#God I grew up to be a woman so I'm drawing them as men

[violettimeaya]

Day 1 of filling my Killugon tumblr with Killugon again till I get tired of it

This time the final designs, of mature Killugon. Expect more of them

[thenameswinterfics]

VISIONS OF HELHEIM

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader Settings: Season 2, episode 4 Summary: Sihtric has never forgotten his mother, whose presence continues to haunt his dreams. And as the Battle of Dunholm draws to a close, you help Sihtric mourn her. Word Count: 6,1 K Warnings: Fluff, angst, missing moments, mention of past abuse, mention on non-consensual relationship (not described in detail), mention of character death, mention of graphic violence (not described in detail). A/N: I'd like to start by saying that it was supposed to be a short fic, but my imagination literally exploded. I'm terribly nervous about this fic, maybe more nervous than the previous one, I've tried to contain the angst so that reading won't be so overwhelming. I know my summaries are terrible, but I swear I'll learn. I'm not an expert in Norse mithology, nor in Pagan traditions, so I apologise in advance if you'll find some inaccuracies. For Elflaed's description I took inspiration by another amazing writer here on Tumblr, giving my own interpretation in some details as well. I forgot the blog's name, so if any of you should know them, please give me the name and I'll quote it! As always, a special thanks to @sylasthegrim, @legitalicat and @sihtricfedaraaahvicius for calming me down during my writing crises (I know it happened once, but your help has been precious), to @lord-aldhelm for helping me fill in some language gaps and to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for a last minute check and helping me with finding a title (Foxy, I love your brain, and thank you so much for sharing with me your knowledge about Norse and pagan culture).

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

A raging storm crossed the lands of Dunholm in the middle of night, the shining moon hiding behind a dense bank of dark grey clouds. The gentle breeze that caressed the tree canopies turned into a violent wind that bent the tree trunks, devastating nature with its destructive force. Drops of rain fell on the ground, saturating the soil and creating small puddles that increased their volume over time. Flashes of light appeared in the sky, creating a spectacle at once majestic and terrifying. 

The bravest men and warriors who dared to face the storm and believed in the Old Gods would say that it was all Thor's plan: enraged by the despicable actions of Dunholm's Jarl and his men, the god of thunder brandished his Mjolnir in the air and unleashed the most dangerous lightning and the most treacherous of the storm. But even the worst of natural disasters could not move the heart of a cruel man.

Elflaed sat on the cold floor of a crumbling hut, feeling the window doors creak and slam violently as cold air and water entered the house. She held her son in her arms, his tiny body curled up against her in search of warmth and protection, his big, mismatched eyes craving comfort in his mother's. Her arms were wrapped around him protectively, adjusting the thick fur on her shoulder and holding him close as her soothing voice sang a lullaby, hoping to shield him from the sounds of the raging storm.

There had always been a hint of sadness in the young woman's eyes, spreading to the sweet features of her face, a bittersweet feeling growing in her chest every time she looked at the little life she held in her embrace. If only the gods had been merciful to her and not given her a son in the most despicable way. 

When she closed her eyes, she could feel Kjartan's large, rough hands exploring parts of her body he wasn't allowed to touch, forcibly stripping her of her dignity, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she felt her pleas ignored. Anger, fear and resentment grew inside her along with an unwanted life, her womb cultivating the seed of a relationship that should never have existed. Elflaed prayed each night with her eyes to the sky, hoping that some merciful god would rid her of the life she was forced to carry. But no child is guilty of the actions of their father, and the young woman learned that the first time she held the infant in her arms, her maternal instincts took hold of her heart as his soft cries filled the room.

And for the following winters, Elflaed raised her son alone, protecting him from a father who rejected one of the many bastards he had across Dunholm. The love for her son grew along with the hatred for Kjartan, which reached its peak as one day she found a bush of black berries in the forest. She was aware of how poisonous those berries were, and had no intention to waste a precious opportunity.

"You will live, sweet boy," Elflaed cooed as she watched Sihtric drift back to sleep, no longer afraid of the storm outside. Her tone was reassuring, trying to calm herself more than him, as her fingers brushed across his tiny forehead, moving strands of hair away from him. “And I will always be here, watching over you.”

It was in that moment that her gaze moved onto the plate of the nightshade berries on the table. She would have her revenge that night.

And her destiny was sealed.

Never before had the night looked so beautiful and so full of mystery.

That was what you thought as you lay on a large pile of hay outside the saddles, your eyes never leaving the great expanse of black veil that rose above your head, adorned with small silver points of light in which you could see all the signs of Ymir's work as he created the planets and all the stars. Your eyes darted in quick motion as you recognised the constellation of Ulf's Keptr, the Fiskikarlar, Kvennavagn and Karlvagn and the Asar Bardagi, your slender finger pointing at the sky and tracing the imaginary lines that connected those small celestial bodies, as bright as the flames that engulfed your house and took away your home and family years ago. 

You couldn't remember what it was about the stars that fascinated you, or how your mind had gotten so lost in a memory you never thought would surface again. But a sense of peace pervaded your mind, every inch of fear and anxiety in your body fading away as you fixed your gaze on the star, losing yourself in the vastness of the night sky. 

It had become a silent ritual that you would perform each night before going into battle, as if to ask the fallen warriors resting within the sacred walls of Valhalla for their protection to survive another day. But attacking an impregnable fortress like Dunholm was no easy task, you knew that. At least not in the way your brothers Uhtred and Ragnar had described it in their reckless plan to take the fortress and avenge your father's memory. It was your first serious battle, and never more than now did you seek the comfort of the stars. 

Your lips parted as you repeated the stories of the origins of these constellations that you had heard as a naive child from the warriors loyal to your father. It had become a habit for you to let your thoughts out loud in your solitude: the cool night air had always been your silent companion through the years, gently tickling your hair and skin as its way of saying it enjoyed your stories. 

But this time was different. Because you were not alone.

Sihtric lay by your side, one hand on his stomach, the other behind his head. He lifted his eyes to the sky, without ever looking at you, while his ears strained to hear your stories of the celestial world. You could tell he was enjoying the little time you spent together by soft humming escaping from his lips, a soothing sound that warmed your heart. But there was something in his eyes that caught your attention: his gaze was distant, pain and melancholy crossing through its bright, multi-coloured irises, his pupils involuntarily dilated.  

Sihtric had always been a shy and quiet warrior, very reluctant to talk about his past and his birthplace unless asked. You could see his eyes flickering involuntarily at every mention of his father, his head drooping and his jaw clenching as the memory of his past came back to haunt him, the shadow of Dunholm walking beside him and never letting go. 

A gnawing vice tightened in your chest every time you saw Sihtric walking around with a blank stare, taking refuge in his tortured thoughts, and not even your touch could save him, pulling back every time your fingertips brushed against his bare arms. And when you found him asleep in the saddles, or anywhere else far from home, you could hear him calling out to his mother in his nightmares, instinctively embracing her as if to feel the motherly warmth he had lost years ago. Sihtric had never spoken of his mother, nor had you dared to ask, until tonight, under a sky full of stars and a fierce war on the horizon.

“Tell me about your mother,” you broke the silence of the night and shifted your position to lie on your side, looking at Sihtric with curiosity. Your sudden question awoke the Dane from his trance-like state, his eyes widening as he rested his gaze on you.

“Lady?” Sihtric asked back, his voice trembling slightly like the hand that rested on his stomach. 

"You told Lord Uhtred that you were Kjartan's bastard son, whelped on a slave girl. We know everything about that wretched turd," the last word came out in a low hiss, your words as heavy as the resentment you felt for your father's murderer. "But there have been no words for your mother, so I would like to know about her." 

At first you didn't realise how demanding your tone was, but when you regained your composure and saw Sihtric's muscles tense and his breath catch at your request, you bit the inside of your cheek and cursed yourself for being so impulsive. You knew how Sihtric flinched whenever anyone spoke to him in a stern tone, but you were Uhtred and Ragnar's little sister: impulsiveness was in your nature. 

An awkward silence fell over you as you both stared at each other, different emotions mingled in the air creating a heavy atmosphere. Finally, after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, you broke the silence and looked away. 

“Sihtric,” you whispered with guilt in your voice, struggling to find the right words. “My apology, forgive what I said before.” You were about to move when his voice stopped you.

“Elflaed,” Sihtric spoke in a weak voice, and if you listened carefully you could hear the trembling in it. “She was called Elflaed, lady.”

Elflaed. That was the name Sihtric called out every night in his unconscious state, searching for a mother he could no longer hold in his arms. Sadness washed over you as your thoughts returned to your own mother and how you felt your heart torn from your chest the night she died. But you had first Uhtred and Brida, then Ragnar, to help you through your grief, while Sihtric had no one to support him. And the grip on your heart tightened. 

“Was Dunholm her home? Was she a Dane like you?” you asked with a soft voice, and Sihtric shook his head faintly.

“No. She was a Saxon, lady. She came from Hocchale, lady. She was taken in Dunholm as a slave.” the Dane replied, looking down at his trembling hand on his stomach. You could still see his mismatched eyes shining in the pale moonlight, watering as he fought back tears. You held a hand up in the air, wanting to place it on his shoulder and give him all your support, but remembering how your touch was not welcomed by his involuntary shudder, your hand returned to your side.

“Your mother,” you broke the silence for the third time, closing your eyes and squeezing the bridge of your nose as you tried to find the right words. “She… I know I am asking you a delicate question, but… What happened to her?”

And at that moment, Sihtric looked away from the sky to rest his gaze on you, his pupils still dilated and his eyes still watering as he looked around slightly, fearing that some punishment might come if he dared to speak the truth. But when he realised that no harm could come, he calmed down slightly and spoke again. 

"She tried to poison Kjartan, lady," the Dane confessed, mustering the courage to change his position and lie on his side, telling you the truth as he looked into your eyes. "With the black berries. The nightshades, lady," he swallowed a lump that formed in his throat before continuing, his voice breaking with emotion, "I do not know what happened that night, lady. All I remember is that she left me and..." 

A sob escaped his lips and the way his body was shaking made you realise he could collapse in front of you at any moment. Without thinking, you raised your hand and placed it gently on his cheeks: to your surprise, he didn't flinch, but looked at you intently, leaning into your touch.

“Sihtric,” you opened your mouth, but the Dane was quick to interrupt you.

“I loved her, lady. With my whole heart, I swear it,” he said with a pleading voice, clutching the pendant of Mjolnir in his trembling hand, in the same way he did the day he swore his oath to Uhtred.

“And I believe you, Sihtric, you do not need to swear to me,” you replied softly, closing the distance between you and resting your forehead on his. Both your hands rested on his cheeks, your thumbs moving in a circular motion to calm him. You felt a soft breath leave his lips and his breathing slowly stabilised. He found a temporary peace in your warmth and you would be his steady rock, shielding him from his past. 

“I promise you, under this sky painted of stars, that your mother will be avenged tomorrow. Kjartan will draw his last breath in battle and his death will be far from honourable,” you confirmed in a soft yet firm tone, clutching your own Mjolnir pendant in your hands. “Do you trust my words?” 

Sihtric was silent for a moment, your words and actions clearly taking him by surprise. But when he opened his mouth to reply, you saw his hand reach for yours, his frightened eyes soften, a pink hue colouring his cheeks. His words came out in a feeble whisper, but you were close enough to hear them. 

“I trust them, lady. With my life and soul.”

And then, in the middle of the night, the surreal silence was broken by two humming voices saying a prayer for survival in battle.

Tension hung in the air as several warriors gathered to form a square in the courtyard, with Ragnar and Kjartan standing in the centre, facing each other in a duel to the death. Heavy blows of swords and axes against wooden shields came from the human ring, low growls and cheers escaping from their lips as the duel became more bloody and brutal. But Sihtric said nothing, holding his helmet tightly in his hands as he waded through the crowd. 

The battle at Dunholm fortress drained Sihtric both physically and mentally: returning to the place where pain and abuse had haunted him since childhood was a challenge he never wanted to face again. Yet he swore an oath of loyalty to Uhtred, and offered up his sword and his life under the watchful eyes of the gods. If Uhtred wished to attack the fortress, Sihtric would obey without question. 

But even his lord could not prepare him for what he was about to witness. A wave of emotion washed over him as he saw Kjartan, the man who had nothing in common with except the blood that ran through his veins, slowly perish under every blow that Ragnar struck, the scene so crude and sickening that even the bravest of warriors could not watch for long. 

Satisfaction first, then horror, disgust and bitterness as he winced at every blow Kjartan received, the ground of Dunholm painted crimson as blood coursed through his body. Sihtric felt numb, a myriad of thoughts running through his mind, remembering his life as a slave in his own house, how his body and mind endured his father's cruelty, how he tried to impress him and earn love and respect, only to be mocked and humiliated in return. He remembered every scar and bruise he had received, and how his body ached with every blow as he lay stunned on the floor after his punishment was over. 

As he exhaled a ragged breath, unrest was painted on his face, his skin turning pale as his mind returned to the night his mother died, her piercing screams echoing in his mind as they had on that stormy night when she was thrown to the dogs on his father's orders. It was a melody that haunted his dreams, begging his mother to forgive him for not being able to save her. A forgiveness that never reached him.

A gentle grip on his hand brought him back to reality, the muffled voices in his ears crystal clear as reality returned in all its crudeness. Sihtric slowly realised that it was over as his eyes rested on his lord, who was holding an enraged Ragnar close to him. A heavy silence filled the fortress as all the warriors realised what had really happened, neither faction daring to continue the fight. 

Sihtric recognized your touch, but he was too stunned to return the squeeze. And you just stood still at his side, watching helplessly as the ghosts of his past returned to haunt him, while he felt the echo of Elflaed’s voice reaching his ears.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way towards Dunholm's dungeon, the faint flame of your torch trembling with your hands. The damp air didn't help your anxiety, and you tried to manoeuvre through the darkness of the place with cautious steps, the metallic smell of blood irritating your nostrils.

You have won the battle, but at what cost? You asked silently over the flames of the small brazier in the great hall, but the soft crackling of the wood didn't give you the answer you were looking for. 

The attack on the fortress had been successful, and Young Ragnar had honoured Ragnar the Fearless’ memory by taking Kjartan's life. But it was a bittersweet victory for you, for the gods wouldn't give you back your father, who was feasting among them in the golden halls of Valhalla. To your surprise, you found out that Thyra was alive, but hatred burned in her heart as she blamed you all for abandoning her to her fate. Uhtred and Ragnar told you that she was safe in Father Beocca's hands, but you knew that nothing could easily mend a broken trust. 

But your mind couldn't stop thinking about Sihtric, and how he was too overwhelmed and confused to return your touch, and how he remained silent throughout the aftermath. He just stood there in the courtyard, looking at his father's lifeless body with an indecipherable expression on his face, before shaking his head and silently returning to his duties. You thought that taking him to Dunholm would have caused him no small amount of pain, and you had several arguments with Uhtred about sparing Sihtric further suffering. But your brother was adamant, and the young Dane was too loyal to disobey him. 

And in the midst of your thoughts, you felt a strong hand squeeze your shoulder, forcing you back into reality and into the deep blue eyes of the Daneslayer, who looked at you with concern. 

“Sihtric has been missing,” he told you with a low voice, and you jolted on the furred chair.

"I thought he was celebrating the victory with Finan and the others," was your blunt reply, feigning disinterest while a storm of emotion exploded inside you. 

“Finan told me he has not seen him for hours,” Uhtred retorted, and deep down in your heart you knew what you had to do. 

And so there you were, searching for Sihtric in the darkest part of the fortress after a long search on the surface. You thought you would find him in the stables, the place where he usually spent most of his time, meticulously tending to the horses: but to your surprise, he wasn't there, nor was he in the servants' quarters. 

A sense of foreboding grew within you, a sense of claustrophobia struck you as you felt the walls of the dungeon closing in around you, the dim light of your torch illuminating the poorly maintained surroundings, the damp, enclosed smell making you dizzy as you saw your shadow playing tricks on you. You were about to lose hope when you heard a ragged breath from a few cells ahead. 

You moved quietly in the direction of the sound until you saw Sihtric lying on the ground, a thick fur protecting him from the cold floor. Your heart ached as you watched him toss and turn on the ground, his lips trembling and his forehead drenched in sweat as nightmares once again took possession of his mind, his mother's name slipping from his mouth in a whisper. You looked at him with a hint of sadness in your eyes, and unlike the other nights, this time you would have woken him. 

You approached him gently, your touch on his shoulder as light as a feather as you shook him lightly. This sudden action caused him to wake up abruptly, jumping to his feet as he didn't recognise you in the darkness. You jumped back as well, about to fall to the ground in a heap from his sudden movements. 

“Sihtric,” you whispered smoothly, raising your hands as you wanted to reassure him no harm would come, “It is me, do not be afraid.”

You continued to speak in your soothing tone as you allowed the fire of the torch to illuminate your features. Sihtric's body stopped shaking as he recognised you, trying to compose himself as he bowed his head slightly in respect, ignoring the way his chest rose and fell frantically.  

“I wondered where you were. I thought you were feasting with the others, or you were resting in one of the fortress’ rooms,” you inquired, your eyes sad as you thought that sleeping in the cells was a habit he had developed during his time as a slave and imagined him resting in his cold, isolated cell.  

“Forgive me, lady,” Sihtric muttered back in a strained voice, looking down at his feet. The Dane warrior secretly thanked the gods for the poor lighting in this place, hiding the redness of his cheeks. “I… I did not know where else to rest.” 

After hearing his answer, you let out a small sigh, saddened by the realisation that he still did not feel safe at home, even after seeing his father's reign of cruelty end before his eyes. 

“Be free to move wherever you want,” you approached him and placed your hand on his shoulder once more, a flash of realisation came over you: you had promised to be his rock under the starry sky, and you would keep it. 

"Kjartan is dead, Sihtric. Your days of fear and suffering are over, you are a free man now," you said with softness in your voice, locking eyes with him as he raised his head, his mismatched eyes silently yearning for your protection. The Dane warrior nodded his head, his lips curling into a small smile. 

"Come, I will take you to a warm place, now," you said as you squeezed his hand and pulled him towards the exit of the dungeon. Sihtric followed you without saying a word, squeezing your hand back as he followed you, leaving a piece of his past behind as he left the cells.

Convincing Sihtric to spend the night with you was a difficult task: the Dane warrior was afraid that Uhtred might turn up and scold him for being alone with his little sister, but you tried to explain that he would not be arriving for some time, too busy discussing the future running of Dunholm with Ragnar. You let out a defeated sigh as you watched him furrow his brow in suspicion, but soon you were glad that he had at least convinced himself to trust your words. 

You led him into your temporary room, one of the largest in Dunholm, beautifully decorated with carved wooden planks on the ceiling and a few rugs covering the wooden floor. Despite its size, the large fireplace in the centre of the room was able to heat the whole room, the crackling of the wood being the only sound allowed in. 

You handled him with the utmost care, looking down his broad arms for any suspected wounds or cuts that might require attention. Desperately chasing away any impure thoughts about his appearance, you were pleased to find that his flesh was untouched and unblemished, save for a few specks of dust scattered about. You almost cursed yourself for not preparing a warm bath for him, and with what little water you had, you tore off a piece of your clothing and used it to clean his skin. Your touch was as soft as silk on his muscles, and Sihtric did his best to hide the redness of his cheeks. 

“Better?” you asked as you looked at Sihtric, your sudden question bringing him out of his thoughts. The Dane hummed back, his eyes softening in your presence. 

“Thank you, lady,” he whispered, leaning desperately on your touch as you continued to clean him.

Afterwards, you both lay down on the large bed, which was much more comfortable than the one you used to sleep on back in Cumbraland. The warmth of the blankets and furs gave you both a sense of peace and comfort, almost making you forget that a fierce battle had been fought that morning. 

You both looked up at the ceiling, imagining it to be the same starry sky as the day before. A pleasant silence filled the room, and the single thought brought a small smile to both of your faces, too drunk with each other's closeness as your hands instinctively reached out to each other, your fingers intertwined as you both used your thumbs to make small circles on the backs of your hands. 

You both enjoyed this idyllic moment until Sihtric cleared his throat and shyly drew your attention to himself as his big, mismatched eyes stared intently at you. You could see his pupils dilate again, and it was then that you realised something was troubling him. 

“Lady,” the Dane spoke quietly, squeezing your hand, “There is one thing I would like to do before we leave Dunholm.” 

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and looked for a moment at how tightly he clasped your hand, as if he were secretly looking to you for comfort and understanding. 

“What is it?” you asked softly, your lips curving into a sympathetic smile as you waited for him to speak up. You were calm, taming your curiosity and impulsiveness. 

"There is a small place, a little far from Dunholm," he continued in a timid voice, looking down at your joined hands, as if he was regaining his courage by looking at them, "We can reach it by following the path of the small spring from the east wall, it is a safe route to take with our horses. It will be a short walk, and when we see a large hawthorn tree in the distance, we will have reached our destination.”

Sihtric paused for a moment and took a long breath before continuing.

"I buried my mother there. At least..." Another long sigh escaped his lips, this time more shaky than the first. "...where I would like to bury her." 

A heavy silence fell over the room, the calm and peaceful atmosphere vanishing in an instant. You stood still, too stunned by his words to speak. And when you found the courage to open your mouth, Sihtric quickly cut you off, clasping both of his hands between yours. 

"I wish to mourn her, my lady. To mourn her properly," Sihtric murmured, his eyes watering as he looked away from you and down at some random spot on the blankets. "I... I know we could slow the return journey, but I will speak to Lord Uhtred and I-I will take my punishment..." 

With an imperceptible movement, you slipped your hand from his grasp and cupped his cheeks, tilting his head and forcing him to look at you. A soft whisper escaped your lips, interrupting his stream of consciousness, his words replaced by a soft sigh, his head unintentionally tilted as his mismatched eyes rested on yours.

"My brother will not punish you for mourning your mother, Sihtric," you told him in a reassuring tone, tilting your head slightly so that your foreheads touched, "because we will go there at dawn tomorrow and you will be free to pray in silence and honour her memory.” 

There was something comforting in your words, a gentle reassurance that was like balm to Sihtric's heart, wrapping itself around your care and love. As your eyes met, you both felt a comforting warmth spread through your chests, an invisible thread drawing you together as you slowly drew closer, your lips brushing gently before locking in a timid kiss that became desperate as Sihtric poured all his love into you, pulling you closer and deepening the contact. 

After a few seconds he pulled away, both breathing heavily, but with their foreheads pressed together, a small smile crossed Sihtric's face. The Dane knew it was wrong to steal a kiss from his lord's sister, but you had become his shining star in a dark sky, and the flame of your love burned brightly in his heart.

And as the moon shone brightly in the sky, you both fell asleep in each other's arms, slipping into a peaceful sleep, feeling the gentle rhythm of each other's breathing and knowing that you would face whatever came next together.

Morning came and Dunholm awoke to a peaceful atmosphere, the days when Kjartan the Cruel ruled the stronghold fading away like grains of sand in the wind. The aftermath of the battle still left its physical scars, the courtyard still painted red, arrows and broken shields still lodged in the ground, the great ram still lying undisturbed at the foot of the gates. Yet nature was reborn after the death of its tyrant, the grass, plants and flowers seemed to grow with the brightest colours, and the melodious chirping of birds echoed in the air.

A few rays of the dawning sun filtered through the window and gently caressed Sihtric's sharp features, and he groaned softly as he slowly awoke, feeling his body well rested as he slept without nightmares for the first time. Rubbing his tired eyes, he turned awkwardly to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. A sense of worry washed over him when he didn't find you by his side, and suddenly he felt as if he had been transported back in time to when he was in Tekil's service, living under the pressure of impressing a father who was barely aware of his presence.

But his worries quickly vanished when he felt the door to the room open and you appeared behind it with a broad smile on your face. Sihtric was unaware that you had awakened before the sun could greet the earth with a new day, and unnoticed you quietly took your horse from the stables and followed the route he had described to you the night before. 

The ride to the hawthorn tree was very quiet, full of unspoken emotions. Years had passed since he had visited his mother's grave, and he had never thought that he would return to bid her a final farewell and leave Dunholm, burying a past he had hoped to forget, but which had made him the warrior he was. 

After a short walk they reached a large hawthorn tree, and to Sihtric's relief it was the same one he had seen as a child, not even the violent storms of the past few days had wiped it out. His eyes darted down to its roots, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw: the blank stones that had made up the small mound of earth he had imagined burying his mother many years ago had been replaced by larger, white stones, decorated with symbols he recognised as drawn runes, carefully scattered around the perimeter of the grave. 

A sudden realisation came to him as he remembered the way you had greeted him at dawn, your dirty hands suggesting that you had been to the burial spot and tended to his mother's grave before accompanying him. A small bouquet of hawthorn was placed over the patch of earth, and Sihtric recognised it as the flower Elflaed used to pick when she returned to the forest, remembering her sweet smile as she caressed the white petals with her fingers. 

You both knelt in silence at the foot of the grave, clasping your pendants together as you both silently recited a prayer to the goddess Hel, asking her to watch over Elflaed's soul in the halls of Eljudnir in Helheim. 

As the last words were spoken in silence, the weight of the moment fell heavily on Sihtric, and without realising it, he saw small teardrops fall to the ground and looked up at the sky, thinking that a storm was about to break. But his eyes were too blurred to focus on the orange-blue sky, and he slowly realised that the soil was wet with his own tears. Unable to contain his emotions, the Dane buried his face in his hands and let out a liberating cry, his shoulders shaking with sobs. You reached over and wrapped your arms around his large shoulders, pressing your lips to his temple, leaving a small kiss as you held him tightly in your hands.

"Let it all out," you whispered softly, your voice comforting as you gave him gentle strokes on his back, "I am here with you as your mother, watching over you." 

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder as emotions overwhelmed you as well, and you silently let your tears flow as you cried for your own late mother, whose soul rested in Valhalla with your father and the other fallen warriors. 

You returned to the fortress in silence, following the thin stream of water backwards as you chose your route, your horses dragged by the reins. Halfway you halted your march, your pause forcing Sihtric to rest as well.

"Is something wrong, lady?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he saw you approach in silence, one of your fingers trailing over the pendant of his Mjolnir. You both looked into each other's eyes, your cheeks turning red simultaneously as you both filled your nostrils with each other's scent.

“Promise me that, when we have a baby girl, we will name her Elflaed,” you confessed light-heartedly with a shy smile, and the Dane warrior looked down at his feet as his face turned completely red, the redness reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“A-A baby girl?” he muttered, swallowing a mix of air and saliva while his mind was filled with endless thoughts. 

Sihtric fell in love with you the night he failed in his mission to kidnap Uhtred and was taken prisoner, the compassion in your eyes a thing that never left his mind. He secretly wanted to find the courage to confess his feelings for you and take you as his wife, but something prevented him: he was not afraid to face Uhtred, he knew that you were more stubborn than his lord and that your brother would have given you everything, however reluctantly. He was afraid of himself, afraid of failing to please or impress you. Uhtred was the rightful heir to a land he sought to reclaim, and though in exile, Finan was still an Irish prince by blood. Sihtric was only a bastard son, with no land to claim and no royal title to flaunt. 

"I... I am afraid I cannot satisfy you, lady," the Dane gently declined your offer, which was met with a puzzled look from you. He let out a sigh before speaking again, "I-I have nothing to offer you, lady. I have no land to rule, nor enough silver to give you. I am a nobody, lady, and as much as I love you and want to take you as my wife, I fear I could not make you happy."

"I do not need a rich and powerful lord to be happy," you replied, shaking your head as a light chuckle escaped your lips. You placed your hand gently on his cheek, tracing the scar on his cheekbone with your thumb. "There could be many lords in all of England who would be willing to claim my hand, but in my heart I know that the only man I will ever allow to be by my side is you," you continued, still holding his pendant in your other hand.

A pleasant tension filled the air as you both stared at each other, the wind the silent intruder in your union. Sihtric's large hands rested on your hips, your thumb still tracing his scar, a soft hum vibrating in the Dane's throat as he surrendered to your touch. 

"I love you, Sihtric Kjartansson," you said softly, your eyes full of love as you rested your gaze on his alluring bicoloured eyes, "to Valhalla and back.”

"And I love you, lady," Sihtric replied shyly, returning your gaze with the same intensity as yours, "to Valhalla and back."

And the distance between you disappeared.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm

[heartingw]

If you're too shy (let me know) - Ellie Williams

Warning: adult content even if not explicit; pining!ellie and pining!reader; ellie being lowkey a tease; kind of invasion of privacy; praising; making out; dina being a good friend; jesse is reader's brother, but reader's physical characteristics is not implied (safe space for all women); ellie being so damn in love with reader; heavy petting; joel is not dead here; a little bit perverted, but mostly romantic; maybe typos and bad writing since i'm not an english speaker; both pov's, but you'll know; also me being fucking cheesy, so if you don't like it, don't read the final 'letter'. I'm a romantic, sorry.

Words: almost 3k.

A/N: I hope it's not bad and too rushed. If you see anything weird in the writing, please let me know and I'll fix it immediately. I don't have a beta reader, so…

♥ To be Ellie's patrol partner you had to know that she often went on patrol looking extremely tired from spending hours of the night strumming her guitar, drawing, or writing songs.

Jesse and Dina were already used to trying to hold some kind of conversation with her - or gossip, Ellie loved a good gossip - to keep her awake and alert all the way back to Jackson in those days. But it was a little hard to do that all the time, since most of the time they didn't have much knowledge about her personal hobbies. And neither of them were particularly good at drawing or creative enough to write song lyrics.

That's why Ellie ended up, somehow, getting close to you.

Since you're Jesse's sister, she's known you pretty much since when she arrived in Jackson years ago. A shy girl who only answered when you were spoken to or when Jesse forced it out of you. Ellie never minded. In fact, she hadn't even paid much attention to you at first. Living in Jackson, having a peaceful life after the hell she and Joel had gone through had left her a little bewildered for the first few months.

Honestly, she only started talking to people because Dina decided that they would become best friends whether she wanted to or not and started talking to the green eyed girl at any opportunity. And Jesse, as a good boyfriend, went along.

Ellie was 16 when you heard her playing guitar at dawn on the porch of her house.

Though still a little shy, you apologized and immediately recognized the song Ellie was playing, one Joel had just taught her. Smiling and singing the rest of the lyrics that you had interrupted. And even a little embarrassed to have been seen playing outside, Ellie couldn't help but be intrigued by you for the first time in two years.

Over the time, the friendship grew as well as an internal conflict within Ellie.

She found that you liked several different types of music and sometimes hummed the lyrics to her. That your brother had found a music player that still worked and that you were able to charge it and since then you always listened to music before bed. That you, just like her, liked to write, but you never showed anything you wrote. Ellie didn't mind that much, tho. After all, she never showed anyone her private notes either.

She had noticed that you always had a soft smile when she played any song for you. That you had the habit of biting your lower lip and that you lifted your eyebrows while talking to people, giving them full attention.

She noticed that you rejected all men who approached you with the intention of flirting. And that you never looked at any of them with any kind of desire. Ellie also noticed how much you liked her hands and that your eyes always went to her mouth when she wet her lips with her tongue.

When Ellie realized how much she paid attention to you, she understood how fucked she was.

Jesse's sister. The girl she knew who had grown into a fucking beautiful woman. Who had also become a close friend. Who liked music, liked to write (God knows what), and that seemed genuinely curious when Ellie spoke some random curiosity about space.

Suddenly you had become the reason Ellie wrote romantic lyrics and poems during the night.

On your 22nd birthday Ellie found out she wasn't exactly discreet about her feelings for you. Her eyes widened when Dina sat next to her in your small party and asked if it was that year she would finally take her chance and confess to you.

Ellie didn't even know if you were into women, she wasn't going to spoil your friendship like that.

After most of the people had left the party, Ellie approached you. You looked fucking pretty in a summer dress and Ellie was feeling like crap for having to force herself not to look at your legs and breasts.

"Hey, I have something for you."

You interrupted what you were saying to Jesse and turned fully to her, a cheerful smile on your face. "Oh, so that's why you brought your backpack. I was wondering why you came here with it."

"Did you really think I wasn't going to give you anything for your birthday?" Ellie asked you with a side smile and teasing voice. "So much faith on me, I see."

She pulled a notebook out of her backpack. The cover was adorned with constellations and symbols of zodiac signs - Ellie had told you how people used to relate the day they were born to personalities and you had become obsessed with it.

Your eyes widened, delighted with the gift and your hands slowly moved towards the notebook, picking up gently while whispering her name like you couldn't believe what you were seeing. In the blink of an eye you already had your arms around her neck, hugging her tight and putting your face on her neck.

"Fuck, Ellie, thank you so, so much! I've wanted a new one for so long and Jesse never brought me one from patrols." Your voice was charged with emotion as you thanked her in her ear. Ellie knew that writing was like therapy for you – you'd already mentioned this several times –, she also remembered when you complained to her you had already filled out all the pages of your notebook and Jesse never brought a new one, but always brought something to Dina.

"Maybe I didn't give you one so you wouldn't write those things anymore, can you imagine if our parents read that?" Ellie's eyes turned to Jesse, who was smiling and teasing his sister with no real malice involved. "I didn't even know you knew those things. So intense that I blushed."

Quickly you turned to slap your brother's arm, your ears and cheeks red, and mouth slightly open with shock. "You weren't even supposed to have touched that notebook, let alone read it!" Your voice sounded high-pitched.

"My little sister, now a woman. Writing p- ow!" Dina pulled on Jesse's ear, causing a groan of pain from the man who then burst out laughing and gave you a bear hug. "Chill out, I'm just joking."

Ellie watched as Jesse laughed and you tried to get out of his embrace still trying to slap his arm weakly. Dina also laughed as she told her boyfriend to leave his sister alone.

If there was one thing Ellie was very proud of about herself, it was that she always minded her own business and respected others' privacy. But what her friend said was like a vortex in her head. Jesse asking what you would do if your parents read what you wrote. You, all red and embarrassed.

What the fuck do you write in your notebooks? ♥

It was one of those days that Ellie went on patrol extremely sleepy.

It wasn't something she was proud of, but this time it wasn't her fault. It was yours. What do you usually write? She thought maybe it was something like horror, but Ellie knew you were fearful and didn't like to be scared. And horror wouldn't leave that fucking beautiful red color on your cheeks.

Could it be something naughty?

God, Ellie fucking knew you had a perverted side that you let slip once or twice, but you're not as open about it as her or Dina. Did you write dirty stuff in your notebook? What would you write about? About characters you created? About people you knew? About yourself? Ellie scolded herself at the thought you could write about her.

If you were to write about her, what would you write?

"I hope there won't be any infected today or we will die in less than 2 minutes," Dina said with a teasing voice. "What got you so distracted today?"

Letting out a sigh, Ellie decided to trust Dina. It's not like her friend is going to tell Jesse what she was going to say anyway. If there's one thing Dina believed in the 'chicks before dicks' code. Honestly, Ellie needed to unravel before she went crazy.

"It's just," she cleared her throat. "I can't fucking stop thinking about what Jesse said at the party. About the notebook."

"Oh, that," the brunette let out a low chuckle as she shook her head. "Well, I might know a thing or two, but I won't tell you."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Thought I was your best friend." Ellie's voice sounded playful. "C'mon, throw me a bone."

Dina felt bad she was having so much fun at Ellie's expense, but she couldn't help but find it funny how the auburn-haired girl wanted to know anything that was related to you. As she got older, Ellie had become a more closed off person and disinterested in other people outside her personal circle. Seeing her grow closer to you was impressive to say, at least. Dina liked you much better than Cat.

"Look, Jesse didn't give many details, but that day he seemed a little dumbfounded by what he read," Dina spoke as she led her horse to go slower. They were arriving at the patrol building. "He commented something about how he didn't imagine you'd write those things, but that he should have expected it by now, since you're an adult."

When they arrived at the building, Ellie and Dina got off the horses and grabbed their backpacks. As they walked up the stairs, Dina wondered if she was doing the right thing by telling her friend what she knew, but she was tired of seeing the two of you obviously crushing on each other without doing anything about it.

"Listen up, I didn't tell you anything. You don't know anything! But Jesse said you wrote about girls. Intimate letters about girls. Now can you stop making excuses for yourself and try to get your fucking dream girl?"

Ellie was not religious, but she thanked God at that moment for the opportunity. You liking girls was a victory. Now she needed to convince you that the two of you would be fucking awesome together.

♥

If Ellie thanked God earlier, now she was cursing him. If he really existed, he was doing some kind of cruel test on her.

A simple and very organized room. It was easy to see what you liked when she walked in. Your books, your posters, your desk with some pencils and pens lying around. The slightly open drawer that Ellie could see the notebook she had given you as a gift inside.

She couldn't hear you in the bathroom, since it was downstairs. She didn't even know if you would take a long time in the shower. But her eyes were glued to the drawer and her fingers were itching to pick up the notebook and read at least one page of what you wrote.

"Fuck," she whispered as she got closer to the drawer. "I'm such a fucking bad person."

And it was at that moment that she, without making a noise, opened the drawer.

♥

Even with the world pretty much ending, you loved the fact that Jackson allowed people to have a little bit of peace. This allowed you to dress more comfortably - you were not one of the people responsible for patrols - so wearing dresses, for example, wasn't a problem for you. And you liked it.

Which led you to wear a dress today. Today, the day Ellie had arranged to watch a movie with you. In her house.

With limited resources, you had to make do with the basics of personal hygiene. Soap and a simple shampoo did their best to keep you clean and smelling good. And you had to admit you used it a lot to always make a good impression on Ellie.

The girl with a freckled face and green eyes you've been in love with since you were 14 years old.

But today Ellie was acting differently. Ever since you came out of the bathroom, already dressed, she was acting weird. Not a bad weird, but weird all the same.

You could tell Ellie was touching you more than usual. Her hand guiding you by soft touches in you back while taking you to her house, sending shivers down your neck. Her whispering things in your ear as if she was telling you a secret and 'unintentionally' touching her lips to your ear while sitting on her couch during the movie. Her voice sounding hoarser than usual. Jesus Christ, you didn't even know someone's voice could sound so hot.

Ever since you met Ellie, she had never spoken or acted like this to you. Maybe it was because you were Jesse's sister or she wasn't attracted to you. The only thing you had was your imagination. And you imagined a lot of things with Ellie Williams.

Your notebooks were proof of that.

What you weren't expecting was a scene of a couple kissing deeply in the movie. It was a suspense movie you didn't even remember the title. The chances of those characters dying were high, but at that moment, the man was pulling the woman by her hair while devouring her mouth. Fuck, you could see their tongue inside each other's mouths.

With your body rigid with embarrassment and your throat dry, you could feel your face heat up as you took a deep breath. Then you felt Ellie's eyes on you. Her hand slowly reached yours while she got closer, her shoulders touching your when she slightly leaned forward staring into your eyes.

"Hey," her voice low, she was so close you could feel her breath hitting your cheeks. You didn't look in her direction. "You alright?"

The guy took off the woman's blouse while kissing her neck. The woman let out a moan as she tried to rip off his shirt. Your eyes turned to Ellie's and you gave her a faint smile. "Yeah, I'm good."

Emerald eyes stared at your mouth. Her face tilted slightly as she moved closer and closer. The hand that had previously touched yours was now holding your chin lightly not allowing you to move your face away from her. Not that you really wanted to. "Bet you are."

Her lips were like a phantom touch, making you crave for her. Her nose lightly caressing yours. Ellie could get you mesmerized easily. The moans became background noise. "Ellie..."

"Let me kiss you," she sounded almost desperate. You wondered if she wanted you as much as you wanted her. "I promise it'll be good. It's going to be so fucking good."

Kissing ellie was hot as lava.

♥

Kissing girls has always been good. They were soft everywhere, and it felt so good to feel every bit of them during the kiss. Their arms around her neck, the soft waist that Ellie loved to squeeze against her. Their weight on her lap and their breasts pressed against hers. The moans they let out against her mouth. Kissing women made perfect sense to Ellie.

But kissing you was a fucking whole new experience.

Maybe it was the feelings involved. Ellie remembers that Dina had mentioned how special it was to be with someone you really loved. Now she gets it. She understands the way you kiss her back so enthusiastically, as if you've been waiting for her all your life. She understands because she's been writing songs about what it would be like to feel your mouth against her.

Her hands ran down your back and arms until they stopped at your waist, pushing you against the couch. Your body didn't reject hers, you obeyed Ellie's silent commands without a second thought. Your hands went to her neck, pulling her against you. Your legs wrapped around her waist, making your pretty dress slip up to your hips.

Every piece of clothing that came out, Ellie was more sure that you were everything she ever wanted. Your fucking delicious moans, your warm skin against hers, your mouth demanding hers, your hands running possessively down her body, you whining her name. The way you fucking begged her.

The way you fucking tasted against her mouth.

You, with a thin blanket of sweat on your skin guiding her to the ground, climbing on top of her, kissing her body in every way. Using your tongue to send shivers down every part of Ellie's body. Calling her beautiful, while kissing her stomach and lightly squeezing her breasts.

"I've always dreamed of this." Your voice came out fluttered as you made your way between her legs.

Ellie fucking loved space. And she felt you show her the whole fucking universe with your tongue.

♥

"If your freckles spread over the rest of your body like on your face, I would kiss and caress each of her with my tongue. Did you know that? All I can think about at night is your husky voice saying my name as I imagine you lying next to me in bed. Your fingers dancing through my body and your mouth glued to mine as if you can't ever let me go. And I wouldn't. Not where you can't reach me. I wonder if I would ever have the courage to hand you these letters. If I'll be able to taste you one day as I always write on these pages. Holding you in my arms while I drink everything you can offer me between your legs. I wouldn't let you go until all you could think about was me.

I don't know if I'd be enough for you, Ellie.

But I would give everything for you to love me as I love you. To kiss me like you kiss me whenever I think of you while I make myself come in my own hands."

[imeanyourmomsprettyhot]

You Have No Right II Aemond Targaryen

part two

story masterlist / masterlist

summary: Driven by sheer desire, the One-Eyed Prince tries to find the woman that caused his sleepless nights full of lust and frustration.

warnings: female!reader, dark and possessive Aemond, sexual scenes, violent scenes

tag list (comment if you want to be added to the list):

@anehkael @aemonds-fire @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy @devils-blackrose @ruhjkie

══════════════════

The weeks passed by, and the girl found to enjoy the time at The Red Keep. Attending Princess Helaena was something she looked out to, everyday. It was hard work, that was for sure, but she grew to like it.

The night before, she was asked to wake up two hours early—she did not question it and did as she was told to. The day started as usual: She woke up, got dressed, did her hair, and went outside. But that morning, she met the hazel eyes of Laurane, who seemed to be awaiting her.

"Good morning," the girl greeted, wondering what she wanted from her.

"Good morning," she replied, "I'm sorry to throw you out of bed so early."

Laurane gave the girl a warm smile, before signaling her to follow her.

"Sanda has gotten sick. Poor thing, can't even get up without puking," she began, "So I will be needing you to attend Prince Aemond today now as well."

'Prince Aemond?' Did she really need to do this now? Her first encounter with The Prince left her fully angry, but she knew that anger had all left, and fear crept up her spine again.

The things people in the city were saying about The Prince. How he's on to killing his own nephews and Princess Rhaenyra anyway. That he's and evil person, wanting to kill anyone with his dragon.

Of course, those were just rumors, but everyone said them. A little bit of truth can be found in anything.

As they got closer to the Prince's chambers, the girl could feel the anxiety rushing through her, over and over again. Walking was hard, breathing was even harder. She felt like she unlearned those things all of sudden.

She tried to calm herself down. Telling herself that 'those things were just rumors, whispered between dark, pity, and poor people.' And it worked in some way. Her breathing steadied and she could feel her heart stop hammering in her chest.

The two arrived at Prince Aemond's bedchamber, and the girl knocked. Laurane had already left, when the young maidservant opened the door.

She entered the chamber, and Prince Aemond woke up immediately—it was like he felt someone's presence in his sleep.

"Good morning, my Prince," the girl greeted, hiding her frightened trembles in the darkness of the room.

She walked over to the windows. While drawing the curtains open, she felt the gaze of the Targaryen prince on her—it left a burning sensation on her skin. A feeling of unease spread in her entire body, but she had to get over it. Had to get her work done properly.

The room did not lit up by much. It was very early in the morning, so it was still gloomy and dark outside—Prince Aemond started his days off earlier than the rest of the royals.

The girl brought light to the room, by lighting the candles. She turned around, and just now, she was able to see The Prince in the corner of her eye.

This bedchamber looked a lot paler than Princess Helaena's did. It wasn't cozy or warm at all. No tapestry was hanging on the wall, only one carpet laid beside his bed. It did not look like the chamber of one of The King's sons, as it was so lifeless.

A white-blonde head approached her. But as she turned around, a quiet gasp escaped her mouth—she prayed to the gods that The Prince did not hear it. He walked through his chamber, wearing...nothing.

She should have known. It would not have been such a surprise, if she just thought about it beforehand. Princess Helaena, as well as all women, always wore her night gown. Men did not do that.

The young girl looked away from her Prince immediately, rushing over to his closet. She tried to escape his presence, as she felt her cheeks warm up.

"Where is my usual maidservant?" He suddenly asked.

She had to turn back around to face him—that was the only respectful way, one was allowed to interact with the highborned. He did not care for his maid to see him completely naked—and that bothered the girl.

She accidentally took a glance at his bare torso, eyeing at his toned muscles, and pale skin. She rapidly looked him back in the eye.

"I'm sorry, Sanda has fallen ill, my Prince," she explained, "I will be attending you for the moment."

He stood there, completely still. His stare burning holes in her body, as he looked up and down her face. He was so concentrated on it that the girl wondered what he was up to. But The Prince just hummed in response, before making his way to the bath.

"My riding clothes," he ordered, right before disappearing in the other chamber.

The girl rummaged around the closet, until she found the Prince's riding clothes for his dragon. She waited a few more moments, for The Prince to come back and get his clothing.

"What takes you so long?" An annoyed shout, echoed from the bath, and the girl hurried over to it.

The Prince wanted her to bring him his clothing. She wondered if he liked how embarrassed she felt, seeing him all naked. He was amused by the girl's cheeks flushing and how desperately she tried to keep her eyes from moving down his body.

"I apologize, my Prince."

And he hummed again.

She placed the clothing on the shelf and left the bath, without daring another glance at him. The Prince came back soon after, gladly fully clothed.

The girl stood beside his desk, filling the bowl up with fresh water. She felt his burning look on her again, and turned back around to face him. He was still staring at her, and thinking about something.

"Is there anything else I could to for you, my Prince?" She asked, her hands lying flat on her thighs.

Prince Aemond examined her whole body, raising one of his eyebrows. His arms were folded behind his back. The girl felt so small under his gaze, and he could smell how coy she was.

"Do I know you?" He inquired all of sudden.

The girl found his question so strange.

"No, I don't believe so, my Prince," she denied, "I am attending your sister, you have only seen me in her chambers."

He looked at her for a few more moments, before humming again.

"No, I won't be needing you right now." He told her, and she started walking towards the door, "I will order a bath, once I arrive back."

The girl bowed her head at her Prince, and left his chambers. Though, she found the latest encounter questionable, she did not bother to think about it any longer.

She opened the door to Princess Helaena's chambers, who was, all to her surprise, already waiting for her. The curtains were drawn open and the young Princess was impatiently walking up and down the floor, still in her night gown.

As soon as she noticed her maidservant enter, she came rushing towards her. The girl's head filled with confusion.

"My apologies, Princess. I did not expect you to be up so early," she explained.

"Didn't I told you to be careful?!" Princess Helaena shouted at her, as soon as she finished her sentence.

More questions loaded the girl's mind.

"I-I...I'm sorry, my Princess, but what are you talking about?" The girl mumbled, startled from her Princess.

She harshly grabbed onto the girl's shoulders, who jumped up from the sudden touch.

"Listen to me, when I tell you to stay away from him! He's driven by forces you don't understand!"

'Stay away from him'? 'Forces you don't understand'? What was she trying to tell the girl?

"Princess, who are you talking about?" The maidservant asked.

"You and him!"

"Who?" She repeated.

"I...I don't know..." Princess Helaena looked like she came back to her body, as a sudden fog spread over the clearness in her eyes.

The Princess now looked as confused as the young girl did. She tries to grasp the thought, the picture, whatever it was that she just had in mind. But she couldn't. It was gone.

"What do you think about a beige dress for today?" Princess Helaena just suddenly asked, like nothing had happened before.

The girl was too stunned to say anything for a moment. Was it really just The Princess' confused mind that was saying those strange words? Or was she actually a woman of prophecy, like she was told, weeks ago?

Princess Helaena's words were not going to leave the girl's head. They repeated, and repeated, and repeated themselves.

After she heard them for the first time, she didn't thought about them for weeks, but now they did not want to leave her. She wasn't able to think about something else for the rest of the day.

The girl was outside, hanging clothing up to dry, when the sky suddenly darkened. She looked up, to see where the darkness came from, but a huge black shadow startled her.

It was the large body of Vhagar, Prince Aemond's dragon, that was blinding the light of the sun—he had returned from his flight.

The girl hurried to his chambers, to prepare his bath. She got stronger everyday, so carrying the heavy buckets of water, from the fireplace to the tub, wasn't such a challenge than it was back then.

She was almost finished, when the door to the chamber opened, and her Prince came stomping in. He was angry, raging and cursing around, until he noticed the maidservant.

He immediately went silent, and moved to the bath. The moment he entered, the whole room filled with the strench of dragon. This smell was not in any way close to something she knew. It smelled somewhat like a hundred cowsheds, but nothing even close to a cowshed, at the same time.

"Good evening, my Prince," the girl greeted

The Prince's heavy, angry breathing calmed down. He opened up the laces of his clothing, but seemed to struggle.

The girl rushed over to him, helping him to undress himself. She undid the laces of his leather arm protectors, and brushed them off his wrists. Her soft fingers, slightly brushed over his chest, as she was opening up his riding clothes.

He shivered at her touch, and he was confused as of why. She helped him pull up his shirt, before getting back to the fireplace, to finish filling up the tub.

He got out of his pants, and was once again fully naked. But the girl was now less bothered by it, as she was busy with her work. The Prince got into the tub, and the young maid poured the last bucket of water in it.

She was about to place the wooden bucket down, when The Prince opened his mouth.

"If you could fill it again, so I can clean my scar, you are free to go for today," he calmly said.

"Do you want me to help you with that, my Prince?" She asked, fully determined to give him any help she could, as he seemed quite helpless—even though that was not how The Prince's reputation made it seem like.

"You don't have to, it's not nice to look at," he admitted.

He seemed insecure about his scar. The girl understood that. Prince Lucerys took his eye when they were children. Since then, whole King's Landing was talking about The One-Eyed, mutilated, now-ugly Prince. It was horrific. And it definitely was known to The Prince, how the people talked about him.

"I gladly offer my help, my Prince. But if you are uncomfortable-"

"I'm not." He interrupted her, before she could finish her sentence.

He looked at her for a few more moments, before slowly moving his hand to the piece of leather laying over his eye. She made her way to the fireplace, to fill up the bucket with warm water.

As she turned around, she couldn't believe her eyes. She thought she'd see a scary, disgusting, empty eye socket. But it was utterly beautiful, instead. Where Prince Aemond's eye once was, sat now a large sapphire gemstone. It was shining so blue, that he looked absolutely magical.

She was so astonished by it that she didn't realize how she was staring at him. She stood completely still, just looking at his face.

"If you want to leave, you are free to go," he said, pulling her out of her trance.

She awkwardly looked around the room.

"I'm sorry, my Prince," she began apologizing, "I-I just didn't expect this, I am so sorry. I was just amazed by the beauty, if I'm allowed to say that."

She looked down on the floor, too embarrassed by what she had done. She expected The Prince's wrath coming upon her, but all to her surprise, he started laughing.

"Amazed by the beauty?" He repeated what she just had said, "That's the first time I heard someone say this!"

Relief flushed over her body. She had to chuckle at his response as well. It wasn't only the girl who was surprised. Prince Aemond never expected a single soul to call his face 'beautiful'. It made him think...

She kneeled beside the tub, eye level to her Prince. She dipped a clean cloth in the warm water, and slowly and carefully stoked over the skin around Prince Aemond's eye.

His eyebrows flinched in pain, and the girl stopped.

"Am I hurting you, my Prince?" She asked, clearly concerned.

"It's alright. It is worse when I do it myself," he smiled at her.

This was probably the first time she saw The Prince smile. She never even heard about him smiling about something. A warm feeling spread inside of her, at the sudden kindness of him.

She continued, and Prince Aemond was staring at her the whole time. She tried not to be bothered by it, tried to ignore it as best as she could. As she was done cleaning his scar, she got up.

"And you are sure, we don't know each other?" He suddenly asked, as she was about to leave.

"I'm just a maidservant, my Prince. How could we know each other?" She smiled at him, confused about this question again.

He just hummed in response, and the girl left.

It got dark, The Red Keep was asleep, but the young maid could still not banish The Princess' voice from her mind—it was driving her insane.

The hours passed by like a dream. She felt stuck in her body, watching as something took over her, and worked her chores, while she was punished inside, listening to her Princess' prophecy, over and over again.

It was late at night, but she had to finish folding the laundry of The Princes. She stood in the hallway that led to one of the lesser known exits of the castle, right to Blackwater Bay.

It wasn't as guarded as it probably should be, but the chance to unknowingly sneak into the castle from the water side, was pretty low.

The young maid enjoyed working at night. It was quiet, peaceful, and calming—especially after her thoughts had haunted her the whole day. But that quiet and peaceful ambience got interrupted by loud footsteps, echoing through the halls.

A horror crept up the girl's spine, as no one was supposed to be awake by that time. Who's steps could be coming closer to her?

Her heartbeat began racing, as the footsteps got faster, sounding like someone's running—running exactly towards her. The girl pulled together all the bravery she had, and walked towards the sound.

Her hands were sweaty, and she could feel her breath laying heavy on her chest. But she kept going.

She was about to turn to another hallway, when for a moment, everything got black. She opened up her eyes again, feeling the cold floor on her back, and a warm weight on top of her.

Someone ran into her, making her fall to the ground. She looked up to find a cloaked man, over her. His hands were placed left and right on the ground. She could feel his breath on her face.

But as she looked him in the face, her heart just stopped beating. It was him. She stopped thinking about him, after a while. She never guessed, she'd see him again, anyways. It was unbelievable. Unbelievable that he was now just inches away from her. Was she dreaming?

The cloak, the piece of leather over his eye, and the white strands of hair, falling over his face. There was no doubt. It was him—the man that had saved her back in the city, when she was out for her mother's needs.

What was he doing in the castle? Why was he here? And would he even remember her? She didn't even knew his name.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," the girl apologized.

The man's eye widened at what the young maid just called him. No one called him 'sir' in a long time. He quickly got up, and with incredible speed, he ran away to the exit of the castle.

The girl wondered, if he recognized her. Why didn't he say anything to her, or at least help her up? Those questions held her up that night, but what made her mind crack the most, was the fact that her savior was somewhere in the castle. He was somewhere working here, the whole time, and she did not notice—she felt so stupid.

<< next chapter >>

[livingponcho]

My bones and spirit

A Ben Clark fanfic

Ben always had a hunch that he was different than the boys in his class. Music made him feel things, he was shy, he never really had any interest in the idea of being a prince or a being the man, he enjoyed being called pretty, and enjoyed the thought of wearing makeup and dresses (not that he ever did that) When he was young he wanted to look pretty like his mom, to sing like the cool woman and man he listens to on the radio.

As he grew he started to think about it less and less, but still the idea of being a girl never really changed. The problem was that he knew he was a boy, he liked his voice that was soft and slightly deep. He liked being a boy, so maybe he was just slightly more open.

A lot Changed when he lost his voice, everything felt wrong. His face was wrong, he was filled with an anger and emptiness that made everything seem like nothing. He was lost, getting in fights almost every moment of living hoping that maybe he’d feel better. Was he even a man; his voice the soft and the slight deep of it, blue was no longer a thing that made him feel good or safe. The idea of being a man didn’t, at least not completely. Everything felt different, numb.

He had just recently started living with his cousin, Aiden. Sometimes his aunt would leave some her makeup at the house, when they were off on business trips. Gods did he want to be pretty, for someone to look at her and think he was a handsome man and a pretty girl. At the time she didn’t know why he was having thoughts like this. He was trying to be less aggressive, music helped; while looking for something new to add to his playlist she found a song. ‘Rebel rebel -David Bowie’ was not new by any means but it made Ben feel something. Ben saw himself in the song, to be honest she wasn’t sure if he was boy or if she was girl. There was very little that he actually knew, he knew that he fine with being a boy and that he never felt wrong about being a boy, she knew that she liked the idea of being pretty, and wearing makeup and dresses. So maybe he was just gender nonconforming.

It finally clicked when she was messaging Logan about not fitting into the stereotype of a man. They were talking about how it’s honestly stupid that they are expected to be outgoing and to not have emotions. As the conversation went on topics of makeup, clothing came up. Ben mentioned how men never talk about the want to be seen as a woman and to be a pretty girl. when Logan sent her:

Logan: buddy that not a common thing. That sounds like gender envy- (I think I’m using it right one of my club mates told me about it, with their transition and stars being something that gives them gender envy)

Ben: wait what?

Logan: do you commonly wish to be a girl or seen as one?

Ben: I mean yeah, but doesn’t everyone?

Logan: no

Logan: Are you trans? or nonbinary! I’m not the best educated on this but if you are that perfectly fine!!!

Ben: you don’t wish you were a girl?

Logan: nope

Logan: I’m here if you need me :))

Ben: I might need a moment.

Ben sat on his bed thinking, he thought all people just kinda wanted to be a little bit of both. He knew he was a boy. He never felt like he wasn’t a boy but, the more she looked backed she never really felt like she wasn’t a girl. She liked makeup, he liked music, and she liked drawing, and his friends. Was she a girl? Ben felt like he was a little bit of both, he was a boy but also a girl at the same time. In the moment a lot of things made sense but also she had so many questions and felt a little lost. Could she be both? She felt like he was. Turning back over he sees that Logan texted him a link, it was to a website on gender identity and expression. Maybe she didn’t need to know everything, he a was boy the same as she was a girl.

[foodandfolklore]

The Story of Valentine's Day

So what's up with Valentine's Day? Is it just a holiday made up to sell flowers, chocolate, and jewelry? Well...no. Though it is the main reason why it's still exists today. So much so that Valentine's Day is banned in some countries that frown on western customs. Other Countries adopted their own customs inspired by Valentines Day, like in Japan. Women are the ones to give men they like chocolate on February 14. Then, in March, these men are expected to gift them white chocolate in return.

I think many of us who grew up in the west are aware that Valentine's Day is named after the Catholic Saint Valentine. An older name is 'The feast of St Valentine' since before chocolate and flowers, people had a feast to celebrate. But who was this person?

The story goes that Valentine (Could of been a man or woman, we're not sure. There were a lot of Valentines) was spreading the word of the Christian God and Jesus as a Priest. They went against the Emperor's decree, and married soldiers to their loved ones. I'm not entirely clear why the Emperor had an issue with soldiers getting married, but I'm guessing the lead in the pipes were getting to them.

Valentine was found out and arrested, and was sentenced to death. While they awaited their sentencing, they helped take care of the other prisoners. The jailer's daughter, who was blind, was also there (for some reason) and they helped to look after her. They did such a good job, they cured her blindness and fell in love with her. Before being put to death, they gave her a letter simply signed "From your Valentine" thus being the official first Valentine.

The Church later named Valentine a Saint, and degreed a celebration to happen every year on February 14. Which is apparently when they were executed. However, there was also an old Roman celebration that the Church was trying to get rid of called "Lupercalia". Lupercalia was a purifying, fertility celebration to Juno that lasted from February 13 to February 15. Animal sacrifices, naked racing, and a massive feast was held. The church didn't like 2 of these 3 main events, so their new holiday just had a feast.

We get the Romance later when a 14th century poet, Geoffrey Chaucer, writes his poem "Parlement of Foules". It draws a conection between Valentines Day and the start of Bird Mating season, sparking the romantic interest. Many couples followed for years after, sending poems to one another to express affection. Later, during the 1800s, when the printing press became a thing, pre made and pre written poems/rhymes were mass produced as cards. And people bought them.

So, in summery, Valentines Day seems to of been created by the Church to erase a Pagan Celebration. Then, Society decided to associate it with love. Which is kinda Sweet. But now we're in the age of consumerism, and it's another excuse to sell us stuff.

At the end of the day; If you don't want to celebrate Valentines Day, than don't. I've personally never gotten into it, even with Partners. Some people feel like it's a downer cause they're single. Others feel like there's too much pressure to be perfect. And some just can't justify the expense.

That said, if you WANT to celebrate modern Valentines Day, all the power to you! Some people love it, with or without a partner. So if that's your jam, and you can afford to go all out, do it! It makes you happy to get chocolate and flowers, or dress up and go out to eat. For some it's like a hobby. Someone once made the comparison to me like the super bowl. You look forward to it all year, buy a bunch of junk, and then enjoy with people who are also into it. Now, I'm not into sports either, but I understand the mindset. It's like Conventions or dressing up to go see the premier of a movie. Other people may not see the point, but you enjoy it so who cares?

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

So, I was trying to see if there were any articles on Cher and her homophobia. I couldn't find any from my quick Google search. But I ended up looking up her trans kid, and came across this:

The complete lack of seeing women as 3 dimensional human beings. "... Upset my girlfriend and didn't know why -- in the same way that men do" has SUCH ugly ass implications, I don't even know where to begin. For starters, have you always been 100% certain what you did to a man that upset him? Secondly, you not understanding why your gf is upset at you does not make you akin to a man--you thinking that there's no way of figuring out why your gf is upset at you and that's it's a useless endeavor is what makes you akin to a man.

I'm just being cheeky though. Because even though I just said that, I have to acknowledge the fact that these statements were NOT made by a man. this is a woman feeling this way and saying this shit. A woman who never once grew out of the "not like other girls" mindset. A woman who internalized the way women are depicted: shallow, dramatic, unreasonable.

It's so fucking ugly.

God knows what her mother's homophobia did to her on top of all that.

Also, christ, the line about "I don't think I understand women particularly better" is infuriating. As if women are a monolith. What does it mean to "understand women"? Seriously. What does it mean? What would someone with a perfect understanding of women look like? What traits would they have that differs from someone who understands men?

You can't "understand women" because that would require you to understand multiple different world views. For example: If you can understand, relate to, and defend a rich conservative woman who is deeply religious, you will probably NOT be able do the same with a poor lesbian woman.

There are women who lack empathy. There are women who cry at the news. There are women who are evil. There are women who are kind-hearted. There are women who are sadistic. There are women who put others before themselves. There are women who never want to be mothers. There are women who dream about it.

When faced with all of these people, how would you go about "understanding women"?

Do you think your girlfriend's understood why you viewed them as irrational and vapid?

How would you feel if one of those women decided to undergo transition and stated that their lack of understanding how you handled the relationship was proof that they were like a man because they couldn't understand you? Because not being able to understand you, one specific woman, was enough to draw conclusions about all women?

Why do you think it's okay to do the same to them?

[themousefromfantasyland]

The Tale of the Dead Princess and the Seven Knights

Or, russian Snow White and the seven Bogatyrs, legendary slavic warriors, similar to the knight-errant in Western tradition

This is a 1833 poem by russian poet Aleksandr Pushkin, inspired by the childhood tales told by his nurse. It's basically russian Snow White, been astonishly closer to the Disney film than the original Brothers Grimm's fairy tale

With his suite the Tsar departed. The Tsarina tender-hearted at the window sat alone, wishing he would hurry home.

All day every day she waited, gazing till her dedicated eyes grew weak from overstrain, gazing at the empty plain. Not a sign of her beloved!

Nothing but the snowflakes hurried, heaping drifts upon the lea. Earth was white as white could be. Nine long months she sat and waited, kept her vigil unabated.

Then from God on Christmas Eve, she a daughter did receive. Next day early in the morning, love and loyalty rewarding. Home again from travel far, came at last the father-Tsar.

One fond glance at him she darted, gasped for joy with thin lips parted. Then fell back upon her bed and by prayer-time was dead.

Long the Tsar sat lonely, brooding. But he, too, was only human.

Tears for one sad year he shed... And another woman wed.

She (if one be strictly truthful) was a born Tsarina. Youthful, slim, tall, fair to look upon. Clever, witty, and so on.

But she was in equal measure stubborn, haughty, wilful, jealous. In her dowry rich and vast was a little looking-glass.

It had this unique distinction: It could speak with perfect diction. Only with this glass would she in a pleasant humour be.

Many times a day she'd greet it and coquettishly entreat it:

"Tell me, pretty looking-glass, nothing but the truth, I ask: Who in all the world is fairest, and has beauty of the rarest?"

And the looking-glass replied:

"You, it cannot be denied. You in all the world are fairest and your beauty is the rarest."

The Tsarina laughed with glee, shrugged her shoulders merrily, puffed her cheeks and bat her eyelids, flicked her fingers coyly, slyly, pranced around with hand on hips, arrogance upon her lips.

All this time the Tsar's own daughter quietly, as Nature taught her, grew and grew, and came quite soon like a flower into bloom: Raven-browed, of fair complexion, breathing kindness and affection.

And the choice of fiance lighted on Prince Yelisei. Suit was made. The Tsar consented and her dowry was indented:

Seven towns with wealthy store. Mansion-houses, sevenscore. On the night before the wedding, for a bridal party dressing, the Tsarina, time to pass, chatted with her looking-glass:

"Who in all the world is fairest, and has beauty of the rarest?"

Then what did the glass reply?

"You are fair, I can't deny. But the Princess is the fairest. And her beauty is the rarest."

Up the proud Tsarina jumped. On the table how she thumped, angrily the mirror slapping, slipper heel in fury tapping!

"O you loathsome looking-glass, telling lies as bold as brass! By what right is she my rival?Such young folly I shall bridle. So she's grown up? Me to spite! Little wonder she's so white: With her bulging mother gazing. At that snow?What's so amazing! Now look here, explain to me. How can she the fairer be? Scour this realm of ours and seek well, nowhere shall you find my equal. Is not that the truth?" she cried.

Still the looking-glass replied:

"But the Princess is the fairest and her beauty is the rarest."

The Tsarina burst with spite, hurled the mirror out of sight, underneath the nearest cupboard, and when breath she had recovered, summoned Smudge, her chamber maid and to her instructions gave:

"Take the Princess to the forest. Bind her hand and foot and forehead to a tree! When wolves arrive let them eat the girl alive!"

Woman's wrath would daunt the devil! Protest was no use whatever.

Soon the Princess left with Smudge for the woods. So far they trudged that the Princess guessed the reason. Scared to death by such foul treason, loud she pleaded:

"Spare my life! Innocent of guilt am I! Do not kill me, I beseech you! And when I become Tsarina I shall give you rich reward."

Smudge, who really loved her ward, being loth to kill or bind her, let her go, remarking kindly:

"God be with you! Do not moan!"

And, this said, went back alone.

"Well?" demanded the Tsarina. "Where's that pretty little creature?"

"In the forest on her own," Smudge replied. "And there she'll stay. To a tree I firmly lashed her. When a hungry beast attacks her, she'll have little time to cry, and the quicker she shall die!"

Rumour spread and caused a panic: "What, the Tsar's own daughter vanished!"

Mournful was the Tsar that day, but the young Prince Yelisei offered God a fervent prayer and departed then and there, to seek out and homeward guide, his sweet-tempered, youthful bride.

Meanwhile his young bride kept walking through the forest until morning, vague as to her whereabouts.

Suddenly she spied a house. Out a dog ran growling, yapping, then sat down, his tail tap-tapping. At the gate there was no guard. All was quiet in the yard.

Close at heel the good dog bounded as the Princess slowly mounted stairs to gain the living floor, turned the ring upon the door.

Silently the door swung open and before her eyes unfolded a bright chamber: all around benches strewn with rugs she found, board of oak beneath the ikon and a stove with tiles to lie on.

To the Princess it was clear, kindly folk were dwelling here, who would not deny her shelter.

No one was at home, however. So she set to, cleaned the pans, made the whole house spick and span, lit a candle in the corner, fed the fire to be warmer, climbed onto the platform bed, there to lay her sleepy head.

Dinner time. The yard resounded, horses stamped and men dismounted. Thick-moustached and ruddy-skinned, seven lusty Knights walked in.

Said the Eldest: "How amazing! All so neat! The fire blazing! Somebody's been cleaning here, and is waiting somewhere near. Who is there? Come out of hiding! Be a friend in peace abiding! If you're someone old and hoar, be our uncle evermore! If you're young and love a scuffle.We'll embrace you as a brother. If a venerable dame, then shall 'mother' be your name. If a maiden fair, we'll call you our dear sister and adore you."

So the Princess rose, came down to the Seven Knights and bowed. Her good wishes emphasising, blushing and apologising that to their delightful home uninvited she had come.

Straight they saw her speech bore witness to the presence of a Princess.

So they cleared a corner seat, offered her a pie with meat, filled a glass with wine and served it on a tray, as she deserved it.

But the glass of heady wine she politely did decline, and the pie she broke with caution, savouring a tiny portion.

Pleading she was very tired, soon she gracefully retired and the Seven Knights conveyed her to the best and brightest chamber and, away as they did creep, she was falling fast asleep.

Days flew by? The Princess living all the time without misgiving, in the forest, never bored, with the Seven Knights abroad.

Darkness would the earth still cover when at dawn the seven brothers would ride out to try their luck with a long-bow, shooting duck.

She, as lady of the house, rose much later, moved about dusting, polishing and cooking, never once the Knights rebuking. They, too, never chided her. Days flew by like gossamer.

And in time they grew to love her. Thereupon all seven brothers, shortly after dawn one day, to her chamber made their way, and the Eldest Knight addressed her:

"As you know, you are our sister. But all seven of us here are in love with you, my dear, and we all desire your favours. But that must not be. God save us! Find some way to give us peace! Be a wife to one at least, to the rest remain a sister! But you shake your head. Is this to say our offer you refuse? Nothing from our stock you'll choose?"

"O my brave and bonny brothers, virtuous beyond all others!"

In reply the Princess'said, "God in heaven strike me dead if my answer be not honest: I've no choice. My hand is promised! You're all equal in my eyes, all so valiant and wise, and I love you all, dear brothers! But my heart is to another pledged for evermore. One day I shall wed Prince Yelisei!"

Hushed, the brothers kept their station, scratched their foreheads in frustration.

"As you wish! So now we know," said the Eldest with a bow.

"Pray, forgive us, and I promise you'll hear nothing further from us!"

"I'm not angry," she replied. "By my pledge I must abide."

Bowing low, the seven suitors left her room with passions muted. So in harmony again did they live and friendship reign.

The Tsarina was still livid, every time she saw in vivid memory the Princess fair.

Long the mirror, lying there, was the object of her hatred;

But at last her wrath abated. So one day it came to pass, that she took the looking-glass, up again and sat before it, smiled and, as before, implored it:

"Greetings, pretty looking-glass! Tell me all the truth, I ask: Who in all the world is fairest, and has beauty of the rarest?"

Said the mirror in reply:

"You are fair, I can't deny. But where Seven Knights go riding, in a green oak-grove residing, humbly lives a person who is more beautiful than you."

The Tsarina's wrath descended on her maid: "What folly tempted you to lie? You disobeyed!"

Smudge a full confession made...

Uttering a threat of torture, the Tsarina grimly swore to send the Princess to her death, or not draw another breath.

One day by her window waiting for her brothers homeward hasting, sat the young Princess and span.

Suddenly the dog began barking. Through the courtyard scurried a poor beggar-woman, worried by the dog she kept at bay with her stick.

"Don't go away! Stay there, stay!" the Princess shouted, from the window leaning outward.

"Let me call the dog to heel, and I'll offer you a meal."

And the beggar-woman answered: "Pretty child, you take my fancy! For that dog of yours, you see, could well be the death of me. See him snarling, bristling yonder! Come here, child!"

The Princess wanted to go out, and took a loaf. But the dog its body wove round her feet, refused to let her step towards the woman-beggar.

When the woman, too, drew near, wilder than an angry bear, it ttacked her. How perplexing!

"Had a bad night's sleep, I reckon!" Said the Princess. "Catch it! There!"

And the bread flew through the air. The poor beggar-woman caught it.

"I most humbly thank you, daughter, God be merciful!" said she. "In return take this from me!"

The bright apple she was holding, newly picked, fresh, ripe and golden, straight towards the Princess flew...

How the dog leapt in pursuit! But the Princess neatly trapped it in her palms.

"Enjoy the apple at you leisure, little pet! Thank you for the loaf of bread..."

Said the beggar-woman, brandished in the air her stick and vanished...

Up the stairs the Princess ran with the dog, which then began pitifully staring, whining, just as if its heart were pining for the gift of speech to say: "Throw that apple far away!"

Hastily his neck she patted: "Hey, Sokolko, what's the matter? Lie down!"

Entering once more her own room, she shut the door, sat there with her spindle humming, waiting for her brothers' coming.

But she could not take her gaze from the apple where it lay, full of fragrance, rosy, glowing, fresh and juicy, ripe and golden, sweet as honey to the lips! She could even see the pips...

First the Princess thought of waiting until dinner. But temptation proved too strong. She grasped the bright apple, took a stealthy bite and with fair cheek, sweetly hollowed a delicious morsel swallowed.

All at once her breathing stopped, listlessly her white arms dropped. From her lap the rosy apple tumbled to the floor. The hapless maiden closed her swooning eyes, reeled and fell without a cry, on the bench her forehead striking, then lay still beneath the ikon...

Now the brothers, as it chanced, were returning in a band from another warlike foray. Out to meet them in the forest, went the dog and, running hard, led them straight into the yard.

Said the Knights: "An evil omen! Grief in store!"

The door they opened, walked into the room and gasped. But the dog like lightning dashed for the apple and devoured it. Death that instant overpowered it. For the apple was, they saw, filled with poison to the core.

By the dead Princess the brothers bent their heads in tears and uttered holy prayer to save her soul; Nothing could their grief console.

From the bench they raised her, dressed her, wished within a grave to rest her. Then had second thoughts. For she was as rosy as if sleep. Garlands of repose were wreathing round her, though she was not breathing.

Three whole days they waited, but still her eyes were tightly shut.

So that night with solemn ritual, in a coffin made of crystal, they laid out the body fair of the Princess and from there, to a hollow mountain bore her, where a tomb they fashioned for her:

Iron chains they used to fix her glass case to pillars six. With due caution, and erected iron railings to protect it.

Then the Eldest smote his breast, and the dead Princess addressed:

"Ever peaceful be your slumber! Though your days were few in number On this earth spite took its toll? Yet shall heaven have your soul. With pure love did we regard you, for your loved one did we guard you, but you came not to the groom, only to a chill dark tomb."

That same day the bad Tsarina, waiting for good news to reach her, secretly the mirror took and her usual question put:

"Who is now by far the fairest, and has beauty of the rarest?"

And the answer satisfied:

"You, it cannot be denied. You in all the world are fairest. And your beauty is the rarest!"

In pursuit of his sweet bride, through the country far and wide, still Prince Yelisei goes riding, weeping bitterly. No tidings!

For no matter whom he asks, people either turn their backs, or most rudely rock with laughter: No one knows what he is after.

Now to the bright Sun in zeal, did the bold young Prince appeal:

"Sun, dear Sun! The whole year coursing through the sky, in springtime thawing from the chill earth winter snow! You observe us all below. Surely you'll not grudge an answer? Tell me, did you ever chance to see the Princess I revere? I'm her fiance." "My dear,"

Said the Sun with some insistence, "I have nowhere seen your Princess, so she's dead, we must presume. That is, if my friend, the Moon, has not met her on his travels, or seen clues you may unravel."

Through the dark night Yelisei, feeling anything but gay, with a lover's perseverance, waited for the Moon's appearance.

"Moon, O Moon, my friend!" he said. "Gold of horn and round of head, from the darkest shadows rising, with your eye the world apprising. You whom stars with love regard as you mount your nightly guard! Surely you'll not grudge an answer? Tell me, did you ever chance to see the Princess I revere? I'm her fiance." "O dear!"

Said the Moon in consternation,

"No, I have not seen the maiden. On my round I only go, when it is my turn, you know.

It would seem that I was resting, when she passed." "How very vexing!"

Cried aloud Prince Yelisei. But the Moon went on to say:

"Wait a minute! I suggest you have the Wind come to the rescue. Call him now! It's worth a try. And cheer up a bit! Goodbye!"

Yelisei, not losing courage, to the Wind's abode now hurried.

"Wind, O Wind! Lord of the sky, herding flocks of clouds on high. Stirring up the dark-blue ocean, setting all the air in motion. Unafraid of anyone, saving God in heaven alone! Surely you'll not grudge an answer? Tell me, did you ever chance to see the Princess I revere? I'm her fiance." "O hear!"

Said the Wind in turmoil blowing.

"Where a quiet stream is flowing, stands a mountain high and steep. In it lies a cavern deep; In this cave in shadows dismal, sways a coffin, made of crystal. Hung by chains from pillars six. Round it barren land in which no man ever meets another. In that tomb your bride discover!"

With a howl the Wind was gone. Yelisei wept loud and long. To the barren land he journeyed, desperately, sadly yearning, once again to see his bride.

On he rode. A mountain high rose before him, soaring steeply fom a land laid waste completely.

At its foot, an entrance dim. Yelisei went quickly in. There, he saw, in shadows dismal swayed a coffin made of crystal, where the Princess lay at rest, in the deep sleep of the blest. And the Prince in tears dissolving threw himself upon the coffin...

And it broke!

The maiden straight came to life, sat up, in great wonder looked about and yawning as she set her bed see-sawing, said with pretty arms outstretched:

"Gracious me! How long I've slept!"

Down she stepped from out the coffin. O the sighing and the sobbing! Carrying his bride, he strode back to daylight. Home they rode, making pleasant conversation, till they reached their destination.

Swiftly rumour spread around:

"The Princess is safe and sound!"

It so happened the Tsarina in her room was idly seated by her magic looking-glass, and to pass the time did ask:

"Who in all the world is fairest, and has beauty of the rarest?"

Said the mirror in reply:

"You are fair, I can't deny, but the Princess is the fairest, and her beauty is the rarest!"

The Tsarina leapt and smashed on the floor her looking-glass.

Rushing to the door she saw the fair young Princess walk towards her.

Overcome by grief and spite, the Tsarina died that night.

From the grave where she was buried, to a wedding people hurried, for the good Prince Yelisei wed his Princess that same day.

Never since the World's creation, was there such a celebration; I was there, drank mead and yet, barely got my whiskers wet.

[boneandfur]

The Mask of Fate

Summary: when Bryce and Ari visit the Museum of Fine Arts, they make a startling discovery. Is the past truly the past? Or will Fate lend a hand? // Notes: Inspired by an edit made for me by @choicesarehard (at beginning of chapter). Much thanks and love goes to my writing pals, without whom none of this would be possible! You know who you are. // Words: 1470 // Song: Jenny of Oldstones by Florence Welch // Pairings: Bryce x MC, Ethan x ? //Rating: though this first chapter is only rated T, the rest of the work will have a hard and fast EXPLICIT 18+ rating. //AUTHOR's NOTE: if you enjoyed this, don't forget to like, comment & reblog!

PROLOGUE

Present Day

"Nox habet quod dies perdidit.” (Night holds what day has lost) -- Seneca.

"Tell me why you dragged me to a dusty museum on this nice, sunny day again?" Bryce laughs as Ari pays for their tickets, fixing her with a charming smile. "We could be out there playing Ultimate Frisbee."

"There's something I want you to see. Come on, slow poke." Ari digs her finger into Bryce's ribs, tickling him. "Eek!" The nearest museum docent, a girl with bright pink hair and a grandma cardigan, turns to stare as Bryce pulls Ari into his arms and rubs his nose against hers.

"There's more where that came from later, you beautiful, infuriating thing." His voice is a thing of beauty: honey and the echo of the tides, blowing over the bare flesh and warming her, like a tropical breeze blowing through the palms beside a white sand shore. "Doctor Riversong. Now, what's this special surprise?"

Ari tosses one dark ponytail over her shoulder, and winks, beckoning Bryce towards a door near a statue of Asclepius, the Greek god of medicine. "I know a guy."

•••

The back room of the museum is entirely too dusty for his tastes, and climate controlled. They couldn't have splurged for an upgrade? Bryce is wishing at this point that he'd thought to bring a wool sweater, he certainly owns enough of them living in the Northeast.

"Cold, Dr Lahela?" There's something about this 'guy' that sets all the hairs on the back of Bryce's neck distinctly on end, for all of his friendly manner.

"How do you know each other again?" Bryce barely moves his lips against Ari's ear, and yet Raines responds, his voice a liquid dark thing, smooth as a hand grasping silk sheets in pleasure -- or exquisite pain.

"Let's just say we have a mutual interest." Raines lays his hand over a panel on the door, and it slides open.

The smell of the little room is fresh and bright, like citrus and sunshine, for all its cramped space. Ari tugs at his hand, and Bryce allows himself to be led to a long aisle, made up of glass cases. Inside are the bric-a-brac of a world gone by, ranging from iron sickle knives to a doll with stone eyes, a child's plaything. Each has a small label, dated anywhere from 2000 BCE to 1600 CE.

Bryce moves along the glass cases, peering at the minutiae of lives lived thousands of years in the past. Ari has moved beyond him, talking with Raines. All of a sudden, he stops. There, in the case, is a bull's horn, gilded and flaking, bored with holes in a line. He knows what it is even before Raines speaks. "A bullroarer."

"Yes, you certainly know your history, Dr Lahela!" Raines sounds faintly amused, and Bryce feels soured, though nothing in Raines's manner is condescending.

He feels that he must have it, he must touch it. It's mine, Bryce thinks, although he knows it cannot be. He can almost feel the weight of the thing in his hands, and he knows the low roar it would make as it swoops through the air.

"From the height of the Minoan Empire, about 1600 BCE. That particular item was found in the ruins of the Palace at Knossos."

"You mean, like the Minotaur and Icarus?" Bryce takes a step back from the glass, although it pains him to do so. "That's just a myth. I'm a doctor. We believe in science, and what we can prove."

"You can't prove anything here, Doctor Lahela. These human memories, how precious, how fleeting they are." Somehow, it sounds like an incantation.

Raines removes a teak chest from one of the cases, weathered by time. The bronze lock crumbles in his hand. When he opens the case, the scent of labdanum is in the room, sweet and dark as vanilla and rich earth, like a woman who has just sat down after a bath, combing oil through her thick dark locks.

He then draws out a wax tablet, mummified and preserved by the centuries. "This was found in the ruins of old Ostia, buried under the foundations of a house near the shore. Some fishermen dragged it up in their nets in the late nineteenth century. It is a miracle it still exists."

"What does it say?" Ari strokes one fingertip over the lettering, entranced.

Raines raises a brow, reading aloud. "'Is that a stirgil in your toga, or are you just happy to see me?' Some things never change. Moving on..."

As Ari and Raines move on to the next case, Bryce hangs back. There is something about the teak case that fascinates him, like a medical curiosity. He crouches down level with the box. On the inside, there is lettering in Latin, almost too faint to make out. Medicae... Numidia. Something glints in the box, and Bryce removes it carefully.

It is a scalpel made of polished bronze, etched on one side with a drawing of a boy leaping over a bull, like the fresco he saw back in the hallway. When the world was new, when myths were made, oracles were spoken, and gods walked among men.

The smell of labdanum is back, and black storax, thick and sweet as the guava paste his mother would make for mochi. In the polished bronze, Bryce can almost see a woman, staring back at him down the centuries, dark eyed and skinned.

She was a medicae... of Numidia. At the house with the sign of Epione. In Ostia, where the blood oranges grow.

Bryce can almost see her turn her head to meet his eyes, as if to say:

Remember.

•••

In Ostia, there is a blood orange tree, under the sign of Epione, the goddess of healing. She is called Felicitas by the Romans, and her high priestess never turns a soul from her temple door. Harper grew up on the streets of Subura, back in Rome, where she learned the art of the medicae. She came to the port city of Ostia nearly two decades past, back when she was yet a girl, back when the blood orange tree was only a sapling, a reminder of the home she would never return to.

At night, when the locusts sing in the trees and the priestesses of that stone house wash the doorstep with salt water, Harper's lover comes to her in dreams. She will wake in the dawn-light, when the sun has not yet risen over the bay, and listen for the song of the nightingale; just as it sang beside their bedroom window, back in Subura, when they were young together.

(Back before the Legion, back before Ostia, before her hair began to turn gray, before her bones started to ache when the seas turn green with the coming storm.)

Beside her, the bed is cold, the place where he would lie is empty. Harper will roll over in her bed and reach beneath it for a chest made of teak and ebony, filled with the scrolls he has sent her. Each is like a precious jewel, a memory, hoarded and kept sacred. She will take out one at time, into the courtyard to break her fast.

(With sweet wine from Hispania, and blood oranges.)

Harper breaks the wax seal of the letter with a flick of her fingertip, and she smells the scent of him, her man; as though he sits beside her at the table, drinking watered wine and eating sticky figs, his deep blue eyes never leaving her face.

You get this crinkle between your eyes when you think too hard, my love, he will whisper, and press his thumb there, caressing the strain away.

(But like the space beside her in bed, Harper is alone at the table. She does not like to think about how many years it has been, or how many lines she can see beside her eyes in the beaten bronze mirror.)

She unrolls the carrying case carefully, wind and salt have done their wear and tear on the waxen leather packet. Out of the case falls a spring of fauna, and Harper carefully crumbles it in her palm, holding it to her nose to breathe in the strange scent. It is not a plant she knows, or has ever known before. If she did not know him better, she would think that he had a lover out there, in the far flung reaches of the Empire, and she would not blame him: it has been years since last they held one another.

(Yet a promise is a promise, and she has kept it, in her fashion.)

Under the same stars, in some far-flung corner of the Empire, Harper can picture him: sitting at his writing desk beneath his hospital tent, her man:

Ethus...

[papermonkeyism]

Just some rambly musings from today, as I had a bit of an epiphany about my love for fantasy literature, and the way I write my stories.

This is a rather stark generalization, mostly based on my own feelings and how I remember feeling about this stuff years ago, but still.

I love fantasy literature, as a concept anyway. I spent my teen years marathoning through the fantasy shelves of my local library. What started from Harry Potter, continued on to Tolkien and from there on straight into David Eddings, Dragonlance and Forgotten Realms. The latter two were especially big in the teenage me's life (at one point I used to collect the Drizzt books, untill I got fatigued out by nobody ever having any fun and just plain grew out of them). The Icewind Dale trilogy used to be my fave books once upon a time, but boy did it not hold up when I re-read it at a later age.

I guess I learned the tropes and cliches, and now can't unsee them, but I just can't really enjoy those kinds of books anymore. First of all I've never been a fan of the stark black and white good vs evil shtick, specially with the whole pretty people = good, ugly people = evil (hi there! Have you seen the stuff I draw? For the Horde forever), and the concept of physical gods for alignments just irks me to no end.

But now that I think about it, none of these books were written for me. Or people like me. Like, just how they treat their characters.

If you're straight dude, these books tell you "look how awesome you could be in this world! You could do anything and be anything!" but for a woman it's more of a "look how much more life would suck in this world, ain't you glad you live in real world instead?" Or a queer woman? "You don't exist"

(Not all fantasy, of course. I remember having fun reading Dianne Wynne Jones's books, and my heart will always be at home in Discworld. GNU Terry Pratchett)

So much of the fantasy I used to read used to be very male, and extremely straight. I'm neither.

Specially after I discovered f/f fanfics at the tender age of 27 (thank you Korrasami fandom), I find it really hard to go back to not having a place in the worlds I consume. Fantasy could - and should! - be more than men with bulging muscles and killing stuff.

Dunno. I guess I just want more fantasy stories that aren't straight male ones.

Also why I'll be sitting here, agressively drawing and writing cute stuff and adventures and people having fun, out of spite. Also women. So many women...

[abigfuckingbully]

Aiden Burke: This book is based in reality. How autobiographical is it?

Atticus Davis: This book is heavily autobiographical. It's a warped version of true life events.

Aiden Burke: You used to play music?

Atticus Davis: I grew up playing music. I thought originally that I was going to be a successful musician but I found it incredibly difficult. I was getting good at guitar, I had started a few bands from the ages of 16-19. Tried to make solo work but quit. I was depressed. Everyone I worked with 'couldn't do it anymore' or just 'lost interest.' I was 19 when I really finally gave up music and the hope of starting a band. To be honestly I'll never fully give that dream up, I'm a great performer. I am interested in being vox for a post-hardcore/math band. If you live in the Bay Area and you like my poetry hmu. My brother is the only one still making music as of now and he lives in Japan. I thought we were going to make music together at one point and play out. Again, just never happened.

Aiden Burke: You started writing when you quit music?

Atticus Davis: Yeah. It was a great decision. I had full control over the outcomes whereas with music I was relying on so many other people and their being fickle...

I started writing this collection of poetry titled 'Adulthoods,' which is how I eventually met my ex-girlfriend. Which I think is described in the book.

I can finish what I start and get my work as far as I want when I write.

Aiden Burke: Music is still important to your life.

Atticus Davis: Absolutely. I grew up in punk which lead to a really young interest in Anarchism and Ecology. When I was 16-19 I was frequenting shows and the more I learned I heavier life felt. I read Evasion and I read Endgame by Derrick Jensen, which is about how civilizations are all unsustainable and how our only hope for our future is violence against the state and monkey wrenching. I still believe in those things. But I was radicalized and exposed to those politics mostly thru music. I was hugely connected in music but I stopped frequenting shows when I was falsely accused of stalking a peripheral friend I'd known for 8 years.

Aiden Burke: You were blacklisted?

Atticus Davis: I was used for sex and then disposed of. I started to try to talk to this person about how I felt and found them completely unsympathetic. I had an idea that her ex boyfriend would be part of the picture again but I had no idea that we weren't going to be friends after 8 years of knowing each other. I tried voicing how I felt but I was met with silence and disinterest in the conversation then deemed a stalker for not accepting the silence. Feel like stalkers aren't confrontational. Feel like if the gender roles were reversed people would have been defending me and up in arms. They would have had to talk.

Aiden Burke: That's a huge loss of faith for you.

Atticus Davis: Yeah, after that I couldn't #believewomen and lost all interest in feminism. It seemed like a girl's club, borderline female supremacy, and on the ground having too many inevitable pitfalls for me to give a fuck what happened to women.

Aiden Burke: You said in a previous interview that you're interested in 'the relationship story,' or that model. That appears a lot in this book too.

Atticus Davis: Yeah, I wanted this book originally to be a vehicle to talk about all my previous relationships but by the time I actually got to writing about those relationships my memory was so bad that I really had to mine myself for the content. It ended up having the relationship stories in it but having a completely different main thread.

Aiden Burke: And You said that was heavily influenced by alt lit/indie lit.

Atticus Davis: Yeah I literally just used to write poems about myself/my thoughts but I started reading people like Mary Miller and Elizabeth Ellen who write about other people. I didn't think/care if it was responsible I was just blown away that you could make art and sort of create these portraits of relationships with people you're dating/have dated. It makes you care more about those relationships and draw more meaning from them. Alt Lit/Indie Lit was a huge influence on me and initially reminded me of punk in that everyone was young and making this explosive/pop art. But they really aren't very punk, like, at all. The snobbery that pops up in countercultural/indie/punk circles is covered a lot in this book and that's what alt lit/indie lit starts to reek of. Punk was already dead to me at that point. Autobiographical fiction seemed like a very intimate thing. Like, real life stories with the names changed was completely new as an idea to me. A lot of the book No Such Thing as Broken is like @abigfuckingbully in that way.

Aiden Burke: In this book you're the main character. How much of this character are you?

Atticus Davis: The character is definitely a more potent version of myself because I can compose it but it's like a film in that it's 'hyperrealistic'

Aiden Burke: There's a scene where you repeat that, 'feminism is cancer.' Do you mean that?

Atticus Davis: No. The main character is an obstinate person who resists completely identifying as a feminist for the same reason I do. He's repeating a slogan he'd heard a woman tell him before, I took it from a conservative. It's mostly just to set himself apart from people who relinquish parts of themselves for the hope of cohesion/tolerance. He/I believe that in order to be moral/altruistic the way you arrive at and believe what you believe is as important.

It's also kind of an extreme inversion of the attitude of people virtue signalling. Hiding in a kind of filth of anti-social 'values'/ideas more than beliefs. Even if I believe what you believe I am/this character is definitely averse to wearing those beliefs on his sleeves because to him it feels more like a prostitution of belief or a way of building some exclusive club. I wrote it because I knew you're literally 'not allowed' to say that, it's like blasphemy of a religion, so definitely wanted to include it, just to fuck people up and reject people's sensibilities like Dostoyevsky Wannabe or anyone else who was convinced I was alt-right.

Aiden Burke: This character rejects counter culture strongly.

Atticus Davis: Yeah I think there's a lot of things/experiences that show a lot of intolerance, misunderstanding, and elitism in punk/alternative circles. I've seen call out culture abused and completely without substance or oppositely for the purpose of social control. Once exposed to this jealous boyfriend, of the girl who accused me of stalking her, who used the accusation that I 'fetishize women of color' to try and get his ex-gf to stop fucking me. It was founded in nothing. I like/date white girls predominately but I've also dated outside of my race, like anybody else in the Bay Area. It was a racist thing to say tho and definitely only served to satisfy a jealous person.

Aiden Burke: What do you want people to take away from this book?

Atticus Davis: I want people to break out of any paradigm and be militant in mining your life for personal truth and then acting accordingly. I want people who believe in things like anarchism and feminism to question if they are making progress and meeting like minds or alienating people and driving intelligent people out of their group/scene/'community'.

The different between thought and endorsement.

I also want people to be more accepting of sexuality in general. Seems like the counterculture succeeded to be the snake eating itself so that now women are just as interested in suppression of male sexuality as men used to be interested in suppression of female sexuality. Can't be entirely convinced that men who are openly sexual/sexually viable in a small group isn't met with anger outright. The counterculture is accepting of sex if it fits into what women view as 'appropriate' which means subtle and don't hit on anyone. But I've gotten laid hitting on women and have brought a lot of the women I've had in my life into my life by being arrogantly open about sex or just communicate that my interest is more than being friends.

Aiden Burke: What do you believe this story is about, if you had to summarize it?

Atticus Davis: It's about never giving up and never giving in even if it feels wrong while it's happening you might find yourself closer to yourself and in effect closer to God. It's really about how nihilistic I am and how the only things I really beleive in are myself and God.

Aiden Burke: Does this novel make you feel closer to God?

Atticus Davis: Yes, absolutely.