#You are asking them what the fuck they think freedom means Earl

[kamorth]

Just as an intro, yes this post reads VERY white. Unfortunately a lot of recent history is only accessible through white lenses and as I myself am about as white as it is possible to be, I don't have another viewpoint that I can write from with any kind of authority. My lack of experience does not negate anyone else's experiences or views.

In the 80s, being punk was how you showed disdain for conformity. NO, I DON'T Want to be Like You THE WOLRD IS SHITTY AND I AM ANGRY. They were the trash that you warned your kids to stay away from because they were dangerous and violent.

Grunge quickly followed suit with Yeah the world is shitty why do what the boring conformist bougies tell you when you can just do your own thing over here instead. They were the trash you hoped your kids got sick of but the worst parents ever suspected of them was maybe a bit of weed and some clumsy make outs, not that big a deal.

In the late 90s (my teens) it was goths. We are so sick of you and your church and shoving it down my throat with pushing for prayer in schools and Christian Pop Rock all over the billboard top 40. That kid is a witch now and You JUST Don't Get It. Depression is my baseline and the idea of being like you is the cause. We were the trash that were just indulging in a phase and would grow out of it, so we could be humored but mostly ignored (unless your parents were hard core Bible bashers, in which case you would get sent to something akin to conversion therapy - since you were also probably Queer it often was just outright conversion therapy).

Then the emos showed up and people started getting annoyed, partly because suddenly there were goths that you COULDN'T ignore for two reasons, they were LOUD about being sad and THERE WERE SO MANY OF THEM. Since they couldn't be ignored out of existence, the Western world decided to collectively bully them instead. They were the trash that was Just So Damn Cringe!

And now poverty is skyrocketing. Homelessness is a plague that has struck so many people who have committed no crime outside of bad luck. Actual fascists are in positions of power. Planned obsolescence and decades of lobbying by the oil industry in favour of petrol and plastics is destroying everything beautiful about this planet.

And Punk is back. Be ANGRY at your politicians who don't listen. Let your anger be heard so that they know you will not accept these ideas. Grunge is back. It doesn't have to be new, it just has to be functional. Work together to make a community you WANT to live in. Goth is back. Mourn for the world we were promised but never saw. Learn about belief systems that are different to the one you were raised in, ESPECIALLY if doing so pisses off your parents. Emo is back. Fuck haters. Cringe is dead. Being comfortable in your own skin means being allowed to do what YOU want, not having to exist for the benefit of someone else.

Before us it was hippies and beatniks and flappers and dadaists and before them there were the coffee shop philosophers and the point is there have ALWAYS been people who want the world to see its own flaws and fix them. I know other cultures had the same sorts of groups, like the Japanese Subekan gangs (who created the original lolita fashion trend as a way to take femininity back from being sexualized) and Islamic Sufism (an Islamic sect who practice things forbidden by stricter groups, such as singing and dancing) but I'm an armchair scholar, not an expert.

When society is broken, our numbers surge.

We are surging.

Society needs us.

[katlyn1948]

Ahhh fuck it! This was what I was talking about yesterday. It’s some good fucking writing, just saying

“I’ll marry you,” Arya breathed as Gendry began to turn. He stopped abruptly, daring to daring his gaze back in her direction.

“What?” He said in disbelief. He surely didn’t ask her to marry him; he would’ve remembered that. So why is she proclaiming such a thing? It’s not as if he opposed, gods no, but he had always assumed she would never agree to such a thing, considering her stance on the action of marriage.

He noticed how she shifted her feet in nervousness and how her cheeks were tinged a deep shade of red. He couldn’t remember Arya Stark ever nervous, so she must be speaking truth.

“I’ll marry you.” She said once more, this time with a little more confidence. “It’s really the only solution, you see. I cannot bear the thought of never seeing Barra again. Every time I think of it, my heart clenches. And…”

She took a long breath, trying to gather their thoughts before confessing something she had only come to realize as she packed her belongings to leave. “If I am being completely honest, I cannot endure another tasteless season. Of course, I have the rest of the year to convince my mother otherwise, but I know that once summer returns, I’ll be dragged back to King’s Landing to mingle with stuffy aristocrats in hopes of finding a suitable match. I cannot do it!”

“But…why me?” Gendry asked before she continued.

Arya looked at him. Really looked at him. And it sent a shiver down Gendry’s spine. He watched as her eyes took him, every last inch. She studied him, as if trying to formulate a worthy enough answer to his question.

“Why not Lord Dayne?” Her eyes cut at the question and they narrowed.

“Ned Dayne,” she scoffed. “Was only after me for my money. He liked my sizable dowery and what my family name had to offer. Besides…that was infatuation. He didn’t—he couldn’t make me feel what I felt when I was with you. I wasn’t sure, not until the…carriage,” she blushed at the memory. “Yet, even then, I was trying to convince myself otherwise. It wasn’t until I knew I had to say goodbye to not only Barra, but to you as well, I knew that I couldn’t. I had averted love for the sole purpose that I would never find it, but knowing you…getting to know you…I was proved wrong.”

Gendry was frozen in place. He was absolutely stoic, save for the look of bewilderment upon his face. He had sorted his feelings for her the night after their encounter in the carriage, but knew that he could never act upon them again. He savored the memory, letting it ingrain itself upon his brain, for he knew that would be the first and the last time he could—would touch her in that manner.

Of course he tickled the thought of proposing; in fact he nearly ran to her aunt’s manor that night to just that, but he knew her feelings about the act. He knew she craved a freedom that not many women were granted, and he knew that the more she inched to an to status of that of a spinster, that she would have that freedom and be even more unobtainable.

“Ge—Gendry?” His eyes snapped to her face. She was flushed, no doubt from her proclamation, and there was a slight look of concern in her grey eyes. She had given her heart to him and he had said nothing. He could only imagine what was running through her head. So he did the most logical thing he could think of.

He crossed the room with lightning speed, making his way to her.

Before Arya had time to think, his lips were upon hers, ravishing them whole. He could taste the strawberries she had eaten and the Earl Grey tea she had with her aunt. He could smell the lavender spray she claimed to not use and the subtle scent of smoke when her aunt had a craving for a drag.

Everything about this woman was intoxicating.

It didn’t take long for Arya to ease into the kiss, letting his lips devour hers in insatiable hunger. She had dreamt of his lips. Ever since they first touched her skin in the carriage. She had craved to feel them again, to have them pepper kisses along her neck. And how she loved his taste. Just the saltiness they exuded made her weak at the knees.

Why had she been so ambivalent about loving this man!? Why did she elude love for as long as she had? Was it just so she could be with him? That he was the one she was meant to be with? Whatever the case may be, she was elated to finally have what her other siblings had. It wasn’t as if she was seeking to be loved, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t have some jealousy towards her siblings’ successes at finding a match.

There were times in Arya’s life where she had wondered if there was something wrong with her. Sure, she was a bit outspoken; more so than any other ladies prancing about within the season, but she didn’t find that to be a reason to be so unapproachable. And perhaps her distaste for the social season was etched upon her face, but it only meant men would have to try harder to convince her otherwise.

How had Gendry succeeded when so many other’s had failed?

“I’ll marry you,” he breathed as he departed her lips for air. “I’ll marry if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Tell me.” She said as she savored the kisses he peppered along her jaw. “Tell me why.”

He pulled back, leaving her craving for his warmth. She tried to bring him back to her, but he grabbed her hands and pushed them to the side. He then took her face between his hands, caressing it ever so gently.

“Because I see you.” He smiled. “I see you.”

“I see that you’re adventurous. I see that you’re smart. I see that you’re a righteous pain in the arse.” He said sarcastically, and Arya couldn’t help but laugh. “But I also see your love. I see how you love. I see your protectiveness and I see how you will do anything to keep the ones you love safe. I know that I cannot constraint you, nor will I and I know that you’ll never be a ‘proper lady,’ whatever that means; but I don’t want that. I want Arya Stark, the woman that I love.”

[supercasey]

So I've been playing The Hades Game like fucking mad for the last few weeks, and although I'm not very far in it (at least, I don’t think I am; I’ve only beat Hades once!), I'm absolutely in love with it! Anyways, a certain idea has been kicking around in my head for awhile now, so I thought I'd share it with y'all; feel free to tell me what you think of it! (Warning: spoilers for when you beat Hades the first time!)

Anyways, I've already seen a really cool AU post for if Demeter raised Zagreus on the surface by herself (which you can find HERE; please check it out, the outfit for Zag alone is an amazing concept, and I love the artwork!!!) but I keep thinking about an AU where, after Zagreus dies at birth, Persephone runs away and takes his wrapped up body with her.

On the surface, she reconnects/reunites with her mother Demeter, and with her aid, the two of them manage to resurrect the newborn baby, though now he has more white in his hair than anything else. After that, Persephone sends Hades a letter to tell him that Zagreus is alive and well (because she actually has some fucking class), before proceeding to raise Zagreus on the surface with her mother, far away from the entrance to hell. The Olympians also help her out a bit, but mostly they just help by hiding Zagreus when it’s necessary.

(The rest is under a cut ‘cus this got a bit long, sorry!)

Years pass in relative peace, until Zagreus is about as old as he is in-game (I think he’s around 20-25ish???) and is living well, working with his mom and grandma to take care of their gardens and live peacefully away from mankind; he especially loves tending to the animals and guiding lost mortals to safety. However, one day while foraging for fruit in the deepest corners of his mother’s signature garden, Zagreus happens across a strange man in long robes, who introduces himself as Thanatos.

The two men get along swimmingly from minute one, and after agreeing to meet with each other again soon, they leave and tell their families/friends all about the experience, having no clue who they are to each other. After all, Thanatos was told growing up that his lord’s first wife died giving birth to their first and only child, who was a stillborn, and Zagreus thinks his father died of disease (his mom didn’t have to heart to tell him anything bad about his dad). Needless to say, they’re gonna be in for quite the shock soon.

Cue Hades losing his shit and calling on Thanatos, Megaera, and Achilles to go find his progeny and bring him home; he gives them special permission to leave the Underworld without any resistance, trusting Than to lead the way back to Zagreus. Achilles is less than thrilled to be performing such a morally grey task for his master, but Meg and Than are eager to prove themselves, so he begrudgingly agrees to help, even if it hurts his conscience to do so.

Persephone and Demeter also freak the hell out on their end, scared shitless by the fact that Death incarnate has just met their son/grandson, and they’re worried that he plans on coming back again soon. Demeter suggests sending Zagreus to live with the Olympians until this all blows over, but Persephone disagrees, wanting her son to stay nearby in case he grows ill (it’s implied that she’s a bit overprotective of him, mostly because she’s afraid of him dying again; this also means she refuses to let him know that he’s in any danger, believing it would only make things worse for him in the long-run). Frustrated but understanding her daughter’s pain all too well, Demeter at least convinces her to call on the Olympians for aid, which Persephone agrees to do.

The gods promise to help of course, but... well, they're low-key lying; they wanna see how this plays out first.

After several days of traveling through hell (literally), the “let’s kidnap Zagreus” gang makes it to the surface, and they immediately head to Persephone’s garden. All this time, Zagreus has no idea that he’s being targeted, so he goes about his chores as usual, only to run into Than again, and hey, he brought some more friends for him to meet! Zagreus is friendly with all of them, being raised to be very polite by his guardians, and while he’s busy chatting with Than and Achilles, he doesn’t notice Meg sneaking behind him. Just as Zagreus is rattling on about how the animals have been faring this summer, Meg stabs Zagreus in the back with a blade coated in Hades’s blood, cursing him to belong to the Underworld again.

With Zagreus now unconscious from a sedative that was mixed with the blood, the trio hurry off with him back to the Underworld, but not without Persephone seeing what they’ve done to her son. Horrified, she begins to sob, and winter arrives in the mortal world without so much as a fall season in-between this and the summertime.

When Zagreus comes to, he finds himself in a bedroom similar to the one he has in the game, but it’s much cleaner and has less objects of personal value to him. Hades is standing at the foot of his bed when he wakes up, and very calmly, Hades tells Zagreus that he’s his father, and that from now on, Zagreus will be living in the Underworld with him and his people, where he so obviously belongs. It’s a shame his mother can’t be here, of course, but they just need to wait awhile, that’s all; surely she’ll come to her senses and return home soon, now that her husband and son are here.

Zagreus jumps out of bed and faces his father as soon as he’s done monologuing, ready to tell him off for what he’s done, but to his shock, Hades hugs him as soon as he’s on his feet, and admits that he’s waited for this day for a long, long time. He asks his son to please just accept that this is his home now, and despite still being a bit surprised (and subtly hugging Hades back because Longing), Zagreus tells him straight up that he can’t, that he has to get home, especially with winter coming in a few months!

Dejected but not overly surprised, Hades simply nods in acceptance, but he still warns Zagreus that it’s no use trying to fight it; he’s stuck here, now and forever, so he may as well get comfortable and try getting along with him, because no one’s going anywhere anytime soon. Zagreus is horrified, but he nods nonetheless, unsure of what to say or do just yet.

Later that night, as Zagreus is struggling to sleep in this new, unfamiliar place, Achilles comes to him and apologizes about what’s happened, and although he can’t magically fix everything for him, he tells Zagreus that it actually is supposedly possible to escape; it’s just that no one’s ever done it before. Driven by his desire for freedom and the thought of reuniting with his mother, Zagreus tells Achilles that he’s going to find a way out, no matter the cost. Achilles congratulates him on his tenacity, but warns him that it won’t be easy. Still, he’s willing to help Zagreus as much as he can.

From then on, I imagine the game playing out very differently from the original, with a rather frazzled and scared Zagreus trying to get home to his mom and grandma, but with none of his training from Achilles in this AU, he has to rely on something his mother taught him; his connection with earth and all it’s inhabitants. Or, in his case, his connection with the spirits of animals (a cross of his dad and mom’s powers). That’s right, I’m making The Hades Game into a fucking Pokemon-ripoff, but still with some rouge-like elements mixed in (mostly with Zagreus not keeping his animals after runs).

Having royally fucked up in not stepping in sooner to protect Zagreus, the gods end up helping him out by sending down animals associated with them for the young god to tame for a run (I’ll come up with them later). They usually offer a selection to choose from, and from there Zagreus can build up a team and use it to try and escape the Underworld.

To replace weapons, I like to think he’d have “signature” animals that can help him out for any of his runs, specifically ones from Achilles, Poseidon, Zeus, Demeter (once he reaches the surface at least once), and eventually even Hades gives him one if they bond together enough ((yes, it’s Cerberus... kinda; it’s a puppy version of him, otherwise he’d be OP as fuck)). Zagreus’s signature animals can all be given names, and they keep certain skills that they pick up through enough experience battling in the Underworld for Zagreus.

As for story-line stuff, Zagreus ends up in a very fish out of water situation as he tries to get to know everyone in Hades’s house (he’s still our kindhearted Zag, after all, and he knows most of them aren’t to blame, not even really Than!) while also focusing on his goal to get home to his mom. Hades ends up being a lot nicer to him in this AU, perhaps overly so, as he’s trying to make his son like him more in order to make up for lost time (and fill the hole in his heart that Zag’s initial death as an infant and Persephone leaving with him created). It’s part of the reason he’s even letting Zagreus try to escape; he wants him to learn that it won’t work on his own terms (and maybe also scare the kid so bad that he comes running to him for comfort afterwards).

Also, I should really note that Zagreus is 100% a sweet country farm boy in this AU, and he has no idea what the fuck is going on with pretty much anything in the Underworld, much to everyone’s astonishment. For example:

Meg: Gods, it must be weird getting used to everything down here, huh? Sick of stepping in bat shit yet? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, and Dusa’s pretty good about cleaning it up to begin with. Zagreus: I mean, I guess? It’s not that different from chicken shit tbh. Meg: What the fuck is a chicken???

After that... yeah, I dunno. I’ll try playing Hades some more, see if I think up anything else that could be interesting, but for now, I hope at least someone ends up liking this dumb AU (if not, I’ll still like it... might even try my hand at drawing for it a bit tbh). Again, please check out the person who’s post/art I linked earlier in the post, ‘cus their art is really awesome and inspired me to include Demeter more in this AU!

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 12)

νοσταλγία  Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s  abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4.2k  

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Hi, so...either in this chapter I completely dissapoint you or I pleasantly surprise you, I’m very much hoping for the latter lol. I would love to hear your thoughts on this, cause I’m an insecure little fuck and I’m very afraid you’ll all hate this chapter and where the story goes from now on lol

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me​

Decided to post this a day earlier cause ffs, between the fucking election and minks with covid and destiel and putin, the world doesn’t make sense anymore. So fuck it, have some Ivar :)

“Word has it that the King has made you a free woman.” The girl whispers, handing you a piece of bread and sitting beside you, looking out at the stars.

“Mhm.”

“We’ve known you were more than a prisoner since the moment you arrived, though.” She quips quietly.

“Oh.” You can only mutter, but the surprise is written in your face.

Freydis smiles, warm and a little cold at the same time, “It is written in the way you walk, witch. You were never a slave, were you?”

“If you are asking if the Saxons kept me a prisoner, the answer is no. That privilege seems to be reserved for your King.” If your last words drip with venom and anger, she does not mention it. You dare think she understands.

“I was. But now, like you, I am free,” Freydis sentences, and this does bring your attention back to her eyes. Depthless blue eyes, perverse and innocent, relentless and broken. When the girl leans closer, you don’t move. Her words are barely a whisper, but carry the strength of the vow you hissed at Stithulf, “Neither you or me will die slaves to men.”

“To whom, then?”

“The Gods. Yours or mine, I do not know,” She answers simply, fierce when she hisses the words at you, “But we mustn’t settle with mortal men. What we have suffered, it has to…mean something. It has to mean we are destined for more, that we are more.”

“Sometimes pain is just pain, Freydis.” You offer quietly, but her mind is set. You wonder for a moment if these thoughts were what made her spirit survive her time as a slave.

“No,” She shakes her head, stubborn, “We are broken because our fate is to be strong, we are…we are defiled because we are to rise above it.”

You roll your eyes, and even if the conversation remains quiet in the dead of night your voice is strong when you argue, “Did Freyja release you from your binds? Will Despoina release me from mine?” The pain lacers at your heart, but you insist, “No. I shall not be thankful for an unending fight to survive.”

“Yet you survive.”

She is not talking about surviving the Byzantine warriors’ almost successful attempt to silence you like they did your mother. She is not talking about surviving the pain of years, centuries, that marks your soul, a pain that Freydis may not know about but understands regardless.

No. She’s talking of the ‘freedom’ you have garnered here in her homeland, of what it means to be a free woman in a world that steps over the ones that cannot fight like men. She is talking of surviving Ivar the Boneless.

As your eyes meet, different stories, different agonies, and different destinies meet as well; but you feel she understands, better than almost anyone, what guided your words, your steps, your promises, that made an army be laid at your feet, to make a mad King set you free.

“King Ivar was the one to free you.” You say quietly, leaning away from the girl. It is not even a question, is a realization. All her words, all her advice…she spoke from experience, more specific experience than you thought.

“He wasn’t a king then.”

A hopeless laugh leaves your lips, “What men like Ivar the Boneless need you to be, you become.” You repeat her words from a few weeks ago, a new meaning to them altogether.

The girl laughs as well, the sound dainty and musical even if it carries iron beneath, “Although now I realize you may have been too arrogant to lie.”

All you can offer her is a shrug and a sigh as you say, “I die on my own terms, with my own face, Freydis.”

“But you didn’t. Die, that is,” She insists, smile on her pale face that you find yourself starting to return in kind. Her hand settles on your knee and she squeezes and you wonder if it is in comfort or something else. “Whatever you are, he wants to keep for himself.”

You say nothing else, turning your gaze back into the sky outside, suddenly reminded of the circumstances that brought you here, of the invisible chains that still remain on you, of how you have failed to become what you ought to.

If we must, we will die. Resisting, like your mother and I taught you.

And yet you cower and accept scraps of freedom at the first chance you have. Shame and resentment fill your heart, and your mother’s favorite piece of jewelry hanging from your neck feels like a noose when your fingers toy with the old metal.

“Did you seduce him?” Freydis starts suddenly, dragging you away from your thoughts so quickly you find yourself disoriented.

You blink a couple of times before you can answer with anything other than a wordless sound to her question.

“What?”

She shrugs with one of her shoulders, drinking from her own cup of warm milk before explaining, “You earned your freedom, or whatever measure of it that you don’t seem to be happy with. Did you bed him for it?”

It should be insulting, but her clear eyes tell you she does not shame you for it. She seems almost…impressed. It still makes something churn at your insides, and you find yourself hating the world that bound her and made her a slave a little bit more.

“No,” You say, slowly, “Was I expected to?”

Did you? Is what your words whisper but you don’t dare voice, although you have an inkling that she hears it regardless. Her eyes remain on you for a few moments too long, and the start of a knowing smile curves at her lips.

The girl still shakes her head in response, “I was curious.”

“Why?” If you sound harsh, if what Sieghild calls your ‘Athenian nobility’ is heard in your tone, Freydis does not mention it.

“He wants you, you know that. Half of Kattegat wants you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She shrugs, “Word runs that he has never taken a woman to his bed. Earls have even gifted him noble women and slaves, but he never accepts them.

A part of you wants to ask why she is aware of all this. You remain silent however, looking back out at the stars and wondering why does she believe the King’s cock and its use or lack thereof is something you are interested in discussing.

“It’s not about beauty, the women brought in were the most beautiful I have seen,” She continues on, talking to herself as she recalls, “It’s also not about…power. Most I have seen wouldn’t be sharp-witted enough to try to get something out of him either.”

She seems to be willing to babble on, but a sharp voice interrupts you, no matter how quiet it is.

“Girl,” One of the older women chastises, gaze set on Freydis. “Eyes and ears follow the witch. Be careful.”

You are stunned into silence, as is the girl next to you, and when the quiet of night settles upon you, you can hear the rustling of leather and the deep breaths of soldiers set outside your door.

His guest. You guess to them being a guest just means a looser set of chains, or invisible shackles.

True fear settles in the girl’s pale eyes, and you reach to place a hand in her knee, placating her. The older woman, you do not know her name, motions so that you both move closer to the crackling fire and away from the windows.

“It will do you no good to gossip like this about any son of Ragnar, especially Ivar,” She advices, but a glint in her eye tells you of times in her youth spent just like this. She leans closer, and whispers, “And also, despite the rumors, you must remember he is a hot-blooded young man commanding an army, you oaf.”

“Maybe it’s about control,” The blonde ponders, side-glance directed at you. After a breath, she shrugs, “Maybe you were brought all the way here just to be fucked, witch.”

Freydis ends her sentence in a giggle, her voice quiet and eyes shining. The young girl behind the past suffering and fear.

The old woman smiles, and points towards you with her head, “She speaks like one of our own, she better fuck like one too.”

Her jest is well-meaning even if insulting, and used already to Sieghild’s equally brash humor, you only roll your eyes with a laugh.

The three of you continue exchanging secrets of this land and its people till the moon is high up the sky. It helps with the feeling of shame, the feeling of having betrayed your purpose; it helps, but it doesn’t quieten the voices that demand to know why you get the right to spend the night next to a warm fire laughing and exchanging stories while your people’s corpses are still fresh, while the survivors await the embrace of the incoming winter to let go of their strength.

When the whispers quieten, when the city sleeps, when you are left alone with your thoughts; you realize what a mistake you have made.

You were taught to fight, you were taught to resist. The Gods made you smart and ambitious, and it was for a reason. It may be Fate you are to cross paths with the Varangian, but it is not written that you are to be bound to him, you refuse to believe so.

You have fought with claws and teeth before, you have lied and kissed and promised to avoid bindings. There is no reason why you shouldn’t now, no reason why foolish thoughts and feelings should stop you from doing what you have before.

Fight. To return to your people. To remain free. To overcome.

And so, letting go of the guilt of not trying enough but with a new sort of guilt and shame settling upon you, you depart the apothecary towards the main hall in the dead of night.

You are not stupid, you know the Viking wants you, at least slightly, at least begrudgingly. And he knows he cannot get any political advantage from making you his wife, he may even lose power by making you queen. There aren’t many things he can force out of you, so that leaves your body.

So, if it is your body he wants, you will let him have it, in whatever way he sees fit.

When it is done, when the foreignness is no longer mysterious, when you make the allure of whatever it is dissipate; then it will be easier to make him see that this was not ordained by the Gods, not his and definitely not yours.

You thank the warrior that leads you to the quarters with a nod and a silent smile, wondering in the back of your mind when or how these men got directions that you are to be allowed in the King’s chambers when he hasn’t called for you.

It surprises you that he hasn’t yet gone to sleep, makes you wonder what he has entertained himself with. A foolish thought of it being a someone that entertains the King at night makes you clench your jaw.

Still, you stand in wait, letting curious eyes wander over the spacious room. When the uneven steps reach your ears, followed by the fainter footsteps of two slaves, you straighten your back and face the doorway.

King Ivar’s eyes widen when he finds you in the room, quickly moving over your form in the red dress before he dismisses the slaves with a gesture of his hand.

You keep your eyes on his, but there has never been a time you have shown less in your gaze. He sits down, discarding the crutch at his side, and you walk closer even though your legs shake and your hands tremble.

Playing games kept you from your freedom, but…playing games may keep you from chains this time.

You’d prefer iron shackles on your wrists and ankles for a thousand years if it meant not having to be an unwilling wife before Gods that, although you don’t worship, you respect and believe in.

Your steps falter, and your heart remembers the consequences of the last time you lied in exchange for freedom. The words in your head are promises that this is no different from Narses, even if Narses was kind, and sane, and you cared for him.

What men like Ivar the Boneless need you to be, you become.

You reach up, keeping your eyes on his, and let the dress drop down to the floor, leaving you bare to hungry blue eyes that immediately trace over your body.

His lips part before he speaks, and he seems to stammer for a moment before he asks, “W-What are you…?”

“I know you want me,” You offer, a little entranced by the desire, the fear, the struggle for control that you see written all over his face; taking a small step forward before you realize it. You shake yourself off your stupor, standing straighter. With what feels like your last breath before a defeated descent to Hades, you whisper, “You don’t have to make me your wife, whatever you want you can get without marrying me.”

Any wonder, any trace of desire and boyish vulnerability you could see written all over his face, shining in his hungry eyes; it all disappears with your words.

His expression hardens and his nose furrows on a snarl, his voice gravelly and almost disgusted as he motions dismissively towards you.

“Get dressed.”

You startle, and resist the urge to cover yourself with your hands.

“W-What?”

“I said get dressed. I do not want your pity.”

Your brow furrows along with your nose, and although with trembling hands you grab onto the linen and cover yourself, you still grit out,

“It’s not pity. It’s…desperation.”

“Desperation?”

“I cannot be bound to you, I cannot be made into your wife.” You try, and the pleading tone of your voice makes disgust at yourself churn at your insides.

“Are you ashamed you will have to be the wife to a cripple, hm? Disgusted?” He taunts, the flip of a coin and back into the cruel rage you have faced before, although with a different, more raw edge to it as he presses, “Is that it?”

And as before, the glimpse of something real, the victory of drawing something human out of the monster that bears the crown makes your own back straighten, your own voice turn into steel.

“That you think your legs are the reason I would have for not wanting to be your wife, King Ivar, tells me all I need to know about you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He spits out, and even as his raised voice puts you on edge, you still run your hands through your hair as you start placing, “Do not walk away from me!”

You turn back to him with wide eyes and quickened breath. But it is not fear, it’s rage. For a moment when your eyes meet you want to dare him to make you fear him, but the arrogance beats the desire to prove your foolish heart wrong, and you spit out,

“You have had me chained and humiliated; you have forced me to become something I do not want to!” Your nose furrows and your eyebrows crease, but your voice lowers and you settle the fury in your voice as you answer his question, “And you thinking me being against all this charade has anything to do with your legs makes me realize in your mind all of this,” You gesture around you, “is somehow alright.”

His nose furrows, his lip curls in a snarl before he argues, “It is Fate!”

“Why!? Because you say so!?” You shake your head, “Impressive a man as you may be, you are not yet a Manteion.”

“A what!?”

Of course he doesn’t know, how could he, how could anyone in this cold and foreign place know at all what you mean when you speak in your tongue, to your Gods, about your world.

Letting all the breath leave your lungs, you let yourself fall to the ground, hiding your face in your hands.

“Our worlds are so different, Ivar, how can you think that-…” You sigh, “I do not belong here, I do not belong here with you.”

“Well, you are here.”

You are here with me.

And his arrogance as he says it, his pride, his power, you have known those for a long time, you have seen them in familiar faces and strangers. You have been forced to accept them, accept their rule over you simply because of the way the world is, for too long now.

Your calves grow warmer before the fire, but even if you put your legs above the burning wood it wouldn’t feel as stinging and as burning as the red mark now on your cheek.

The reminder, the thought of it alone, makes your weak hands tremble and your eyes fill with useless tears.

“Tis your pride hurting more than your face, little one.” Sieghild starts, but even if there is the start of a jest in her words, there’s gravity in her voice.

“He had no right to-…”

“He did,” She interrupts. And it is the truth, and it makes you clench your jaw and look away from her green eyes. “You wounded his pride, most men don’t take kindly to that offense.”

You stay silent, because you know. And you know you spoke out of place, you know you acted like a child, wanting things out of your reach. You know you should have lowered your eyes, shut your mouth.

Still…

“Is what he said true?” You ask meekly, feeling the burn of shame at the base of your throat. “That they can…take me?”

“As a prisoner?” The Viking leans back on her bed, a crooked smile on her inked face, “They can try.”

“As a concubine.”

Your mother focuses on you, “You are my daughter, little one. They can force no binds on you.”

“What do you mean?”

Sieghild smiles, with that same smile that speaks of a world of liberties women where you come from could never even fathom.

“You need me to say yes!” You yell before you can stop the words from leaving your lips, and you can only watch with widened eyes and a hand over your treacherous mouth as Ivar the Boneless turns to look at you again, the arrogant ire shining in his clear eyes. You scramble to stand, your eyes wide and hand still somewhat covering your mouth.

“What?”

He heard you. This would be your opportunity to take back your words, to take back your resistance, to accept surrender. You waged war against the very Empire the last time you were asked to surrender, though.

“You need my consent for us to be married, Varangian,” You state instead, the words fast and your breath also. You stand up, hands tightened to fists. A flinch of anger passes over the King’s expression as he presses his lips together, irritated that you are apparently so bent on being free. Yes, truly scandalous of you. You swallow your own irritation down and insist, “I am a free woman, you can’t force me.

He considers you quietly for a moment, and before he has a chance to argue, you remind him,

“You won’t break a promise, so you won’t make me a slave,” Even if your voice shakes, you continue, “I-I know of your ways, of…of your Gods. This wasn’t arranged, and since I’m free you need me to say yes.”

He hears the words you don’t say: And I will say no.

After a moment of stubbornly considering you, the King merely shakes his head.

“You have already been given to me.”

“That Christian has no claims to me, and you know this.” You tell him, speak ing of Stithulf and his useless chains.

“I’m not talking about him,” Ivar says, cold smile on his face as he leans on his crutch and serves a goblet of mead. He lifts the cup to you in offering, but you remain in your spot. With a sigh of both disappointment and irritation, the King gulps down the drink and clarifies, “I’m talking about your mother.”

“My mother is dead.” You say without hesitation, although a pit of fear starts opening at your stomach.

But he shakes his head, lifting a finger from his hold on the cup and pointing to you as he corrects, “I don’t mean the Greek one.”

“You are lying,” Is all you say as you look into Ivar’s eyes, your voice trembling as much as the rest of your body. Your nails dig into your palms but you cannot help it, you cannot tell your body to uncoil, not until you hear the truth. “You are lying to play with my head.”

“How would I know Sieghild Vorsdottir, King Rorik’s wife, famed shieldmaiden from the Danes, is the woman that raised you?” He offers, and with each word the ground under your feet dissolves more and more, “She came to me, told me she gave me your hand. I have witnesses.”

No, no, she would never. All those years, telling you to stand tall, teaching you not to bite your tongue, it cannot all have been for her to ditch you and sell you off to the first king you encounter.

You want to think this rationally, you want to remain calm and look for the truth but…

A part of you that will always be her child, that will always love her like the mother you lost too soon; that part of you leaves you with your hands shaking and your throat clogged with only one word.

Móðir…

“She would never do that, she…” You close your eyes with a deep breath, “If she did such a thing, she told you why.”

“She said she had to, that it was fate.”

“You are lying.” The words are choked, the last grasp of a dying hope.

“Would you stop with that? I am not lying.”

Sieghild’s sad and loving eyes on you, her hand holding your face, “I have asked Freya for help ever since we arrived in Scandinavia. She has answered.”

Frantic questions leave your lips, but in her smile there’s the same resignation you saw when she said goodbye as you readied to face the Byzantines for what was supposed to be your death, “The Seer’s words-…it does not matter anymore.”

“She said-…she knew all this time,” You choke out, wide eyes searching the nothing before you for answers, “Her visions, the Seer’s words, she…she knew.”

There’s a strange moment of hesitation, a breath of uncertainty where you think the Viking is trying to find a way to comfort you.

“Prophecies, visions…it is usually too late to change the result when we realize what the Seer’s words mean.” Is what he finally settles on saying.

Foolish, stubborn tears sting at your eyes, and it is with a shaky hand you reach to hold on tight to your mother’s necklace, despair cursing through your veins.

The Völva offers you a small smile, equally mocking and apologetic, “Run if you want to, fight, kick, scream. Fate will drag you home by the wrists, child. You know how this tale goes. The chariot’s pace will tear the world asunder as darkness goes looking for you.”

Your eyes trace over the skyline, almost frantically searching for an answer you know you will not find there.

“This…this place,” You look over the sea, feeling your chest tighten. “This was Ragnar’s pride. Sieghild’s tales…this is Queen Aslaug’s home. The empty throne.”

“You are not making any sense.”

“I was supposed to come here, before I even returned to Greece. I was-…Sieghild, she knew we were to return to her homeland, to that place ruled by a witch from the Danes.

You turn to him with wide eyes, a manic laugh bubbling up in your chest at the realization. For once, the King stays silent, watching you raptly.

“She knew it was fate. We ran from it, I ran from it.

It is with wide eyes and parted lips you look at the man before you, now in a new light, now with a new weight over your shoulders and heart.

“I have no choice,” The revelation is stealing the air from your lips, but with cracked tones you whisper, “I am…I am to be here. It is fate I become your wife.”

Fate. You never thought a word that once brought you so much comfort would make you feel so devastated.

“I will not be a bad husband for you,” He promises after a moment of silence, voice as uncertain as his eyes searching yours, “You will want for nothing, you will be respected by our people, I...I will take care of you.

You nod, but stay silent as the weight of it all settles upon you. You don’t know what is expected out of you now, what fight can you conjure up, what you can try -and see fail, again- to try and escape these…these invisible shackles.

There’s a moment of quiet, and the man moves in his seat, settling back in place with a posture that in anything other than a monster would make you think he’s sheepish, awkward.

His voice is low, almost hesitant as he offers, “You can ask for anything you want.”

You look at him out of the corner of your eye, “I do not ask for things I do not deserve, my King.”

Maybe it is time you stop asking for freedom.

____

Kay so Ivar’s words at the end are inspired on Hades’ speech to Persephone in the Homeric Hymns: “(…) feel kindly in your heart towards me: be not so exceedingly cast down; for I shall be no unfitting husband for you among the deathless gods, that am own brother to father Zeus. And while you are here, you shall rule all that lives and moves and shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore."

Anyhow, I would love to hear what you think of this chapter and of where the story has led. I hope I haven’t dissapointed you, honestly.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope to see you next Tuesday!! Love you all :)

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 706: The Great Beasts:  Part III/III

The eight sat in the back of the bullhead as they flew back to the tower. "Alright," Jaune said, "Before anyone asks, I think we're all going to want to shower when we get home. What time is it?" he asked.

"Just after 16 hundred!" Taj shouted from the front.

"Then let's say," Jaune continued, "we'll meet at 18 hundred to talk about it over dinner."

"That's a LOOOONG shower." Nora stated.

"Nora." Ren admonished.

"Hm?" she asked.

"They might be otherwise occupied during that time."

"Meaning?" Nora asked, until it occured to her, "OH!" She then let out a nervous laugh.

Jaune then looked between his wives, "In the interest of fairness, I won't talk about it until then."

"What are we going to do in the meantime?" Ruby asked.

"'Shower'" Nora said with airquotes.

"Am I missing something?" Ruby asked, and Yang pulled her in for a hug.

"You'll see, sis." Yang whispered.

* * *

Jaune walked in the office to put the paper down and then walked back out. "I can trust everyone to not go in there?"

"Even Weiss?" Ruby asked.

"If she wants to get spanked." Jaune replied.

"A connundrum." Weiss said contemplatively.

"Uh-huh?" Yang asked, pulling off her top, "Enough of this." She then reached behind her back to undo her bra. She did it so vigourously that her breasts bounced around delectably as she pulled them off. "I can't be the only one looking forward do this after a day in the woods."

"Looking forward to what?" Ruby asked.

Yang then slipped off her short skirt before hooking her fingers into the panties, "Maybe we can make the tower shake again."

"No." Jaune said. "I'm a little tired, so we'll have to make this quick."

"An hour and half is quick?" Blake asked.

"For us, it seems." Weiss replied as she slipped out of her dress.

* * *

Jaune slowly hobbled down the stairs, RWBY moving passed him. They were all moving at a relaxed pace, but Jaune was just moving so much slower.

* * *

Everyone stood around the large table, now with centrepieces. They made it more lovely, but also harder to actually see people on the other side.

"LEADER!" Nora shouted as Jaune walked up to the table, and he had to look beside the centrepiece to see her, giving her a weak smile.

"So," Yang asked, "what the hell happened?!"

"I am curious." Weiss said, and Blake gave her a curious look, "Extremely curious."

"What was that?!" Ruby asked.

Jaune raised his hand, causing everyone to quiet up. He breathed in deeply, and it gave him enough energy to stand up properly. "So, the Black Hart is the King of the Woods, and I'm apparently an Earl."

"Why did you ask to be an Earl?" Blake asked with non-judgemental curiosity.

"That," Jaune voiced, "was actually Ren's idea."

"Way to go, Renny." Nora said as she loudly slapped him on the back.

"Okay?.." Yang asked him.

"He was asking for a number of specific allowances." Ren simply stated, "I turned it into a more general grant. I also felt that if we were the stewards of the Woods, then he would be more willing to accept our pressence."

"Okay?" Ruby whined, "but, i mean?.."

"The Black Hart was created by the Brother of Light." Jaune simply stated.

"I'm curious?," Weiss asked, "why no one has encountered him before?"

"It's kind of simple." Jaune stated.

"Kind of?" Weiss asked.

"He doesn't know what we are." Jaune voiced.

"He described us as between Humans and beasts." Ren added.

"He expels Humans from the woods." Jaune stated.

"But?," Nora asked, "the castle?"

"Someone had to come here?" Yang asked.

"They always had trouble." Blake stated, "I wasn't sure what to make about it. A black beast causing problems. I assumed it was a Grimm."

"But?," Yang asked, "I mean, before it was a castle, it was used for cows, wasn't it?"

"When they had sheep," Blake stated, "they were never attacked in the woods. But, they were harried into leaving. The Humans always came and went with the animals, as a form of protection."

"But, it was used, right?" Ruby asked.

"On and off." Blake stated. "They moved in an out a number of times. In the end, the isolation was too much for them, and just gave up."

"So?," Ruby asked, "they WEREN'T living here?"

"By the time of the Great War, the castle was abandoned." Weiss replied, and Blake nodded. Blake then looked at Jaune.

"Now, the big question, is what did you get out of him?"

"Freedom of the woods," Jaune stated, "the right to hunt and forage. The right to sustainable forestry."

"And?," Weiss asked, "the first thing you did when you saw a great black beast was to ask for the right to... forage?.."

"He?," Jaune asked, "talked to us."

"That's it?" Weiss asked, "He talked to us?"

"He didn't have a Grimm mask." Jaune said, "As I said, hang back until we find out what it can do."

"What the fuck was that?" Yang asked.

"hm?" Jaune asked.

"You?," Weiss intejected, "equated feeling out an opponent's modus operandi with... talking to someone who looked like a Grimm?"

"He didn't have the mask," Jaune said, "skull?, whatever."

"And so?," Weiss asked, and momentarily paused to collect her thoughts, "your first insticts were to talk to the mayhap-a-Grimm?"

"What if it attacked?" Yang asked.

"I'm quite durable." Jaune stated.

"That's your answer?" Yang asked.

"He knew where we were." Jaune stated. "If I didn't come forward, there's a good chance he would have attacked us."

"So?," Yang asked, "he would have attacked us anyways?"

"Why did it have to be you?" Ruby asked.

"Because?," Jaune asked, "I wear armour? I have a shield? My primary fighting style is extremely close range? The rest of you are good at swooping in at the last moment and saving me?"

"He makes," Blake said, "several, good points."

"Unfortunately," Weiss stated, "he does."

"It doesn't mean I have to like it." Yang stated.

"No," Weiss fretted, "it does not."

"So?," Ruby asked, "Jaune did something crazy, and it worked out? I do that all the time."

"And it never ceases to surprise," Weiss stated, "and unnerve."

"My point is we should be happy." Ruby emphatically stated, "Jaune did something amazing."

"At that," Weiss voiced, "there is no doubt."

"Not that any of us doubted he would." Aurora stated. "Now that the big reveal is out of the way, I have prepared a meal for our hungry Huntsmen and Huntresses."

"And me?" Taj asked.

"But of course." Aurora stated.

"What about you?" Nora asked, and Aurora smiled brightly in reply. "Once I'm sure the rest of you are satisfied."

"We kind of already took care of that." Yang stated.

"We sapped what little energy he had left." Weiss quipped, and Yang just eyed her.

"Was that?.." Yang asked her.

"Perhaps?" Weiss said with a grin.

"The question?," Blake asked, "is what we do with it?"

"Jaune's spunk?" Yang asked, causing Weiss to cough.

"Perhaps a little too rich for her blood." Aurora interjected.

"It is blue." Blake stated, and Weiss started flushing light blue.

"Well," Ruby added, "the obvious answer is show Ironwood."

"That's obvious?," Weiss asked her, "is it?"

"No, I like it." Yang stated.

"And the sisters agree." Blake stated, "Either the world is going to come to an end, or they are right."

"Damn straight." Yang said, "I mean, uh?, darn."

"What was that?" Weiss asked, and Yang looked about nervously, before looking her back in her eyes.

"It's just, now that I'm certified as a adult," Yang added, "I figured I would start acting like it."

"Like what we did in the bathroom!" Ruby exclaimed.

"Well, no." Yang said, "Okay, I mean, well, yeah, obviously, and I don't intend to stop, but I mean, like, not swearing, and not being such a hothead and whatnot."

"Being a hothead is one of the most amazing things about you." Jaune said to her, causing Blake to eagerly nod.

"You can count on us to cool you off." Blake said to her.

"We so pledge." Weiss added.

"Really?," Yang asked, "I mean, I'm always getting us in trouble."

"Not as much as Ruby or Nora." Blake stated.

"You know it!" Nora shouted, and Ruby looked about nervously.

"Just count on us," Weiss warmly said to her, "to be there for you."

* * *

Note: It always bothered me about how they talked about the gods creating before Humans and Grimm, but this never gets brought up in the story.

[msjr0119]

A Second Chance

Part 2

King Liam and Hana had been assassinated, leaving behind their loved ones. Both Riley and Drake are struggling to come to terms with this- but does their future hold a second chance for the two of them?

Series Requested by @kacie-0156 ❤️

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Liam x Riley (Past tense), Drake x Hana (Past tense), Drake x Riley (Present tense)

*Majority of the characters belong to Pixelberry*

Song inspiration: See You Again (No Rap) - Samy Jebari

Warnings: Swearing, suicide attempt mention (past tense), mention of miscarriage (past tense).

Word count: 4,300ish

Tags: If you want to be added or removed let me know: @pedudley @kacie-0156 @ladyangel70 @annekebbphotography @yukinagato2012 @ravenpuff02 @kimmiedoo5 @bascmve01 @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @lodberg @cmestrella @axwalker @hopefulmoonobject @rafasgirl23415 @walker7519 @drakewalker04

*****

“Drake! Leave him alone...” Riley pleaded, she knew that he was only protecting his niece- but she also knew what he was like when he was angry. His temper could make the younger generation tremble.

Letting go immediately of Theo, he shook his head assuming that he had gone too far. Thank you, she whispered in his ear.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ayah invited me. I’m so sorry...”

“Mom, you can’t exactly criticise us. You was flitting between my father and Drake!” Riley’s eyes widened, she had never heard her daughter speak to her this way. Never mind calling Drake just ‘Drake’. It was always Uncle.

“Apologise to your Mom, now. That isn’t fair Ayah!”

“No! Myself and Theo are adults. Not kids as you all refer us too.”

“Ayah, shut up!” Louis shouted towards his older sister after seeing his Moms eyes begin to leak.

“Theo, please go home. Or I’ll contact your mother...” Riley began to walk back inside the cabin- knowing she needed to sort this situation out but she needed time to think.

“Mom, wait!”

****

Drake called a cab for Theo, he and Ayah decided to escort him home. The ride was mute, neither young adult wanting to annoy Drake anymore. Deep down Ayah knew that she had deceived everybody. Deep down she knew she shouldn’t have invited her boyfriend without permission. Deep down she didn’t mean to say hurtful things to upset her Mom.

“I’m sorry, I love you.”

“I love you too, Princess. I’ll text you.” Drake watched the two of them express their love, he knew that he couldn’t prevent the two of them falling in love. He knew it was none of his business- she wasn’t his daughter. Believing that he should butt out next time.

“What have you done now? Walker get off my land!”

“Fuck you, Madeleine. I don’t want to be here either. Explain to your son that he isn’t welcome on my land when not invited!”

“My son is going to be your future king! Watch your mouth, Walker!” Drake laughed, hestically out loud. Much to the annoyance of Neville and Madeleine who both provided him with the same expression- a scowl.

“Are you going to explain to the Earl, Ayah?”

“Countess Madeleine, Earl Neville- my brother is taking over the throne. Not myself.” The Vancouver’s jaws nearly dropped to the ground. They wasn’t aware of this ‘news’.

“So looks like you lost out of the crown yet again, Countess.” Drake smirked, he looked at Theo who clearly hadn’t informed his parents of Ayahs decision.

“Inside now, Theo!” Madeleine was more annoyed with the fact that Riley didn’t tell her, whenever they spoke about the social season plans- Riley explained that the suitors were all sorted and asked Madeleine to just concentrate on the event schedule. Now she realised why Riley refused to elaborate on the suitors details.

Drake and Ayah entered the cab again, as angry as he was with her still- he looked over towards her as she was crying. Holding her hand, he assumed that she would push him away- instead she snuggled into him.

“Do... do you think he loves me? Or was he only with me because they thought he would be King? Daddy told me that he is different to them. That he could see that Theo loved me....”

“Your father knew?”

“He knew for years... Mom only knew when I told her that I was abdicating. She had an inkling that I was in a relationship. She believed it was with Jackson though... but he’s seeing Elena.”

“Why didn’t he tell your Mom? You know your Mom thinks that you and Theo are just a fling or so she hopes... Jackson’s seeing Elena?”

“I begged him not to. I know how much Mom hates Madeleine and Neville hence why we kept it a secret all this time. Yeah, I thought you’d have known?”

“What is it with you lot keeping secrets? Any other secrets that I need to know about?”

“Bartie lost his virginity to Chloe...” Shrugging her shoulders it was the only thing she could think about that wouldn’t get her brother or Jackson in any kind of trouble. I’m surprised Leo hasn’t murdered Bartie. Drake couldn’t be a hypocrite towards them all- they all did irresponsible things as children/ young adults too. It’s only natural.

“Okay gossip girl, anything else?”

“You love Mom still?” First Louis, now Ayah. Why can’t they give me a break? Drake thought to himself, believing that sooner rather than later the two of them would be impersonating Cilla Black.

“I’ll always love your Mom, Ayah. Always. As I love all of you. When we get back you need to apologise to her. And next time, keep quiet- your Mom has very good hearing!”

“I will do. I’m sorry. I love you, Uncle grumpy.” Snuggling back into Drake, he held his niece tightly- hoping that Theo wasn’t going to hurt her. If so, himself and Leo wouldn’t hold back.

****

An hour had past since Theo was escorted home. Louis stayed with his mom, they remained in silence.

“Are you going to come back out? I think we’ve all sobered up due to Ayah’s drama - again.”

“I’m fine, Louis. Go back to sleep- or socialise with the others.”

“What Ayah said about you with Dad and Uncle Drake...She didn’t mean it. We all make mistakes, we all fall in love. She should know, I mean she could have had anyone and she chose a Vancouver..” Shuddering at the thought, he wasn’t usually one to pass comment on both of his sister’s relationships.

“I know she didn’t mean it. It was the heat of the moment. I’m fine honestly. Enjoy your last days of freedom.”

“Everyone loves you Mom, some more than others.” Quirking her eyebrows she assumed he meant her children.

“Mom?” Running up to her, her not so little princess pulled her in for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I’m a bitch. I didn’t mean what I said. I love you so much, I don’t want to lose you too.”

“You’re not going to lose me. Not yet anyway. I love you, Ayah Olivia Rys. Next time make sure that none of us see his you know what. How are you my daughter? Did I not teach you to be sneaky like I was?” Winking at her, she decided to have a laugh at her own expense. Knowing that she couldn’t change what had happened in the past.

“Difference between you and I Mother, is that I only love, Theo. I can’t blame you though, my Father and Uncle Drake are very attractive.”

“They are. I’m going to check on your Uncle Maxi. I’ll see you both in the morning. Anymore surprises before I go to sleep?”

“No. But....” Ayah looked at Louis, as if they knew what they were both thinking.

“Uncle Drake loves you. You love him.”

“Of course I love him, he’s one of my dearest friends. I love all of your uncles, Aunt Liv and Aunt Beth.” The two of them looked at each other, knowing she was hiding her true feelings. Giving the two of them a tight hug, she paused looking at them both adorably. Even though Ayah was her mini me, she could still see Liam in her as well as Louis and Ellie.

****

Drake was acting like a King’s guard. Impersonating his late father in some way. Making sure that all the young adults were all asleep- alone, with no further unexpected visitors. After his heart to heart with his goddaughter - he really didn’t trust any of them now, after Ayah’s confessions regarding them all. Walking into the cabin, he shook his head as he saw Riley and Maxwell top ‘n’ tailing on the couch. Maxwell was sprawled out- almost suffocating her.

“Hey...” whispering in her ear, she was far too deep in sleep to respond. Knowing he was about to break his back potentially- due to his age, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the spare bedroom. Gently placing the duvet over her, he made sure that she was comfy- before kissing her on the forehead.

“Drake?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. You looked so uncomfortable- and Maxwell could have potentially had a boxing fight with you in his sleep.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time... you look tired. What time is it?”

“Just gone three. I’ll leave you to it. I thought we could all go hiking tomorrow? Or fishing? That’s if you’re all up for it?”

“Sounds great!” Apart from the fishing part. “Can you stay with me? Or wake sleeping beauty up and ask him to stay with me? I know I sound pathetic but ... I can’t sleep, I always wake up. Crying.”

“It’s not pathetic, maybe Maxwell should stay with you though Brooks- because of our past.”

“We’re friends Drake. I’m not going to do a ‘Ayah’ on ya.” Gulping, she saw his Adam Apple bob up and down. Regretting what she said- she bit her lip.

“It doesn’t matter, Drake. I’ll be fine. Night.” Rolling on to her side, she sighed- regretting feeling needy. Hearing the door close, she debated whether or not to go and sleep next to Maxwell again.

“You’re back.”

“Of course I am, I can’t sleep next to the Queen butt naked. I’m always here for you, Ri.”

“I know you are. Ditto...” Slipping next to her, she immediately rest her head onto his chest.

“Thank you, goodnight Drake.”

“Night, Riley.” Holding onto her, she slowly fell asleep-wiping the tears that continued leaking from her eyes he hoped that she would sleep well.

****

A few hours later, Drake woke up spooning Riley. Before she noticed he immediately turned around- he was there to comfort her only, however Mother Nature thought otherwise. As he rolled over, his eyes widened at the figure who would now be nicknamed as Cordonia’s ‘peeping Tom’.

“Morning, Romeo!”

“Max! Get out of here now!”

“What did I tell ya about being too old to fuck. You sneaky bastards....”

“We didn’t do anything! She’s my friend.”

“You’re bedroom is next door though... ya can’t kid a kidder bestie...”

“It was you or I that was going to be sleeping next to her. You had passed out. Nothing happened. I swear, Max. She laid on my chest, fell asleep. Then she rolled on to her side. Why am I even explaining myself to you?”

“Will you both just shut the fuck up? Jesus, Max! Why do you keep insisting on waking people up?”

“Sorry, your Majesty. So besties, what are the plans for today?”

“You’re going home Beaumont!” Drake said sarcastically, already fed up of being accused of something that he hasn’t done.

“Woah, harsh Walker. So Ri, what are we doing?”

“You are leaving this room now, so I can get ready for the day.”

Pulling Drake to the side, she immediately noticed his morning glory. Pretending that she didn’t, he already knew that she had - it was too obvious not to.

“Drake... thank you for staying with me. I really appreciate it. I think it’s first night I’ve actually slept well considering how short it was.”

“No probs... erm... I better go and sort myself out. I’ll come down and make everyone something to eat...”

****

Riley walked downstairs and was immediately greeted by an audience wearing the same cheesy grin.

“What?”

“Did you sleep well, Auntie Riley?”

“Yes, thank you Jackson.” Feeling paranoid, she shot Maxwell a look- knowing that he had gossiped about her sleeping arrangements.

“Hey, don’t blame me. They all wondered where the Queen and Sir was... I couldn’t lie, Ri.”

“To put you all straight, myself and my best friend Drake slept next to each other. He comforted me. I’ve not slept well since Liam di- left...”

“Are you okay?” Feeling his hand linger on her shoulder, she wasn’t sure as to why she had to explain herself. She had slept next to Maxwell plenty of times when Liam was abroad for meetings. But because it was Drake this time, she felt paranoid that they would all criticise her from ‘moving on’ so quick.

“Maxwell, I need your help. Now!”

“What’s up buddy? What do ya need me to do?”

“Stop spreading shit. She seems uncomfortable again. We’ve just got her back slightly to her being herself. You don’t want to push her away.”

“No one is bothered if you both fucked each other. Just saying. But don’t worry- I won’t mention anything more. But if my godchildren ask me questions I’m not gonna lie to them.”

****

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? You seem quiet. We aren’t bothered that the two of you shared a bed you know...”

“I’m fine, Ellie. Honestly.”

“How about when we go back home, we all just have a big huge slumber party? Just us Rys’s.”

“That sounds great sweetheart.”

“I love you, Mom. I’ll remind Ayah, no Vancouver’s allowed! Or Beaumont’s - specifically the single middle aged Beaumont.” Ellie whispered, not wanting to cause anymore ‘Ayah Drama’.

“Here, tuck in everyone. I’ll be back in a minute.” Placing the food in the middle of the table, everybody knew that Drake was an amazing host, as well as cook. Not sitting down with everyone, he grabbed some apples from the fruit basket before making his way to the door.

“Where are you going?” Riley questioned him. Not that it was any of her business. She was just curious.

“Just to feed Starlight. Why?”

“I just wondered. That’s all. I’ll round these lot up for that hike and fishing trip.”

****

“Hey, girl... here you go.”

“I swear you love her more than you do me...” Jackson said whilst smirking.

“I swear that you love Elena more than me...”

“How do you know? Ayah....”

“Why couldn’t you tell me?”

“You’re still grieving over Mom and Uncle Liam. My love life isn’t important.” Placing his hands into his pockets, he focused his gaze to the floor. Unlike people such as Lydia Vancouver, he was selfless- his life didn’t need to be broadcasted.

“I’m still your father. I’m still here, for anything.”

“I suppose we are as bad as each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Aunt Ri. I don’t know why you are both hiding your feelings. I love, Elena. I’m only half noble, I’m not sure if Leo and Beth would approve of our relationship- hence why we are keeping it hidden. Hence why I didn’t want to be a suitor for Ayah when she was the next in line. If I can admit all of that now, you need to admit it too.”

“Jackson... Leo isn’t going to criticise you for not being ‘full noble’... regarding Riley... she was the first woman that I ever loved. I still love her, but as a friend. That is it...”

“Okay.” Whatever, he thought to himself. “Come on, they will be waiting for us.”

****

After a long hike, everybody was exhausted and ready for bed. However they all promised to go fishing, one of Drakes favourite hobbies. Riley was hesitant at first- every since her accident she had grown a phobia with lakes/rivers.

The young lady that was pulled out of the Hudson River, early hours yesterday morning has now been named by NYPD as Riley Brooks, a 25year old waitress and barmaid from Manhattan. Miss Brooks is currently in an unstable condition in hospital. Two witnesses who were walking by at the time that Miss Brooks apparently entered the water, bravely jumped in the river and pulled her body to the river bank, where she received CPR after suffering a suspected cardiac arrest. There was support from other witnesses, who helped the two brave people also. Miss Brooks was then immediately rushed to hospital, as were the witnesses for a check up. No foul play is suspected at this time, however Detective David McDonald has requested if any other witnesses could come forward The previous day before this tragic incident, Miss Brooks had reported her ex partner to NYPD for domestic abuse. It is known that the well spoke about Lawyer, Nate Cooper had abused the victim for months, including hospitalising her on more than one occasion. Leo Rhys, a friend of Miss Brooks also became a victim to Mr Cooper’s violent outbursts. The man is currently in custody with the Boston Police Force.

I took my shoes off, and sat on the edge of the muddy riverbank, taking in the last memory of the beautiful scenery surrounding me. Pulling my purse out of my bag, I stared longingly at the black and white picture- my baby. Raising the picture to my mouth, I kissed it- mommy is coming to be with you angel, I’m sorry, I’ll see you soon and protect you and love you like I should have loved you in this world.

Leaving all my possessions on the side of the riverbank as if they were lost property, I timidly walked over to the water. Dipping my toes into the ice cold flowing water, sent a shock through my body. Could I do this, I thought? Having second doubts, I looked up to the beautiful sunrise, looking around making sure no one was there. I had to jump- no more second chances, no more time to doubt. It was no or never. My heart jumped out of my skin as I entered the water. I gave up. I’m sorry.

When Drake suggested fishing, he had completely forgotten how irresponsible it was of him to suggest this.

“We could do something else, we don’t need to do this..”

“It’s fine, just promise me that you and Max will hold on to me if I panic.. I’ll be fine...” I hope.

“If you change your mind, I’ll take us back. I promise, I’ll be next to you.” Drake walked into the water to hold onto the boat, and to also assist Riley safely on it.

“This is so relaxing...” Riley sighed, as she sat back on the boat. Drake provided her with a soft smile as he held on to the rod. They had been on the boat for a while now, and she seemed to be enjoying it. In Drake’s eyes he was relieved that she had overcome a fear, he was also relieved that Maxwell decided to get so drunk on the hike that he had passed out. Again. Silence is bliss.

“Hopefully we’ll catch something. I think I’m losing my touch looking over at their collection of catches...”

“It’s because you’re old now, Walker.”

“I maybe old, but I’m still talented at things Brooks...”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Blushing, he didn’t know what to say. He assumed that she wouldn’t call him out in a response.

“I.... Erm....”

“Have I rendered you speechless?”

“Maybe?”

“Let me have a go....”

Maxwell woke up from his slumber, forgetting where they were. Forgetting exactly what they was doing. Seeing his two friends incredibly close to one an another, he wondered how long it would be until they found solace with each other. A mischievous grin formed on to his face- deciding to rock the boat. Not realising how much strength he had until both Riley and Drake fell into the lake. “Oops!”

“Riley!” Drake swam up to the surface immediately scrutinising for Riley- unable to find her location, he dove under water. Finding her, he raced over and helped her. Knowing that she was panicking, his main aim was to quickly get her to safety and back to the cabin.

Coughing as they got back to the surface, Drake wiped her damp stray pieces of hair away from her face.

“Are you okay?” Stupid fucking question. Of course she isn’t okay.

“Yeah. Fucking Maxwell...”

“I thought I’d lost you, I couldn’t see you at first.” Unable to stop crying, flashbacks roamed through her mind.

“You’d never lose me.... thank you, for saving me.” Holding on to Drake for dear life as he tread water, she eventually wrapped her legs around him. Needing to feel safe. Luckily, Drake was a strong swimmer.

“Guys, I’m so sorry.... I’m like the Hulk and didn’t realise it...”

“Pull a trick like that again Beaumont, and I swear you won’t make it to your next birthday! Help me get Ri, back onto the boat...”

****

Arriving back at the cabin, shock from the events had soon disappeared- instead along with their children they laughed about it whilst providing Maxwell with dagger eyes every so often. Both Riley and Drake sat close to the fire, both feeling as if they had pneumonia. Once they got back on their boat, Jackson took his shirt off and threw it to them for Riley as she was shivering like a shitting dog.

“Hey, blossom. So when I was looking for some clothes for ya to wear- I was debating whether or not to ‘borrow’ one of Drake’s infamous jackets... but then I came across this... I believe it is yours anyway...”

“Aww I’m so in love with her already. I can’t help but snuggle her... Congratulations to you both.” Hana said to Liam and Riley as she held a new born Ayah.

“Hana, I hope you’re going to be snuggling her until she gets too big.. myself and Liam was hoping that you and Drake would be two of her many godparents...” Hana began crying, Riley was aware as to why the over dramatic expression from her best friend.

“We’d love to be.. thank you both so much...”

“I’ve got a present for you as well Han, but I’ll need to wash them all first. I don’t want to offend you so if you don’t want them it’s fine...” Hana provided her with a perplexed expression- Riley would never offend her, they were the best of friends after all.

“My maternity dresses, the ones that you always admired. I don’t think we will be having anymore children- if so it won’t be for a while. So they are yours if you want them. Drake didn’t tell me by the way, I figured it out - he just confirmed it.”

“You are the best friend anyone could ask for! I’d be honoured to borrow your dresses. If it’s a boy, there may be wedding bells in the future.”

“It’s... its .... one of my dresses... I gave it to, Hana. She insisted on giving me it back- but I refused... she suited it so much better anyway... even after having Jackson she wore them well with her fashion sense... I’m sorry, I need some air...” Everybody jumped up, hesitating whether or not to follow her before sighing at Maxwell in unison.

“What, I didn’t think I’d upset her... I just seem to be fucking up a lot recently...”

“No shit Sherlock! I’ll go and see to her...”

“Drake, I’m sorry...”

“I’m sorry too Max, you wasn’t to know how she would react... just see if all of her clothes are dry. Don’t cause anymore calamities...”

****

Hey, handsome. You will never believe what happened yesterday- I’m sorry I didn’t ring you as I usually do. I wish that you could be here to berate our daughter. Myself and the kids, Maxwell too- decided to spend time at the cabin before the social season. Ayah decided to invite Theo without telling anyone- we caught them doing... you know what... oh, Liam. What am I going to do with her? I imagine her antics are what you had to suffer with Leo when he was that age. Maxwell nearly killed me today as well. In a fucking lake. Typical. I panicked but I didn’t want anyone to know. I know how protective you would have been. Drake was furious with him. Why'd you have to leave so soon? Why'd you have to go? Why'd you have to leave me when I needed you the most? Give me all the strength I need. To carry on. I need it, Li. I’ve just broken down because Maxwell gave me my old maternity dress to wear that I gave to Hana. You remember, that flowery one that she adored. I’ve come out of my shell a bit, I’ve got all these muppets supporting me- especially Drake. I feel guilty but I slept next to him last night. I hope you don’t mind. I love you with all my heart, Liam. I miss you every second of each day. Everything’s going to be a bit hectic from a few days time- I’m not sure if I’ll be able to ring you every night. But you will always be on my mind- guiding us all, helping Louis become King. When I see you again.

“Hey... what are you doing?” She’s just rung Liam, shit. Perfect timing Walker.

“I needed to talk to Liam. I’m also feeling embarrassed for my emotional outburst over a maternity dress.. it’s little things like that, that trigger off happy memories. If it was the other way around, Hana wouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. I suppose Maxwell didn’t want you wearing my commoner clothes.. remember you always used to take the piss?”

“Heh, yeah that shit. You look handsome in a suit though...”

“I still managed to make you fall in love with me once upon a time, wearing that shit...”

“You did...” Pausing, she didn’t want to elaborate. Their relationship was happy memories but was overruled by negative ones. “We all love you Drake, we just take the piss because you get so arsy easily. With Maxwell he just accepts that he’s the ‘clown’ of the group and laughs at his own expense.”

“Don’t I know it... why do you think I still call you Brooks? Because it annoys the hell out of you... it’s my little revenge...”

“I don’t mind it, not really. It’s our little thing.”

“I’ll have to think back to everything that annoyed you- just to get my own back then...”

“I’ve got a long list about how you annoyed me in the past. How you hurt me. But it’s all in the past...”

“I was a jerk... I grew up a lot after everything that I put you through. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. You’ve made up for it a million times over. Besides, you brought me back to Liam. You found happiness with Hana. This year we’d have been celebrating our child’s twenty fifth birthday...crazy isn’t it?” Closing her eyes, a few tears leaked and fell down her cheek. Not only due to the miscarriage. But how it occurred.

“Yeah, every day I imagined what it would have been like. I didn’t like to think about it that much, especially in front of Hana and Li. It wasn’t fair to them. But I always did, Jackson is my child - but ours was my first child. I will never forget about it even if we never met it.” Hearing him say that, broke her heart. She had the same thoughts- she still had the picture of the scan in her memory box. Unknowingly to anyone, she looked at it on the anniversary of the day she lost their baby. As well as the baby’s due date. Knowing that Liam would have comforted her, if he knew that she did this- but as Drake said, it wasn’t fair on their spouses. Taking a deep breath, she decided to change the subject before she became an emotional wreck- yet again.

“Why didn’t you and Hana have anymore children?”

“We we’re blessed with Jackson. He was healthy. Obviously I’d have wanted more, but Hana didn’t after the labour. I love my wife so if she was happy I was happy. I had a vasectomy shortly after that. Besides I’ve got my godchildren who are practically like my own anyway.”

“He’s a credit to you both.... this is getting far too sentimental. I’m ready to go back if you are?” Holding his hand outwards her, she intertwined her fingers with his as they ambled back towards the cabin. Content in each other’s company.

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

Freedom.

With: Sigurd Snake In The Eye x Reader.

Word Count: 2,1K.

When Sigurd left his previous home -the great hall-, his intentions were solely to have peace, Lagertha took her throne back and Sigurd accepted her peace offer.

But even with that, he couldn’t sleep in the same place she does now.

A small house near a lake was enough for the young prince. Sigurd has born in riches but he didn’t make such a fuss about it.

The place was quiet enough, mostly young couples with a higher way of life or honored families by the Earl.

A singular couple, the man and woman residing straight next to his home, were the first to introduce themselves to him.

Sigurd had to accept, the couple was somewhat unpaired. The man spoke stiffly with doubtful words, while the woman was completely gorgeous. 

Her smile was entirely poisonous, and each word was smart and sounded important.

Sigurd became interested in his neighbors.

Over the season that he lived there, the neighbors have become closer, almost to the point of friendship. The couple would invite him for dinner nearly twice a week, and Y/N would prepare the tastiest meals, while her husband sat and cleaned his fishing materials.

Sigurd had come to learn that Y/N’s family was quite prosperous, and when she married, Hródolf had gained command of her supplies, buying a home and making sure that the golds and silver were emptied just enough so that she fully depended on him.

Regrettably for her, the way she was raised -being a child of a strong warrior with uncountable riches while alive- had left her with no work abilities, besides planting.

It had to be her enthusiasm in her lonesome childhood, her nanny back in the day loved planting and taught Y/N pretty much everything. And even if cold Kattegat was, the plants seemed to blossom gorgeously under Y/N’s sweet touch.

Sigurd and Hródolf had a sort of deal. Sigurd loved to hunt and to spend some time alone in his family’s cabin, sometimes he would visit his brothers but he grew used to be alone. So Hródolf would give the prince some fishes and Sigurd would bring some meat for Y/N prepare meals with.

                          …

After a day with his brothers, Sigurd was finally coming home, it was late at night. He was almost opening his door when he heard a loud crash. His eyes shot to his surroundings, trying to find the noise, which was accompanied by a man’s roar. The words were incomprehensible but Sigurd knew the man might be angry.

When he listened to a higher feminine voice he understood that it must be his neighbors. He entered his home, mind at rest as he prepared a bath for himself.

After bathing for bed, he finally met his deserved sleep.

The next morning, he took a piece of bread from the table and left to meet Ubbe on the shore. The place was quiet and Sigurd didn’t see Hródolf’s small boat, he glanced around and found it weird.

Chewing his last slice of bread he went to Y/N’s door and knocked twice. When she opened Sigurd took a genuine look at her.

A long -cheap- sleeved dress hid her appearance from his eyes, but what took the young prince’s attention was the huge purplish circle under her left eye and her red neck.

He grew instantly troubled.

“What happened to you, Y/N? Was it Hródolf?” Sigurd asked, interest carved into his normally hard highlights. Y/N’s delicate voice interfered him, a little smile on her damaged face.

“Don’t worry, I fell in the docks yesterday, a boat was near and I hit my eye.” She said, voice tied with fear. “Hródolf separated your fishes, prince. Will you take them now? I can clean if you want…”

Sigurd was gazing her form and even forgot about the stupid fishes. Out of instinct, he touched her arm in an attempt to see the further damage, when she whimpered at the touch he grabbed the hem of the sleeve and tried to lift only to be met with her hand stopping him.

But as a prince he had somewhat a power over her, shaking his head slightly she retrieved her touch and Sigurd took the sleeve up until her elbow, and just as he expected: Purples marks as well.

It wasn’t his business, but he couldn’t allow that sort of behavior. “Has he done that before?”

Y/N kept silent, crossing her arms and looking at her feet. “It is my fault.”

“Don’t you dare to say that.”

“But it’s! I was stupid, I fell in love with him, I was young and an orphan, he used his charm and I was a fool to believe in his love!” She said with glassy eyes staring at him, almost touching his soul.

Sigurd was heartbroken to hear such a thing, even more, to see that she believed it was her fault that the fucker didn’t appreciate the amazing woman he had. “And now I don’t have any riches left, everything I had he used. I ran away once, but has no work for me… and is better to live in that way than becoming a whore.”

Silence overtook the place, Sigurd tried to find a way to save her. Of course he had an interest in her, but how could he steal a woman from her house? Yes, he was a prince but it would screw all of his peaceful scenarios.

Letting a sigh he shook his head. “Fuck that.” He mumbled under his breath, Y/N was taken aback by the answer. “I’ll have a nice chat with him, and then I’ll take you out of here.”

Y/N bit her tongue, he would “save” her only to have her until he grew tired and start to treat her like an animal. 

She knew very well what men did. She learned it in the hard way.

“With all due respect, my prince, I don’t want to leave my house which was bought with my gold only to go to another man’s bed.”

“This isn’t what I have in mind, even if I consider you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and the fact that seeing you in pain makes me want to kill that bastard.” He took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t force you in marriage or take you away without your consent. You said you don’t have work abilities but I have a perfect purpose for you.” He stated and Y/N was confused, what she could do?

                            …

Lagertha said she didn’t have any bitterness nor problem against the sons of Ragnar. And Sigurd being the calmer one asked for a favor, he explained Y/N’s situation and how great she was with flowers, and how some vegetables grew perfectly under her touch.

Lagertha knew how women were treated and agreed to have her, not as a slave, but as a worker. So Lagertha told Sigurd about a farm she has a few miles from the great hall and that Y/N could live with the old couple who took care of the place.

When Sigurd told Y/N, she was amazed and hugged him tightly. Not only she could get freed from her terrible husband, but she could earn her own independence.

But then, she grew worried. “He’ll kill me.”

“Don’t you bother about that, I told Lagertha what he did and she hates violence against women.” Y/N nodded, after all, Lagertha was a shieldmaiden and ruled by herself. “So if you want, she will cast him out or kill him. It is your decision.”

Y/N looked around her house and unconsciously held her necklace, Mjölnir in her hand and a praise being sent to Thor…

(…) She had prayed for him so many times, and Y/N knew that Hródolf would find and kill her… was him or her. “I want her to kill him.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll kill him myself.”

Sigurd took Y/N to the farm Lagertha has mentioned, Hródolf was still in the sea on his fishing, so the process of taking Y/N away was easier.

When the man got back to find his house empty he started to yell her name… along with some profanities.

Sigurd left his house with a sword. “She is not there.”

“What do you mean she isn’t here? Where is she?” He asked angrily, completely forgetting he was addressing to a prince.

Darting his eyes to Sigurd’s residence Hródolf shook his head. “Is she there? That whore opened her legs for you?” He took large steps near Sigurd.

The prince with a snake in the eye didn’t seem disturbed, and it irritated Hródolf profoundly.

The man tried to punch Sigurd who dodged in time and kicked Hródolf’s arse making him fell on the floor. “You know, when I first saw her I got mesmerized. So beautiful, so smart, so… delicate. Yet, married with a pig like you.”

Hródolf grunted and tried to get on his feet but Sigurd inserted his sword on the man’s leg making him scream. “Only cowards hurt women! But you’re not only a coward but a thief as well.” Splitting the man’s skin open, he looked the blood falling in the sand. “Stole her money and everything her father had achieved.”

Sigurd stabbed the other leg making another scream mix between the tranquil place’s sound.

Hródolf looked at his legs before glancing at the man. “You think you’re a hero?!” He started to laugh. “You’re a damned prince! Born in all the riches, had everything you could want, all the women.”

“You’re right, but I would never lay a finger on them.” He stated and kicked the man’s face, he wanted him to feel what Y/N felt, maybe even more. “But enough, I’m tired of you already. Y/N will live the life she deserves and you’ll die as the coward you’re.” Sigurd touched the tip of his shining sword in the man’s chest, blood running down his nose due to the kick, and his legs’ skin split open.

Hródolf was crying and begged for mercy, but Sigurd could only see Y/N’s glassy eyes and the injuries on her body. Sigurd retrieved for a second sensing a stab in the heart would be too merciful.

Placing his sword on its holster Hródolf started to thank the prince, who smirked at his stupidity.

Sigurd walked to Hródolf’s boat and grabbed some rope, walking back to the spot he saw blood in the sand and Hródolf’s weak efforts of crawling out of the scene.

Sigurd pulled the man’s leg and intertwined the rope around it, the yells were already irritating him, but it was a good plan -almost Ivar’s plan, he thought-, he did the same process around the man’s torso and dragged Hródolf’s body until the end of the sand when it met the ocean, letting him laying in the cold sand.

With each wave coming Hródolf was covered in salty water, the salt would burn his wounds but he wouldn’t die as fast, which was what Siggurd wanted.

He wanted Hródolf to suffer for everything he did sweet Y/N go through.

As the water came and went he coughed and tried to crawl back, which was impossible since his legs and arms were tightly convoluted with ropes. And with the salty water burning his wounds, the man was agonizing.

Sigurd was proud of his plan, he grabbed an apple inside his home and sat warm in his furs watching the suffering of the man who dared to hurt Y/N.

                         …

Days passed and Sigurd stood living in his house alone, forthwith no longer neighbors. It was somehow lonely, he and Y/N weren’t much close but he used to have dinner with her and her -now dead- excuse of a husband.

His routine stood variously as always, sometimes he would hunt, other times meet his brothers, even a few travels here and there.

The young prince was grateful to Lagertha for helping Y/N, and he visited her sometimes, she was… brighter. Happier.

And he loved to see it.

Y/N was grateful to Sigurd, he helped her so much and she knows she would never be able to thank him enough.

                        …

A few years passed and along the years Sig visited Y/N almost four times per month, she taught him how to plant and a strong friendship developed.

Sigurd's feelings weren’t wrong when he first saw Y/N, the vision of such a pretty woman in front of him, and the feeling of confusion when he witnessed the pig she was married with.

But now she was freed, she was no longer being possessed and without any sort of metal with her. The plantations grew more prosperous and Lagertha was happy since her people were well fed. 

Sigurd surprisingly found joy planting with her, and Y/N actually said he was good with it. 

A few time further, Y/N was in love with the man. She thought she was at first, but was too afraid to let someone in after the entire Hródolf past.

But Sigurd wasn’t a bad man, no, he was a good one.

Sigurd found his luck then, he would raid when required but he married Y/N and both moved to a beautiful wood house near the former one she was living with the old couple.

It was hers! And in that way, she could have her privacy with her loving husband and keep with her job, her choice, since Sigurd would give her the whole world if she asked him to.

Even being a daughter of a great Viking warrior, she never thought she could marry a prince, but life has its plans.

                  …

[hollowcrovvn]

The Ostensive Fumblings of Being Human (part 4)

Pairing: Connor x female!reader Rating: T  Summary: Set two months after the ending of Detroit: Become Human, androids are living in government created “pop-up” communities while efforts are being made to integrate them into society. You are a grad-student volunteer with the Detroit Crisis Response Unit (DCRU), working to help with relief efforts. 

Notes: Here are links to two articles I referenced regarding the Near Death Experience study and why we build androids in our image. 

Link one  Link two 

The Cadillac Place, for non-Michigan residents, is a very pretty building downtown that houses lots of state departments. I want to dot in more of the cities structures and histories, since I am a Michigan resident myself! My favorite building is the Book Tower.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (ao3)

In 2017, scientists working out of Hadassah University in Jerusalem, concluded that your life does indeed pass before your eyes before death. Graduation, marriage, birthdays and all the things in between… but it wasn’t some mystical spiritual event. It simply was that when you die, the part of your brain responsible for storing memory is the last thing to go.

The study also found, in those last moments, time becomes intangible. Seconds become months, minutes become years. Everything that was ever you or would ever be you existing outside of the limits of time and space for one brief moment, before it all stopped.

When you started at DCRU, you had no enthusiasm, only resigned obedience to your need for health insurance and a dose of cautious fear. It was almost Christmas, barely a month having passed since the androids had won, for now, some resemblance to freedom. Laws take time to change, policies take time to create and meanwhile there were thousands of Androids suddenly conscious and displaced in a city that had, the day before November 11th, been on a population decline.

Employment rates skyrocketed as companies scrambled, desperate to put bodies where there were once android laborers and the people responded with a triumphant roar. Jobs? In Detroit? Any who were able bodied enough to take jobs did so and even if you weren’t, the companies didn’t exactly have room to be picky. There were still androids that were “asleep” as it was now being called, obedient and without freewill who continued to do as programmed. What happened to those androids was an entire other debate and one DCRU was not apart of.

Your first day you were ushered with three other grad students into a cramped claustrophobic modular building set up at the entrance of the construction site. Everywhere there were plain white blocks, the outlines of future homes. The three of you were quickly divided up and you in particular were set before a desk at the front of the room.

Miranda was as immaculate that day as she had been everyday since. She was human, that she assured you and confirmed multiple times a week with her constant order of a London Fog. The name called to mind a dreary, grey drink without personality, but the floral citrus scent of earl grey, darkened with a dash of black coffee seemed to you to match Miranda perfectly. She wore white silk blouses, pencil skirts and shiny black kitten heels. Under her desk however, she kept a pair of well worn steel toe boots which she often replaced her heels for when walking the site.

She was nearing fifty, but maintained her curly brown hair so not a single grey showed. She wore Coco Mademoiselle Classic. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a tiny bit of a crush on her the first time you met.

“I won’t sugar coat it. We have a whole mess of volunteers because we pay. We have to pay. If we didn’t pay?” she threw up her hand, extending her fingers to symbolize “poof”, “Up in smoke. No one is going to thank you for your services here, especially not the androids, but you’re going to pick up a paycheck and in exchange you’ll do office work rather than haul frames and nails.”

She sipped her coffee, looking at you over pointed black cat eye frames.

“Can you take dictation?”

“Hell yeah.” you said, noting she lifted one sculpted eyebrow in passive judgement.

“I mean uh-- yes. Yeah I can do that.”

“Great. You start right now.”

Clearly, you weren’t dead, because if you were, you couldn’t imagine your last memories being of some article from twenty years ago or your first day at DCRU. That, and you hurt too much to be dead. Josh pushed himself off of you, falling onto his back. His arms were torn and showing inside where metallic parts moved and flashed. Thirium oozed from his neck, smelling heavily of something akin to ozone and cleaning solution. His mouth moved, but the sound was garbled and clipped. He grabbed his throat, panic shooting through his eyes.

“Your voice.” you said, finding your own raspy and pained as you inhaled a lungful of smoke.

He took his hand away and the thirium ooze had turned into a fountain.

“ Shit. ” you hissed, forcing yourself up though your entire body screamed with soreness. Your shoulder hurt so badly, why did it hurt so badly? You forced it out of your mind, clamping your hands around Josh’s neck to try and stop the flow of thirium. It stung the cuts on your hands, but you kept the pressure on.

“Don’t panic.” you said and Josh looked back at you with an expression that said, Are you joking?!

You whipped your head around, looking for someone, anyone and suddenly wishing you hadn’t. Some androids… the ones who had been on the stairs… were now in several places. You felt your gut twist, but swallowed back the sudden salty taste in your mouth.

You didn’t see Miranda anywhere.

“I need to stop the bleeding.” you told Josh, taking your hands away to try and get a better look at where the line was torn. It hurt to move your left arm, but you gritted through it.

He nodded, wincing. Could deviant’s feel pain too?

No time to ask. You, as carefully as you could, slid your fingertips into the slice on his throat and sought out the line that was pushing out thirium. Josh was shaking, but he didn’t stop you, not even when you found the line and forcefully squeezed it closed.

There were several chirps, static and then Josh’s voice modular stabilized.

“Is itttttttttt-- o-o-kay?.” he said, unnatural and robotic.

“I think it’s stopped. I think I have it stopped.” you assured him. His hand came up and you took it with your free one. He tried to shake his head.

“Y...yo-u-u-u.”

He was right to be concerned. You finally could feel now why your hands hurt so badly. Even under the blue stains of thirium, you could see blisters peeling back on your palms, bleeding slowly. When the blast hit, you had put your hands up just long enough to be burnt. Your shoulder felt dislocated. The rest, Josh had absorbed.

“It’s nothing. ” you told him, “Don’t talk. I don’t know if it will make it worse!”

All around you could hear the growing stampede of boots on concrete as the military presence rushed unto the scene. Coms were on, dispensing news that medical personnel and local police were on their way to assist. There was a man, dressed more like a civilian than military who pushed his way through the crowds. He saw you, or rather saw Josh, and sprinted towards you.

“What happened?” he said, more like an order than a conversation. You stammered, meeting his mismatched eyes.

“He pushed me out of the way.” you managed.

Josh had relaxed some, taking Markus’ hand in his own. You didn’t need any introductions to know the android next to you was the leader of Jericho.

“I’m holding the artery shut.” you said, not recalling whatever mechanic speak actually was used for this line, but not really caring anyway. Markus seemed to understand.

“It has to be closed,” Markus said, barely above a mutter as he fished through his pockets, “...or the thirium that goes to his biocomponents in his brain will seize.”

He produced a lighter.

“I can cauterize it. Move.”

You did so, pushing your hand out of the way so he could more easily see.

“I need you to pull the line up and then forward.”

You stared at him, flabbergasted, “What-- you mean like out of him?!”

“Yes.” Markus flicked the lighter open, “Do it.”

“Won’t it ignite?!” you said, but still began to slowly pull the torn line from Josh’s ripped skin. Josh’s eyes were fluttering, closing. You hoped silently he couldn’t feel any of it.

“Only what is exposed to air. But the other internal components should be somewhat fire resistant.”

“I’m not.”  you said, and Markus looked at you again, noting the absence of the signs. Carefully, he covered your hand with his free one.

“Show me where.”

You directed him, a faint spurt of thirium escaping as you switched places. Then, carefully, Markus singed the plastic with his lighter, the line becoming gummy and mold-able. The thirium on his hands hissed and went up in quick bursts of flame. He pressed the line together gently, making sure it was not entirely closed off internally.

Josh’s pulmonary responses were still jagged, but he opened his eyes.

“Diagnostics?” Markus said gently, stabilizing Josh as he sat up. In the distance you could hear the shriek of sirens.

“Bleeding contained. For now.” Josh said, voice still shaky but more like himself, “There are some other wounds. Debris. Where’s Simon?”

Oh fuck. Simon had been directly by the blast.

“North has him. It… it’s not great.” Markus said, Josh’s grip tightening. He looked at you, eyes full.

“Thank you. ” he said and you shook your head.

“No, no, thank you, Josh. You wouldn’t even-- you would have been fine if not for me.”

His other hand found yours and you didn’t even care that the squeeze sent shocks of pain up your arm. Markus left Josh in your care, helping his people who had been caught in the blast. Emergency personal vehicles began to arrive in droves. Fire trucks, police cars and ambulances being ushered through the fence line.

Markus stood from where he had crouched to check on another android, saw what he was looking for and moved towards it. It was Miranda, unconscious and lying at an unnatural angle. Medics descended upon her, so he stopped in his tracks just in time to note Simon as he limped into view, aided by who you recognized as North. Many other androids were injured, but the medics were seeing to the humans first, leaving them to be helped by only their fellows. Simon was missing both arms, one from the elbow down and the other from the wrist. His leg was blasted through and there were openings in his face casings.

“Markus, I’m sorry . I registered the bomb too late.” Simon said through gritted teeth. Instead of anger, Markus only embraced him, pressing his forehead to Simon’s as thirium stained his clothes.

“It’s not your fault... North, get him out of here. We need--”

Their conversation fell out of your ear shot as medics accosted you, directing you away from the scene and to a nearby ambulance. Standing you saw now the extent of the damage. The modular unit was all but destroyed on one half, pieces collapsing into the structure. Flames whipped in the dry cold air, devouring the wooden beams. There was heat though too, like standing too close to a bonfire in summer. It stung your eyes and your throat. There was no telling right now who had lived and who had died, but the crime was obvious. This was a terrorist attack. Smoke rose in giant columns from the structure, darkening the already cloudy day. Your clothes were soot streaked.

An EMT had put your shoulder back in place and set your arm in a sling. The moment the joint had slid back into place the pain vanished. He was asking you questions while blotting your hands clean of thirium with a gauze pad, mindful of the burns. Who is the president? What is your name?

“I’m fine.” was all you would say, letting them finish bandaging up the worst of the burns before you attempted to shrug off the shock blanket you’d been wrapped in and go back towards the carnage, “There are androids who might still be alive over there. You should find them!”

“We should really take you to get checked out at the hospital. You may have a concussion.” the EMT said, but did not try and stop you as you threw off the blanket and headed back towards the fire.

“I don’t need to. I decline medical treatment or whatever-the-hell you need me to say, now go help the other people !”

You moved passed them, heading to where Miranda was loaded onto a stretcher. She had a neck brace on and her glasses were missing. Her eyes were open, lips moving faintly as the head of security listened intently. Markus reluctantly left North and Simon, who were now being aided by the EMT you sent away. You wondered vaguely how one even gave First Aid to an android, but the situation seemed in hand.

You reached Miranda just in time for the EMT’s to load her into the ambulance, the security chief moving off and Markus turning with intent to address you.

“You’ve been promoted.” he said, with no mirth and a lot of disquiet. “... I’m sorry, what?”

“Assistant director of the DCRU, Miranda Stregga has just appointed you to handle this situation in her stead until the director can arrive back from overseas.”

At a loss for words did not even begin to cover it.

“I’m just an intern.” you said, “I get coffee. I--”

“Assist Miranda in her reporting and are present at all her meetings. You draft her correspondence and place orders through Cyberlife to gather parts and thirium. You are familiar with the position then, yes?”

“... yeah.”

“Then until a replacement arrives, you are the assistant director.” Markus sighed, something akin to pity in his eyes as you slowly processed the information.

“And as such, I advise you.” he crossed his arms behind his back, making his silhouette taunt and imposing, “Start an investigation into who did this to my people, or I will .”

Fan-fucking-tastic.

----

As it turned out, you were responsible for more of Miranda’s duties than you originally thought. She showed up, she said “yes” and she strong armed Cyberlife and government officials, but when it came down to the basic running of the office, you realize you were… you were doing a lot more than filing paperwork and grabbing coffee.

Right now, all they needed was that voice box. Someone with appointed authority to say “yes” and “no” and “get me a shipment of android parts and thirium right this fucking second.”

Which is what you did to the Cyberlife liaison without the pomp or circumstance he was used to. Cyberlife agreed to donate parts to the injured androids in this “time of crisis”.

Excellent. How considerate. Thank you so much . Had been your basic mechanic reaction. Exhausted and pained, somehow the day disappeared and once the figurative and literal fires were put out, you were adamant that you were going home and going to bed.

The EMT had warned you your arm would be sore for days and to keep activity to a minimum. But honestly, washing the soot and grime off was your first priority. The thirium had mostly evaporated, leaving just the faintest pale blue discoloration to your skin, turned sickly grayish from the ash. You decided to leave it alone, not wanting to scrub at your hands which were angry and sore. The EMT had given you burn dressings thin liners covered in a medical gel that you were to apply to the wounds before re-bandaging. He’d also given you a good dose of pain medication and warned you on any side effects you might experience as a result of thirium getting into your blood. The effects of that had been very interesting. You felt almost drunk for most of the day, buzzed even hours later.

Carefully slipping on a long t-shirt, you put your arm back into the sling and moved into your living room, quietly speaking, “TV on.”

The little screen on your wall lit up, the news already discussing the events as a pretty blonde woman spoke.

“An anonymous source indicate an explosion at the Detroit Crisis Response Unit emergency housing facility may have been the work of Android extremists. While tensions run high, many Androids have expressed their anger in the slow moving efforts of the United States government--”

Android extremists? Where did they get that source? You hoped it wasn’t someone from DCRU, quietly ordering, “Change channel.”

The TV did so, flipping to a program on how to “detox” from technology. Those kind of programs were becoming very popular, portraying the lack of android help as healthy and a “wake up call” to relearn home economics.

Speaking of which, cereal sounded delicious for dinner. You’d made it halfway through to your kitchenette when there was a chime at the door. Your eyes darted to the clock on the wall.

1:23 a.m.

You had reasons for why you were awake, but why would anyone else be at this hour?

“Display door feed.” you said out loud and the TV flickered and displayed the camera footage outside the apartment complex’s front door. Seeing the familiar face, you issued another command, “Open audio channel.”

You came to stand back in front of the screen, crossing your arms carefully.

“It’s a bit late for a home visit.” you said.

“You left the site of the accident without accepting medical attention or giving a statement.” Connor’s voice came from the other end, “That was a stupid decision.”

That was blunt and quick to set you on edge, but you were tired and not-tired all at the same time and were really not in the mood to debate your life choices. You made a mental note to find out whoever gave him your address.

“It’s one in the morning , Connor.”

He didn’t look impressed at all, the corner of his mouth turning down disapprovingly.

“Correct. If you’d done the responsible thing and cooperated with the EMTs I wouldn’t have to be out here at one in the morning when there are open reports of “terrorist” androids in the area.”

You frowned.

“The desk security has been looking at me quite suspiciously. He may feel the need to respond to my presence violently.”

“... are you manipulating me?”

“My scans read that he keeps a 12-gauge shotgun under the security station as a deterrent for criminals.”

Definitely manipulating, but he wasn’t wrong either. “Fine. Open front door.” you said, issuing the command and watching Connor immediately disappear from view of the screen.

“Hey-- wait, Connor! Ugh. Message security desk., the frustratingly gorgeous android is a guest of resident C-534. Allow entrance.”

You didn’t hear any shots coming from the video feed, so the message must have been received. You disconnected the TV from the front door footage and even the home news program was now showing helicopter footage of the explosion, narrating the events.

“Mute.” you told it, the sound cutting out.

Now you were going to have to put pants on. Which was easier said than done. By the time you had managed to slip on a pair of PJ shorts, there was a curt knock at the door.

You hurried out, went to turn the handle and-- stopped. Because oh yeah, you have first degree burns all over your palms, the pain of which is being barely contained by medication and the thirium that got into your bloodstream from Josh.

You used your elbow to hit the lock, flicking it down.

“It’s open!” you said, wondering back towards the couch to find the damn burn dressings.

“---, even with a security desk, you shouldn’t leave your doors unlocked.” Connor’s voice, usually such a delight to your ears, was slightlyannoying.

“Didn’t! Can’t do door handles. Got Freddie Kruger hands.”

The reference was lost on him, but upon watching you try to pick up the box from the first-aid kick with the backs of your hands, Connor quickly realized what you meant. He took the box from you and dropped it, taking your right wrist in his hand.

“H-hey. Watch it.”

His LED spun, eyes flicking up your hands to your wrists and to your injured shoulder. His eyes scanned everywhere then and you felt your cheeks heat up.

“You have minor traces of thirium toxicity in your blood.” he said, concern evident in his tone.

“Does that mean I’m high?” you said with a just-a-little-bit-in-shock-hysterical sounding giggle, and not in a good way.

“Marginally. Also, it may interrupt your usual menstrual cycle.”

“Oh. I’ve missed you.” you said, the sarcasm in every word so evident not even Connor would mistake it.

“The EMT gave you something?” he asked, clearly already scanning and locating the traces of Vicodin in abundance.

“Oh no. Leftovers from that broken ankle a few years back. Still got some kick.”

Connor gingerly took your forearm, directing you to sit down on the sofa. You wanted to argue, but at this point you were just glad for the distraction. Without asking, Connor took the burn dressings, peeling free one gel liner. Turning your palm up, he placed it on a particularly bad spot, smoothing it down with a feather light touch.

When it was settled in place, the relief was immediate. The lingering pain and tightness around your skin was soothed. He opened another packet and did the same to a burn on the heel of your palm. You took in a shaky breath, having your attention drawn to just how bad this could have all gone had Josh not-- had he---

“Josh almost died today.” you said, “Lots of other people did. And the EMTs were more worried about me.”

You swallowed hard, biting back tears.

“Because I’m a human, and they weren’t.”

You rubbed your nose with the back of your hand, adjusting the sling to reach.

“How’s that for a statement?” you said, giving a weak smile.

Connor's touch was just so heartrendingly  gentle , despite the constant yellow of his LED. This is what you had been afraid of when the EMT worked on you, that the moment someone treated you with an ounce of sympathy or kindness you’d fall apart. You couldn’t think about what happened, it was too fucking awful .

“Did you see who caused the explosion?” he asked, voice calm and quiet.

“No. Someone uh, someone broke in through the fence. Whoever did that probably… ya know. Set off that thing.”

“Who else was there at the time of the explosion? What else did you see?”

“ Connor ,” you said sharply, trying not to remember anything at all about what you saw, “.. do we have to do this right now? Can’t I just come to the DPD tomorrow?”

Yellow. Yellow. Flicker. Blue.

“Of course.” he said, letting his hand rest on your forearm since he could not very well hold your hand without causing pain.

“You need to sleep, ---.”

Your sigh rattled in your chest and you wanted so badly to do nothing more than to crumple into him and curl up. Hide in his arms and feel safe.

“I can’t. I’m scared that I’ll.. just keep seeing it. It’ll just keep running through my head.” you said, “I can still smell the smoke.”

It wasn’t even just that. You could still feel the sudden weightlessness, hear the explosion and taste the metal in the air. The sensations and sounds kept replaying over and over in the background noise of your mind and you knew the moment you laid down it would come to the forefront where you would be powerless to stop.

“I… was going to watch a movie.” you said, “I’ll be okay. I’ll eventually pass out and I’ll call my parents tomorrow and they’ll talk me down whatever ledge I get on. It’s late and I don’t want to keep you from getting home.”

“I am not able to rent an apartment with current laws. I have been residing at the DPD and sometimes with Hank.” Connor said, “Neither of which is important, because I’m not leaving you.”

“I… don’t have a charging station.” you said, at a loss for excuses.

“I’ll be fine.” Connor said, leaning up on his knee to tug a throw blanket free from the back of your couch. You would have taken it, but he instead unfurled it and tucked it around you. “Is that alright?”

You nodded. You were not going to cry. You were absolutely not crying.

He settled back, hands clasped together and resting in his lap. Even sitting, he seemed ready at any moment to receive a command. It must be a hard habit for an android to break.

“Open film playlist.” you said out loud, the screen displaying a row of digital movie posters, “You got a preference?”

“I would say no action, or horror.”

The screen adjusted, removing those genres from the selection.

“Can’t argue with that.” you said under your breath, “Okay then. Play Wall-E, 2008.”

“Appropriate.” Connor said, scoffing.

“I would have gone Terminator , but you said no action.”

You pulled your legs up under you, adjusting a nearby pillow so you could lean up against it. The blanket slipped up over your legs, but Connor’s hand was there before yours, pulling it back down snug over you.

“If you have to leave at some point--”

“I won’t.” he said before you could finish the thought. With his attention focused forward you took the opportunity to look at him, noting even in the pale light of the screen that his epidermis was dotted with freckles. You wondered quietly, why Cyberlife would design their androids with such loving detail if they did not want humans to feel affection for them. In school you had learned about Shintoism, a Japanese idea that all objects, living or not, had a “kami”, a spirit. How could we possibly design such beings, mold them in human images and not transfer into them our own spirits?

How could someone hurt them? How could someone plant a bomb in their homes?

You shut your eyes tight against the thought, which drew Connor’s attention to you. He must have sensed the spike of stress, because he shifted closer.

“Do you pick this film because I remind you of EVE?” he asked, an attempt to take your thoughts out of the dark places your mind kept constructing.

“No.” you mumbled, thirium working its way through your system again and making your eyes heavy, “Wall-E. Because you collect garbage people.”

“Hank isn’t that bad.” he said and through your half closed eyes you could see that smile, turned towards you. Kind. He was kind, but there were times when you swore you saw something sad in those eyes, something veiled with anger, veiled with that temper he said he had.

“Lonely.” you said, his smile fading and leaving his eyes, “Wall-E woke up and then he was lonely because he was the only one.”

You turned your cheek into the pillow, watching the scene play out as the small robot held its own hand, the black and white film shining in its eyes.

“I think Hank was wrong. You don’t need to meet “people”. You need to meet other androids.”

Connor’s jaw worked, bringing his leg up to balance on his knee. He threw an arm over the back of the couch too, sating some need to be moving. He found his coin, smoothing his thumb over the bust of Washington on its front in circles.

He didn’t say anything and soon enough you fell asleep.

When the film was over, he quietly asked the monitor to replay.

You woke up on your still made bed, wrapped in the throw blanket from the sofa. You searched your memory for a moment, trying to recall how you got there and came up with nothing. The door to your room was closed, but through it you could hear the faint sounds of multiple people.

The sun was shining brightly, reflecting off the snow outside and covering your room in its rays. It was strange, normally in the morning your entire apartment was pitch black…

Your heart sped with adrenaline, flipping over and looking at your clock with growing dread.

It was already afternoon.

“Oh my god.” you whispered in horror, rushing to put your feet on the floor and finding the entire room shifted abruptly when you did. Your head throbbed as if you were recovering from the worst hangover of your life and your arm was so tender you gasped when just the act of standing sent a shock to the joint.

Your sling was still on, but looser. You re-tightened it as you stumbled out into the living room, hair messy and disheveled as your eyes fell on--- Connor. Sitting with his jacket off, tie undone and his shirt half unbuttoned on your sofa.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t appreciate the image, but that he was still here was a bit of a shock. Gregory Peck’s baritone drew your eyes to the screen. He was watching To Kill a Mockingbird.

“Good morning.” he said, attention redirecting, “Your office called.” he continued, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, “The housing site is on lock down until further notice and you are to report to the Cadillac Place once you are fit to return to work. They advise you make time to give a statement to the DPD as well. Due to a lack of resources available by the FBI at this time, they are having the DPD assist with this case.”

There was a lot to unpack there, but first things first.

“You answered my phone?!”

“You did allow me to synchronize to your device.” Connor said, “You have several unread messages, but I didn’t open them.”

“Good! Jesus, Connor, when I let you sync to my phone it was for books.”  

He was acting so nonchalant, you did not expect the harshness of your tone to get much of a reaction. His LED flashed, directing the movie to pause. He sat up on the edge of the sofa, clasping his hands together.

“I apologize… I didn’t want to wake you. I realize it was an overstep, but I was concerned you would want to return to work as soon as you woke up.”

“That’s my choice.” you said, granted, you really didn’t want to go in and were feeling fairly relieved right now. That was hardly the point though. Connor seemed to be processing the statement, frowning faintly.

“Yes… that objective did cross my mind.”

But since I’m deviant and can make my own choices, I chose not to watch you make a stupid ass decision -- your mind silently finished for him.

“Connor.” you said sternly, “You’re a good friend, but I’m a big girl. And speaking of ‘work’, how is it you aren’t there?”

Whatever delight he’d taken in being referred to as a friend didn’t diminish at all by your question.

“I took “personal” leave. We have not yet been officially assigned to this case, so I felt your well being took priority for now.”

That caught your attention, the assigning of the case , not the other bit. Well-- a little the other bit.

“Will you and Hank be assigned?” you asked, heading into the kitchen to find a pot of coffee suspiciously full. Weren’t you out of it? There was creamer in the fridge too.

“There is a likely probability. We have worked with the FBI on android cases previously and my skill set is highly valued since I am the only RK800 model in Detroit.”

It hadn’t occurred to your before, but it made sense there would be more of him. Androids were mass produced.

“You have brothers outside of Detroit?” you asked, simplifying.

Connor’s eyes widened, his brows turning up in surprise. His LED flickered only once.

“I had not thought of it that way.” he said, “But it is an interesting metaphor, if not overly simplified. Yes. There are approximately fifty-one other active RK800 models in the United States, stationed at various central police departments in each capital.”

“So there is an RK800 in Lansing?” you asked, pouring yourself a cup of coffee and mixing the creamer.

“Correct. Based on the files available to me, I am the only model to have “deviated”.” he paused, voice modular softening, “Thirty-eight models have been decommissioned or destroyed since November 11th.”

The gravity of that statement was stifling.

Lucky thirteen , you thought, knowing better than to speak it allowed as the “joke” was hardly appropriate.

Connor froze, LED whirling for a moment and then he stood, fingers quickly redoing up the buttons of his shirt. He picked up the shoulder harness that held his gun and his jacket.

“I’m on my way.” he said to the air, “She is stable, yes.”

He paused, mouthing silently to you the word Hank.

“I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear you are thankful for that.” he paused, “Yes, she is here.”

He adjusted the gun harness, pulling his jacket over his shirt with mechanical efficiency. He looked around for his tie and found you had crossed the room and picked it up. It was strange not being able to hear another voice through the "receiver" but given that the call was coming from inside Connor's head that seemed impossible.

“Lieutenant Anderson would like to know if you could schedule time for tomorrow morning to visit the station and provide a statement.” Connor relayed, eyes caught on the sight of you, tugging his tie around your neck and with practiced fingers, forming the fabric into a knot.

“That should be okay…” you said, focused. You slipped the tie off and Connor inclined his head so you could reach to put it over his neck, smoothing the knot into place. You let your hand slide down the tie and consequently, him . The thrumming of his thirium pump was faint, but you swore you could feel it when your palm traced over the center of his chest. Quickly, you smoothed his shoulders, though they hardly required it, trying to appear as business like as possible.

“10 a.m. okay?”

Connor snapped out of his silence, “Yes. That is fine.”

“Tell Hank it’s a date.” you said, returning to the kitchen to pick up your mug, “You heading in?”

“Yes. There has been an update.” he paused, “I am not at liberty to discuss it further at this time, however.”

That was reasonable you guessed.

“Do you know where they took Miranda? Ms. Stregga? Or Josh and Simon from Jericho?”

His LED flashed a bit longer than usual. “Ms. Stregga is in the ICU at Wayne State University, Detroit Medical Center. They are not allowing visitors at this time. The androids harmed in the explosion are being treated at a repurposed Cyberlife supply facility. I can upload you the address.”

Your phone chimed.

“Do you intend to visit?” he asked, somehow more cautious than curious in his tone.

“I want to see how Josh is doing...He was hurt very badly. Least I can do is go and make sure Cyberlife is providing everything he needs.”

“Is he your friend as well?” Connor asked again, not so much just cautious but tense even, “Like me?”

“Yeah, of course.” you said, not wanting him to think you thought any less of Josh or any Jericho android, “Josh was a professor before he deviated, so we have a lot in common. He’s really smart and so-- understanding . If the guy was anymore empathetic he’d be a martyr.”

Connor took this in, expressionless.

“Maybe you two could talk?” you offered.

“Perhaps. We are acquainted.” Connor said, and then seemed to think better of saying more.

“Hank will be waiting for me.” his words were almost a mutter, the way you did when you were hiding something. He crossed the room, taking a moment to reach out and adjust your sling so that it was more snug against your chest.

“ Try to take it easy?” he said, tilting his head to force you to actually meet his eyes, which you had adverted hoping he wouldn’t notice how warm you were getting when he was so close.

“I don’t know, Connor. Might need another movie night.” you said, trying to repress the smile that crept up at the corner of your lips.

“Perhaps Josh would also like that.” Connor countered and you rose an eyebrow at him. His expression gave away nothing.

“Maybe... once he is better. But for now, um-- feel free to drop by whenever.” you said with a noncommittal wave of your hand.

“Rather let you come hang out here than be stuck with Hank all the time.”

Now he smiled, just a small one right where you were trying to keep one from appearing. Everything seemed to just… pause. All the worries and the events of the past day were faint and you felt like there was something more to be said or to do, but you didn’t know what.

So gently, carefully, you touched his arm and standing up on your toes you brushed your lips over his cheek and stepped back.

“Thank you, Connor. For-- last night. I… I’m glad I wasn’t alone.”

You risked a quick look up at him, noting his usually brown eyes looked nearly black in the low light.

Bedroom eyes. Your mind offered, much to your embarrassment. You moved quickly around Connor, heading to the door which you opened politely.

“Haaaave a good day.” you said, slipping oh-so-easily into absolute fuckin’ dork mode. Connor had this look on his face that could only be described as dreamy as he passed by you.

“I’d like to watch more films regarding the Civil Rights Movement. And maybe we can talk about The Prince as well. I have many opinions.” he said, stepping barely into the hall.

“Okay… yeah. Sure, I’ll get a playlist together.” you said, leaning into the frame.

Markus Christ, someone has to go.

“See you tomorrow. I’ll.. try to work on remembering everything I can.”

Connor nodded, “If possible, write down the details. While they are still fresh. Also, call your mother. She just left another voicemail.” Before you could protest that he was still fuckin’ sync’d to your phone, the android turned and disappeared around the corner.

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: Old Friend

Summary: After the death of Ragnar a lot of people come to Kattegat to join the army to avenge him, including an old friend of a certain Ragnarson.

Pairing: Ubbe x Reader

Taglist: @ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila, @demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13, @fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl, @blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi, @minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela, @titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi, @whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv, @mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes, @neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies, @anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey, @ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama, @ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi, @ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog, @lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god, @im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins, @cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke, @meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7, @ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired, @cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld, @justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome, @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004, @buckythetinman , @burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger, @arses21434, @ltkeke, @captainfoxy22, @chinduda

The great hall had never really been quiet place, but as the forces gathered for the great army it has became as loud as Thor’s thunder.

Even from the high table the Sons of Ragnar had to strain to hear each other.

‘Have you heard who is joining the army?’ Ivar said to Ubbe.

‘Just about everyone who wants to feast in Valhalla.’ Ubbe smiled.

‘That is true, but I was specifically speaking of (Y/N) the Mighty.’ Ivar replied.

‘(Y/N) as in-’

‘She has made quite the name for herself since you were children.’ 

‘Little (Y/N) grew up to be a warrior?’ Hvitserk asked.

‘Indeed she has, and great one, she has raided multiple cities and many have fallen at her hands.’ Ivar answered.

‘And to think she was so sweet as a girl.’ Sigurd hummed.

‘She was very sweet to Ubbe especially.’ Ivar teased.

‘Shut up.’ Ubbe laughed.

‘Oh we all knew how she fancied you in our youth Ubbe.’ Hvitserk smiled.

‘She was a child, younger than Ivar, how could see her in anyway other than sisterly.’ Ubbe explained.

‘Who knows brother, Ivar is a man now and that means (Y/N) is a woman. Maybe her childish crush has grown as well.’ Sigurd suggest.

‘Ugh, now that I know she’s coming I can’t wait to see her.’ Hvitserk said excitedly.

‘She probably won’t remember us, she was young and its been years.’ Ubbe said.

‘I could never forget you lot.’

They all turn and they could hardly recognize their childhood friend; gone was the sweet girl who would make flower crowns. Walking toward them was a young and beautiful woman, one with a body even the Gods would have taken notice of.

Her hair was unbraided, but she still wore the attire of a shieldmaiden.

She reached the table smiled brightly at the Sons of Ragnar.

‘Hello, my Lords.’ she grinned before going around and giving each of them a hug.

‘It is good to see you little one.’ Hvitserk said as she took a seat between him and Ivar with Ubbe and Sigurd sitting across from her.

‘How have you lot been, getting in trouble still?’ she asked as a slave place a plate of food in front of her.

‘Well we aren’t crashing into people with Ivar’s cart, anymore.’ Hvitserk laughed.

‘We are as we always have been, you however have changed a great deal.’ Ubbe said, giving the woman before a very curious look.

If he looked at her face he still could see the face of the little girl who followed him as a child, but her body was definitely not that of a child.

She had grown into exactly the woman he pictured himself marrying one day, a beautiful shieldmaiden, with child baring hips and smile that brightened the room.

‘Well I have the Gods to thank for being with me in all my battles and raids.’ she said.

‘Little (Y/N) is now (Y/N) the Mighty, I never would have guessed.’ Sigurd said.

‘I always told you lot I hated being called little.’ she laughed.

‘Well we certainly can’t call you little now, not with tits like those.’ Sigurd said.

(Y/N) threw a carrot at him.

The conversation continues, the old crew catching up, listening to all of (Y/N)’s battle stories, but Ubbe was hardly paying much attention.

She was just absolutely beautiful, and from what he actually got out her stories she was a very skilled and viscous warrior. He could go into to battle with her, raid with her and on the long journey home she could keep him warm and satisfied.

His eyes focused on her breast and he thought what a blessing it would be to hold them, watch them fill with milk for the babe he would give her.

‘Ubbe!’

He jumped and looked up from her chest to her eyes.

‘If we were in battle you would have my ax in your chest by now.’ she smiled.

‘I think he’s rather spill a little something over your chest.’ Ivar teased.

‘You little imp, come on let’s get you out of here before your mouth gets you killed.’ Hvitserk grinned as he stood up and went to help Ivar out of his seat.

‘Oh but this is getting good.’ Ivar complained as he was carried off.

‘Shut up Ivar.’ Hvitserk said as they left.

Sigurd tapped his hands on the table awkwardly.

Ubbe and (Y/N) both stared at him.

‘Well I think I’m gonna go and...catch up with the Finehairs.’ he said before he too left the table.

‘Your brothers are not as sneaky as they think.’ she laughed.

‘They mean well.’

‘They mean for you to take me to your bed and fuck me, is that well?’ (Y/N) asked as she picked up her chalice.

Ubbe was stunned to hear her speak this way, when they were younger there was nothing she hated more than foul language. He and his brothers would tease her, chase her through the markets shouting all the “bad words” she despised.

‘Maybe they think it is.’ 

‘There is no maybe, and we both know it. They want you to take me to your chambers for the night, that I already know for sure. What I want to know is do you want to.’ she said.

Ubbe jumped as he felt her foot come up to rest on the bench between his legs, just inches from his manhood.

‘Do you want to fuck me...old friend?’ she asked with seductive eyes on the Ragnarson before her.

‘Do you want me to?’ Ubbe asked back.

‘I’ll answer your question when you answer mine.’

‘...I want to...I have since the moment you approached this table.’ he answered honestly.

‘Good...because I’ve wanted you to since before I knew what it was.’ was the response she gave before taking a sip of ale.

‘And I have waited...a very long time.’ she said.

‘You waited?’

She nodded before she sighed, setting the cup aside and taking up a slice of meat off her plate.

‘After me and my mother were sold off to that Earl in Uppsalla two of his men snuck into the barn. Said they wanted to break me and mother in, my mother cried and begged, the other slaves cowered. I fought, didn’t do too much damage but the one after my mother saw potential. Said he’d leave us be and give us our freedom if I took up a sword for him.’ she started.

‘So I trained and fought, and even off the battle fields I had to fight to protect more than that earl’s gold and silver. Had to wait for the day I’d see the boy I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.’ she finished.

Ubbe could now see that this woman was still the little girl from his childhood.

Even as an innocent child she had been amazingly loyal, always taking his side, defending him, taking his blame when he got in trouble. His mother would often say that the man who married (Y/N) would never have to worry about an affair, but he had no idea she would be so faithful for so long.

‘You never...’

‘No, you should know that if one thing about me hasn’t changed its that I’m still a stubborn bitch. I chose you when I was child and I don’t change my mind on anything.’

‘I am honored, I wish I could say I had waited as well. A woman like you deserves loyalty in return.’ Ubbe said apologetically.

‘I’m happy you did not, not that I expected you to, one of us should know what we’re doing when the time comes.’

‘When the time comes?’ Ubbe asked with a tilted head.

‘I decided after the first man tried to take me that the first time I had sex would be in a matrimonial chamber.’ she said casually as she began eating.

‘Matri-’

‘You will not touch me until I am your wife, not a second before. So... you tell me how badly do you want to fuck me.’ you said sternly as she stood from her seat and walked around the table to stand behind him.

‘I have waited years, and I can wait longer...can you wait Ubbe? Can you wait to see me in your bed, to touch me where no man ever has...to be the first and only man to feel the wet warmth of it?’ she whispered into his ear.

Ubbe for all his sexual experience had never been this aroused.

‘I want you.’ he said as he turned to face her.

‘Well then...you know what to do.’ she smiled cheekily.

‘...Marry me.’

Ubbe knew he was being rash and rushing into things with (Y/N), by the Gods he had planned on proposing to Margrethe and sharing her with his brothers.

He should take at least a day to think about it, but he doesn’t need a day. Even right now he can see her by his side in battle, he can see her glowing as her belly swelled with his child...he can even see her face covered in wrinkles,

And she is still beautiful.

The Gods blessed her with an undying loyalty and determination and they blessed him with her.

‘Marry me (Y/N)...old friend.’ Ubbe said more confidently this time.

‘Yes...and I promise on our wedding night you will have me and I will have you.’ she smiled as she gently ran her hand down his face.

‘And you will be faithful, do you hear me Ubbe? You will be faithful to me as I have been to you.’ she said taking hold of his chin.

‘Why wouldn’t I be? There will never be a woman that I desire as much as you, nor will any other be good enough for me once I’ve had you.’ Ubbe smiled.

She smiled brightly at him, the same smile from his childhood, the smile that would be future.

[alicescripts]

Part 3, Chapter 10: “An Ending”

Keisha: There are no happy endings, because there are no endings. There is always a next moment, even if we aren’t involved in it.

Alice: So many of them… dead. And we have brought them here to fight and to die. Was it our fault? Or was it worth it, it was, right? To end this, right?

Keisha: There is no end to the story. But there is an end to our telling of it. And I think that end has come.

Alice: It was over, and we buried our dead and walked away from that place. Sylvia was gone, or she was – everywhere and would be forever, but wasn’t Sylvia anymore. I didn’t know how to feel about that, because I didn’t know what it was really.

Keisha: Sylvia chose that. She wanted me to know that she chose it. And so I chose to be happy for her.

Alice: Through the night, we drove.

Keisha: We didn’t talk.

Alice: Morning came.

Keisha: And with it, familiar streets.

Alice: She pulled the truck to a stop.

Keisha: We opened the front door.

Alice: And together…

Keisha: And together…

Alice: At last…

Keisha: We came home.

Alice Isn’t Dead by Joseph Fink. Performed by Jasika Nicole and Erica Livingston. Produced by Disparition. Part 3, chapter 10: “An Ending”.

[sound of a key in a lock]

Keisha: It had been so long since either of us had been there.

Alice: I didn’t recognise the smell. When I lived here, my brain filtered out the house’s smell. Now it came on overwhelmingly. Not bad but – unfamiliar. This place belonged to other people. People who we were once, but we no longer are.

Keisha: The night we came home, we made pizza. It all came back as though it had only been a few days. Flour on our hands and sauce on our hands, our hands on our hands. Something forgettable on the television. Leg upon leg. This is a life, Alice, this is what it’s made of. Hand upon hand upon leg upon heart, upon couch, upon on a day when we make bread together.

Alice: Keisha sure loves baking. She finds meditation in it. Me? I find meditation in her pleasure in it. I love that she loves it. We put on the TV, there was the news. A fire outside of Tacoma. A landslide in Thousand Oaks. A hostage situation in St. Joseph. I changed the channel. We didn’t need to concern ourselves with all of that. Not for a while.

Keisha: Routine happened sooner than we thought possible. It’s only a couple weeks until we again think of it as our bed. Before I make the coffee and she makes the smoothies and that’s our morning done. We don’t even think about what next. We’ve earned the right to merely exist for a little bit. To exist for each other and for ourselves. To touch, and in touching to love. The only blip is one Saturday when she offers to make us omelets and my stomach lurches. I tell her I’d prefer we never ate those again and to please never ask me why.

I spend that whole weekend thinking about Earl and how he died. A life, just a life, lived. We’d forgotten it was possible.

Alice: And then a month has gone by, and then a year. We don’t hear anything about Thistle. We don’t hear anything about Praxis. I have a new job and she has a new job. We’ve reconnected with friends, we’re doing it. Whatever this is, we’re doing it.

Love is the look she gives me when we both come from work and we’re tired, but one of us has to figure out what dinner will be, and so we both go into the kitchen, put our hands on our hips, furrow our brows at what’s in the fridge. Love is each of us showering before bed, one after the other. We can’t shower at the same time, because we like very different temperatures of water, and that’s love too. I brush my teeth and she pees. The fog in the mirror gives way to a portrait of the two of us preparing to sleep. It’s a portrait of love, and we look at it every night.

Keisha: Love is the way her neck smells. That’s where it’s strongest, the side of her neck. And I lean into it and I breathe in, and I remember what it means to live with another person.

Love is the hours we spend under a blanket on the couch, and love is also the hours we spend apart, earning a living so that we can return to the couch, once more lie down together. Love is the beat of the heart and the passage of air and it’s the circulation of fluids and it’s the equilibrium of all the functions that sustain us.

Alice: Love is the absence of all she could say to me. It’s knowing that there is pain and choosing to never activate it. Not as a single choice made once and left secure forever, but a daily choice. Each morning we wake and she holds my betrayal in her hands and sets it gently down and we go on with the day.

Love is not freedom. But freedom isn’t inherently good, there can be terrible freedom and wonderful captivity. Love is wonderful captivity. It is a constraint from which you never wish to escape.

Keisha: Love in the morning is a cup of coffee made just the way she likes it. And love at noon, as the way the sun through her hair makes an imprint on my breathing. And love in the afternoon, when I nap alone but nap knowing that she is pacing around the house somewhere. And her motion is near my stillness. And love in the evening, as a laying of hands and a stretching of limbs. And love in the quietest hour of night, when in a moment of wakefulness between hours or dreaming, I hear the soft hiss of her sleeping and feel what birds must feel when nesting.

We are nothing if not absurd. We are nothing.

Alice: Love as an activity and as an emotion and as a bodily function and as a series of decisions and as a meal prepared and eaten together at a home we share.

Keisha: Love as a person who returned to me and then never left again.

Alice: I never left again.

Keisha: It’s two years later and we’re watching TV together and I think: it’s like it never happened. And that’s not true. It’ll never be like it never happened. And we will never be quite who we were before it happened. But it’s similar. It’s so similar you could be fooled into forgetting all the pain and loss.

For a moment, I let myself be fooled. I leave behind memories, and I feel the physical contact of her next to me, and I let that contact fill in for all the ways our lives could have gone. Because they didn’t go those ways, did they? Hmm.

They went the way they went. And if I try to go back and change anything, I’d probably just fuck it up somehow so I wouldn’t have this moment. This quiet in-between moment, this moment in which absolutely nothing interesting is happening. Except that I get to be in love with my life and she is here to be loved.

It’s this rush of emotions all at once and I’m crying and she’s asleep. She’s fast asleep, because we get to know, we get to fall asleep on the couch watching TV. [sighs] Man, it was this whole mess of emotions, and I didn’t even know yet that we had been hoping for finally worked and that I was pregnant.

Alice: Seven years later and the kid’s making a meal of going to school. Dragging her feet and Keisha’s the one dealing with it, because it’s her turn. We don’t have to take turns, Lord knows I owe her a thousand lifetimes of apologies, but she has taken the business of forgiveness seriously and she won’t let me act guilty or overly nice or do more chores than my share.

“I forgave you and that’s it and I don’t wanna hear another word,” she said once and then never again, because we never talked about it again. That’s astonishing, right? All that happened to us and we never talked about it again. But it was the only way to move forward. We had to face away from what was behind us.

We named her Sylvia, our daughter. We didn’t tell her everything that happened to her namesake, not when she was six of course and not later either. How would we have begun to explain, what words could we even use? I don’t think those words exist. But we made sure that she knew that she was named after a brave woman who had devoted her life to making the world better and had done it. She had damn well done it! This world is better because of her. What do the details matter?

Sylvia, our Sylvia, she asks if she can have two cookies at her lunch, and Keisha tells her no she definitely can’t. And then we finally get her out the door to school.

Keisha: 12 years later and shit if we aren’t (--). Us. [chuckles] We have fought actual monsters, and now we are puttering around our house thinking how quiet it is without that kid shouting at us or laughing along with us, depending on the mood of the day.

I think we did a good job raising her. We did the best job that we were capable of. Two damaged women who hardly knew how to put themselves together, let alone how to construct someone else’s life. Now she’s off in the world, and that’s the start of it. It’ll be up to her to figure all that out.

I look out the window and see a person in a hoodie across the street. I can’t see their face, I dunno who it is. Probably some neighborhood teenager just bored and skulking around. I raise my hand anyway. I smile. When I look again, the person is gone.

Alice: After college, our Sylvia moves to Portland, then Chicago. Works as a graphic designer, gets engaged, ends the engagement, gets engaged again and that one pans out. I get really into reading history. Keisha, ludicrously, takes up golf. [laughs] Keisha of all people! She says she likes walking in a nicely landscaped grassy area, and the game is just an excuse for that. I go with her once and then we both go regularly. Why not? Walking is nice.

I have nightmares almost every night about what we’ve seen. But I wake up each morning, every morning, next to my wife. And the moment I see her, I forget the  nightmares and step with her into the day.

Keisha: Years later still. We are old. And I guess I never thought that would happen to us. It didn’t happen in the mirror. In the mirror, it was always me and her, and we looked the same day after day. But it happened in retrospect, going through old photographs and realizing, oh. I don’t look like that anymore. That’s what I think I look like, but it’s not, is it? I look like an old person now.

Sylvia calls regularly, visits sometimes. I wish she would visit more, but it’s hard, her living across the country, and anyway what had we done all this for but so that she could go off and live her own life, free of danger?

This is where our road trip ends, I guess. The two of us in our living room on a day, any day. Nothing big happens on this day. There are no more revelations, no more astonishments, except those quiet revelations and astonishments of the heart. The daily magic trick of two people in love. They happen when one of us looks up, sees the other and thinks, “Oh my god, I love her.” And every time it’s like a secret that we’re told anew.

We lived more after that day, of course. Years. And then we died. I don’t know what to tell you, it was gonna happen eventually. But I never forgot. Not one day, not one hour, not one minute. I never forgot how lucky I was. I wouldn’t have lived any other life.

Watcher: I never thought much before about the moon. But I found myself looking at it, and it was beautiful. What a strange assortment of factors led to this perfect gray and white circle of radiance? I could look at it for hours. Maybe I will. I’ve got time.

I’m sorry. You thought I was dead. I was probably, I don’t really know how all this works, I woke up in a bush by a highway. I always wake up on the roads. They’re where I belong. They’re the lifeblood of what I do. If I had a name, my name would be Thistle. But I have no name.

Later I would need to collect the car from some person who though they were gonna see tomorrow. There was time for that too, so I walked along the highway, enjoyed how cold the night was, and for the first time, I took a long look at the moon. Beautiful. Eventually I got myself a car, and then a place to live. Everything’s there for the taking if you get the folks who used to own them out of the way. After I had my situation settled, I rested. I dunno how long it takes me to rest, but I guess years? Certainly the world always changes by the time I’m feeling strong enough again. It’s a gut feeling. I don’t look at a calendar, just whenever I feel that strength start to pulse back through me, I know I’ll be heading out again, doing it all over. I start hanging out at truck stops and roadside bars. I meet a man whose views are a lot like mine and I whisper a few suggestions in his ear. And that starts it. Soon enough he’ll come to me, his face made strange by the monstrous part of him. But ultimately it’ll be his choice. All this always is.

Damn, that moon though. I love that it’s barren and that it’s lifeless, and that it doesn’t even have its own light. It’s a rock. That’s all it is, a big rock with a location that came entirely by chance, but now it’s up there and, and it burns and defies simple ideas about what is alive and what is dead.

There are highs and there are lows. Right now I’m on my way to a high. I don’t mind the lows, but there is certainly something magical about those highs. I feel it as an itch in my palms. I feel it as a pressure behind my eyes.

It’s coming, that peak. And it’ll be worth that fall that comes after. I don’t hold anything against the cycle, the cycle is no more alive than the moon is, no more alive I suppose than I am, by certain definitions of the word “alive”. People can be so binary about those things.

Sometimes I see those oracles in their ridiculous hoodies, watching me. Praxis.

We met before, and we’ll meet again, and we’ll meet again after that. I’m a wave that sweeps in and pulls back, but is never gone. I’m a movement of water. I especially see that one oracle. That one has me a little worried. That one is so powerful. None of them have names, just as we don’t have names. But boy, I know her name. I’ll meet her again. And again.

But that moon! [chuckles] Ah, what an object. Maybe I’ll go there someday. Maybe I’ll sit up there for 300 years and stare back at this Earth, really let myself get hungry, and then I’ll come back. Because the dead return. Because the dead. Return.

Keisha and Alice. They never saw me again. The cycle I live by is much longer than any one person’s life could ever encompass. So they died, with their happy ending. For them it was permanent. As permanent as the Earth. As permanent as the moon.

Oh, Alice. I wanna start by saying… [chuckles evilly] [laughs evilly] Shit.

Joseph Fink: Once again, stay subscribed to this feed. We’re gonna have some fun stuff here leading up to the book’s release and beyond, and this will be one of the first places I’ll announce any new work I’m writing. And given how many things I have going on at any given time, you won’t have long to wait. Check out aliceisntdead.com for more information on this show, and our merch, like the Alice Isn’t Dead map of America, tracing Keisha’s three-season journey around our country, with hand drawn art of her many misadventures. Available in three different sizes, or get the memorable Alice Isn’t Dead logo as a shirt or an enamel pin. All of that at aliceisntdead.com.

This show would not be possible without our Patreon supports. I have so many left, and this is the last episode, so I’m just gonna list a bunch of them, here we go. Steven Smith, Ann Dean, Mark Standbrook, Kate Tierney, Liz Chrissy, Kellen Moira Connor, Daniel Levin, Brad (Jigair), Emily (Chinewsky), Eva Sun, Courtney (Tayborn), Sarah Furlong, and Jacob Barr. Thank you to all of you and to everyone I didn’t name, I’m sorry, there was only so many episodes.

Today’s quote: “Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending”. From Middlemarch by George Eliot.

Thanks so much for listening. See you all again soon.

[thefitzs-blog]

Hello I recently began reading historical fiction (both mystery and romance) and I remember you commenting some time ago that you like to read historical romance. Do you have any recommendations? I’m still new to the genre and am finding what I like and don’t like. Thank you. Ps I like your header , Julia Quinn is grate

Hi Anon,

I’m quite fussy myself when it comes to historical romance, but hopefully I can be of some help - I’m really not into ham joints for hands, musclar men and a lot of authors across romance genre tend to base their hero’s around this image. It’s always important to read reviews especially when you’re testing the waters, they sometimes give more detailed descriptions or offer trigger warnings or just warnings of distress (which are much needed, my heart has been broken many a time and a spoiler would have been appreciated). However, don’t base all your judgment on others views, if you think it sounds good but top reviews don’t, just go for it - but if it’s got mostly 2 star reviews then maybe not.

Amanda Quick might be your cup of tea as she combines mystery and romance in a 19th century setting. If you’re just into period mystery then Agatha Christie is always a reccomendation. She’s actually how I got into hr, well Christie and a really good fic writer who wrote an amazing historic au years ago.

A few of my favourites:

Fool for love by Eloisa James. Some heartbreaking moments in this book, for context the heroine has had an injured hip since birth, “They said you would never marry, Henrietta. You are married. They said you would never dance. We are dancing. And they said you would never give birth. But I know you. I know you want this baby. We’ll go to every doctor in England if we have to. We can find someone who will save the baby. And you.”

A week to be wicked by tessa dare - this book is wild - fake betrothals, sharing a bed, science fairs, scientific dirty talk, impromptu weddings, sword swallowing, pretending to have an affair to hide in plain sight, misunderstandings, highwaymen chasing them and lets not forget being robbed at gun point with our hero left for dead before our heroine knocks the lights out of the unsuspecting bandit. This book seems like fanfiction, more specifically fitzsimmons fanfiction. Once I read it I was tempted to write it but I’m a bad writer. Worth noting this book is one of the few books I enjoy both by the author and in the ‘spindle cove’ series, the book prior to this is a good read, the rest are mixed.)

Seven Years to Sin by Sylvia Day is great, I like-love it but I don’t love-love it. The hero coveted heroine for several years however she married during this time, she becomes widowed and the two meet by chance and explore the sparks that have been between them since the moment they laid eyes on one another.

Scandal of the Year by Laura Lee Ghurke - fyi only a pretence of adultery none actually committed- Hero and heroine are discovered in bed together by heroines husband which results in divorce, yes the scandal! Hero has no idea how he ended up in bed with the heroine, he remembers nothing other than her kiss before all fades to black. One later, they meet again, we learn their lives have intersected since they were 16, each coveting the other at one point or another yet too afraid to say something. Basically, Hero wants a future with heroine, heroine is scared and wants to enjoy her freedom after her horrid first marriage.

Her Ladyships Companion by Evangeline Collins - fyi, adultery is committed but your heart aches for the heroine, she was so young when she married and he is so horrid you just want her to be happy ahh spoilers anyway - Hero is a male prostitute (I blame fanfic for my love of this rare trope), he is hired by our heroines close friend who believes heroine deserves some attention in her life. She has every intention of sending him away until she meets him and everything changes. Their relationship is great until Hero realises he wants more than she can give him. He leaves and asks she not to contact for him again, yet he is summoned once more. Does he go back? Will they ever be able to have a real relationship? 🤷🏻‍♀️

When beauty tamed the beast by Eloisa James - the Hero honestly reminds me of Fitz from aos, he’s such a grump. Our hero is a doctor - an upfront and emotionless one at that. He was injured as a child resulting in a permanent limp and the use of a cane. Our heroine is beautiful, the talk of the town and allegedly pregnant having been spotted kissing a prince then throwing up after eating less than fresh prawns at a season event. The hero’s father thinks that his son will never marry or beget an heir (he believes his son impotent) and so arranges a marriage between he and the hero, believing that she is already pregnant which would provide him his heir. The hero is no fool, as a doctor he knows a stuffed pillow when he sees one. This book is packed with affairs by the beach, a spreading disease, a race against time and thunder storms. This book also includes the heroine coming to terms with what she perceives as her loss of looks, as someone who prided herself on looks alone it is such an amazing journey to see her inner thoughts. This book is great, and I really recommend it.

The Earl takes All by Lorraine Heath - I cannot put this book into words. It’s heartbreaking but it’s worth the pain.

Less angsty books include the Westcott series by Mary Balogh (all save the last, Someone to Care, I didn’t care much for the protagonists as I had grew to dislike the heroine in prior books). I’m currently re-reading this series.

Someone to Love - Anna Snow has lived at the orphanage for as long as she can remember, whilst others left once of age, she stayed on to become a teacher (alongside her best friend Joel). One day she receives a letter from a solicitor to meet him in London. She discovers she is the only legitimate heir to an aristocrat after it is revealed he committed bigotry. She is thrust into a life she could never have imagined, with the help of Avery, a handsome lord, to guide her.

Someone to Hold - Camille Westcott begins teaching in the very orphanage Anna grew up in so she can find herself - if her half sibling can live so lowly, so can she. She meets Joel, an artist who teaches art once a week - they immediately dislike each other, due to his loyalty to Anna who is his best friend and the woman he once proposed to. He admires the way she engages the children and sees something in her that Camille doesn’t see herself. There’s sparks, heartbreak and a new discovery that could change Joel’s world forever.

Someone to wed - upon inheriting the Westcott title as the closest male relative to the late Earl of Riverdale, Alexander, the penniless Earl also inherits a mansion which is in desperate need of repairing. Thankfully for him, Wren, his neighbour, has just the solution to his financial problems. Marriage. Having only met Wren, a woman who hides herself behind a dark vail, ten minutes prior, Alex is taken aback by her offer. It’s the perfect solution but why would she marry a total stranger? And what is she hiding behind the vail?

I would also recommend Anna Bradley, her writings are quite light hearted and The Firstborn by Quenby Olson (latter is a clean romance).

I hope you enjoy these recommendations anon, I have tons more if not. I must warn a majority of these are angsty and so Julia Quinn may be a good read in between books. I hope you’re able to find the trope that you like 💕🦔

[selfdulgent-selfinsert]

Caught in the Middle. (A self-indulgent, reader insert) Chapter 4:

Joseph couldn’t believe that you said yes, all the teasing he had undergone from Sebastian all since texting you was worth it. It leads to him anxiously contemplating over his small closet. What to wear? Something formal maybe? No. You were just going out for coffee, there’s no need to be formal; but what did he have for anything close to casual? He guessed an old pair of jeans and a V-neck would have to do. It was a little embarrassing honestly, Joseph hadn’t worn anything but a button up out of his house since joining the KPD detective department. It had his favorite show Unusual things emblazoned in its 80’s neon font, hopefully, you’d either like the show or consider it not too casual; he wanted to look like he cared about this date, but not too much. While you didn’t want to overdress, you certainly looked more elaborate than your plain white nursing gown and minimal makeup. You were stunning, your coat, dress, tights, and shoes matching perfectly; Joseph stopped dead in his tracks before he could move closer to you. In his eyes you could rival any model; your cozy, simple attire flattered you in all the right ways. The small kremmogorgon hanging off your purse was just a bonus and he felt better about his choice of shirt. While waiting your fingers played with the keychain nervously, worried Joseph wouldn’t come. “(Y/n)!” He called snapping out of his amorous stupor and walking up to you. “Sorry, I’m a little late. I hope you’re not too cold after waiting for me.” “Ah! That’s okay Joseph, my coat is really warm, and so I don’t mind! I’m glad you came!” Now it was your turn to admire him and while his slightly disheveled hair made you wonder how soft it was and his shirt was a cute look for him there was something wrong. “Joseph, aren’t you cold?” Shit. He forgot his coat at home in haste; he shivered. “I’ll be okay inside the coffee shop (y/n), so how about we head inside?” His cheeks were starting to flush from the cold. “Let’s go get you warmed up Joseph.” So said while turning to open the glass door. The smell of coffee hit your nose as you stepped in after him. The doors bell ringing as it swung shut; you crinkled your nose. Coffee wasn’t really your thing, you’d do a mug when working long shifts but the smell of the beans and pure fresh coffee made you a little queasy. Tea was more your speed, and this shop had the best hand-blended selection in Krimson city; any amount of unpleasant smell was worth a cup of their earl grey latte. “I’ll get the coffee (y/n), my treat. Or an apology for being late if you will.” “Oh, Joseph you don’t need to do that.” “I want to.” He cut you off, whatever emotion that was in his eyes made you feel something powerful. The word sploosh echoed around your head as your cheeks flushed. Damn you have been single for a while, especially if just this was all it took. “What kind would you like?” He punctuated his offer with a rosy smile. “Thank you, Joseph, this is really nice of you. I’d like an Earl Grey Latte if that’s okay? But I’m paying next time!” He nodded and turned to the Barista. You moved to stand closer with him at the drink-window. “Warming up okay Joseph?” “Yes, good company always helps” he winked down at you and chuckled “especially when they're beautiful like you.” GOD WHY DID HE HAVE TO BE SO FUCKIN LIKE THAT. You weren’t going to let his out flirt you now, so you took advantage of the weather; you took his hand in your own and pulled his arm into your coat and against your torso. “Well if you would like warmer company I’ll gladly accommodate.” There was a quiet moment before you both burst out laughing. “That was so bad Joseph I’m sorry!” You cried in-between laughter; “No, (y/n) I walked into that one!” you both held onto each other while laughing, both your nerves finally coming to a head with a hearty laugh. The night went wonderfully after shedding your nerves, taking your drinks to the sofa and snuggling together for the remainder of the outing. Exchanging interests and personal ideals. You learned how Joseph liked to stick with the rules and his love for old 1980’s horror films. He, in turn, learned about your love for art and video games. Mutually gushing over Unusual Things and your favorite characters like the Kemmogorgon and the main cast of kids. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t having a fantastic time, but sadly the shop had to close and you parted separate ways. Not before you made sure Joseph would take a cab home to shield him from the chill of late autumn. You looked forward to the remaining weekend while walking home, you were walking on air after the date and a quiet weekend home gave you so much freedom. The prospect was extremely inviting and your head swam with ideas for tomorrow; though it was only hours away. The alarm blared Monday morning. Had you slept through the entire weekend? No, but it went way to fast. Your chores and hobbies consumed you for 48 hours; spending hours painting and texting with Joseph on his breaks. You already had plans to go out again next Wednesday evening for dinner. God, you wished it was here already. You rolled onto the floor and shambled into the kitchen, turning the kettle on and standing in front of your open fridge; debating what the hell you would eat. Deciding on a protein bar instead of cooking again so you could dress while eating. Your nursing dress was outdated as the other hospitals in the city mandated the use of scrubs for every staff member, but Beacon was different. Some old-thinking higher-ups were what you guessed. While annoying to have to buy hard to find scrub dresses instead of your plethora of modern scrubs, you did admit that since you were little the dresses were your favorite and you had always wanted to wear them. A double-edged sword if you had ever seen one. Remembering your lunch this time, you locked the door to your apartment and headed out for the day; making sure to message Joseph, wishing him a good day. Perhaps you were both moving a little fast but you really did not care. Your current communication with him had you thirsty as fuck and god damn you wanted this to go somewhere.

 “Good morning Leslie,” you said, waking Leslie from slumber and handing him his daily medications. “Did you have a good weekend? I hope you and Carrie had fun this weekend.” He smiled from under his blankets. “Tired, tired, tired…” Mumbling as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. “I know Leslie, it’s early, but you can sleep some more after you take your medicine okay.” A cocktail of pills was handed to him via small paper cups. You were amazed at how brave he was for taking such large capsules, they were always so intimidating. Tucking him back in you then reached over to pull his little teddy bear closer and tucking it in right beside Leslie. “Sleep as much as you want Leslie, I’ll be back to check on you in a bit okay?” He nodded and snuggled the bear.

Leaving the room you opened Leslie’s door to walk straight into a slender chest; Dr. Ruvik was standing right in front of the door. Was he watching? “(y/n) I don’t mean to intrude but I’ve come to ask for your assistance and didn’t want to barge in.”

“Oh, of course, DR. Ruvik, let me just shut the door and I’ll be right with you.

“Wonderful.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll be waiting for you in my office, it’s in the basement with the lab.”

You turned to the door as he walked off, the electronic clock making a slight click. Giving an experimental push to ensure it wouldn’t budge. One of the grim reminders that you were in fact, in a psychiatric hospital; some clients have the habit of wandering off when not occupied, supervised or locked down and Leslie was one of them. He never went far, just out front to see if his passed family had come to take him home, though it would never happen. You peered through the doors small window to give one last check on Leslie before hurrying to catch up with the doctor and managing to catch him before he entered the main elevator. Dr. Ruvik smiled as you stepped into the small room with him. “What exactly did you need help with Dr. Ruvik?” He hit the main floor button. “I have many patients as you know (y/n), and as with research they have helped me accumulate a mass of paperwork and cassettes.” He tapped his pocket, assuming he was checking to see if it was still there. “I request your help with organizing such a large collection as it would take too long to accomplish this myself.”

Your interest was piqued, a chance to be snoopy on what exactly was going on with Leslie or perhaps the machine as a whole was exactly what you didn’t know you wanted. You could almost taste the delicious answers dangling right in front of you, and all you had to do was help. “I have scheduled another nurse to care for Leslie for the rest of the day.” BITCH WHAT. You turned quickly to face the doctor as he stared ahead at the doors. “This is a confidential task as you and Dr. Jimenez are the only ones involved with medical training, I require your specific aid. I’d much rather work with you then that snake Jimenez anyway.” Staying silent, you weren’t sure if it was pure shock and concern for Leslie or perhaps jealousy. He was your clients and hell you’d become kind of protective over him. Your silence didn’t seem to faze the doctor as he stepped off the elevator, calling back for you. “Come now (y/n) we have work to do.”

Without much of an option, you followed. Like a sheep, you followed the wolf into the bowels of the hospital.

[lonespektr]

Starting back Vikings again randomly........

blue eyes still hasn't fucked that priest

When's he gonna bang the priest, he doesn't like his new wife 🤷🏾‍♀️

Rollo needs a win/ cmon lady archers

Stop listening to random men, every main character gets bad advice from randos

Very deliberate word choice

Blue eyes is do butthurt his boyfriend is not coming with him priest is literally staying for you, you blockhead

Men are idiots

Tomgirls trying to sit still and look pretty when they clearly want to punch people

They keep using attempted rape for her power ups and they could do literally anything else

Glad the mrs is back

She's worried about jr but it looks like he can fight brother still absolutely in love with the mom cause she's a bad bitch

But he would have cheated too soo 🤷🏾‍♀️

He's big but it doesn't look like he hits hard, he's moving frantically, he doesn't lean into his hits??

The bows are used in short range i feel like it's that accurate??!!

Nobody is hyped the mrs is home and i feel like that was a wasted opportunity

Priest is attracted to bad people

Everybody got a shower

Who ever is subing the sound effects is a fucking poet Every grunt has a adjective

Always gotta upstage your brother just fukkkin relax

He's rejected the sacrament dunt dun dun!!!

Cheese and crackers woman how many boys you churnin out

What's the science? Boys are faster swimmers so short vagina?? I forget

She's gloating

Yea no shit. He don't even like that other future telling bitch

Rollo just stick with old girl u are bad at politics

This is a very sexual prayer priest

You tryina get what by the holy spirit??!! Save that for blue eyes

Thorvard big as fuck

That boy ain't got no right being that big his parents is normal sized

If i wanted to say it in private i wouldn't fucckkin come down to long house

Who's fuckkin army is that , just her homies?? She got warrior homies?

Ah she just wanted to threaten the general community that if anything happen to hey son it's they ass

Yea those'r just her homies

Another sexual assault threat but in an unexpected turn is events his kinsman ain't down with that shit and backed her

Infamous wings pf the vikings

More sexual assault threats

Whoever is writing these subtitles is a fucking legend

Priest new boyfriend is in wooing his old boyfriend's ex wife and he has to be an awkward translator

Wack what a serious waste of ambition

Them two rando little boys already died they really gotta take the one bitch was leadership vibes

She threw away throne thrown for dinner snot nose kids

He play too much, but they are great together

Preist done diddled that brown hair plain and not blue eyes

Vikings does appear to have a strict all rapists must die policy (marital rape excluded- even that's appears to have consequences)

Surprised they let siggs go but i think she landed a better role, shes a bigger actor then all em

I still don't know which god he was supposed to be. Guess i gotta brush up on my norse history

What's rollo gonna go without his political advisor

That guy coulda had a bigger role but this was 6+years ago and he was not as big then so..makes sense

Preist talking shit about women knowin damn well he just left a perfectly boring one to be with sky eyes

Hypocrisy , ungrateful ass volunteer to help the mother of your child

Screw everybody and they mama, leave yo wife month at a time with no backup booty

Why you only slept with yo wife once? 🤨

Seer tied of yo ass

Sky eyes just move to Paris with the preist

They are doing a sharp turn with him that is uncharacteristic, they haven't done a power corruption thing or anything to transition him from opportunist to greed

Also wtf boo /This is your earldom ??? You just gon stand there?

Still holding with the rapist get stitches law

Burning cross bit heavy handed

Bjorn tell your wack ass absentee father to back your mom

Yea we have been here before, cause your dad keeps fucckin up, you forget last time you left with her cause you knew he was wrong

Blue eyes has become a kind of apathetic shell without preist and wifee no1

Um wtf was that with the 👀

Just fuck already

Can the women have a story not around babies

Where rollo headed?

This is evidence of a turning point we should have gotten a half step before this

Except she was taking care of the one kid you ignore and you know damn well that priss don't do no work and her servants watch her kids anyway

Lol whut person or persons unknown, but you have evidence?

King got plans on plans on plans

Do they just not know what to do with the preist anymore??

Hey least he said it

That was the least intimate interaction he's had with anyone

Disrespect on disrespect

I think they are going to do something stupid with her 🙄 looking forward to that

Woah full stop yikes 😬

Another unforced error. I knew they were gon do some dumb shit with her, no he actin stupid too

This really there seasons about an unrequited love story

It gets boring when the main character is white male tyrannical and off his rocker - when he's not a zealot

Mentally ill opportunist are not very complelling

I'm annoyed blondie is really confessing to a man who has been treating her like shit for the past decade because a first good decade

Unforced errors and making her stupid is something shows love to do with women

But they gave her so much pride it doesn't make sense

I thought maybe they all knew, but it's just bjorn

Blue eyes was hoping for a confession

Why do you tear me away from myself

Trojan horse is the only thing that ever made sense with impregnable walls even with that hint he still couldn't figure it out, he had to almost die

Rollo is out here now? Why doing what?

I mean tbh is a really good idea to get away from your brother

Oh so the King isn't a complete idiot, just a coward

Another betray your brother situation 🙄

Just let rollo needs live

All our protagonists are isolated

He still didn't get that confession

Oh he just said it

What was the point of that Christian coming to visit?

Lit of obsessive unhealthy male relationships

Floki/Ragnar

Althestan/Ragnar

Ragnar/ rollo

How would rollo even convince the remaining vikings to go against their own

Now we must be subjected to this embarrassment

Co Earls, this guy is a not confused about his endgame

He should have just married her when she asked

There is one asian

If this the season where the non whites enter? They should have done that in Paris

He's an absentee father but he's annoyed his kids are stupid

Floki bb hella cute

It's odd the show has isolated everyone

He's such as gaslighter

The only stable relationship is the ones between the mentally unstable people

The two best pairings were both uneccesairly antagonistic towards each other

What's rollo doing

Le sigh she's smiling because she thinks he backed her , finally someone did she deserves to be supported

But he only backs himself

Time inside learning could be useful for him

Even rollo is not this stupid soooo 🤷🏾‍♀️

Blue eyes mad that his wife doesn't give a shit about him, knowing damn well he don't give a shit about her

Rollo 👏🏾 isn't 👏🏾 stupid👏🏾

He also wouldn't ally himself with strangers 🤷🏾‍♀️ it's a repeat pattern of making the wrong allies but this don't make sense

Hopefully bjorn gets more interesting

Or another woman character not attached to a damn man comes in

1 poc is already gettin eyeballed by ol blue eyes

What old lady would be concerned with getting revenge on is wessex king who raised her new settlement to the ground

There's that projection again blue eyes

The rollo situation is getting close to puppy punching

He looses his accent a lot

Blue eyes has odd codependencies

Man has no loyalists but strong affections that look like loyalty from afar

Why are they all obsessed with this fucking guy

Predatory men who pretend to be small and unassuming to trick women

She choked those words out, I wonder how many takes they made her do before they went with that one

This descent into madness isn't nearly as entertaining as they think

That's the first time he's called her by her first name

Curious move bjorn /curious situation they pulled moms into

They make women look stupid by having them smiling the whole time while men who are being equally deceived look suspiciously but they are tricked just the same

Once again he just identifies foreigners as roadmaps to conquer new lands

Gaslighter all these men are gaslighters

All these braids and this is the first time i've seen one of the man brushing they hair

It's going to be four full seasons of wounded mentally ill drug addicted blue eyes??

there it is, that was his dream, not the crazed ambitions of winning for winnings sake

Opportunistic and talented or rather lucky is different than tyrannical and that's what they are playing him as with no foundation

I know she tired of these dirty whites raggety ass wash rags she want a real bath with soap

Random edge play over the top hair cutting symbolism

That bb old enough too...ok

The girls were ready. And he even ain't mad because she told him straight up she was going to kill him

She doesn't want to remarry, she's better boss ass bitch but it's fucked up she can't just have a decent man partner and equal but these men are trifling they may as well get her a girlfriend

Is the seer dead?

It's 13 right?

Heavy handed women freedom theme happening

[thrashff]

P.A. (Part 3)

Title: P.A. (Personal Assistant)

(Part 3/?)

Part 2 | Part 4

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (AU)

Word count: 3,200~

Synopsis: Y/N is stuck in a dead-end job, conflicted between pursuing her music career as a producer and her social anxiety. In a tight spot for money, she takes on a new, well-paying job that she desperately needs as Personal Assistant to the cold and emotionally distant Namjoon, an up and coming rap artist. (Cameos from the rest of the Bangtan boys)

A/N: Did anyone want some more BestFriend!Yoongi? Some shirtless Namjoon? No? Just me? Okay then.

It’s Saturday night, and you and Yoongi have decided to stay in.

“You’re late,” he accuses as you enter his apartment with your copy of the key.

You roll your eyes and drop the boxes of pizza on the kitchen counter. “I forgot to bring his Majesty Namjoon his meals for tomorrow.” You shrug off your jacket and hang it on the peg behind the door, kicking off your boots at the same time. “You know, you can have pizza delivered instead of making me go get it.”

“Pizza delivery always leaves some of the toppings on the box cover,” he complains. “Bring it over, will you?”

You roll your eyes and grab the boxes, bringing them with you to the living room, where he’s playing a video game. “You’re a lazy asshole.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he responds, not even removing his eyes from the screen.

“Just reminding you, in case I haven’t said it today.” 

You open a box and take a slice, holding it in front of his face so that he can take a bite before taking one of your own. Using this method, the both of you eat through the first pizza as you quietly watch him play. Afterwards you get up to get your drinks, slipping a straw into his so he can drink without having to pause, and you stretch out on the sofa, resting your head on his lap as you browse your social media accounts.

“How was your first week?” Yoongi finally asks, having reached a checkpoint.

You glance at the screen to check his progress, and then shrug. “He’s an ice king and kind of harsh,” you confess. “But a job is a job, and he could be worse, I guess.”

“It’s funny,” he says, finally putting the controller down and opening the second box. “He’s only like that around you. I mean, he’s a perfectionist in the studio and pretty authoritative, but he’s a total goofball during down time,”

“Wait,” you say, pulling yourself up into a seated position. “You’ve been working with him?”

“Yeah,” he answers, mouth full of food. “I was ahead of schedule on my EP, and he asked me to produce one of the songs on the album.”

“And you like working with him?” you ask incredulously, and your best friend looks at you weirdly, nodding slowly. “Ugh!” you complain, whacking him in the arm with one of the throw pillows. “He’s an automaton! He’s not human! And all he raps about are chicks and how big his dick is!”

“Freedom of speech,” he says, dodging your attack. “What’s your point?”

You glare at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side, you know,”

“Yoongi is only on Yoongi’s side. Do you not know this yet?” he points out.

“You’re terrible and I hate you,” you tell him—something that is quickly becoming a mantra. You hope that if you say it enough times he’ll disappear, like an evil spirit or a bad dream.

“Stop pouting,” he complains. “It was just an observation.”

You hold the pillow you used to smack him close to your chest. “Maybe he just doesn’t like me,” you mumble into the fabric.

Yoongi nods enthusiastically. “That’s probably it. You are butt fucking ugly. Maybe he doesn’t like your face.”

You snap and jump on him, digging a knee into his ribcage and wrestling him down. “My face is a work of art, you asshole! I’ll show you ‘butt fucking ugly’!”

He raises his fingers in a cross at you, twisting to get off the couch and away. “Y/N! Don’t come near me, you animal! You haven’t gotten your rabies shot yet! Get back! Get back!”

You bare your teeth at him in a snarl, and chase him around the apartment until you both collapse on the bed in laughter. The quick game of cat and mouse leaves both of you panting, and he closes his eyes, blinding reaching out and patting the closest body part he can reach—which just so happens to be your face.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. Someday they’ll invent technology that will make you as pretty as me,” he tries to say soothingly.

You make a face and stick your tongue out, making him quickly retract his offending appendage. “Yeah, and when that day comes, I’ll have to apologize to the entire population.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” he whines, maneuvering so that he’s lying next to you. He loops an arm around yours, curling slightly to embrace it like a pillow. His chin settles into the crook of your shoulder, and you automatically tilt your head so that your own chin rests on top of his. “All I do is tell you the truth.”

“Sometimes I just… sometimes I don’t wanna hear it, Suga,” you say wearily, reverting to your childhood nickname for him.

He swings a leg over yours, knowing the weight comforts you. A comfortable silence stretches between you, until he quietly says, “Jimin asked me why you dance so well.”

You blink at the ceiling. “I didn’t mean for him to find out,” you say.

“I know, Ducky.” It’s an annoying nickname, brought on in high school when he likened your dancing to a duck’s waddle, but it’s grown on you over the years. A hand reaches up and tugs at a lock of your hair. “How’s your back?”

“I still get shooting pains when I’m standing too long,” you answer honestly. “But it didn’t hurt after dancing with Jimin, so maybe it’s getting used to movement again.”

“You should dance more often,” he states.

“And you should write better verses.”

“You should get plastic surgery.”

“You should brush your teeth.”

“You should give me a massage.”

“You should stop drinking so much.”

“You should admit you find Namjoon attractive.”

“You should SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

You aren’t an idiot, you remind yourself in the days that follow. Of course Namjoon is attractive. Every girl in the building is probably already part of his fanclub, and he naturally commands the attention of every room he enters no matter who’s already in it. He’s tall and lean and exceptionally handsome in an off-kilter kind of way—the kind of face and presence that’s difficult to forget even if you try. More often than not you even find yourself jealous of his sense of style, admiring the way he puts his outfits together and complaining to yourself that God just really isn’t fair.

But more than his physical appearance and in spite of yourself, you start to pay more attention to how he interacts with everyone else in the studio. You notice that he always makes the receptionist in the front office laugh when he greets her in the morning, and that he gives the security guard in the lobby a special handshake whenever he sees him. He grows close to Director Bang very quickly, and the other producers he’s consulted with all seem to respect him.

You also notice that he breaks almost everything he comes into contact with—everything from doorknobs to his own glasses, like he doesn’t realize his own strength, or like he lowkey gets excited so easily that his usually graceful movements become brash.

Even when you’re busy, you find yourself noting even his smaller habits, like how he chews on his bottom lip when he’s anxious, or that he subconsciously wears thumb holes into all of his sweaters. In fact, the only time you don’t watch him is during the times you can’t—when he’s holed up in the studio working, or when he leaves to go home.

Yoongi reports, even though you never really ask, that his album is coming together quickly. Whenever he brings up your “boss,” you stare at him blankly to make it clear that you don’t care and simply return to whatever it was you were doing before he started talking.

The days breeze by, and you fall into a comfortable routine. It gets to the point where you can tell what kind of tea he needs in the mornings just by how he’s dressed—he wears black or grey when he’s frustrated or bored, so you give him White Peony to help soothe his nerves; accents of color (usually pink) when he’s in a good mood, so you give him Tie Guan Yin to help keep help sustain it; earth tones when he’s in a fit of melancholy, so you make him Earl Grey to help ground him.

You begin to read his body language and mood shifts so well that he’s stopped telling you what to get him for lunch, and actually allows you to choose for him. He’s as cold and dismissive to you as ever, but over time and continued exposure, you both begin to ease into each other’s presence like it’s a natural part of your day. He slowly begins to trust you more, giving you more and more responsibility in the planning of his debut, and things finally begin to look up.

“Namjoon,” you call, swiping the keycard that lets you into his apartment. “I’m here!”

A quick look around shows you that he isn’t in the kitchen or living room, so you sigh and set down the bag of food on the counter.

“Namjoon?” you call again, slipping your bag off your shoulder and hanging it on the peg he’s assigned you.

“I’m in here!” he calls from the bedroom-turned-home-studio, and you sigh and swipe the extra-large chai latte he requested from the kitchen and make your way over.

“Fuck!” you exclaim, freezing in the doorway at the sight of him standing shirtless in front of his closet. Your mouth falls open in shock, and you gape at him stupidly for a few seconds, trying and failing not to stare at his abs or perfectly toned arms.

“What do you think you’re doing, Y/N?” he exclaims, his voice an octave higher than normal as he pulls the shirt he’s holding closer to his chest, as though to protect his dignity.

The question finally forces you from your shocked state, and your hand automatically snaps up to cover your now-shut eyes with a painful whack. “Ouch!” you complain, rubbing your forehead as you shove his drink in front of you blindly. “When you called I thought you meant you wanted me to bring this to you!” you explain in a rush, feeling your cheeks burn.

Against your will your knees lock together awkwardly, as though it will help alleviate the sudden pool of tension in your lower belly. It’s been a while since you’ve had sex, granted, but holy sex-cuts, seeing a man’s body shouldn’t have this effect on you, let alone his. He’s your boss, you berate yourself furiously. What if he fires you for this?

You hear the rustle of fabric, and sense him walking across the carpeted floor in socked feet closer to you. He takes the drink from you, his fingers grazing yours ever-so-slightly. “I’m decent now,” he informs you, having seemingly recovered from his initial surprise, and you drop your hand but keep your eyes on the floor.

“Sorry,” you mumble before you turn around and march out of the doorway and back to the kitchen, where you place his breakfast burrito on a plate and set it on the counter with his usual condiments. He isn’t far behind you, sipping his drink, looking completely unflustered. If anything, he now looks mildly entertained by your reaction.

“I have those mood boards you wanted me to print,” you tell him as he takes a seat on the barstool across from you.

He nods. “Could you set them up in the living room? I want to see them laid out by concept.”

You mumble an affirmative and head into the adjoining room, glad for the slight reprieve from his presence, if only to collect yourself and will your cheeks to stop burning. You set up the boards as he requested, all possible pegs for his album. He finishes his breakfast quickly and joins you, studying them intently.

“What do you think?” he suddenly asks, making you startle. It’s the first time he’s ever asked you for your opinion, and you blink at him slowly, wondering how, after a very long month, he still manages to surprise you.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, considering how honestly you should answer him before deciding fuck it, the worst he can do is dismiss your opinion, seeing as how you just survived seeing him shirtless and managed to keep your job.

“Well,” you begin tentatively, and point to the first set of pegs. “This one clearly thrives on a lot of old-school hiphop references, but is it really relevant now? I mean, most of the people who listen to your music probably aren’t even old enough to know what you’re referencing, or that it’s meant to be an homage,”

You glance at him, but he’s just nodding, a hand in the pocket of his jeans as he presses the edge of his paper coffee cup to his mouth. “Go on,” he hums.

You turn to the second set and shake your head. “This one is the complete opposite, like someone took a grade schooler’s idea of the year 2000 and wrapped it in tin foil. And I don’t mean in a cool, TLC circa No Scrubs kind of way,”

“Too much Sisqo, not enough Tupac?” he jokes, and it surprises a genuine laugh from you.

“I don’t think anyone but him can rock the metallic silver lipstick, no offense,” you return, and he chuckles.

“And the last one?” he prompts.

“It’s pretty,” you say, after a few moments.

“Pretty?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow.

You grimace. “Yeah, but that’s all it is. It’s missing something, an edge. Something that makes it more than just aesthetically pleasing.” Your eyes dart back to him, all black fabric and lean lines in the soft morning sun filtering in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. “What are you planning to call your album, anyway?”

He returns your gaze, and you straighten your posture at the scrutinizing look in his eyes. “Rap Monster,” he finally answers.

“Rap Monster?” you repeat.

“Yeah, you know, because I am a rap monster. My old StormSound handle used to be ‘rapmon’,” he explains.

Your brain spasms, unable to come up with a reply to that. Instead you say, “Then what these concepts is missing is grit. None of them have that feral, street-smart quality that your verses have.”

“You’ve listened to my songs?”

You shrug, crossing your arms in front of your chest protectively because something about the question suddenly seems too personal. “Just your informal online releases, not a lot of what you’ve been working on for the debut,” you admit. Unable to stop yourself, you add, “I’m more than just a pretty face, you know,” in what you hope is a joking manner, remembering what he told Yoongi and Director Bang the first time you met.

All he says is “hmm,” and you try to brush off your annoyance at his nonchalance.

“So what you’re saying is it should be gritty,” he confirms.

“I’m suggesting,” you say carefully, “that it should be an honest visual representation of the music. All the best hiphop albums have been about things that are real—sex, love, politics, struggle and strife. None of these-” you gesture at the boards. “-reflect any of those things. They don’t reflect your music, and they don’t reflect who you are.”

“Who I am?” he repeats.

“When you started out, how did you imagine yourself as an artist?” you ask him.

He chuckles at that, and runs a hand through his hair, turning away from you. You try not to stare at his throat as he takes another sip of his drink, mulling over the question.

“To be honest, I’ve been dreaming about making it big since I was 9 years old. I imagined myself walking everywhere with a giant spotlight on me, finally standing out of the crowd. Special, you know? Worthy.” He says the last part in a low voice; so low that you can barely hear him, as if he expects you to make fun of him.

Surprising yourself, you don’t make a comment about it being vain. His words are so sincere and the expression on his face is so painfully fucking human that it makes your chest contract.

“Then the album art should be exactly that,” you nod.

He lets out a bark of sudden laughter and turns abruptly back to face you, his eyes widening at the resolute expression on your face. His surprise at your words doesn’t last long, because he quickly schools his features into a neutral expression and takes a long sip of his drink. “I’ll think about it,” he finally says. “Make sure the samples I asked for are loaded onto the blue hard drive at Studio C. I’ll be in at 11.”

Recognizing the dismissal, you nod and make your way to the front door, retrieving your bag as you go. You’re halfway out when he calls out to you again.

“And Y/N?”

“Yes, Namjoon?” you respond, turning around, your hand on the knob, ready to leave.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, but even though his expression looks indifferent, the corners of his eyes are crinkled up, and you know that he’s smiling inside.

Your limbs go numb at the sight, and all you can do is nod.

You let out a long breath when you finally find yourself alone in the elevator, a stupid smile on your face and feeling, surprisingly enough, like your first actual conversation wasn’t a complete disaster.

The camaraderie between you and Namjoon, unfortunately, doesn’t last long. Within a few days he’s back to being an actual, real-life monster instead of a rapping one; berating you for imaginary infractions and acting disappointed with every decision you make. Your reserve of patience is quickly running dry, and even though you hate bitching about things, you find yourself ranting to Yoongi more and more often.

Even though he just shakes his head at you and ignores you for the most part, you feel better for having gotten it off your chest. You also find yourself sneaking into the dance studios more and more often, finding that the only healthy way you can vent out your frustration is through dance.

Saltwater is the cure for everything, you think, remembering one of your favorite quotes. Sweat, tears, and the sea.

Sadly, a visit to the beach was unimaginable on your schedule, and the only tears you want to see are of Namjoon’s suffering, so you start to dance harder and harder, pushing your body to do things you’ve been afraid to try since the doctors declared you physically fit again.

The only bright side to the situation is that thanks to the income that being Namjoon’s babysitter affords you, you’re finally able to pay off your loan from your parents and are even able to take classes again. And because you’re always looking for ways to work off stress, you find yourself writing and making more music than before.

On the day that you do your weekly groceries and can afford food healthier than instant noodles, you feel so overwhelmed you want to cry.

It’s the first time in years that you finally feel like your life is back on track.

To Be Continued

[picturesinlove]

London Film Festival 2017 or: the real world sucks just watch films for 2 weeks

I feel like I’ve spent my entire student loan seeing things at the London Film Festival, which ran over the last few weeks.

Was worth it.

#1: MANIFESTO, directed by Julian Rosefeldt, 90 mins

- Originally a critically acclaimed multi-screen video installation in which Cate Blanchett plays 13 different characters, ranging from a school teacher to a homeless man, performing artist’s manifestos in 13 different scenarios. Part of the financing deal was Rosefeldt had to cut a 90 minute, linear version of the piece for a cinematic setting. Provides some super interesting results.

- Clearly a translation, but an interesting one. Making the viewer watch it beginning to end highlights the flaws in that translation from installation to cinematic setting (can get too much to digest sometimes), but when it works, it *really* works. 

- More than anything, made me think about the cinema as a space- question the realms of it and what we’re putting on a big screen. 

- CATE FUCKING BLANCHETT!!!! i am convinced no one could have pulled this off like she did. She’s running on adrenaline and pure bravery. She makes interesting choices at every twist and turn. A masterclass.

- You HAVE to be fully, super awake and willing to give this your full attention from the start. It’s slow and beautiful and wonderful... but it is slow. 

- Genre hops from scenario to scenario perfectly... from Clio Banard-esque social realism to Rachel Maclean-like cartoonish sci-fi. 

- Some things Julian Rosefeldt and Cate Blanchett said in the talk afterwards that seemed interesting (lots of paraphrasing): - The white cube is a prison... talking to people who already agree with you... Cinema has a bigger audience with more coincidental audience members-  Cate Blanchett fans from the new Thor film mayyyy see this... - Ask ‘would anyone be interested in seeing this?’, NOT ‘will anyone like it?’ - ‘If I could say what everything means, I should stop doing art.’ - ‘Your brain attends to things differently when watched linearly’ - ‘Art’s role isn’t educative- it’s provocative.’

4/5.

Opens November 24th.

#2: BATTLE OF THE SEXES, directed by Jonathan Dayton & Valarie Faris, 121 mins

- True story of 1973 tennis match between Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs.

- Rousing good fun. A real crowd pleaser. I saw the Gala screening at the Odeon in Leicester Square... the perfect way to watch- with lots of people, all feeling the Hollywood-ised, over-dramatised, over-sentimental beats together... and super enjoying it. 

- It’s less subtle than MOTHER! (2017) about what it’s saying, but has a shining, naive optimism to it that you just kind of have to smile at.

- Emma Stone and Steve Carrell as King and Riggs hold all the moving pieces together. They add weight to potentially weightless, throw-away moments.

- All supporting performances great too- Sarah Silverman the MVP. Andrea Riseborough continues to be a chameleon, effortlessly embodying everything about who she’s playing, and it doesn’t even look like she’s trying. And hey! it’s super nice to Martha MacIsaac back on screen with Emma Stone! Their first time together on screen since Superbad (2007).

- The romance between Billie Jean King and Riseborough’s character Marilyn Barnett is easily the most engaging aspect of the film. The only time it leaves Hollywood feel-good territory. Something so magical watching them drive the sun-kissed California roads together listening to ‘Rocket Man’.

3.5/5.

Opens November 24th.

#3: OUR TIME WILL COME, directed by Ann Hui, 130 mins

- 1940s Japanese occupied Hong Kong. Fang Lan, a young primary school teacher, gets involved in the resistance movement and rises to become a legendary figure in the fight for freedom.

- STAKES. Really, really gets how to set up stakes for the characters. It’s a film about all the small things, the little fights in a war that will eventually add up to victory. Not assassinating all the leaders of the opposing army, just stealing a map that’s been put in a bin in an enemy outpost, hoping perhaps it helps. It’s a section of a larger painting. EVERYTHING feels dangerous. Every character is in danger at every moment, and is always punished for making the smallest mistake. Gives the sense that the oppressive State is ALWAYS watching. It demands you never become de-sensitised to the violence which leads to that immediate sense of danger.

- Had a restrained cheapness to it which I actually quite liked. Every now and then you get some goofy looking VFXs and some badly dubbed ADR, but the restraint keeps everything feeling grounded and human.

- Runs at it’s own pace/abides by it’s own structure, which may be too slow/anti-climactic for some, but I liked it for the most part. Playing by it’s own rules and truly being what it wanted to be... which sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t.

- The moments it steps out of the main story and does a docu-drama thing... just why? Came across so half-baked. Similar to the 3 time scales in Nolan’s Dunkirk (2017), there was never really a moment of release, an ‘oh! that’s a really interesting decision to do that!’ moment. Just left me kind of baffled to why?

- Genuine moments of magic that I wouldn’t dream of spoiling. Seriously some of the most creative, inspired scenes I’ve ever seen.

- Some guy (wearing a BFI lanyard??) sitting a few seats away kept repeating phrases from the film outloud in a strange voice? Why would you do this??

3.5/5.

UK release date unknown, probably some time in 2018.

#4: LAST FLAG FLYING, directed by Richard Linklater, 124 mins

- 2003. A Vietnam veteran recruits his two oldest buddies, who he served with, to accompany him on a journey no one should ever have to take.

- Richard Linklater continues to prove he can effortless hop between genres like no one else, but the film is still packed full with ideas he’s played with before.

- Performances are uniformly and predictably excellent. Bryan Cranston’s Sal is like the crazy friend of your parents who’d show up every few years in a beaten up old car and give you a pack of smokes for your birthday. Laurence Fishburne says ‘praise Jesus’ every 2 minutes and it’s amazing. Steve Carrell has a quiet dignity to him that’s really special. 

- Linklater knows exactly what he’s doing with his camera (water is wet), but it kills me to say it felt visually bland like his films never have. 

- Features the best ‘characters uncontrollably laughing’ scene since The Intouchables (2011).

4/5.

Opens 3rd November.

#5: THOROUGHBREDS, directed by Cory Finley, 90 minutes

- Two rich-kids from small town Connecticut hatch a plan together.

- Ugh, just.... what’s the point? It’s not boring, but every frame just had me thinking ‘why is this happening?’ So disappointingly transparent. I could see the director sitting planning the movements and cuts. Painfully ‘first-feature’ like. Should have been a rich, twisted delight, but was just so vapid and empty. 

- Olivia Cooke is one of my favourite rising actresses. Has one of my favourite performances ever as Rachel in Me and Earl and The Dying Girl (2015), and dammit I cry every time I watch her in it. In this... she does a good job with what she’s given. Anya Taylor-Joy is fun too.

- Badly costumed?? So rarely actively think that.

- Music was fun but as empty and ultimately weightless as the rest of the film. Felt like an afterthought to spice things up.

- Anton Yelchin’s character was the only person in the whole film I cared about. Brings a greyness to such a black and white film. What a fucking loss to the world man.

2/5.

Opens 9th March, 2018. 

#6: CALL ME BY YOUR NAME, directed by Luca Guadagnino, 130 minutes

- Somewhere in Northern Italy, Summer 1983, Elio’s life changes.

- Sun-drenched Europe, the smell of warmth and twirling cigarette smoke, deep blue sky- pure, breakfast with a glass of apricot juice and an espresso, the sound of bike spokes spinning lazily. 

I wish I could live with these people.

‘Later.’

4.5/5.

Opens 27th October.

#7: THE SHAPE OF WATER, directed by Guillermo del Toro, 119 minutes

- 1962, Cold War America. A mute cleaner at a government research facility, Elisa, strikes up an unlikely relationship.

- Del Toro just *knows* what he’s doing. It’s all so effortlessly confident. So rich and fulfilled. Such commitment to everything. 

- The first half is fantastical and brilliant. The second.... loses something. Still has moments of genius, but too much plot. Fizzles out in a disappointing way.

- Reminded me in a lot of ways of Edgar Wright’s Baby Driver (2017). Both are clearly projects the directors have wanted to make for a while, both have amazing first acts then don’t quite know what do with themselves. However, Shape has pure heart that carries it through any rough patches. It feels like it’s actually about something, not just an exercise in style for the director.

3.8/5.

Opens 16th February, 2018.

#8: LUCKY, directed by John Carroll Lynch, 88 minutes

- The swan song of Harry Dean Stanton. A 90-year old atheist’s life as he wanders his desert town, drinking, smoking and speaking to old friends.

- Pure magic all the way through. Plays at exactly the speed and tone it wants to play at.

- One of the most engaging ‘but nothing happens!!’ films I’ve ever seen.

- Everyone hits perfectly. David Lynch appears playing a character that has a pet tortoise called President Roosevelt for fuck sake.

- Bleak, but finds immense joy in that bleakness. Whenever I feel like I’m about to face the void- I will remember the smile of Harry Dean Stanton.

- 3.5/5.

Opens January 2018.

#9: BAD GENIUS, directed by Nattawut Poonpiriya, 130 minutes

- Thai Heist-Thriller about students cheating their exams.

- WHAT A FUCKING RIDE!! More stakes in this than most ‘end of the world’ superhero movies.

- The filmmaking is so good it makes you forget plausibility is sometimes being pushed. Amazing set-pieces. Expertly choreographed.

- Whimsical, but painful and genuinely emotional when it needs to be. 

- Every character is so rich and textured in their own way. So fully realised.

- Why do the last 2 minutes of this film exist??

- 2 years time, there will almost certainly be an American remake of this... and it’ll suck so hard. 

- SEE THIS FILM. SEE THIS FILM. SEE THIS FILM. SEE THIS FILM.

4/5.

Opens some time in 2018.

#10: THE FLORIDA PROJECT, directed by Sean Baker, 115 minutes

- In the shadow of Disney World, 6 year-old Moonee and her friends spend the summer playing around the Motels they live in.

- Pastel bright colours. Every person has survived a storm. Explore the wasteland of failed corporate America. Become a child again.

- Baker continues to masterfully blend fiction with reality, wrapping one in the other.

- Doesn’t ask you to like the characters. Doesn’t need to. One of the very best films of the year.

4.5/5.

Opens 10th November.

#11: INGRID GOES WEST, directed by Matt Spicer, 98 minutes

- Ingrid moves to California to become Instagram famous.

- An enjoyable, fun Saturday night film. 

- Elisabeth Olsen as ‘photographer’ Taylor Sloane is note perfect. Could so easily have slept-walked through it, but didn’t. Her relationship with brother Nicky is so, so good. Idea of this Instagram famous rich girl with her crazy, pill-junkie, roid-monkey brother who she knows is terrible but loves him and is sort of as vapid as he is- just knows how to hide it better. And man, he is SO evil. Haven’t hated a character as much as I hated him in a while.

- Plaza holds it together. Her and the film trust you to realise how mentally ill she is without reminding us too much.

- 1st half is superbly played... loses it somewhere in the middle of the 2nd act but picks up again at the end.

- Music was terrible?! Suggested some weird criss-cross in tone of the film.

- I GET IT! THE INTERNET IS BAD!

3.5/5.

Opens 17th November.

#12: You Were Never Really Here, directed by Lynne Ramsey, 85 minutes

- Gulf War veteran Joe is known for the brutality he inflicts on captors of the children he’s rescuing.

- Deeply troubled. Beautiful. Precise. Scatter-brained. Focused. A violin strung too tightly, then played by a madman. How can something so stripped down and raw feel so symphonic and wholesome? I feel like I’ve been repeatedly smashed in the head with a hammer... but enjoyed it.

- Jaoquin Phoenix. Lynne Ramsey. Johnny Greenwood.

- There are things in this that will play on loop in my head for the rest of my life.

4.5/5.

Opens in early 2018.

#13: Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, directed by Martin McDonagh, 115 minutes

- A mother takes desperate steps to pressure local law enforcement to find her daughter’s killer.

- Perfectly woven and layered characters. I fucking hate the phrase ‘the character arc’, but if I were teaching a class in it- I’d show this film. 

- A film about relationships, and every relationship between every character or creature or inanimate object is perfect.

- McDonagh loves theatrical sensibilities. Nobody does grand, rich set-pieces quite like him... makes highly stylised situations feel real in the world he sets up.

- I could have watched hours more of these characters interacting.

4/5.

Opens 12th January 2018.

STRAY THOUGHTS:

- Felt spoilt in the audiences I had the pleasure of watching these films with. Always respectful.

- Every time Clare Stewart (head of festival) came on stage to present a film, I just couldn’t help but smile. Bumped into her after a screening and told her my student loan situation. I don’t think she knew what to say.

- DON’T WATCH THE TRAILERS OF ANY OF THESE FILMS. THEY SPOIL SO MANY OF THEM.

- I am consistently shocked by how enamoured I am with celebrities. Some weird conditioning in my brain. Am glad I didn’t queue up to get a picture with anyone. Saying that, this screenshot from a random interview I saw online where I’m juuuust to the left of Emma Stone will live on my wall forever.

ughhhhhh i’m a loser ughhhhh

[faeriexqueen]

Hello, I hope I'm not late for asking on that prompt thing yulma + 28 ^^

You are never too late to request some Yuulma! :D 

Title: PromisePairing: Yuulma (Alma Karma/Yuu Kanda)Chapters: 1Words: 2,818Summary: What Kanda said shouldn’t have bothered Alma. After all, it wasn’t like they spoke anymore to begin with.  (Prompt for “We are not friends!”)AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11842101FF: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12620260/1/Promise

It shouldn’t have bothered Alma.  But it did.

Alma couldn’t blame Kanda.  Aftereverything that had happened – after trying to kill Kanda twice – Alma couldn’t blame Kanda for saying what he had said.Kanda more than likely hated Alma now. That much seemed obvious; why else would Kanda hardly spare a glance inAlma’s direction, and so purposefully avoid looking at him? Not that the two of them had much of a chance to interact.  After the disastrous incident at the NorthAmerican Branch, Alma’s barely alive body (an abomination, really) had beenconfiscated.  Alma didn’t remember thedetails of everything; his mind was fuzzy with hatred, and the influence of theMillennium Earl.  He didn’t even know howhe was still alive – hadn’t he been intended to self-destruct?  That was what the Noah had wanted…except thatother one.  The one with white-hair.  That boy who had a Noah inside him.  Whathad happened to him?Alma didn’t know – no one had told him. No one cared to.  It was unclear to Alma just how much time had passed since the whole incidentoccurred.  Enough had passed that he’dbeen able to regenerate.  It had beenpainful, not only in the physical sense, but in the psychological one as well.Why couldn’t they have just let Alma die?A part of Alma wished that the Order and the Noah would have let him and Kandajust kill each other off.  Staying aliveonly caused suffering, and it was not even a life that either of them had.  Kanda was still caught up in that person, and Alma was trapped by thenotion that he was forever a part of that person.Alma didn’t even know if he could be called his own person anymore.  His mind. His feelings.  Ownership of suchthings suddenly seemed impossible.Freedom, too.  Once Alma had shown signsthat he was going to somehow recover, the scientists had kept him onlockdown.  It was expected; Alma wasconsidered highly dangerous, and had been responsible for a massacre evenbefore he was infused with dark matter.   But, that also made him somehow valuable tothe Black Order, and worth keeping.  ‘As a weapon,’ Alma reminded himselfbitterly.  ‘They always meant to keep us as weapons.’The Black Order really was no different than the Noah, it seemed.Eventually, Alma had been repaired enough physically so that he didn’t need tobe practically quarantined.  He stillalways had someone supervising him – Alma didn’t know if he’d ever get a momentalone ever again.  But, he was at leastable to be exposed to other members of the Black Order after being transferredto European Headquarters.  Although it was debatable on whether or not that was a good thing.  Many of Alma’sakuma characteristics were still evident: the pointed ears, the coloredmarkings, the tail.  Alma was just as freakish as he always was,except this time it was visible to the naked eye.  He had always been a freak.  Being called an apostle of God had beennothing more than a nice way of saying such.Most members of the Order seemed to avoid Alma. They maybe chanced a glance in his direction at best, but then wouldlook away quickly before whispering to one another.  It angered Alma, but he had to do his best topretend he couldn’t hear.  Any signs ofloss control would mean instant isolation, if the threat wasn’t great enough towarrant a death it seemed.Being able to go out was how Alma periodically saw Kanda though.  The interactions were hardly non-existentthough.  Kanda often ignored Alma,pretending the second exorcist-turned-akuma didn’t exist.  And Alma would do the same. On more than one occasion, Alma had noticed people looking at the two of themnervously, as though they had no idea what to expect.  Usually, Alma felt the same.  He never knew what to expect with Kanda.  But Kanda probably hated him.Alma tried to tell himself he wasn’t upset by this.But, then came the day where Kanda said something.  It wasn’t to Alma – how could it have been,when Kanda never even looked his way? No, it had been to some Chinese girl – Lenalee, and exorcist and theyounger sister of Chief Komui Lee.  Sheand Kanda had been in the dining hall, when Alma and his supervisor had arrivedthere to get dinner.  Kanda and Lenaleehad already been seated, though Lenalee had spotted Alma before turning toKanda.  She had kept her voice soft in alikely attempt to make sure Alma couldn’t hear her speak, but Alma’s acutehearing picked up on the words regardless.“Hey, Kanda?  Do you think…you’ll evertalk to Alma again?”Kanda hadn’t bothered to glance up from his soba.  When he didn’t answer, Lenalee triedagain.  Her tone was wary.  “I mean…you guys are-“ She caught herselfquickly, “-were friends, right?”This caught Kanda’s attention.  He lookedup at Lenalee sharply.  “We are not friends.” The words came out abruptly, and sounded harsh. Lenalee seemed a little taken aback, actually.  Alma didn’t risk looking at them any longerthough, and focused his attention elsewhere. He felt a pair of eyes on him though, and Alma wondered if they belongedto Lenalee or Kanda.  More than likely,it was just Lenalee.  Kanda wouldn’tbother.It shouldn’t have bothered Alma to hear all this.  It should have bothered Alma.  Except it did.  Alma and Kanda were not friends, and neverreally had been.  And that upset him.Alma left the dining hall quickly.

~~~Night fell, and Alma was surrounded by silence. He had his own room, though the interior of it was minimal indecoration.  Apparently, Alma was stillconsidered hazardous enough so that the Order didn’t even want to give him toomany unnecessary objects as though he’d use them as weapons somehow.  It was a bit ridiculous to Alma, really – buthe hardly had time to notice such a detail when he had to deal with the factthat there was always a guard outside of his door.  God, it was frustrating.  Alma was basicallya prisoner, all while being trained to be useful to the Order in the HolyWar.  ‘Justlike before.  Just like I always was,’ Alma thought, as his eyes stared up at the ceiling.  Dark.  Stone.  Alma had always dreamed of seeing the sky,but now he was just stuck with this.  Stuck with this ceiling.  Stuck in this prison.  Stuck in the same hellhole as Kanda – someonewho Alma had once thought he could befriends with-‘Except we’re not.  We’re not friends, and we never really were,’ Alma tried to tell himself, as he desperately attempted to ignore the ache inhis chest.  The ache he felt every timehe thought about Kanda.Suddenly, there were footsteps outside of Alma’s room.  Ears perking at the noise, Alma turned hisgaze toward the door.  That was peculiar– no one ever came down through the hallway Alma was in.  He was somewhat cut off from the otherexorcists, and nowhere near the finders. The only time Alma ever heardfootsteps was if the guards were trading spots to watch his door, but technicallyit wasn’t time for a shift change.  Almahad experienced enough sleepless nights to have memorized the timing by thispoint.Alma listened, and held his breath.  Heheard no words, which was even stranger. Who was outside right now?  Theirsteps were light, and almost inaudible – which said a lot, since Alma hadhighly sensitive hearing due to his akumatized form.  The door clicked, and Alma realized whoever was outside was coming in.  Immediately growing tense, he tried to decideon whether it would be wise to pretend to be asleep or not.  As soon as the door opened, Almainstinctively shut his eyes as he feigned being asleep, as a childlike feargripped his heart.‘Just go away.  Whoever you are, please just go away,’ Alma silently pleaded.  He had no ideawho was in his room or why, but he did not want to deal with them.Whoever it was that had come in did not speak. They continued to walk softly, and Alma could soon feel their presenceas they stood right next to his bed. Alma forced himself to try to relax, wishing that people would leave himalone.The stranger sat down – on the edge of the bed. A familiar voice spoke.  “Stopdoing that fake sleep shit.  I knowyou’re awake.”Alma’s eyes shot open, and he turned his head. He sat up with a startled expression as he registered just who it was inhis room.  Kanda. Kanda was in his room.  He wassitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed his face looking away fromAlma.  Alma was confused, and in his bewilderment slightly irritable  “What the hell are you doing in here?” Heasked, not sure what was even going on. “And how’d you know I was awake?”Kanda snorted quietly.  “You alwayspulled that act when we were back in the lab. Sometimes when you wanted to get out of the experiments,” Kandacommented.  His voice was quiet, but helda bitter edge.  “Edgar almost fell for ita few times.  Moron.”Alma frowned.  He didn’t like rememberingbeing in the lab, and he especially didn’t like remembering being forced toattempt synchronization.  Turning his gaze away from Kanda, Alma returned to his initial question.  “Why are you here? I didn’t think I wasallowed visitors.”There was a venom in Alma’s tone, but he couldn’t help it.  His life was dictated by the Order – he hadno say in anything.  Neither did Kanda.Kanda’s mouth grew into a hard line.  “Noone knows I’m here.”This caught Alma by surprise.  Almalooked back at Kanda, his brow furrowed slightly.  “What about the guard out-““That guy?  Idiot dozed off fifteenminutes ago.  He really should getfired.”Now Alma looked surprised.  “What, wereyou waiting?  Why?”Kanda sighed in an exasperated tone. “Why do you think?” He asked in annoyance.  “I was trying to fucking get in here.“But why?” Alma interjected, his toneslightly heated.  He had to remindhimself to keep his voice down, or else he might wake the guard outside.  “It’s not like you’ve been reallyacknowledging my existence or anything.“Kanda remained quiet for a moment after that, and Alma wondered if maybe Kandawould just leave.  The silence that fellbetween them was horrendously heavy, and breathing felt difficult.Finally, Kanda spoke.  His tone wasnoticeably softer than before.  “I’mleaving headquarters.”Alma barely registered the words.  Aftera few seconds, they began to sink in. Alma’s expression must have given his realization away, because Kandatook one glance at Alma before quickly continuing.“Not permanently,” Kanda added.  “Ijust…have to go find someone.  Track themdown before I can come back here.”Alma felt his blood turn cold.  He turnedaway from Kanda sharply, trying to ignore the pang of ugly jealousy hefelt.  That person.  Kanda was still obsessed and in love with that person.  “Are you going to look for her?” Alma asked, his voice an icywhisper.God.  That person.  That person that was now Alma.  Or at least, who Alma was made from.  And Kanda was going to keep searching forher.Surprisingly, Kanda shook his head. “No.  I’m not looking for heranymore,” He answered quietly.  “This isjust some idiot I need to find…”Against his better judgment, Alma’s eyes moved back to Kanda.  Kanda was looking away again, but Alma couldsee his profile.  His hair was tied backin a ponytail, but his bangs seemed a bit longer and unkempt.  His expression was distant.Alma’s frown lessened in severity, but still remained.  His eyes flickered away again.  “So why are you telling me?  I thought we weren’t friends.”Kanda closed his eyes, and exhaled through his nose.  He sounded frustrated.  “You’re as stupid as ever,” He muttered,though Alma still heard perfectly well.Alma looked at Kanda sharply.  “Excuseme?”Kanda turned, facing Alma directly.  Itwas the first time he had done so in forever it seemed, and Alma wasmomentarily breathless from the unexpected directness of this interaction.  Kanda, however,appeared unfazed.“You’re as stupid as ever,” Kanda repeated. His expression was oddly devoid of harshness as he said thisthough.  “You’re as stupid as ever,because we are friends.  And I’m telling you why I’m leaving so youknow I’m not leaving for good.”Alma was stunned.  Stunned andsilent.  ‘What…?’He wanted to ask, but the words seemed to stick in histhroat.  They wouldn’t come out.  ‘Ithought you hated me…’When Alma didn’t speak, Kanda took the opportunity to continue.  His words sounded stiff, and his posture wasrigid.  Alma suddenly realized that thiswas because Kanda was uncomfortable. Kanda usually didn’t speak this much.“I’m…I’m going to come back here.  I’llcome back for you,” Kanda continued, voice soft and slightly gruff.    “The Order can’t know though.  They can’t know we’re…”His voice trailed off, but Alma understood. An onslaught of emotion immediately enveloped Alma, and he felt hisinsides tremble.  He didn’t want Kanda togo.  Even if it were temporary…Almadidn’t want to risk losing Kanda.  Notagain.Without thinking, Alma grabbed Kanda’s wrist. He clutched at it tightly, his eyes downcast.  “Yuu…I don’t want you to leave…” Almapleaded, his voice barely audible.  “Whatif you don’t come back…?”The stiffness in Kanda’s expression broke, if only for a brief second.  His eyes appeared to glimmer in the darkenedroom, though Alma couldn’t tell if that were because Kanda’s eyes were wateryor if it was just the way they happened to look.  Or maybe it was because Alma’s eyes were watery that Kanda’s eyes looked such a way.Kanda took hold of Alma’s hand, gently rubbing his fingers over it.  “I’ll come back for you, Alma,” Kandawhispered, as he brought Alma’s hand to his mouth, holding it close.  Alma barely felt Kanda’s lips against theback of his hand, and his heart sped slightly as he felt Kanda pull him close,whispering gently into Alma’s ear.  “Iwon’t let them keep you here.  Ipromise.”Alma clung to Kanda tightly after hearing those words.  He clung to Kanda until he fell back asleep.~~~When Alma woke up the next morning, it was cold.  His room was still dark, and he realized thatthe sun probably hadn’t risen yet.  Forsome reason, he felt sad – incredibly so. Within a few moments, Alma began to recall the events of the previousnight.Kanda.  Kanda had come to his room.  Kanda had told Alma he was leaving.Kanda had promised Alma that he would come back.Alma now remembered that he had fallen asleep while Kanda while still withhim.  Like some weak child who neededprotection, Alma had fallen asleep in Kanda’s arms, clinging closely to him asthough Kanda would faded away into nothingness if Alma were to let go.  Yet somehow, Kanda had still slipped out ofAlma’s grasp, all while Alma was in a slumber.Alma’s heart ached.  He wished he couldhave said goodbye to Kanda one last time. He wished Kanda would have woken him before he left.But, Alma had woken up tucked under sheets that he had not bothered to coverhimself with.  No doubt it had beenKanda’s doing.  ‘Yuu…’ Alma thought, as he tried tosquash the painful yearning he could feel himself beginning to become consumedby.  He wondered if Kanda had possiblynot left yet.  Maybe Kanda would still bearound when Alma went to the dining hall for breakfast, or perhaps Alma wouldcatch a glimpse of him in the training room. Kanda had not specified when he was leaving.These thoughts gave Alma hope.But, when Alma when to the dining hall that morning there was no sign ofKanda.  Lenalee was sitting with anothergroup of exorcists, and there was no sign of Kanda in the training room withMugen.  Eventually, Alma accepted thatKanda had left.  Kanda was gone.“I’ll come back for you, Alma.”Kanda had promised though.  He hadpromised Alma he would come back.Later that day, it became more apparent to other people that the sword-wieldingexorcist had ventured off.  The officialwho was currently supervising Alma had taken note of it, and found it forwhatever reason necessary to comment on“So, your friend took off, huh?” The official prodded, though his words werecold and did not warrant a friendly conversation.In response, Alma threw the man a cool glance before turning away.  “We’re not friends,” Alma answered quietly.‘I’ll wait for you.  Forever.’