for a lifetime of pain was you, it’s looking back at the defeated slump of his shoulders as he replied ‘Who could?’ when you asked him if he believed you couldn’t love him, it’s looking back at the lost and stunned look in his face as you told him the Greeks were alive.

“Why did you stay?” Ivar asks back, an answer in itself.

You want to step back, you want to accuse him of trying to rob you of your choice, but…you had the chance to make your choice, and you made it. Stithulf’s survival didn’t matter, Ivar letting him go doesn’t matter.

It irks you, and he will definitely hear your thoughts on him trying to cheat his way out of the deal you made, when his eyes are less glossy and your chest less tight with the weight of the choice you made.

First you will tell him of your choice, you know you have to.

But for now, with the taste of mead still heavy on his lips and the feel of guilt still heavy on your heart, you will offer the truths that you can.

“I stayed because I love you,” You tell him, “You said it yourself, Ivar, Stithulf-…it was never the deal we made.”

He searches your gaze, giving away more clearly than he usually does how unmoored he is by your reaction, whether because he expected anger or because of your words, you don’t know.

Still a little lost, he mumbles, “I know.”

____

Later that night, alone in the room you share and ready to sleep off the day that has at the same time been familiar and completely new, you walk up to Ivar where he sits on your bed and after he undoes the laces of your dress work the jacket off his shoulders.

“Did you know my whole family is descended from the All-Father?” He asks you, and you only answer with a thoughtful sound as you then focus on the brace of his broken leg, choosing to take it off yourself, certain you’ll be at least partially more careful than him. Ivar continues, “That’s not just my brothers, that’s me too. I am a descendant of Odin.”

You have no idea what brought this on, and so you only offer a noncommittal answer, not really sure about what to say. You don’t doubt it, your mother always spoke of both Ragnar Lothbrok and the Princess that was a daughter to heroes; spoke of them in such manner, as did the travelers that could recount what was happening in Scandinavia, that you don’t doubt they were something more than just humans.

“That’s better than Theseus.” He comments petulantly, and you cannot help but smile.

“It is,” You confirm, when you move back up to be face to face with him not being able to stop yourself from stealing a kiss. It was intended to be soft, but there’s a biting edge to the way you press your lips to his that surprises you. Voice low, you promise, “Even if it weren’t, you are countless times the man Narses ever was.”

“Hm, am I?”

He is blatantly asking for praise, and if you’re honest with yourself you don’t have the slightest problem indulging him.

“No one compares to you in my eyes, you know that. Do you believe I would have let any other man get away with what you have?”

“Get away? Y-…”

You tug lightly on his hair to silence him, and Ivar complies with a breathed laugh.

“I’m not done,” You chastise, before your voice earns a softer tone as you search his gaze, “You are unlike anyone I ever met, you-…Sometimes I wonder if you were right, after all. When you said the Gods intervened so this could happen, so we could meet.”

“So you admit I was right.”

“No. Because if anything, the Gods sent you to me, not the other way around.”

Maybe he intended for his smile to be a grin, for his expression to drip mirth and the teasing edge you have come to know and love; but all that is left behind is this almost-startled softness, this open stance and vulnerable expression as Ivar gazes into your eyes.

And the smile he offers is lovesick and as lost as yours, making you wonder not for the first time if whatever the Gods made you out of is the same that they made him out of, even if the Gods and the realms and even the two of you are so different from one another.

When Ivar brings you closer and claims your mouth in his, you let him, surrendering and answering his call for you to be closer, pressing close to him as he drops on his back on the bed.

His kiss is hungry, reverent in a way you know by now but still makes a pang of heat travel through you, and his hands are insistent and leaving behind a trail of fire wherever they touch.

It doesn’t help that he has long since discarded his shirt, and the feel of his skin against yours, the feel of him under your hands, leaves you drunk and dazed, much more so than if you had been the one to drink the whole night.

Still, when impatient hands insist you lift the nightgown over your head, you pull away, breaths heavy as your brow presses against his.

“No?”

“No,” You confirm, trying your hardest not to betray a fond smile. “You’re drunk, love. Not tonight.”

His brow furrows, “I’m not drunk.”

Moving to settle against him, your body against his and your mouth unable to resist pressing a few kisses over the ink on his chest, you question idly, “What are you, then?”

His smile softens, so much so and so quickly that it takes you by surprise. Ivar chuckles, hand trailing over your loose hair.

“Last time I asked you that you told me-…do you remember what you told me?”

You nod, leaning more of your weight against him and resting your chin on one of your arms that is draped over his broad chest.

“I told you I was happy.”

His eyes fall closed, but you know he’s still alert. He always is, really.

“And you’re still happy, here with me.”

“I am,” You state, fingers tracing the familiar contour of his face, stopping -as they always do- on the scar on his cheekbone before they continue a trail down, exploring leisurely. Your voice is low, almost a whisper, “I love you, Ivar.”

The only answer he offers is a low hum. He does that a lot more when he’s had plenty to drink, you’ve noticed, but not for the life of you would you ever tell him, mostly out of fear of losing those little content sounds he lets out and probably isn’t even aware of.

“You should tell me that more often,” He states without any preamble, startling you into silence. Ivar opens one eye to look at you, “You once told me if you say things you make them real. You should say you love me more often.”

“You don’t believe it’s real?” You ask, a tug of something that makes your chest feel a little tighter.

“I do. I just…” He offers a shrug, lips quirking up in the beginning of a smile.

Your voice earns a teasing edge when you lean closer, lips almost against the skin of his jaw, and ask, “Don’t I make you feel loved?”

And your heart skips a beat at the way you make him shiver.

“Y-You do.” He replies, and it sounds the question surprised him. Or maybe his answer did.

You feel your intent to tease him ebb away, leaving softness and barely anything else behind, and you smile, lips pressing one last kiss against his skin before moving to capture his mouth.

As always, Ivar easily surrenders to the touch of your lips on his, leans into your touch and your kiss with a willingness that sometimes feels jagged with edges of need and desperation.

“I love you,” You promise for good measure, offering a smile and another quick kiss, “Now sleep.”

When you turn around to lay on your side, you feel Ivar do the same, and when you hear him shuffle behind you, you find yourself almost expecting the embrace, or at least the touch of his hand on yours. But no, instead you feel rough fingers running through your hair.

“What are you doing?”

“You should wear braids all the time,” He muses, to himself more than to you, probably. You notice he is parting your hair in three sections, and clumsily braiding it as he lays on his side. Ivar continues, “They make you look like…like you belong here, like you’re mine.”

“I am yours.” You promise, the closest you can get to admitting the truth behind the choice that was never a choice at all, for tonight. When the dust settles you will tell him, but for now, for as long as he is willing to forget spring was ever a possibility, you will indulge, and speak of the passing of the cruel season on another day.

The braid is forgotten for a moment, as Ivar’s hand trails down your side, inching forward at your waist. His fingers stop just shy of between your legs.

“Since you’re mine, I should be allowed to have you.” He teases.

“But you’re also mine.”

His eyes travel to your lips, giving away desire before he even speaks, “Am I?”

“Mhm,” You turn around, seeking his warmth when you nestle closer. You look up at him with a smile that makes his eyes travel to your lips with a want you know well by now, but that still makes your heart quicken. “So, are you saying I too should be allowed to do as I please with you?” You seal your words with a kiss at the place where his collarbones dip, and you barely even have to put any pressure to make Ivar roll on his back once again. Your body pressed against him lets you feel the slight stutter of his breath in each rise and fall of his chest, and it never ceases to make you feel powerful. Keeping your eyes on his, you continue, “Are you saying I too should be allowed to claim what is mine?”

His lips part, eyes widened just slightly, and it is an answer in itself, an answer that makes heat pool low in your belly.

“I am yours.” Is the answer Ivar gives, and you bite your lip to hold back a sound that you are certain would be something between a sigh and a whimper.

“I’ll remember that.” You promise, to which he nods, maybe a little quickly, a little shakily. Settling back against his chest, you close your eyes, and if in your dreams you hear the cry of a hawk, it is quickly chased off by the soothing thrum of his heart under your ear.

____ ____ ____

Thank you so much for reading! Would love to hear your thoughts on this!

Also, I have two things in this chapter that I want to point out: one, the Reader remembers Vikings overindulge in drinking when they mourn, yet she says she doesn’t feel like she lost someone, but the flashback is still there, I wonder why lol (I promise he’ll be less sulky soon); and two, when Ivar replies ‘Why did you stay?’ it could be that she stayed because Stithulf was alive thus his choice to let him go was the right one bc he got to keep her for the winter (which is obviously what he believes), or that his motivation in letting him go was the same as her motivation to tell the Greeks she wouldn’t leave with them, as in, she loves him and wants a life with him (though he has no way of knowing that). There you go, two useless pieces of trivia that aren’t that interesting (or that much of trivia really).

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