#everyone wants to claim the north shore but like

[frances-baby-houseman]

The north shore, the collection of towns along lake michigan where I live and work, essentially doesn't allow drive through restaurants, particularly east of the edens. There is a drive through McDonalds in Evanston on Dempster, and the next one is all the way in north highland park just off park ave. There are a few dunkins and many starbucks in that stretch but only one other mcdonalds, which is in Winnetka and totally hidden. That's most of evanston, all of wilmette, winnetka, glencoe, kenilworth, and most of highland park without drive throughs.

I say this bc there has been a long abandoned Bakers Square in Wilmette that they were trying to turn into a double drive through McDonalds. For a long time the Murray brothers (yes, Bill) were trying to turn it into a restaurant but that fell through and it's been empty for YEARS. There has been a ton of pushback against the double drive through and last night the Village board denied the proposal.

There has been a lot of "what snobs" in the comments on the various news articles about it on FB, but like. It's great living in a place without drive throughs! The north shore east of the edens is largely park once communities, where you park your car and walk to the various places you need to go. Like yes the north shore is snobby but it's also the dream? Everyone should live like this? Drive throughs aren't inherently better. I do love a drive through when i'm like.... driving through a place. But these aren't driving through places! they are drive TO places! It is NICE that people here are forced to get out of their cars! And you can just go west of the edens if you need to get a drive through! You're already in your car anyway!

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

The disrespect toward indigenous peoples is what popped put at me today in one of your posts. I wonder how long the English have been looking down on the Welsh. We're the Saxons like that or is it the Normans who really thought they were better than everyone else. Cause it seems like it goes back a long way.

Oh, both, just in different ways. The Normals were imperialist, the Saxons were more theft and landgrab.

Something that makes me want to start hurling knives is the INCREDIBLY COMMON English myth that the Anglo-Saxons were a sweet innocent indigenous British people who were conquered and bullied by those mean nasty Normans (and Vikings), and because the Normans came over via France, that means everything was actually THEIR fault, and the true English i.e. the Anglo-Saxons, were victims too :(

When I say it's incredibly common, by the way, I really mean it. Enormous numbers of modern day English people believe this. I've seen BBC programs about the Viking invasions that claimed without a trace of irony that the Vikings would take slaves from "the native Anglo-Saxons". I've literally had English people comment this shit on posts of mine about Celtophobia and Welsh history. Like I'm there describing how the last Prince of Wales was locked in a wooden cage in Bristol Castle at the age of eight and lived out the remainder of his life there until his fifties so the Welsh would know their place, and some snivelling English cunt will straight up write a message going "Teehee really it was the Normans not the English though and they conquered the poor Anglo-Saxons too, poor England uwu"

Anyway in the dying days of the Roman empire in Britain one of the leading reasons for Rome abandoning Britannia was the constant waves of Anglo-Saxon invaders. There were so many the east coast of Britain became known as the Saxon Shore. There were so many the Romans built a line of forts that were and are literally called Saxon Shore Forts. There were so many that an official, historically documented, paid governmental position in Roman Britain was the Count of the Saxon Shore, i.e. the guy responsible for keeping the bastards out.

Rome had banned native military, of course, so when they then withdrew and took the armies with them, the people left had no defences against the incoming waves of Angles, Saxons and Jutes. England fell pretty quickly, Angles in the north, Saxons in the south, Jutes primarily in the east, I believe. What stopped their westward expansion was the Brythonic Celtic nations living in modern day Wales. And this is the origin of the Welsh dragon - those separate kingdoms needed a banner that united them, and represented Not Saxon. An anti-Saxon force. They chose a red dragon.

This is also the origin of King Arthur. An anti-Saxon king of the Brythons, who would repel these Germanic invaders. (It was several centuries later that England realised they should probably steal the term 'British', because otherwise they were marking themselves as 'not native'.)

Anyway the saving grace of the Anglo-Saxons in the end was actually that they were whiny little bitches who gave up trying to fight in Wales with its difficult mountains and fought each other instead. The whole sorry tale of the Heptarchy is the various Anglo-Saxon kingdoms fighting like cats in a bag, while Saxon king Offa built a dyke along the Welsh border and went "WELL YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED OVER HERE" and every Welsh king went "...we literally didn't want to conquer you anyway, you spectacularly sad and stupid man"

Oh, and of course, there's the name 'Wales'. Given to us specifically by the Anglo-Saxons. And translated by centuries of English scholars, mostly very smugly, as 'foreigners'. A fun bit of early propaganda, look - foreigners in our own country that they tried and failed to steal.

All of which is a circuitous way of saying - yeah, it goes way back.

[gendrie]

"You play at being a servant, but in your heart you are a lord's daughter. You have taken other names, but you wore them as lightly as you might wear a gown. Under them was always Arya." (Arya, AFFC)

"He wants you," said the She-Bear, after his third visit. Her proper name was Alysane of House Mormont, but she wore the other name as easily as she wore her mail. (Asha, ADWD)

its so crazy that grrm has put aly mormont on track to meet arya.....if alysane sticks by jeyne (and i think she will) then she will likely go to braavos with justin massey’s crew. if arya wants to get close to jeyne (and i think she will) then she will have to get close to aly. inevitably, there would be some sort of interaction. it might only be small, but the fact that grrm is even putting aly in this storyline makes me think theres potential 

The girl wouldn't walk, even when slapped. Arya dragged her with her right hand while she held Needle in the left. Ahead, the night was a sullen red. The barn's on fire, she thought. Flames were licking up its sides from where a torch had fallen on straw, and she could hear the screaming of the animals trapped within. Hot Pie stepped out of the barn. "Arry, come on! Lommy's gone, leave her if she won't come!" Stubbornly, Arya dragged all the harder, pulling the crying girl along. (Arya, ACOK)

Catelyn smiled despite herself. "You are braver than I am, I fear. Are all your Bear Island women such warriors?" "She-bears, aye," said Lady Maege. "We have needed to be. In olden days the ironmen would come raiding in their longboats, or wildlings from the Frozen Shore. The men would be off fishing, like as not. The wives they left behind had to defend themselves and their children, or else be carried off." "There's a carving on our gate," said Dacey. "A woman in a bearskin, with a child in one arm suckling at her breast. In the other hand she holds a battleaxe. She's no proper lady, that one, but I always loved her." (Catelyn, ASOS)

arya has more than a few things in common with the women of bear island. she embodied their carving during the battle she fought in clash; in one hand she had a toddler and in the other a weapon. the mormonts are daughters and mothers who rule their land while also fighting, leading, and (allegedly) skinchanging. aly claims the mormont women are skinchangers just a couple chapters before the one where arya starts to truly understand her own powers. 

"You are wed." "No. My children were fathered by a bear." Alysane smiled. Her teeth were crooked, but there was something ingratiating about that smile. "Mormont women are skinchangers. We turn into bears and find mates in the woods. Everyone knows." (Asha, ADWD) 

She knew the way to the kitchens, but her nose would have led her there even if she hadn't. Hot peppers and fried fish, she decided, sniffing down the hall, and bread fresh from Umma's oven. The smells made her belly rumble. The night wolf had feasted, but that would not fill the blind girl's belly. Dream meat could not nourish her, she had learned that early on. (Arya, ADWD) 

the mormonts are women of the north who comfortably and confidently defy gender roles; in appearance, in temperament, in action. they’re not just warriors either. maege has five daughters and an uncertain marital status. she is still the head of her house. aly is unwed with two children and she’s the heir; poised to rule bear island someday. the mormonts are proof that there is an alternative to being a “proper” lady 

(preemptively im gonna say spare me any bullshit on how the mormont girls/women are not relevant examples to arya bc they live in isolation lol whats important is how arya perceives them. they’ve been consistent players in the northern political scene too - despite their nonconformity. some may mutter about it but that doesnt stop them from participating in both the fighting and the ruling of the north) 

One of his companions was even a woman: Dacey Mormont, Lady Maege's eldest daughter and heir to Bear Island [...] (Catelyn, AGOT)

“Lady Arya should have a female companion as well. Take Alysane Mormont.” (Theon, TWOW)

both houses lost their eldest at the red wedding and the mormonts remain loyal to house stark. 

Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself. "Arya." She whispered the word the first time. The second time she threw it at him. "I am Arya, of House Stark." (Arya, AFFC) 

Stannis read from the letter. "Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is STARK. A girl of ten, you say, and she presumes to scold her lawful king." (Jon, ADWD) 

i cannot think of a better influence for arya to have as she tries to figure out who she is and who she wants to be then any one of the mormont women. so i think its pretty significant that aly has already been made “lady arya’s” companion and will possibly cross paths with the real arya in twow. 

[oldcrowshag]

i would be super interested in hearing more about michigan bc i live up north ^.^ thanks for making that post, i didn't grow up here so i hadn't heard that legend before!!

Up North

apologies in the delay.

"Up North" in itself is such a liminality. ask a michigander where in the state the landscape turns into "Up North" (bonus points if you get them to point out places on their map-hands) and you'll probably get a different answer from everyone. Up North becomes analogous for the old ways-- an escape from Life and the sales tax of living it, diving headfirst into the woods just like the perfect arc you practiced on the dock behind your grandparents' cottage every summer. it's an encounter with the Lakeshore, because when you're Up North you have your pick of small seas to commune with. it's also foggy dawn meadows, and barren lonely winters, and small gas stops on a rural corner, and bears, and cougars, and wolves if you're lucky, and yes the fucked up deer. Up North has a smell, and honestly it's probably just fresh air. you live in a land of conservatives, anon, but also of wonder. keep your wits and learn its ways!!

anyway, speaking of lakes. as I said you could honestly reside anywhere in half of the state, so I'm electing to go Way Up North until I hit the beastly Lake Superior (gichi-gami in ojibwe). when you speak on her, you cannot help but let a certain reverence enter your voice. she's the deepest lake on the continent and holds 10% of the world's fresh water, and we have a saying about her:

Lake Superior never gives up her dead.

she's cold. most plants and animals don't survive on the bottom. it's the land of sponges and darkness. it's too cold for bacteria, so when a soul ends up down there, it stays there. if you aren't aware of the wreck of the edmund fitzgerald (rip gordon lightfoot) give it a listen if you want a good sea ballad. something similar happened to the USS Kamloops, and her captain went down with the ship. he remains preserved in the wreck to this day and can only be visited by expert divers. Superior has claimed an estimated 10000 lives, and many of those bodies are never seen again. she acts as psychopomp, a void you can slip into on a warm summer day. the deep water has long been associated with death energy-- in my personal practice I link waters in helping to venerate my ancestors and commune with certain deities. how would you use Her water and Her stones? when you greet Her after dark, and face the roaring yawn of the dark surf with no opposite shore, what do you hear within yourself? do you acknowledge the death She wears on a proud brow while birthing life out on the windswept shores? what would you consecrate in Her waters? yourself?

high summer is coming for us, anon. I suggest you hit the lake if you can, any one will do 😊

(I intend on writing more about Michigan craft and lore when I have the time but lmk if anyone is interested in that in my asks because hearing encouragement is nice lol)

[futurebird]

North Brother Island

In 1904 New York City's lower east side was home to a thriving German American community. In that same year they would be uniquely struck with one of the most terrible disasters in the city (and America's) history.

This is one of those disasters that might be better known today for the tendency to overlook and forget it. But, this was a tragedy on the scale of the Titanic and 9/11. 

June is always hot and miserable in NYC. Especially in the days before air-conditioning. The chance to go on a riverboat ride must have seemed like a special treat for the children of the working and middle class families in the lower east side. 

Fresh air and sightseeing!

They packed picnic baskets and some got dressed up. This kind of outing was a tradition on the last day of school. It was a Wednesday, most of the men were at work, still the General Slocum , an old steamship with budget prices for holiday outings would be packed.

The trip started out as planned. Everyone was having a wonderful time. But, around them were ominous signs that the passengers couldn't have been expected to notice. 

The General Slocum didn't have enough life boats.

The few that it had were so disused that paint had stuck them to the decks. 

The life jackets, far too few in number, were filled with rotting cork that would be useless for buoyancy. 

Back then it was extremely rare for city children to know how to swim.

The steam ship took off up the east river. It must have been a powerful engine to cope with the tides. They were making good time going at about 15 knots or 17 mph when, around 97th street the crew noticed a fire.

They tried to use the fire hose, but like nearly all of the safety equipment it had not been tested for far too long and burst. They couldn't put out the fire. And the boat was speeding up, not slowing down!

Boats tried to pick up passengers but the ship was moving too quickly. It would crash near North Brother Island. Home to a quarantine hospital.  (And a few years later Typhoid Mary.)

The nurses and patients at the hospital rushed heroically to the beach and saved a number of lives.

But, caught between drowning for not knowing how to swim and death by fire the majority of passengers would perish. A congressional hearing would follow. People were outraged.

The ship had been inspected not long before the disaster. And the inspection documents claimed that it had sufficient life jackets and life boats. It is likely the inspector was paid off by someone at the Knickerbocker Steam Ship company.

Little Germany was devastated and would never be the same. Death touched every apartment in some buildings. And, for a time, it was all that people would talk about.

But, then greater tragedies would come to overshadow it, and time would soften the grief.

There is a memorial in the city. A children's water fountain. 

I mostly know about this story because I have a kind of obsession with North Brother Island.

Between it's legacy as a small pox quarantine hospital, the steam ship disaster and Typhoid Mary... North Brother is a place that NYC rarely thinks about. 

Though in the 50s and 60s there was new construction there. A "home for way ward youth" It seems like all these islands beyond the Hell's Gate are places where the city puts people and things it wants to forget.  Riker's island isn't far from North Brother. One is totally uninhabited and taken over by nature, the other ought to be.

On North Brother island most of the windows in the old buildings from the 60s are broken and at this time of year leaves blow in to collect around the forgotten bookshelves and murals. Spent summer weeds have started growing in the hallways, and give their last gasp of life before the snow drifts come. 

You can't hear the city on that island, just the thrumming of  insects. And maybe the cries of the nurses rousing everyone to run to the sandy north shore.

[maybeimamuppet]

picking teams- chapter 7: janis

hellooooo happy wednesday!! 

welcome to chapter seven of this idk what’s happening here anymore either but. eh. here it is! 

tw for 

mentioned drugging 

that should be it but if i’ve missed something please let me know and i’ll add it in :) 

enjoy!

—————

Janis isn't totally sure how to face going back to school on Monday. She hasn't done any of her homework over the weekend, or... much of anything at all, really. 

Nobody blames her for spending the weekend hiding away in bed. She's heard word that Cady was released from the hospital on Saturday and that she's doing well. Physically, anyway. 

Janis is the one not doing well. Seeing the look in Cady's drugged eyes, the raw fear there, will stick with her for a long time. Her eye still hurts, no matter how many cool compresses she rests on it or how much of the weekend she spends napping. 

But she knows she doesn't want to stay home. People might stare, she might be just going through the motions all day, but she needs the distraction of school. 

She's gotten a bit ripe after spending an entire weekend in bed, so she goes to shower on Sunday evening. 

Scrubbing her entire body as hard as she can helps, a lot. She feels the memories of the weekend start settling in her mind, some of the pain wash down the drain with the water dripping off her skin. Her skin is an almost fluorescent pink by the time she comes back into herself enough to stop.

Janis lingers in the shower a lot longer than she needs to, just feeling the scalding hot water run over her face, gradually getting colder as the hot water starts running low. Hopefully nobody else needs a shower for a while. 

She sighs as she turns the water off, toweling her hair and body off and returning to her room. She should probably clean up a bit. Her clothes are still on the ground, and all the dishes she's used for three days are scattered around the room. Her bed isn't the freshest either. She hasn't changed her sheets in a while, and it's very clearly unmade. 

Meh, it's been worse. 

Her bed is a priority, though. No point getting back into a dirty bed after spending so long in the shower. 

Janis changes into some clean, comfy pajamas and strips her sheets off. Her dad gives her a grin when he sees her stumbling to the laundry room with her entire bedspread. 

She grabs some clean sheets and pillowcases from the linen cabinet and remakes her bed, immediately collapsing into it. She has to admit this is much nicer. 

Before she knows it, Janis is drifting off to sleep. 

—-

She was right. 

People do stare, a lot, throughout the day on Monday. Word spreads fast at North Shore, and she's walking around with a black eye. Some people also saw her carrying Cady out of the party, which isn't helping. People are saying everything from the truth to claiming Cady was the one who punched her. 

Janis is used to people staring. She doesn't care. The important people know what really happened, and that's all that matters for now. Janis knows North Shore well enough to know this will all blow over in a week or so. 

Cady isn't there, which worries her. She tries not to think about it, tries not to focus on the empty chair in front of her in chemistry class. 

She's not there on Tuesday, either. 

Janis doesn't know why she's so worried. It's not like she wants to talk to Cady. Cady doesn't even know what happened beyond her getting drugged. But it would be nice to be sure she's okay. 

Janis gets her wish on Wednesday. The whispers have shifted to Cady's return, which makes Janis feel much worse about wanting to see Cady so bad. The last thing the poor girl deserves after her ordeal is everyone staring and spreading rumors about what happened to her. 

But Janis knows there's nothing she can do. Things would only get worse if she tried to say something, to do something. Things would be much worse if people saw Cady Heron talking to the space dyke. 

So Janis stays quiet. 

She's so in her head she barely hears Ms. Norbury trying to stop her on her way out of math class. "Janis, can I speak with you?"

Shit.

"Uh... yeah," Janis says. 

"Your grades are still slipping," Ms. Norbury says quietly. "You have a month to get them up again, or you'll be on academic probation." 

"Shit," Janis says out loud. She tries to walk away a bit, get out of this situation. "I'll-I'll try harder, I'm sorry. I've just been so busy with football, and everything-"

"Janis, you don't have to apologize. It's like I said, we're here to help you. I understand you're busy." 

"So-"

"So, I think it's for the best if we get you a tutor. At least for a while. Someone who knows what they're doing and can help get you back on track," Ms. Norbury says. "It'll be on your own time, but you won't have to pay anything. They'll be compensated another way." 

No. No way. No way in hell. "Do I have to?"

"If you want to keep your spot on the football team, I think so," Ms. Norbury says. "I have someone in mind for you, I'll just have to ask her. Cady Heron?" 

"What?!" Janis asks frantically. Not her, anyone but her. "No, please, don't you have anyone else?"

"I really think the two of you would be a good fit," Ms. Norbury replies. "She has a similar schedule to you after school, and she's bright as a button. I really think she could help you here, Janis. At least give it a shot?" 

"Fine," Janis grumbles. 

"Excellent. I'll let her know when I next see her," Ms. Norbury says. "You can go now. Sorry to keep you."

"It's fine," Janis says, trying not to sigh. "Thank you." 

"Anytime." 

Janis stalks out of the classroom and off to art, panicking internally. She's done everything she possibly can to get over this little infatuation with the new girl. There's no way Cady isn't straight, there's no way she'd like Janis if she was queer, and there's no way she'd act on those feelings if, by some miracle, she happened to have them. Keeping this going is only going to hurt her. 

But now, she's going to have to spend extended periods of time alone with the object of her affections. And Cady is going to get to see just how dumb she is. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

—————

"Damn, who shit in your sandwich?" Damian asks when she slams her lunch tray down on the table, rapidly followed by her head. Janis just groans. 

"I have a C in algebra," she grumbles.

"Okay? What's the problem with that?" Damian asks. "It's first period math, that's understandable. Your dad won't mind."

"But coach does," Janis says. "If my grade goes any lower I'm benched, and if I don't get it up after a month I get kicked off the fucking team." 

"Oh," Damian whispers. "I see the issue."

"No, it gets worse."

"Worse?"

"Ms. Norbury says I have to get a tutor," Janis says. "And you'll never guess who she picked." 

"No," Damian gasps. "Cady?"

"Yep." 

"Oh, darling," Damian tuts. "These are going to be the gayest tutoring sessions in all of history." 

"No, they're not!" Janis huffs. "She's straight." 

"Look at her," Damian says, gesturing vaguely across the lunchroom towards Cady sitting with the Plastics. Janis does. Cady is in jeans today, but still wearing a tight-fitting top. 

"She's a Plastic. There's no way she likes girls," Janis insists. 

"My gaydar is immaculate, thank you very much," Damian says. "That girl ain't straight." 

"Even if she isn't, it doesn't matter, because she is a Plastic," Janis says. "Regina's already got her mind all twisted up like spaghetti." 

"You're too Italian," Damian says with a chuckle. 

"Fuck off." 

"I refuse," Damian says. "So when are you getting schooled by Cady?" 

"I dunno yet. Ms. Norbury said she was gonna talk to her about it when she had a chance, I don't know when that'll be. I haven't heard anything," Janis says, poking at her chowder. 

"Well, have fun with that." 

"I know you will."

"You're damn right."

————-

Janis jumps when Cady hands something to her in chemistry. She looks at her hand and sees a note between her fingers, so she takes it and moves to pass it to the boy behind her. 

Cady motions frantically for her not to, gently pointing to her. Janis frowns in confusion. Nobody has given her a note before. 

She unfolds it and reads it over. It's just her name and phone number, and a smiley face. Janis looks back up at her and points to herself, double checking that Cady has the right person. Cady nods and turns back around with a little smile. 

Janis blinks at the back of her head for a moment. The only thing that snaps her out of it is their teacher lighting a table on fire, and even that barely does it. 

This is gonna go great. 

—————

Janis texts her after football practice to set up a time and place for their first session. The idea of having Cady over, risking her meeting her family, is too humiliating. She's very relieved when Cady agrees to having the session at her house.

Until she realizes that means going to Cady's house. 

She panics all week until Saturday comes and she's standing on Cady's front porch. Cady's house is nice. Eco-friendly cars in a tidy driveway, nice little garden getting started out front. The flowers aren't perfectly tended to, but they look nice. It looks like somebody lives there. 

Cady's house is smaller than hers, but it's still nice. The phrase this is Cady Heron's house feels correct in her head. 

She knocks on the door and waits, hearing someone come down the stairs and a bit of noise on the other side. After a second, Cady pulls the door open. 

"Hey," Cady greets. Janis feels her heart stutter with just that single syllable directed at her. 

"Hi," she says, looking away and desperately trying to tamp down the flush threatening to rise to her cheeks.

"Come in, we can work in my room, if that's okay?" Cady says, motioning Janis inside. Janis steps through the door with a nod. She instinctively stops to take off her boots, leaving them by the door. "This way." 

It's quiet as they start the walk up to Cady's room. Say something. "Your house is cute." 

"Thanks. We like it," Cady giggles. Janis smiles knowing she made Cady laugh, even without meaning to. "Lot nicer than our old tent, anyway." 

"You lived in a tent?" Janis asks in shock. "Oh, right, Damian said you lived in Africa." 

"I forgot you know him. But yeah, I did," Cady says. They stop outside a white door right at the top of the stairs, which Cady pushes open and heads into. "You can put your stuff wherever." 

Janis looks around for a second. Cady's room feels very her. Clean, bright, cozy. A bed with brightly colored sheets is right inside the door, and Cady's desk is on the other side. There's some beanbags in the far corner, and another door leading to what Janis assumes is a bathroom. "Nice room." 

"Thanks," Cady grins. God, how is her smile so cute?  

"Is this you?" Janis asks, leaning down to peek  at a picture on Cady's nightstand. A tiny redhead with a bright smile and chubby cheeks. "Riding an elephant?" 

"Oh my god," Cady gasps. Janis blinks as she runs up and takes the photo, resting it facedown on the bed. Oops. "That's so embarrassing." 

Janis shakes her head. "No, it's cool. You were cute." And you still are.

"You really think so?" Cady asks softly. Janis nods. 

"I do. Not every day you meet someone who grew up riding elephants," she says, feeling herself shrug awkwardly. "That's always cool. Sorry for snooping."

"No, you weren't," Cady says. Janis sighs under her breath, relieved she's not mad. "I'm the one who left it out. Anyway, uh... we can work over here, if you want?" 

"Sure," Janis nods, heading over to the beanbags and plopping down on a yellow one. Cady sits down on the other one and grabs her backpack. Janis is relieved she won't be the only one doing work. She doesn't know how well her heart would handle Cady staring at her the whole session. 

It's quiet for a while, until Cady says, "Um... I never got to thank you. For what you did at the party. I know my parents said you didn't want me to know it was you, but Aaron told me what you did. I don't remember what happened, but... thank you. I don't even want to think about what might've happened if you hadn't gotten involved." 

Shit. Aaron, how could she have forgotten about Aaron? Of course he would've told her. Now what does she do? What does she say?

"Any decent person would have," Janis mumbles. "But it just so happens that North Shore is teeming with assholes."

"Any decent person would've just stepped in. But you did so much," Cady says. Janis feels time almost slow down as Cady gently leans forward and rests her hand on top of Janis'. Her hand is cool, callused, and so tiny. Janis doesn't want her to ever let go. "Aaron said you wouldn't let him be the one to take me to the hospital. And that you stayed with me until my parents came." 

"You can never know. Aaron might be my teammate, but Shane was too," Janis shrugs. I didn't do enough. "I just wanted you to be safe. I wish I could've stepped in before it got that bad."

"We can't change the past. I'm just... really thankful you were there. I know things like that can't be easy for you. I've seen how they treat you," Cady says. Janis can't tell if she likes or loathes the pity in her eyes. "I wish I could stop that." 

"You get used to it," Janis lies, for Cady's sake. It's been three years and she's still not used to it. "Regina doesn't even phase me anymore. I have more important things to focus on." 

"Like your algebra," Cady giggles. Janis thinks she could hear that sound forever and never be sick of it. "We've been talking for a while. What are you working on?" 

Janis thinks. She can't remember much from her last few math classes. "...I'm not sure." 

"Okay then," Cady hums. "Let me see." 

Janis opens the cover of the book and pulls out the list Ms. Norbury made of everything she needs to catch up on. She flips to the correct page in her book before she shows Cady. 

"Oh, cross multiplication! This is easy, you'll get this in no time," Cady says. Janis grins at the eagerness in her tone and how happily she takes the list of problems Ms. Norbury needs done. "Do you have a notebook?" 

Janis nods and pulls one out of her backpack. She winces when she remembers her math notebook is the one she painted a pride flag on. Maybe Cady won't mind. Or maybe she wont know what it means. 

"Did you paint this?" Cady asks. 

"Yeah," Janis says shyly, unable to look Cady in the eye. "Nothing special."

"I like it," Cady says with a smile. Janis watches her open the notebook and write something down. "You just have to multiply diagonally, and then simplify. Like this." 

Janis looks to see what Cady wrote, and finds it to be one of the sample problems. Helpfully, Cady drew in little arrows to show her what to multiply. Of course, that still doesn't mean Janis has the slightest idea what she's doing. 

But she gives it a try, double checking her mental math with her calculator. It seems... maybe correct, so she turns it for her tutor to see. "Like that?"  

"Yeah, exactly!" Cady nods eagerly. Janis gets a bit warm and hides her face. "I told you you'd get it quick. Nicely done." 

"Thanks," Janis mumbles sheepishly. 

"Here. Finish these, Norbury wants you to try them," Cady says, writing down the rest of the problems. Janis feels herself nod as she takes the notebook back. 

She works quietly for a while, and sees Cady reading a book out of her peripheral. Cady will know something's up if she doesn't finish her work, so she resists the urge to watch her read and tries to focus on her math. Until Cady suddenly sighs heavily. "You okay?" 

"Yeah, sorry," Cady replies, shyly looking up at her. Janis looks at the cover of her book.

"Crime and Punishment? Do you have Mr. Tucker?" 

"Yeah," Cady sighs. 

"He's really tough," Janis says. 

"He is! And I'm already so bad with English," Cady huffs with an adorable pout. "I don't understand this book at all." 

"The Russian names are tough," Janis nods with a chuckle. "I'm... pretty good with English, I could... maybe help you too, if you want?" 

She can hardly believe the words once they're out of her mouth, but Cady seems excited.

"Really?" she asks. "That would be great."

"Sure," Janis nods. Cady isn't getting paid for this, so she might as well do something to help her out too. "Everybody benefits. Can I?" 

Janis takes the book when Cady hands it to her and grabs some highlighters from Cady's desk. She explains the strategy she adopted for helping to keep the characters straight in her head, knowing that's probably Cady's biggest problem right now. 

"Oh my god, thank you," Cady says. "You're a genius, this is amazing." 

"No problem," Janis says shyly. "Can you check these?" 

"Yeah," Cady says. She takes Janis' notebook and looks over all the work she's done. "They're all correct."

"Wow, really?" Janis laughs. 

"Yep," Cady says proudly. "You sound surprised."

"I am," Janis says. "Math is the part of the triangle I'm missing."

"The triangle?" Cady asks in confusion. 

"Oh. Um." Janis stutters in embarrassment. She explains the rule, wondering absently what part of the triangle Cady is missing if what Damian says is true. Cady giggles sweetly at the explanation and asks if it really checks out. 

"I think for most gays, yeah," Janis nods, chuckling along with Cady. Her laugh is so cute.

Cady gets a strange look in her eye, flushing and looking away. Janis does the same. Did she make Cady uncomfortable? 

Cady grabs the notebook and writes something else in it before handing it back to her. "Anyway, um... try these." 

In spite of everything, Janis can't hold back a smile when she looks at her to take the notebook back. She's about to get back to work when she hears Cady make an exasperated sound. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Hm? O-oh, yeah, just... tricky part," Cady explains sheepishly, holding up her book again.  

"Can I help again?" 

"Um... I'll try myself for a little longer, but I might have to take you up on that," Cady says. Janis nods. 

"Just let me know."

"Thanks," Cady says, smiling at her. Janis can't help but smile back as she turns back to her math. 

It takes her a while to actually get going on it, distracted thinking about how Cady's hair is shining in the light streaming in through the window they're sat beneath and the way her blue-green eyes twinkle a bit every time she smiles. 

Cady doesn't notice, intently focused on her book. Janis shakes her head a bit to snap herself out of it and back into her algebra work. 

She gets a few problems done before Cady quietly asks, "Okay, can you help again?"

"Yeah," Janis says. She scoots her beanbag a bit closer and leans in to see the page Cady is confused by. Cady is so tiny. Janis can hardly resist the temptation to pull her into herself to explain the problem. Don't be a creeper, come on. 

She manages to explain the subtext Cady needs without stuttering or blushing too much, and rapidly moves back to her own area when it clicks for Cady. 

"Thanks."

"No problem," Janis murmurs. Big problem.

—-

Janis doesn't want to leave when her hour and a half session is up. Cady made math... easy. Almost fun, if she dares to say so. Getting to know her even that little bit was exciting. But they agreed on an hour and a half, so Janis packs up her things and follows Cady back downstairs. "Thanks for your help." 

"No problem. Thanks for yours," Cady says. Janis smiles back when Cady shoots her a grin. So cute. "And for the company." 

"No problem," Janis says, trying not to blush.

"Same time next week?"

"Sounds like a plan," Janis nods. She can hardly wait. To do math? I'm too gay. "Bye, Caddy."

"It's Cady," Cady replies, frowning in confusion. 

"I'm gonna call you Caddy," Janis says, hopefully passing off her misspeaking as a cool nickname. 

"Fine. Bye, Janis. See you Monday," Cady calls with a sigh and a wave. Janis waves back, starting the short trek back to her house. 

Oh, Damian's gonna have a field day with this.

 ————-

Their sessions continue to go about that well. Janis is amazed Cady hasn't caught on to her gay panic yet, since she can't stop herself becoming a blushing and stuttering mess every time she sees the redhead. 

But as the weeks go on, they get to know each other, which actually makes it a bit easier. They talk about their families, and their respective sports, and how different their childhoods were, and the Plastics and how Cady got involved with them, and all sorts of other things. Whatever comes to mind at the time.

Janis likes getting to know her. She knows it's dangerous, learning about Cady and starting to see her as a person. But something about it being Cady makes it so easy. 

The first Friday in October, Janis finds herself smiling a little all day. It's her favorite month, and she gets to see Cady tomorrow. 

She's violently snapped out of it when she opens her locker after football practice, to grab a couple books she needs to take home with her.

"Jesus!" she yelps when she opens her locker door and is immediately showered in confetti. She spits out a few pieces and looks around with a glare. "Damian!" 

"What?" Damian asks innocently from next to her. Janis jumps again and whirls around to see him. 

He's standing with a sign in his hands and a dorky smile on his face. Janis reads over the sign. Hoco would be pretty baller with u, with a little football drawn in the corner. 

"This is a remarkably heterosexual sign, nicely done," Janis praises.

"I know, right?" Damian says eagerly. "Isn't it awful?"

"Truly," Janis nods. "But did you have to rig my locker with a confetti cannon?" 

"Yes." 

"Great," Janis sighs, pulling stray confetti out of her hair. 

"So will you go?" Damian asks, approaching with the sign. 

"Yes, fine," Janis chuckles. "I suppose homecoming sounds amenable." 

"Yes! Het sign strikes again!" Damian cheers. Janis rolls her eyes. 

"I made it easy for you this year with the football thing," she chuckles. "Help me clean this up." 

"Yes, dear." 

—————

Damian insists they go homecoming shopping that Sunday. Janis agrees reluctantly, so Damian says he'll pick her up at noon sharp. 

Janis promptly forgets this information. 

She's curled up in bed on Sunday morning, sound asleep with her cat at the foot of her bed. Until Damian slams her door open and comes waltzing into the room. 

The cat jumps off the bed and runs out of the room, so Damian comes to shake Janis awake. "Gooooood... noon." 

"Ngh." Janis whines into her pillow. "What d'you want?"

"We have shopping to do!" Damian insists. "Chop chop, bitch." 

"It is the day of the lord," Janis grumbles back, pulling her covers over her head to hide.

"No it's not, RuPaul's day is on Friday," Damian says. "Come on, let's goooooo." 

"Nooo," Janis whines. To which Damian rips her covers off and hauls her out of bed by an ankle. Janis thumps to the ground with an, "Ow." 

"Come onnnnn." 

"Fine," Janis huffs from the floor. "Let me get dressed."

"You have eight minutes," Damian says, dancing back out of her room and closing the door behind him. 

"That's very specific!" 

"Deal with it!"

—-

As strong as the temptation is to crawl back into bed and go back to sleep, Janis did promise they would go shopping for homecoming today. She always keeps her promises, so she's downstairs fully dressed and ready to go in seven and a half minutes. 

Damian looks surprised that she actually listened as she comes down the stairs to find her shoes. Janis sticks her tongue out at him as she walks by, holding her boots in her hand. 

"Papa?" 

"Sì, stellina?" her father asks, turning around in his chair to see her. 

"You look like a supervillain when you do that," Janis chuckles. "I'm going homecoming shopping with Dame, do you need me to take Stevie?" 

"No, we'll be fine here," her father says. "You two have fun. Do you have enough money?" 

"Yeah," Janis nods. Her dad beckons her over anyway. 

"Then save it. Here," he says, pressing his debit card into her hand. "Just don't go crazy."

"Thanks, Dad. I should be home by four," she says. Her dad pulls her down to kiss her forehead before shooing her from the room. 

"As long as you're safe. Have fun, call if you need me." 

"I will. Love you," Janis says. 

"Love you too, rock star." 

Janis heads back to the kitchen. "Okay, you ready to- what the hell are you doing?" 

"You guys have the good fruit snacks!" Damian says, holding the whole box. "I'll pay you back, but I need some." 

"Fine," Janis chuckles. "You ready to go?" 

Damian sneaks a hand in to grab another pouch of the Frozen fruit snacks. "Yes."

"Then let's go. Dork." 

"They're Olaf flavored!" Damian defends.

"I don't even wanna think about what that means," Janis sighs as she ties her shoes on and heads out the door. 

————-

"Should we match?" Damian asks, browsing the racks of suits. 

"Yeah, what color dress are you thinking you want?" Janis teases. 

"God, I wish," Damian sighs. "I don't have the shoulders for homecoming dresses. I have more of a spring figure." 

"Mm," Janis hums, nodding in agreement. "I don't think I want a dress either." 

"Matching suits it is, then," Damian says, rubbing his hands together in excitement. Janis groans internally. 

"What color?" 

"You look nice in red," Damian hums. "Nice enough to catch a certain someone's eye." 

"Would you give that a rest? We barely know each other," Janis huffs. "She's just my math tutor."

"And I know you well enough to know you're hot for teacher. So let's make you fucking hot for teacher," Damian says. Before Janis can protest, he's off to the women's suits section and grabbing one off the rack. Janis follows him so neither of them get lost and takes the pile of clothes he shoves at her. 

"What about you?" she asks. 

"You just leave that to me. Go try it on," Damian says, pushing her towards the changing rooms. 

Janis sighs and heads towards them. She tugs the curtain closed behind her and looks to see what Damian has gotten her into. 

It turns out to be a tight-fitting maroon suit. Or, what's supposed to be one, anyway. Janis can tell right off the bat that the pants don't fit the way they're meant to, and the blazer isn't sitting right on her shoulders. In spite of that, the color does suit her and works well with the light grey t-shirt Damian found for her to wear underneath it. With pants in a different size and a bit of tailoring, she'll look amazing. 

She tugs the curtain back open so Damian can see, but he isn't there. "Damian?"

"One second!" he calls from another changing room. Janis sits on a bench to wait for him. Damian yanks his curtain open in dramatic fashion and struts into the main area. Janis startles and looks up, but laughs when she sees him. 

"You look great," she chuckles. He does, to be quite honest. The sleeves on the blazer are a bit too long, so he has blazer paws, but other than that, it suits him quite well. So to speak. 

His suit is the same shade of grey as Janis' t-shirt, and his t-shirt is the same shade of maroon as Janis' suit. Subtly matching for Janis' sake, but matching enough to make Damian happy. 

"So do you. What do you think?" he asks, walking over to look at himself in a mirror. Janis follows him and tugs awkwardly at the neckline of her blazer. 

"I think we need a tailor. But I like it," Janis nods. "Nailed it first try, again." 

"Yes!" Damian cheers quietly. 

"Can we get frozen yogurt now?" 

"Mm, yes. I gotta maintain this figure," Damian says, putting his hands on his hips and striking a pose. Janis laughs and pokes his belly. 

"You've had this figure since we were six, I'm sure you'll be fine." 

"Excuse me, I have gotten much taller since then," Damian scoffs indignantly. 

"That's true. Remember when I was taller than you?" 

"Yes, you literally held it over my head for those entire five years," Damian sighs. "Physically could not forget." 

"Well, now you take every chance you get to return the favor," Janis chuckles. 

"You're short."

"I'm 5'10"!" Janis huffs. 

"And I'm 6'2". I win, bitch." 

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

————-

thanks for reading!! 

[missnoirr]

But what do you sound like if you don't have an australian accent? Is there a neutral english accent? Because in my native language that is spoken in multiple countries there definitely is, however i do not understand how it is with english? Is it british? Or is an american accent the default? That would be upsetting

My post was absolutely a joke but the overly in depth answer you didn't ask for because it interests me;

In Australia you have three accents; broad, general, cultivated. If you're not Australian you probably think of the broad accent as being ""the australian accent"" but most of us have a more general. There are regional variations within all three. Someone from Sydney's North Shore is going to sound different from someone born and raised in Perth even if they both have a "general" accent, but its not like in the UK where accents are going to vary widely and obviously from region to region, its a subtle thing you'd probably only pick up on by living in Australia for a long time. I'd argue that you also have a whole seperate category because of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander dialects, but the big three are broad, general, cultivated.

The cultivated accent is as close to a "neutral english accent" as you could have while still sort of sounding Australian. Its similar to an RP English accent (the posh London one) but the vowels are flatter and it still has the Australian schwa. Its a little like a transatlantic accent but without the American openness. Its got some class connotations which you can almost certainly trace back to the difference between free settlers and their accents and convicts and theirs in our colonial history—another reason why you'd actually have a whole seperate category of accent and dialect for Aboriginal Australians who's sound system has its roots in a whole other language system.

I don't have "An Australian Accent" because my mother is not from Australia and so I grew up with her sound system and then spent about a decade in drama school where they teach you a "neutral" accent, which involves a lot of changing of the way you form your words. The Australian Accent typically doesn't use the top of the mouth very much—if you see someone who has broad accent speak, watch their top lip and you'll realise it hardly does. Thats also the biggest difference between the cultivated accent and the rest, because it has that loftiness. If you watch most Americans speak, the top of their mouth is usually used a lot more, which is how they get those big round vowels that we don't have. The Brits are somewhere in between. I'm always told I sound English, but an English person would vehemently disagree with that, and so I have a Not Australian accent which isn't really an Anywhere Else accent, which was what my tag was about. You could probably say oh yeah obviously if I told you I was Australian but you might also have trouble placing it at first, or at least thats my experience of other peoples experience of how I speak.

I don't think there's really any sort of default english-language accent because even in England there's so much variety. I mean maybe if you go back far enough you can claim that the way people from the Nordic countries speak it is The Accent because they're where it originated from but like. no one would agree with that obviously lmao. The closest you can get is probably somewhere near RP because it accentuates the vowels and fits in the mouth in the most unassuming and ""neutral"" way, but its not how everyone sounds and its still very associated with its roots in class.

This is far more detail then you ever wanted and I'm not sure it really answers your question but I find it super interesting and I like talking about Australia because for as much as I make fun of it and its currently politically a huge fucking joke I do really love it and am invested in its ecological and cultural history. so. not to be sincere or anything but like. you know.

The american accent is absolutely NOT the fucking default though they dont even speak the same variety of english that the rest of the core anglosphere do

[raewritez]

for the want of the sun | chapter nine: the big bang

Zuko is grumpy the next couple of days, having let the Avatar out of his grasp once again. He stalks around the ship, boots clanging and fingers sparking. I figure it’s best to give him space, so I spend most of my time with Iroh, not that I’m complaining. Zuko figured out that Aang’s plan is to head to the North Pole, so that’s what we’ve been doing. The air is colder up here, and the water seems even bluer. Ever so slowly, the banks of the shore become speckled with frost and snow, spreading into a blanket of white, and the sun falls below the sea sooner than usual.

We are parked in a dock, where the ship rests in a gap of the boardwalk upon the water. It’s music night, and the crew is dancing and laughing merrily. My singing voice is atrocious, so I opt for sitting out and watching.

Iroh laughs from beside me, singing a happy tune. I feel a lightness in my chest and I smile, and my cheeks hurt against the sharp cold of the breeze. It is simple and peaceful and happy until it is not, and I instantly become bitter. The sight of the world’s biggest asshole did not do much to brighten the mood.

Iroh stands. “Admiral Zhao,” he greets.

“General Iroh.”

I shrink back behind him. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” he asks.

Zhao straightens, a slimy smile stretching across his lips. “I’ve come to take your crew. The quest for the Avatar is my mission now.”

“What?” I exclaim, leaping to my feet. His eyes fall on me and I regret it.

“Ah,” he says. “If it isn’t my little escapee.” Iroh sends me a warning glance. His face is grave, and I look down. Then, he turns to Zhao. “I see. Why don’t we step inside?”

Iroh leads him away from me, sending me a look that tells me to stay put. Zhao glances back, and I stick out my tongue. His eyes narrow, and he whips the other way.

—

“I can’t believe this.”

Zuko is in an especially sour mood, brought about the capture of our crew. Zhao had spoken with him, informed him that he was claiming the right to the Avatar. He’d taken everyone, even the cook, much to my disappointment. He made the best roast chicken.

We sit in his room, him sprawled out across his bed. I sit in the corner, a bit clueless, watching him seethe in silence. There is a knock at the door.

“Zuko,” Iroh says, “The crew wanted me to wish you safe travels.” “Good riddance to those traitors,” Zuko mutters.

“It wasn’t their choice,” I say. “It was all Zhao.” He stares balnkly at the ceiling.

“It’s a lovely night for a walk,” Iroh hums. “Why don’t you join me? It’ll clear your head.”

Zuko does not respond.

“Or just stay in your room and sit in the dark. Whatever makes you happy.” Teenager.

“Y/n, would you like to come?”

I glance to him and then to Zuko, whose eyes are squinted shut. “I think I’ll stay here,” I tell him. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course.” He nods, and he leaves.

“Zuko…” I start.

“Don’t,” he spits, and rolls onto his side. I sigh, feeling a tightness in my chest.

“It’ll be ok, we’ll figure something out. We’re not going to let Zhao just-”

“I said don’t, Y/n!” He sits up and turns to me, and his eyes are like fire. “Just leave it alone! It’s over, ok?”

“I’m just trying-”

“No, you’re not helping. You’re just being annoying! You’re not the one who’s losing something here!”

“Are you serious?” I scoff. “I want to go home, too!”

“You don’t get it! I’m supposed to be the Prince!” “Of course I get it, Zuko! It’s all you’ve ever talked about the past three years!”

“Yeah? Well…it’s true! Without the Avatar I can never restore my honor and go home!” “Zuko,” I’m breathing heavily now, trying my best to restrain myself from exploding. Zuko, and his stupid honor. “We’ll figure it out. There’s gotta be another way to-” “There isn’t!” “There has to be!”

There’s a creak from outside the door, and we stop. I realize now how close we’ve gotten to each other, me on my tiptoes to rival his stature. Zuko turns. “Uncle, is that you?”

There’s no response, and we share a look. Zuko flexes his palms. He inches towards the door. “Uncle-”

There’s another clatter, and a silence that follows. It is deafening, and I feel the dread rising in my throat. “What-”

Flames break through the closed door, sending shards of metal careening through the air. Through my shock I recognize Zuko’s arms around me, pushing me to the ground. I think I might be screaming, but I can’t be sure. There’s a wave of heat and orange, blinding, and then there’s only darkness.

—

I feel the cold first, and then the pain. It’s almost subtle in the way it wraps around me, crawling up my limbs. But it’s there, and I groan.

“You’re awake.”

I peel my eyes open, visions of stars clouding my vision. Then, they fall on Zuko, looking particularly roughed up. His face is paler than usual and sporting several bruises. There’s a cut on his lip, and near his good eye. I imagine I don’t look much better.

I do my best to sit up, feeling sparks shooting through me. “Yeah,” I speak, and my voice is hoarse. “What happened?”

“Zhao blew up our ship. You were out for a while.”

“Oh. What’d I miss?”

I think I hear something akin to a chuckle leaves his lips, but perhaps I am just tired. “Not much. I found my Uncle, he’s helping me sneak onto the ship. I was just coming back to get you.”

“I thought the ship got blown up?”

“Zhao’s ship. They’re heading to the North Pole, I’m disguising myself as a soldier.”

“Mm. And what about me? What’s my plan?”

“I don’t think you’re in the state to be making any plans right now.”

“What about you? You don’t look so hot yourself.”

“I’m fine. We’ll just get you on board, have you…hide under the floorboards or something.”

“That sounds cozy.”

“We don’t really have any better options.”

I tilt my head. “Why can’t I be a soldier, too?”

He shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” I make a face. “So? Zhao literally just tried to blow us up.”

“Just-” Zuko clenches his jaw. “Just listen to me. I’ll talk to my Uncle, we can figure something out.”

There’s something in his voice that stops me from pushing further. “Ok,” I say.

He helps me stand, and I follow him down to the beach. The moon is high, and it glistens on the water. The air is extremely cold. He stops in front of a pile, which I recognize as a uniform. He puts it on: tunic and armor, then boots and helmet, and I snicker.

“What?” he asks, annoyed.

“Nothing. You just look silly.”

He rolls his eyes. “Har-har.” I giggle again.

He holds me behind him as we approach the ship, and he makes a sort of whistle. It’s high pitched and intricate, and I’m a bit impressed by his skill. I’ve never been able to whistle.

I hear footsteps, clanking on metal, and I look up. Iroh is there, walking down the ramp, and his eyes gleam when they land on me.

“Oh!” He runs to me. “I’m so happy you’re alright, Y/n. I was so worried.”

I only wince a bit from his bear hug, and I squeeze him back. “Thanks, Iroh.”

“Uncle,” Zuko speaks from beside me, his voice nulled from beneath his helmet. “I need you to get Y/n onto the ship. Don’t let Zhao see her.”

Iroh nods seriously. “I’ll do what I can. Nephew, be careful.”

Zuko nods and he makes his way onto the ship, falling out of our view, Iroh and I not far behind him. Iroh leads me to a small room, compact with metallic walls.

“It’ll be best if you stay here,” he says. “Zhao won’t come looking for you.”

I nod, looking around. “Thanks.”

“I’ll come to get you when we reach the North Pole.” He moves to leave. “And, Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

—

It is hours later when Iroh returns, a bowl of steaming rice in his hand.

“Here, I thought you might be hungry.”

I take the warm bowl from his hands. “I am, thank you.”

He closes the door behind him, sitting on the floor next to me. “It’s night now, we won’t be reaching the shore until daybreak. Zhao plans to attack.”

I turn to him, brows furrowed. “Attack? Why? Isn’t he just here for the Avatar?”

“Yes, but Admiral Zhao is an ambitious man. He is not satisfied by simply obtaining the Avatar, he wants to conquer the Northern Water Tribe.”

I feel a burning in my chest, and I am not sure where it comes from. “They aren’t even involved with the war.”

“No, they aren’t. But war is like a wildfire: all corners of the earth will be touched by it, in time.”

I am silent for a moment, and I steer my mind to other things. “So, what’s Zuko’s plan?”

Iroh shakes his head. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you. I myself am not sure.”

“He better not wing this, Zhao will notice if something’s up.”

“You’re right. I do hope Zuko will not be too impulsive in this situation.”

I trace the cool floor with my fingertips, feeling suddenly nauseous at the thought of eating. “Iroh?” I ask.

“Yes?”

“Do you think Ozai will take him back?”

The lightness falls from his face and I almost regret asking. “I do not know,” he answers. “I do not believe my brother’s idea of redemption is aligned with his.”

I nod - that’s about what I expected. But I feel a newfound fear for Zuko, that upon the achievement of his dream it will not be everything he imagined. His father was a man who would burn half the world to send it to its feet, and who burnt his own son in a declaration of honor.

Almost selfishly, I find myself wishing that Zuko could feel content elsewhere. With Iroh and I, alone on the sea. Or maybe in a village, where the people were kind and the air was clear. But I know Zuko, and I know he was not born for a simple life. Perhaps that is where we separate, as we always have - myself to the shadows and Zuko to the throne. But there is a hope there, too, one that has always lain under my skin. That he might choose me, as he once did, and we could be children again. Laughing in the shade of mulberry trees, and creating ripples in ponds. Together in a daydream, until the end of time. But I know better than to place my faith in fantasy.

Iroh leaves soon after, and I am left alone. Not to sleep, I could never. Maybe just to think. In the morning, the war will take its tide. I hope, strangely, that the Water Tribe is as resilient as I’ve heard. I hope Zuko is, too. The waves lap against the side of the ship, and there is a chill even under the light of the torch.

[purrincesskittens]

“Mine!” Baby dragon Zuko is possessive

This is a small thing set in my dragons in atla universe inspired by @muffinlance with the use of some of their characters from Zuko’s crew. Zuko is younger then canon age in this. His actual age is up to the reader but he is a young dragon that is very possessive of what he considers his and he has decided his crew is his. 

“Mine!” Followed by hissing and snarling echoed through out the Wani as General Iroh tried to calm his dragon nephew who was standing toe to toe with a admiral who had just tried to commandeer one of Zuko’s crew for a scouting mission that he didn’t feel like wasting one of his own crew for and instead decided to steal one of the banished princes. Except Zuko was a tad bit more possessive then the admiral thought. 

Zuko stood between Pikesman Kazuto and the admiral hissing and spitting sparks scales and fangs on full display. “Mine!! You can’t have him and especially not sending him south!” Zuko shouts more sparks spraying between them the kid was not backing down. 

Later when the admiral finally left spewing threats of his own at their Prince. The crew gathered to talk about what happened. “So was anyone going to tell us that the prince decided to hoard us or were we just suppose to find out when on our own?” Helmsman Kyo questions as the rest of the crew murmured amongst themselves. Most were dragon bloods and knew how hoarding worked and how possessive dragon bloods could be over their hoards. What was considered theirs was now theirs unless you really wanted to argue with them. They did in fact go south, everyone did which was how they found the avatar and gave chase.

Many didn’t think much of it for a while deciding it was just something the prince said so the admiral wouldn’t stay and argue but months later when a storm hit and Helmsman Kyo nearly fell to his possible death and their small but determined prince caught him with a shout of “Mine!” and absolutely refused to let go and Lt. Jee had to climb up to catch them both. They began to think otherwise. Little things began to be noticed. The dragon bloods among the crew each had their own hoard preferences and things for their hoards started appearing. No one knew who was leaving these things until the young prince was spotted holding something that would later be left on Kyo’s bunk. 

And then came the tea leaf incident. General Iroh was gone for a day it was the anniversary of his son’s death coming up and the entire crew had shore leave for the day leading up to it and the day after. Zuko had remained holed up in his room mostly until that first night. The general had ordered some new tea and it had been delivered earlier that day but not put away properly since no one was technically on duty. So when a group of off duty crewmen tripped over the crate and spilled the contents all over the deck and themselves they were honestly surprised to find a small black dragon now twinning around them practically purring making the dragon equivalent of “Mine!” It really set in. Their young shorty temperamental prince had claimed all of them as his hoard and was fiercely possessive of them. 

“Satomi What do we do?” Genji asks rubbing the young dragon’s head when he twinned around him. “Wash off and hope the affects don’t last long.” Was the answer somewhat muffled by the dragon suddenly pouncing on her. “What kind of tea did the general get for it to have such a strong affect on him? What is this dragon nip?” Dekku leaned down to swipe his hand through a pile of the tea and sniff it nearly getting head butted by the dragon while doing so. It took Kyo and Kazuto to wrangle the dragon into the showers while the others cleaned up the mess left on deck and then went to clean themselves off so their dragon prince wouldn’t promptly snuggle attack them again. 

After everyone and everything was cleaned up the dragon was still circling Kyo and Kazuto occasionally rearing up on his hind legs to scent mark them. “He’s kinda cute like this honestly.” Kyo remarks sitting down to play with and pet the dragon until the dragon nip tea wore off. “Do all dragons act like this?” Kazuto wonders quietly. “Not sure never been around a actual dragon before but plenty of young dragon bloods do.” Their prince was as much theirs as they were his. If he wanted to hoard them they would hoard him back.

The crew watched as General Iroh held their crying prince as he struggled in his uncle’s arms reaching for them as Zhao’s ship left with them on it. The orders came from to high up. They couldn’t disobey even with their prince’s cries of “Mine!” Echoing in their minds much later still. The explosion that destroyed the Wani and killed their prince was what made up the minds of the crew. Zhao had killed their prince, had taken a part of the crew’s hoard. During the invasion of the North the crew slipped away determined to find General Iroh and kill Zhao. Only for Lt. Jee to get tackled by a small black dragon that was making purring grumbling noises and the dragon equivalent of “Mine!” Their prince was alive and for the first time his cries of “Mine!” We’re returned as his crew, his hoard circled him and returned his scent marking claiming him as a part of their hoard. 

[delldarling]

the city is hoarding hearts | arroven

male dragon x gender/body neutral reader 9015 words lemon | mention of drinking alcohol, face riding, size difference, fairly submissive monster, penetrative sex, poetry, touch starved note: behold! my modern epic fantasy universe! this world first appeared back in August for my Patreon Story of the Month, and though I haven’t revisited Arroven again just yet, I did return to this universe for December’s Story of the Month as well. 👀

Magic, despite people's claim to the contrary, is beyond rare these days. No one really claims that it isn’t real, that it didn’t once run rampant with it’s existence. After all, it’s impossible to deny when people have things like the architecture of the North to reference. The towers built into their seaside cliffs, spiraling up like the serpents of old reaching for the sun? Without magic, without gravity spells, and an everlasting charm on those spells, thick enough to double as a coat of paint, the towers would have fallen into the sea by now, dashed against the dark stones jutting out from the deep green waters. Many people, though especially the elves, think that the towers will endure long after the cliffs have crumbled into the water. Floating relics, you’ve heard more than a few people murmur, wonder in their voices, wouldn’t that be something?

Even more common now, there are people the world over that claim they have a spark of magic left still, that they can feel the rhythms of the magical tide flooding back over the world.

She Wakes is written on street corners and thick posters, spray painted on the underside of the colossal Echo Bridge. No matter how often they have workers doing their best to clean the graffiti up, the giant letters are back in place a few days later.

Despite how much you’d like to believe them, as everyone dreams of the rumors, of magic returning, you’ve never put too much stock into the whispered words. Why would you? No matter how often you’ve spent watching wispy clouds streak by your window, no matter how often you’ve taken a moment to reflect on the thought, to nurse a seed of hope… Nothing has ever come of it.

It’s why you keep trying to ignore that heavy ache in the arch of your feet, or the way you keep noticing advertisements for Arroven.

History books and the elderly all say that this is how it starts when magic finally blooms in someone’s blood. There’s an itch. An ache. A constant irritant that starts in your extremities and wriggles into your veins, and then coincidences will start to pile up. Small things, like noticing whenever the clock strikes 11:11 on whatever clock you pass. Or maybe it’s having the luck to switch the radio station to your favorite song without fail, or—

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself when you spot it. You breath puffs out into the chilly air, adding to the fog lingering in the streets. You kneel, brushing aside some of the fallen damask leaves, their velvety backs clinging to your touch even as you do your best to shake them off. Just barely hidden under their litter is a postcard. Without even glancing at it, you know what you’ll find on the back, but you’re drawn to pick it up anyway, turning it over. It depicts a sprawling city with green undertones, the word Arroven written in a sloping, beautiful script along the bottom of the image. The edges are creased, almost lovingly, and there’s a small puncture hole at the top left corner, as if someone had it pinned to a corkboard for no short amount of time. 

Until this moment, you haven’t picked up any of the advertisements for Arroven. The stories all say that you can ignore it, that the magic will go away and fade from you like an ebbing tide if you only will it hard enough, but… You don’t know that you really want it to leave. Those seeds have hope might not have fully sprouted, but their roots have run deep, snaking through your veins. You swallow past the dryness in your throat and turn the postcard over, wonder if you’re going to get an address, or if there are words of encouragement intended for the last owner.

The postcard is faintly yellowed at the edges, but it’s otherwise blank.

You wilt, disappointed, but you don’t throw it back down onto the stones. If you check the railway listings, you’re more than certain that you’ll find a one way trip to Arroven suddenly dirt cheap. The pathway that will lead you there is probably paved with strangely good fortune, more invisible hooks ready to find a secure hold in your heart. You might as well find out if there’s anything to these claims of magic. You have far too much hope shored up in your bones and pumping through your chest not to at least try. 

-

A month later, and you’re starting to believe that whatever magic that led you this far has all but fled. Of course, you’re more than content with where it’s left you, a word rattling around in the back of your brain and clamoring to spill from your lips: home. Arroven feels like home.

It’s not just the city though. It’s your place. It’s the stones that pave the streets and the people that fill them. It’s the smell of bakeries and the faint hint of exhaust. It’s the clean smell of paper and ink from the stationary shop you’d stumbled into on your first night in Arroven, and the proprietor’s barely-there smile. You’d made fast friends with her almost instantly, like it was fate.

Mora, despite her solemn stature, and the vast amount of spiraling tattoos disappearing under the neck of her cleanly pressed shirts, is beyond kind. She possesses a startling, sparkling wit that leaves a smile lingering on your lips whenever you think of her snappy little comments. She’d given you a job in her shop a few days after you’d first arrived, perking up as soon as you’d come back into her shop. She needed a cashier, so she could have more time to develop her own inks, and then a few days after that you literally stumbled onto a showing of a furnished apartment. It had fit all of your needs, and your shoes had sunk into the plush carpet of the bedroom, like a quiet voice in the place asking you to stay.

The ache in your feet had eased, that strange little irritant in the back of your mind fading with every passing day. You haven’t put too much thought into magic since then, as there hasn’t been a reason when you have a new job to keep you busy, and a city to explore on your days off. You love it here, the sea green patina on the copper statues, the swirling architecture that extends to every building in the city, no matter how large or small. Besides, you know if you go looking into magic again, at the message boards or if you go hunting down books, it’s likely that they’ll all say much the same thing: She Wakes, and her gift will blossom in you, but not Forever. She moves us like pawns, adjusting us Just So, no matter how small the slot She needs filled. 

You’ve read it all before, have heard debates shouted in the streets or argued about in the back corner of classrooms. Magic moves through people as it wills, and no amount of pleading will keep it in you unless you’re a mage, and even then, that takes years of study. If the magic that led you here only existed long enough for you to make your home? Then you’ll have to be satisfied with that.

And you are, until that ache in your feet starts up again.

Late one evening, as you’re locking the back door of Rumoura’s, it floods through you fast enough to steal your breath. There’s no voice, no heavy hand on your shoulder, just a fierce pain that wells, threatening to bring tears to your eyes, until you turn to the right. You blink, surprise at the sudden and complete lack of pain, and take a ragged breath as you pocket the key to the door. When you feel steady enough, when your lungs no longer ache, you turn to the right and start walking.It takes you about ten minutes to realize you’re headed towards the main park, the one with ancient ruins of a half finished serpent tower peppered throughout its boundaries. You’ve walked through once, one golden afternoon with Mora, and you’ve been meaning to come back sometime on your lunch break. The past few days have been busy though, with a flood of students coming back to Arroven, stocking up on both casual and serious supplies from Mora’s shop.

Besides, there’s always been time to explore at your leisure now that you’re living here. 

Two towering trees make a grand arch over the park entrance, and the slow swirl of damask leaves spiraling down from the branches make you laugh.

“Coincidence,” you murmur, a small smile curling your lips, and you walk into the park. The paths are well lit, even this late in the evening. This part of the city doesn’t boast about it’s lack of crime, but most people feel it. There always seems to be groups of people roaming: Elven tourists, hooking arms and laughing over cups of tea and coffee, Orcish artists and musicians, setting up on benches or street corners, busking for the simple sake of sharing their art with others. You wander through the park, expecting to simply take in the sights among the meandering attendees, but.. You haven’t seen anyone for the past few minutes. Your footsteps start to slow, wondering if you missed a sign somewhere and you have the nagging feeling that you just need to find someone.

Cautiously, you keep moving, the sudden bout of nervousness easing when you see someone up ahead. They’re sitting at the foot of one of the rather large blocks of toppled variscite, a dark hoodie hiding their face. Their shoulders are broad, and their clothes are a little more ragged than you see on people around here, but it gives off more of a well lived look than a dangerous one. They’re tapping the toes of their boots together, the tread of them worn smooth, and a low, masculine hum reaches your ears the closer you get. He stops as soon as you’re within speaking range though, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. There’s a street lamp not too far behind him, and with the hood and the angle of the light, it casts most of his face in shadow. All you can spy is a pair of long, thorn-like ear gauges, curling out from the depths of his hood. They’re bigger around than a thimble and sharp looking from this far away. 

“Nice evening, hm?” You say in greeting, hoping that if he doesn’t want to speak, he’ll just bob his head and let you move along. You haven’t run into any trouble in Arroven yet, but even with that strange ache, you don’t know that you can see your good luck lasting forever.

“A lovely one,” he mumbles and he leans back, hands grabbing at his knees and squeezing like he’s the nervous one.

That thought makes you stop, your eyes focusing a bit more intensely on what you can see of his skin. At first glance, his knuckles are bruised and paint splattered, nails split and a little too long, skin rough in texture. You blink, realizing that his knuckles aren’t bruised, his skin just mirrors the strange patterns of the variscite he’s sitting on, ink black and sea green, and the rough texture to his skin has pointy, scalloped edges.

The noise he makes isn’t a sigh, not quite, but he turns his face away, as if he expects you to ignore him, or run, and his hood edges back, just a sliver. The arch of his nose is straight as an arrow, and his nostrils are thin things, slashing upwards. His face has so many angles that it’s hard to tear your gaze away. You wish you could see his eyes, but he has them closed, like he’s still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you.. Are you alright?” You ask, because it seems like the thing to say, with how tense he is, with how he’s waiting.

His eyes flash open, reflective in the depths of his hood. His mouth curls into a frown when he turns to look at you again. His eyes are still the eerie glam of a reflected light. “You’re not frightened?”

“Are you?” You ask, ignoring the thundering of your own heart. You’ve seen Trolls before, and even a few half-elves or half-orcs of varying descent, with skin that just barely reminds you of his, but.. You’re willing to bet he isn’t any of those. 

“A bit?” He says, unsure, and the edge of a violet tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. “It’s been a few centuries since any of you have made yourself so at home here that you stumbled across me.” He hunches his shoulders, looking away from you for the breadth of a second, before he can’t help himself. His eyes flick back to you, rove over you from head to toe, almost greedily. “You felt a call then, an itch?”

“An ache,” you correct, staring at him with wide eyes. Centuries? The long lived races don’t often mention the time they have over others. It’s rude at the best of times, and most of them are terrible sticklers for manners. 

“At home here, you said?” You ask, knowing that something about him seems terribly familiar. 

Your question makes him pause, brow lifting before he finally pushes himself to his feet. He unfolds, all long, heavy limbs, but doesn’t move from his spot on the variscite. “M-.. Arroven. You do think of the city as home?” He breathes in, hesitantly lifting his chin. “Not to be rude,” he says, a little awkwardly, “but you smell like Arroven.”

All at once, the old poem flickers back into your mind, the one about hearts and desires and winter. The oldest folktales of the first cities, those built around the serpent towers, all seemed to carry the poem with them. It was both a warning and a blessing to those that wished to stay. You’d have to hunt down the entirety of it, but the ending couplet?  

The city promises, you’ll be most adored So can you, will you, join the hoard?

You bite down fiercely on the desire to blurt out dragon, but he must sense it, might even see the aborted twist of your lips. 

“..you’ve figured it out, then?” He asks, and when his shoulders droop, you spy the barest edge of a wing, tucked in close to his back. “If being in my immediate vicinity is a problem, I quite understand, but please stay in the city. You-” He blows out a breath, large hands fussing about with his hoodie pocket. Everything about him reads awkward, almost shy. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He breathes in again, like he can’t resist, eyes falling closed when his violet tongue appears, there and gone before you can blink. “You belong,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in the material of his hoodie, like he would reach out if he didn’t stop himself.

Inexplicably, you wonder if Mora knows about the city patron. If you should waltz into the shop tomorrow and announce: I’ve officially been welcomed to the hoard.  ...Sort of. Before you lose your nerve, before you can bite your tongue, you ask. “An official welcome involves more drinks though, doesn’t it?”

-Arroven, the dragon, the founder of the city, is sitting across the table from you, slouching in a barstool that has a difficult time encompassing his enormous body. Despite his height, and the way his hood shadows his face in a frankly ominous way, no one is paying him any attention. One of the bartender’s had slid a drink list your way as soon as you’d claimed the seats, but she hadn’t even glanced at Arroven. In fact, you think her eyes might have skipped right over his seat. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing as he’d claimed that Wink was one of the best bars around, but if they ignore him, if they can’t see him?

“What’ll it be?” A different bartender asks, a tall elf, with his hair plaited back in a complicated braid. He has pleasant features, though he looks a little flustered, a lock or two of dark hair escaping his braid. You think he might be on the newer end when he fumbles a bit with the card you slide his way, olive skin flushing when his fingers nearly touch yours.  

“Uh, the special,” you finally decide, expecting him to turn to Arroven so he can order as well. Your jaw drops when he whirls, not even bothering. “Ar- hey, wait!” 

The elf turns back, smiling vaguely, looking even more tense now that he can’t leave straight off, but he doesn’t seem to see Arroven when you gesture towards him. His gaze zips right through the neckline of Arroven's hoodie, straight on through to the next customer. 

Perturbed, you lean in close to Arroven, heart skipping a beat due to his proximity. He smells faintly of musty books, and stone, cooling in the early evening after baking in the sunshine of a warm day. "Didn’t you want something?” You force yourself to ask, unwilling to let the elf leave without at least checking with him first. He doesn’t have to get anything, but you’d hoped he would, if only so you can spend a while longer in his company. Maybe the flirtatious tone you’d struck had made him uncomfortable?

For a moment Arroven hunches further into his sweatshirt, and you think your fears might hold weight. You are a little close, and you still don’t know each other terribly well yet. You straighten, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel and Arroven heaves out a sigh. He finally tugs back his hood, though the elf behind the bar doesn’t even blink. “Just a.. a Beetle Wing," he mutters, large, sharp teeth catching the light. The elf nods, though his gaze is still on you when Arroven speaks, and turns away to go make the drinks. 

Without the darkness of night, without his hood shadowing his face, you see that his eyes aren’t permanently reflective. In the dim lights of the bar, they’re a lovely shade of blue-green that matches well with his skin. What you thought were ear gauges were actually his horns, thick and curving, and trailing after the clean arch of his jaw. His ears are heavy with plugs though, and they clink against his horns when he turns, noticing that you’re staring. The scent of hot stone grows stronger when you smile at him, and then he huffs, looking away and running a hand through his already tousled, short dark hair. You catch sight of scales on his scalp and then blink. It’s not hair on his head, it’s feathers. His eyebrows are much the same, in miniature. Fine, thin feathers, as ink dark as the scalloped edges of his scales. 

“So,” you tease, hoping your questions won’t come off as prying. “Can the rest of the people in here see you at all? You said that it’d been a while since anyone had felt at home enough here to stumble across you, but.. I don’t know exactly if that means Magicis is at work, or something else.”

Arroven breathes in, glancing up at the filigreed round sign hanging over the bar. There’s a single neon eye in the middle, opening and closing on loop under the word WINK. Even with the noise of people talking, and the music coming steadily from the small corner of a dance floor, you can still hear the faint buzz and click of the neon switching over. “Not many,” he finally confesses. “If the proprietor were here, she would see me, but she’s been here for a.. For a while.” She’s one of the long lived races then. Arroven turns, taking a quick look over the other patrons, tense, as if he expects one of them to approach. “The couple near the dance floor there,” he finally says, pointing out two women leaning into each other, stealing sips of each other’s drinks. “The orcish fellow on his phone. They can see me, though I doubt they’ll realize who I am. Just living here doesn’t make someone part of the hoard, though it’s always a step in the right direction.” For a second, he looks like he might let the subject drop, but then he cringes, glancing at your eyes before he looks away. “I don’t- I don’t steal from the people living here, whether they’re part of my hoard or not, even if they don’t realize I’m around. Even if they can’t see me.”

That’s reassuring, though you hadn’t planned on diving into that topic.

“What then,” you ask, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, and your elbow on the bar, “makes someone part of your hoard?” 

Arroven’s rough looking scales don’t shine, but the neon light over the both of you shifts again from blue, to pink, and back. It was already hard for you to take your eyes off of him, knowing who he is, attracted to the nervous quirk of his lips, but now? The magic that you’ve only ever felt the after effects of, the strange aches and coincidences, it feels like more in this moment. More than a soft nudge in the correct direction. Arroven is sitting at your side, winking neon sign a spotlight over both your heads.

Hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, Arroven lifts his hand, reaching out, and taps once, softly, against your sternum. “It sounds esoteric, but the only explanation I have is that all of you feels like you should be here. From the way you smell, to the echoes of your voice or your footsteps along the pavement...” Arroven swallows, and then inhales, letting his hand fall away from your chest as his eyes close. He doesn’t pull his hand back completely though, just lets his hand hover over your thigh. “It’s always the desires of the heart that bring my hoard home,” he murmurs and starts to sway towards you.

There’s a soft clink on the bar, your drinks being set carefully in front of you and Arroven. When you look, the bartender still hasn’t noticed the city patron, the dragon, but the drink is still clearly set aside for him. Your card is placed very quickly next to your glass, the elf flashing you a much more jovial smile than earlier. 

“Your drink has been taken care of,” he explains, but doesn’t stay behind to point out who might have bought them. When you look, Arroven is sitting straight up in his seat, and his guilty expression is answer enough.

“I was supposed to be welcoming you to the city,” he murmurs, turning in his stool so he can take hold of his glass. The liquid inside is iridescent, shifting from what looks like violet, to a strange umber. You’re willing to bet that it’s more blue and green, but the neon light isn’t doing it too many favors. Arroven lifts his cup, patiently waiting for you to do the same and then quietly toasts your arrival. The clink of the glasses rings in your ears with the clarity of a bell, echoes lasting far longer than the noise itself.

“Goodness,” you say, coughing when you finish your swallow. Your drink is a little stronger than you thought it would be, heat already spiralling down into your chest and filling your belly. “So, uh, the city blessings seem to be true, I take it?” You don’t look at him as you speak, afraid he’ll cringe away from the mention of them.

“Blessings?” Arroven asks, and then you have to search up the poem. He sounds like he doesn't know, but they're supposed to be as old as the cities. Or near as.

“Sometimes they vary, from city to city. But most of the time they have almost the same structure. The same meaning,” you explain, pulling up the poem on your phone. “Hoarding hearts, keeping people safe in winter. The, uh-” You turn it his way, but he doesn’t take the phone from you, just reads the words out of the palm of your hand, brows raised by the time he gets to the end.

“‘Sinking talons into your thighs?’” Arroven’s slit pupils grow wide, nearly drowning his iris in darkness. He straightens, taking another hasty gulp of his drink. He laughs when he’s finished, nerves finally beginning to ease. “That’s how they’re translating it these days?” He asks, but you notice his eyes lingering on your hands, drifting down to your knees and the way you’re sitting. 

You pass a good portion of the evening, teetering back and forth with conversation about the city now, and how it was when Arroven had first settled. For all that he’s wearing modern clothes and walking on two feet, you can see him in a larger, more draconic figure, delving into the variscite mines and overseeing the people that had decided to settle under his watch.  

He’s just as enthralled with your stories though, hanging onto your every word, even though he’s still clearly a little anxious. He abandons his hunched and wary demeanor as soon as you start talking about the magic though. All the little aches and nudges and postcards that had led a clear path to his city. To him.

You insist on buying the next round when he makes to wave down the bartender, who is still completely oblivious to his presence, but Arroven stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

"Another time," he says, just loud enough for you to hear. "A welcome isn't a single round, is it?" He asks, a tentative smile revealing a small glimpse of those sharp teeth.

You could argue. You have the feeling that he would let it go if you pushed, but the smile sways you. It's the first time he's spoken without lowering his eyes mid sentence. You accept the drink, and try not to stare when his smile grows, shy and small and all the more endearing for it.

You both pretend not to notice each other grinning after that.

It’s just past 1 AM by the time the both of you leave the bar, only slightly unsteady after a few drinks and a few plates of bar food. Warmth floods you when Arroven’s hand finds your elbow, just barely keeping you from stumbling off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. All it takes is a single stroke of his thumb over your arm for you to throw aside any worries you might have about flirting. 

He's reciprocated, in quiet ways, for the last hour or so. He’s leaned into you whenever you lowered your voice, had let his eyes linger on your hands and thighs after you brought up the poem.. The worst thing he can do is say no.

“Come to my place?” You blurt and Arroven stutters, hand spasming in his grip on your arm. For a heart wrenching moment, you think he might turn you down, but he finally bobs his head, gauges clicking against his horns with the motion. “...You said you’d been out of the loop with the people living here,” you start, mouth dry, wondering if he knows what you’re trying to ask, but still a little too sober to spell it out. “I’m asking, I’m not just asking you to come visit. I-” 

Arroven stops your worried speech with a slightly awkward smile. “I know what you’re getting at,” he finally says with a gentle huff of a laugh, hand sliding down your arm until he can twine his fingers about yours. His breath hitches, and for a moment you think he might stop, might pull away. “I- I would love to,” he says quietly, and squeezes until his fingernails gently prick the back of your hand.

Wordless with triumph, you flash another smile his way, heart pounding as you keep hold of his hand, ventral scales dry, but slick against your palm.

“The walk back to my place is a bit of a long one from here,” you confess, glancing at the handful of cabs loitering along the street. “Seeing as you got the drinks, I can—” You nearly trip over your own feet when Arroven tugs you back, keeping you from approaching any of the cabs. 

“I don’t.. Fit very well,” he says, apologetically. “If you would rather take one, I can, but if you aren’t opposed..” Arroven’s wings, still tucked in flat along his back, quirk and stretch, spreading wide enough that he nearly clips another leaving bar patron in the face. They don’t move, don’t see him, but they blink, as if a gust of wind just hit them, and shield their eyes until they’re well past you and Arroven.

His statement leaves you staring, jaw beginning to grow slack. “Are you saying you can fly us back to my place?” Your eyes trace his wings again, the fragile veins spider webbing across the membranes. It’s not that you thought they were ornamental, but it’s one thing to see them, and another to know you’ll get to witness their use first hand. 

Arroven’s shoulders start to hunch, but his eyes flick down to your hand, fingers still curled around his. He smiles instead. “Yes?” 

You glance at the cabs, and then back to Arroven’s tall figure and broad shoulders. As much as you’d like being pressed up against him, trapped in the backseat of an uncomfortable cab isn’t quite what you’d pictured, and he’s already nervous enough. That settles things. You nod, just the once and lift your chin to meet his eyes. “Flying it is then! We can’t have you getting stuck in one of those, can we?”

While Arroven walks you through how he’s going to pick you up, how he’s going to hold onto you, some of the people on the sidewalk start to watch you. You’re nodding readily at what they assume to be empty air. You spare a second to wonder if they’ll see you vanish, or if they’ll be able to see the equivalent of a magical wind carrying you away. That would cause quite a stir, wouldn't it? You forget to ask Arroven about it though when he holds out his arm, waiting patiently for you to step closer, fingers gentle in their continued grip on your hand. 

He’s still giving you the chance to turn away. 

You take a breath, thinking back to the nerves you’d felt, packing up a bag and deciding to visit somewhere based on coincidences and the hearsay of magic. You think of Mora, and the apartment that feels more like home to you than nearly anything else ever has. The way everything fits here, every piece of the city you've set foot in branded on your brain, clearer than any map. You step close, eagerly letting Arroven curl his arm around your back and then lift you up in a bridal carry. His forearms and biceps tense, bracing you as he prepares, and then the snap of his wings flaring open makes your heart jump before he leaps. His wings catch a sudden breeze swooping into the street, allowing it to lift the both of you well clear of the ground before he starts to flap. The slight dip in elevation as he finds his rhythm makes you clutch a little tighter, but Arroven doesn’t complain. In fact, when you glance at him, he seems to be holding back a smug little smile.  

It’s cold when he finally crests over the top of the nearest buildings. Between the chill, and the fast growing height between you and the ground, you have no issues absolutely clinging to Arroven’s neck. You don't feel like you're going to fall, but it's still safer than sitting meekly in his arms, isn't it? You try to twist your head about to see everything below you, but another rush of cold wind makes you squint. It takes a moment before you realize Arroven isn't moving though, he's simply keeping the both of you suspended in midair.

“Your address?” Arroven asks as soon as you start to frown, his voice rumbling against your ear.

“Ah.” You give it to him, laughing when you meet his still-shy gaze. “I suppose that’s a little important.”

While the walk would have left you both a little tired, the flight is a fairly short one. You have just enough time to relish all the places you’re pressed in close, to enjoy what little warmth you’ve managed to keep with the wind seeping through your clothes, when Arroven lands in front of your quiet building. There are no witnesses but the dim streetlights, the sound of his flapping wings muffled by the mist beginning to roll through the city. Arroven lowers you almost reluctantly, fingers slow to uncurl so you can step down onto the pavement. He takes a step back as soon as you do, like he needs the space between you to think.

“Still up for coming inside?” You ask, giving him the same chance he’d given you earlier. You jerk a thumb at the locked door, searching for your keys with your other hand. 

Arroven’s head jerks forward almost too fast, the dark feathers on his skull prickling upwards. His wings snap closed, tight against his back again as soon as you unlock your door. It’s only mildly nerve wracking, having him follow you up to your place, and you think it might be because of how nervous he’s acting. He flinches away from the wall when he barely brushes it, almost tripping over his own boots as he goes up the stairs. He’s been shy from the get-go, but this-

“Arroven,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, hand pausing on your door handle. “Is something wrong?”

He breathes out, turning his head so the plugs in his earlobes clack against his horns, blue-green eyes roving over the hall. “No,” he says slowly, forcing himself to stop hunching into his hoodie, to take his wringing hangs out of the front pocket. “I’ve just, it’s just that I keep-” He stays where he is, brow furrowing for all of five seconds before he’s huffing and stepping into your space. When Arroven leans down, his pupils are needle thin, that sunshine warm smell suffusing the air. He was summoning up courage, you realize, just in time to let your eyes fall closed as he cradles your jaw with both hands. They dwarf your human face, his fingertips easily reaching all the way to the back of your neck, but his touch may well be the softest thing you’ve ever known. His kiss is more the brush of his mouth over the shape of yours, a slip of a taste when his tongue follows the curve of your lower lip. He hums, softly, but when you kiss him back? When your tongue touches his and you try to stand on your tip-toes to deepen things, when you stumble a step closer—Arroven’s groan is gratifying. Achingly slowly, he draws his hands down the side of your neck, leaving you free to control the pace of the kiss. His thumbs trace your collarbone, slow, deep circles that make you wish you weren’t standing out here, fully clothed and too warm.

You pull away, licking your lips and glancing down the hall. There’s no one there, despite your pulse loud in your ears and your breath heaving, surely loud enough to wake even those in the very depths of sleep. Arroven’s breath hitches, and for a moment he sways, ready to chase you for another kiss. “Wait, wait,” you say softly, trying not to smile too wide when his eyes flicker open, dark pupils growing larger. He starts to straighten, embarrassment lifting his shoulders. “Maybe we should get in my house first?” You rush to say, not wanting to potentially scar one of your neighbors, but not wanting him to rush away either.

His mouth opens on reflex, and then closes, slipping into a gentle smile. “Yes,” he says, and then you have to swallow, watching his eyes slide down to your hands and then further down to your knees.  

You get your door open before he touches you again, but you’re only a few steps inside when Arroven reaches for you. He strokes the back of his knuckles down your forearm, fingertips only barely grazing your hips. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, one of his fingers catching two of yours. “Touching,” he explains, the edge of his thumbnail stroking over your wrist and the base of your thumb and back. “Being close to, well…” He breathes in when you step into him, and grows as still as a statue when you balance against him, reaching around his middle to swing the front door shut. This close, Arroven still smells of sunshine, but there’s a sweeter, crisper undertone that makes you want to close your eyes to savor it, to breathe it in. He’s nearly vibrating with you pressed close though, hands hovering somewhere over the middle of your back, trying to keep himself still. He’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead, still caught up in his nerves... Or maybe just manners?

You grin, gently pushing yourself back a step before you smooth out your expression. “Part of your hoard?” You wonder aloud, but then you can’t keep yourself straight faced any longer, wanting him to recognize the words for the gentle teasing they are. You smile. “How about you touch me then?”

Arroven huffs, pleased, and then you quickly discover how needy he can be. He kisses you all the way down the hall, his wings nearly catching on picture frames, hands trembling in their stroking over your back. He keeps pausing at the top of your hips, like he wants to let his hands drift lower, but focuses on his mouth instead, mouth and teeth moving from your lips, to your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t think he’s willing to risk going further though, knowing that it would likely end up with both of you unbalanced and on the floor instead of the bed. 

“Distracted?” You ask, reaching blindly around your doorframe, searching for the lightswitch as Arroven’s tongue flickers over the pulse on the left side of your neck. Your own breathing stutters for a moment, heat building in your veins. “You keep-”

Arroven’s breath puffs over the damp patch he’s left on your skin as he lifts his head, violet tongue sliding along the sharp points of his teeth. “Hardly,” Arroven interrupts, and his wings tense when you hook your fingers into the neck of his hoodie, drawing him further into the room. Your fingers find the lightswitch, the soft ring of the bulb lighting strangely loud in the room. “You’re all I can see. All I can focus on. ..am I missing something? Cues?” He asks, voice gone lower when you give his hoodie a fierce tug. He follows, all too willingly, fingers flexing around your hips. 

“Hardly,” you say back, teasing as you back up towards the bed. You pull when you lean back, expecting him to let you fall, to fall with you, but his wings flare again. He catches himself on the blankets, hands to either side of your body, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by his pupils as he takes the sight of you in. “Still good?” You ask after a moment, because he’s staring, because he hasn’t moved a muscle. 

“Tell me,” Arroven blurts, arms tensing as his fingers twist into the blankets. “Tell me what to do,” he pleads, gaze catching on every sliver of bared skin he can find. “I’m.. finding it a little difficult to think. All I want to do is make you happy, make you want to-” He stops, feathered brows drawing together as he considers his words.

You arch an eyebrow, your hands stilling just shy of his chest. The way he’d hesitated, his flighty touches? they all make a bit more sense now. He’d asked you to stay in the city, had mentioned your belonging here. If you wanted to leave, if you insisted on stopping, Arroven wouldn’t keep you. But he wants you to stay here.

  “Little to no thinking,” you muse, unable to keep from smiling as he hangs onto your every word. “Undress me,” you finally decide, and his nostrils flare before he sets to work. He’s terribly careful, every brush of his scaled knuckles whisper-soft and cool against your skin, but his breathing is ragged by the time he’s finished and your heart has sped in response. You’re tempted to make him undress himself too. In fact, he would probably do just as you asked, but you’re too impatient to get your hands back on him. “Hoodie off,” you declare, half amazed that he’s obeying your whims, “and lay down on the bed.”

Arroven listens immediately, tucking his wings in close before he’s pulling off the hoodie, careful around the curl of his horns and the arch of his wings. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but with his wings, you understand why. Most of those with wings don’t favor mass produced clothes or modern fashion. He’s on the bed before you can finish pushing yourself back up, jeans low on his hips, pale belly and chest all the brighter compared to the black and teal pattern of his scales. His legs spread reflexively when you stand, jeans growing taut when you reach for him. Your hands are steady, even if your pulse isn’t, but Arroven doesn’t seem to care. He looks blissed out from this much touch alone, jaw gone slack, eyelids heavy as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He exhales when you pull at his jeans, eyes zeroed in on your face.

He’s thicker than he is long, and as pale as his abdomen, save for a violet tinge that makes you think of his tongue. Nestled as he is in the ‘v’ of his unzipped jeans, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from stroking him straight away, or even leaning down to-

“Maybe I can think,” Arroven says hoarsely. He lifts one of his hands, gentleman-like, offering it to you palm up. “Let me?” He asks, though you’re not entirely sure what he wants you to let him do.

Mannerly, you can’t help but think, lips twitching as you place your hand in his. The older races are, generally. It’s something to fall back on if they’re nervous or unsure. Not that most of them would ever admit to it.

“Are you thinking I should leave your boots on?” You get one knee on the bed before you pause, glancing back at his legs still hanging over the edge.

Arroven hums, but his grip on your fingers tightens for a second, not wanting to let go. “I’ll worry about those later,” he says, and then inhales sharply when you straddle his lap, cock pulsing as you settle against him. If he wants to let his jeans tangle around his boots, you’re not going to complain. It’s a bit of a thrill, knowing that he’s too impatient to fuss with them.

“Boots on, then. Now, what am I supposed to let you do?” You lean forward, drawing an aimless, spiraling pattern from his abdomen up to his ribcage. He’s much warmer now, with you astride his thighs and his wings trapped beneath him on the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t mentioned them once.

Hesitant, Arroven’s hold on you loosens, and then his hand drops to your thigh, eyebrows furrowing when he finally speaks. “Sit on my face?”

The brevity of it, the tone of uncertainty, makes your mouth twitch. “Jumping right in there, aren’t we? And here I thought you were kind of shy.”

“I am!” Arroven blurts and then covers his face with one hand, laughing quietly at himself. “I am,” he says, a bit more composed when he lets his hand fall away. “Though shyness has hardly ever been a factor in my favor. What is it humans say? Better to rip off the bandage?”

You crawl halfway up his body, smiling wider when he forgets to breathe. “Had to get the anxiety out of the way?” You brush a kiss over his chin, eyes catching on the curl of his horns. He’s moved so carefully that you’ve yet to feel the sharp points of them catching your skin, but if you sit on his face… You ignore Arroven’s disappointed sigh as you turn away to stroke the pad of your thumb over his right horn, wondering whether he has any feeling in them. They’re as ink dark as some of his scales and twisted in a lovely spiral that perfectly circles his pointed, gauged ears. Arroven isn’t reacting like he has sensation in them, though he reacts to every other little touch of you against his scales. “You’re going to have to help me balance,” you confess, sitting back against his middle. “Because even though they aren’t terribly sharp, I rather think I’ll be risking my thighs. Don’t you?”

Arroven stares, blinking, and then he looks horrified, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he’s been close to a human, if ever. 

“I’m not against this,” you add, grinning, “just to be clear.”

For a moment, all he says in response is a strangled sounding “Ah,” before he blinks again, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can... I will help. I’ll be careful. More than careful.”

It takes a few moments, and some adjustment, before you’re finally able to settle over his face. Your heart starts to pound a little faster when Arroven opens his mouth, those dagger-like teeth flashing in the dim light. His hands are strong though, curling around your thigh and bracing your hip. He’s too tall for you to do more than help balance against his chest, though you can see that he’s still wonderfully hard, and his cock is starting to leak. You’d love nothing more than to take him in hand, to taste him, but then Arroven nips your inner thigh, and you stop paying attention to his cock and start focusing on sensation. Your fingers curl at the first hot swipe of his tongue, pressing a little hard into the ventral scales over his chest, and the next slow lick has your eyes falling closed. 

It’s not easy to stay steady, to keep your arms and legs from quivering the longer he licks and slurps. Arroven sucks small kisses over your thighs and the left cheek of your ass, his teeth only ever the barest pressure on your skin. His horns graze you, but he’s true to his word in keeping you balanced. The texture of them against your skin is just something more to feel, to enjoy as he tilts his head this way and that. Pleasure builds, faster by far than the magic that built in your veins, that left you aching with the need to come to the city. If that ache had been anything close to what you’re feeling now, warm, and slick, with the heady pressure of Arroven’s fingers on your skin, you would have picked up on the breadcrumb trail a lot sooner.

“You’re go- going to push me over the edge,” you warn with a gasp, legs starting to tremble. He moves you in response, starts to rock your hips so all he has to do is stick out his tongue, but your hands are shaking now too, cluing him into your urgency. Arroven shakes his head from side to side, a little wild, the plugs in his earlobes clattering against his horns with every shift. You bite down on your lower lip, orgasm rolling swiftly over you and nearly choke on the curse that wants to leave your mouth. He keeps you there, aching and weak, until you pat awkwardly at his chest, releasing you reluctantly with one last obscene noise of satisfaction. 

You sit next to him, still a little unsteady and grin down at his pleased, messy face. “Now, unless you have any other lovely thoughts to share - your turn?”  

His rough sounding “Please,” has your libido jumping back into overdrive, but it’s safety that has you slipping off the bed to dig out a bottle of lube from your things. He’s half pushed himself back up when you come back to the bed, resting on his elbows, fingers twisted gently into the blankets. His wings are partially stretched out now too, one of them reaching all the way to the end of your bed. 

“Are your wings alright?” You ask, wondering if you should throw away the idea of climbing back into his lap, lube already pooling in the palm of your hand.  

Arroven smiles again though, waving away your worry. “Tense,” he offers, as explanation. “I was more focused on you, but they’re good. I promise.” His cock bobs as you approach, and then he lays back down, irises vanishing into the ether of his pupils. 

“If you promise, I suppose I’ll let it go.” You close the lube, only a bit ungracefully, and toss it to the side, climbing back onto the bed and straddling his thighs.

  Your first wet squeeze of his cock has him whimpering, your hand barely fitting around him at his thinnest point. When you stroke, he bucks nearly unseating you until he claps his hands onto your thighs, muttering a hasty apology. Despite being tempted to laugh, you narrow your eyes, squeezing him just a little harder. “You don’t have to be still, but move a little slower for now, hm?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say, and then his jaw goes slack when you press him against you. “Oh,” he breathes, nails pricking your skin as you hold him in place. You rub yourself against his cock, up and back down, a slow undulation that makes you tense, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm. 

And then you straighten, pressing the head of his cock into you. The first slow stretch of him inside you echoes the steady ache of magic, has your breath rushing from your lungs in a gasp. “Fuck,” you breathe and then glance at Arroven’s face. His head is tilted back, mouth open to reveal all of those sharp teeth, and his eyes are closed tight. You think he might be keeping himself from looking at you, might be trying to stem the urge to buck again, to move at all. You tilt your hips and press yourself down though, wiggling, and then Arroven is cursing. You don’t recognize the language, but you understand the sentiment behind it, the pleading tone that softens the edges of the words. It’s hard to concentrate, to keep yourself from getting distracted when all you want to do is sink down every inch of him and then just lay on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “Too much?” You manage to ask, but all Arroven does is shake his head and then carefully ease his grip on your thighs, stroking down to your knees and back up. Your legs, among other things, are definitely going to ache after this.

You ride Arroven until he’s a shaking, breathless mess, until he can’t help but tense his thighs every time he bottoms out, and you can barely stay up. You reach up, fingers just barely brushing his chin to make him pay attention. “Fuck me,” you command and his wings stretch to either side with force. You nearly scream when he starts fucking into you with purpose, and as lovely as your neighbors have been, you have the feeling they’re going to complain at some point. Every thrust has you tightening up on reflex, still shaky from your earlier orgasm, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright. A few moments later and Arroven arches as he comes inside you, clutching tightly to you until he’s finished, breath deep and rasping. You don’t wait. Carefully you flop down next to him, smiling tiredly against the blankets. You’re not sure your legs will carry you for the next hour or so, but it’s hardly something to complain about. 

“Do you give all newcomers to the hoard such a.. Vigorous welcome?” You ask, laughing, your voice rough, not really expecting him to answer. Even though he’s clearly a little more comfortable, even though he’s been clinging to your skin and he looks wrecked by all the activity. Arroven nearly chokes.

“No,” he says immediately. “Moments like this,” he murmurs, reaching out for you, ventral scales on his palm smooth over the apple of your cheek, “moments like this are few and far between.” There’s a low rumble of noise from him when you roll close to brush another kiss over his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all you can do not to laugh again, not to quote the poem at him or interrupt the soft moment. It still sits in the back of your mind though, sweet and lilting.

the city is hoarding hearts

it draws them in, with coin, with art

reflects their dreams on mirrored glass

sings siren songs to catch them fast

the lights?

they gleam, they glitter, bright

it steals a piece, with every sight

roots get worn

they split, they splinter

'but i'll keep you warm, in the depth of winter'

the city whispers, it cajoles, it cries

it'll sink it's talons into your thighs

it tears, it scrapes, it batters the unwary

but oh, the love it gifts, to those who tarry

the city promises, you'll be most adored

so can you, will you, join the hoard?

[retvenkos]

blanching | helnik

Six of Crows - A Helnik Story, angst, slight fluff requested by @musicallisto​​

tw: a suggestive comment, grief, spoilers for crooked kingdom

word count: 1.5k

prompt: “i’m here for you. i have your back.”

A/N: y’know, this turned out pretty decent, but ohmygod... you guys should have seen the scene that was painted in my head... it would have made you sob.

Summary: Fear and uncertainty didn’t belong here. Not in Novyi Zem. Not with Matthias.

Novyi Zem was beautiful. In the morning, the sun rose steadily, filtering through slatted blinds and spilling across the floor, warming the shadows until they disappeared from view. In the mid-afternoon, its bustling cities were full of life - laughter seemingly reverberating from the very ground, the smell of food wafting through the clear air, the bright, sparkling ocean bringing in a soft breeze that ruffled skirts and jackets. In the evening, its farmlands hummed with the music of crickets, lush greens and dying yellows stretching onto infinity.  Colm Fahey lived in Cofton, with rows and rows of jurda plants, all of them vibrantly orange, flowering under the warm summer sun. 

Once, maybe a lifetime ago, Colm Fahey told Nina and the rest of the crows that his home was open to them, should they need it. Jesper had laughed as though the offer were a joke without a punchline, and Kaz had assured Mr. Fahey that they would never be passing by.

Nina was the one to laugh, now.

Novyi Zem was one stop on a trip to somewhere much warmer, and when they were running low on coin, Wylan pointed out that Jesper's family home wasn't far from them. Kaz said they would stop for only a day or two. How long had they been there, now? Two weeks? Maybe longer?

Nina was pleased with the arrangement. As long as there was enough flour for waffles and enough sun for warmth, she could gladly stay in Novyi Zem forever.

The sounds of the farm were a charming cacophony that rooted Nina to this reality - to this beautiful, warm world. Nina lay in the fields, her hair haloing outward, her palms digging into the fresh grass. She closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her face, its golden and amber hues playing against the dark of her eyelids. The sun was a brilliant ball of light, kissing Nina's skin and warming her from the outside in - penetrating the bone. Never had she known warmth such as this.

In the Heartrender rooms of the Little Palace, Nina was taught the secrets of the body and the science of bending it to your will. She learned everything - from releasing chemicals in the brain for good spirits to inducing heart attacks that could prove fatal, given a particular turn of the wrist. Nina mastered how to increase blood flow and quicken the heartbeat, and ever since, she kept herself warm.

Nina had only ever been cold twice in her life, in the orphanage where she grew up and on a boat lost in a tempest. Warmth was a luxury that a Grisha Heartrender could afford, and Nina swore that she would never be cold again. Not after the orphanage. Not after the storm. Not after...

Novyi Zem was beautiful, but mostly, it was warm.

"What are you doing?" Matthias' voice called out -  rich, full of teasing and mirth. She could hear the steady beat of his heart as he came closer, walking toward her from the barn, where Colm kept his harvesting tools. 

Nina didn't have to open her eyes to know he was smiling. "Enjoying the sun," she replied.

Matthias scoffed, but he laid down next to her all the same.

"Do you not do that in Fjerda, drüskelle?" Nina opened her eyes and shot him a teasing glance. His cheeks were a ruddy pink, full of life and love. For a moment, Nina didn't want to let go. She shifted onto her side, but her eyes never left him. "Do you just sit around all day and hope the temperature drops below zero?"

Matthias rolled his eyes. Hips lips parted softly. "We are not in Fjerda."

"Thank the Saints for that. I've had enough ice to last a lifetime."

Matthias chuckled, and Nina bit her lip to stop a giddy grin from crossing her face. The sun beat down on them, warm and full of zest. Nina moved to grab his hand but hesitated, pausing halfway in the space between. Matthias didn't notice - his eyes were on the sky, far away from her.

"I would like to go back, someday." And the wind came by at the mention of Fjerda, as though he were summoning it all on his own. It made the jurda sway, and the breeze seemed to carry a message. 

"Take root... follow the water north..." 

Nina grabbed Matthias' strong hand; it was warm. She squeezed it tightly, feeling the steady beat of his heart; warm, alive.

"We'll go," Nina said, her smile smaller than before. Her voice cracked, and something was breaking in her chest because of it - something raw and heaving that didn't belong in Novyi Zem. Not with Colm Fahey - so kind as to invite everyone over to stay. Not with a home with fields of jurda and always enough flour to make waffles. Not the with this sun that shined down on them, begging them to stay. Not with the warmth and the love and the life.

"You will come with me?"

Nina blinked.

"And let you go alone? You'd never make it." And Matthias chuckled again, an exasperated breath of delight. His blue eyes were sparkling with the light of the sun. She let go of him slowly, their hands still brushing. He was here - he always would be. Nina taunted him more. "Have you ever had to charm a barkeep for a meal?"

"No. But I would work for one."

"Oh, so you would sell your body, then?"

Matthias' expression turned scandalous for a heartbeat. He turned to her incredulously, but when he saw the wide smile that stretched over Nina's face, he heaved a dry laugh. Nina raised her eyebrows and started to chuckle. 

"You—" but he was laughing too hard to finish, his breathy chuckles turning into bursts of rich laughter, a sound deep in his chest, warming Nina to the bone. She grinned with him, peals of laughter ripping through her until her sides hurt from the pure joy it all, the brightness of their love, all-encompassing and fading into the air. Nina's heart ached - it was too full.

She poked Matthias' sides, and his laughter intensified. Eventually, he captured her hands in his and held them close to his chest, still laughing, all the while. Their love was warm and radiant, but his eyes were an icy, frozen blue - the tundra from which he came. Nina stared into them deeply, wishing to memorize the look in his eyes. A beautiful, pale blue. Steady like the ice. Glassy...

Tears pricked Nina's eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She was crying.

For a moment, she wondered if it was from the laughter at all.

"We'll go together," Matthias affirmed, his voice no longer laughing, his expression turning back into that sculpted, strong sense of calm. He kissed her fingers before letting them go, reaching up to wipe the tears that glistened on her cheeks.

"Always?" Nina's voice shook, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in her tone. Her hands were shaking, but she couldn't understand why. Was it fear?

No.

No. Fear didn't belong here. Not in Novyi Zem. Not with Matthias.

Matthias had an easy smile on his face. He leaned back in the richly colored grass and sighed, content. "Are you planning on holding me hostage if I do not say yes?"

"If I say yes, will you stay?"

Matthias smiled and closed his eyes; he breathed deeply like he couldn't get enough air in his lungs. For a moment, Nina was in Ketterdam, crying over the dark cobblestones, holding Matthias in her arms. He was there, with her, and he was pale... so pale...

No.

"Matthias?"

He was smiling like some kind of victorious Saint, the sunlight woven into his hair. He didn't open his eyes.

"Helvar."

A jurda plant broke as though snapped by a nonexistent breeze. It fell on Matthias' chest, but its color was red, not that vibrant, wholesome orange. A red tulip from the Van Eck gardens - not from Novyi Zem. Not from here.

"Drüskelle!"

Matthias' eyes snapped open. He had just been dozing.

"Nina?"

They were on the dirty streets of Ketterdam. The world was chaos - full of plague alarms and hellfire - and Nina was slipping into her grief, drowning in mourning, floundering in this power that couldn't save him. She was holding onto him, again, but his body was already claimed by death; cold. So, so cold.

"Come back," Nina sobbed.

“I’m here for you, Nina. I'll always have your back.” But his voice was no longer his, just an echo of someone who once was, just the cruel imaginings of her mind, dark and hollow - grieving, still.

"Come back to me, then. Don't leave me, Matthias. Please."

"I have been made to protect you. Even in death, I will find a way."

Nina took in a shuddering breath, and all around her, the beauty of Novyi Zem crumbled. Her world - her beautiful, warm world - was fading, blanching into nothing and burning into pale, grey ash. The wind was whipping around her, and the Fjerdan ice was unforgivingly claiming her.

She was sitting on the shore with tears crystallized on her eyelashes. The sun had long since dipped over the horizon, and she was cold. So, so cold.

-- taglist: @musicallisto​, @catsbooksandmusic​​ // message me if you want to be added!

[theparanormalperiodical]

The Spirits Of The Tsunami: Charting The Surge In Reported Paranormal Phenomena Following The Great East Japan Earthquake

On the 11th March 2011, there was an earthquake in the Pacific Ocean.

It was the fourth most powerful earthquake ever recorded, successfully shifting the entire world off its axis by more than six inches. The epicentre was 72km off the coast of the most disaster-prepped country on the planet: Japan.

But we all know that she did not come away from this unscathed.

The Tōhoku region was first hit by the oncoming tsunami with its waves cresting at 133 feet high.

The Japanese government put forward a 10 year recovery plan to deal with the consequential crisis. I doubt they expected 2021 to look and feel like this.

But Japan was left with more than the physical scars of the intensive flooding and the emotional trauma of 20,000 people missing or confirmed dead. To this day, a rise in paranormal phenomena followed the ocean’s retreat back to the shore.

Sightings. Encounters. Even exorcisms.

The tales reported and shared by the locals do not make this a horror film, however. This is and always will be a tragedy.

We Need To Talk About March 11th

It’s easy in this field to take cheap shots. Documenting various urban legends or discussing campfire stories doesn’t often involve many people. Nor does it hurt them.

But this does.

This is not an article about ghost stories. This is an article about a documented, very much real cultural phenomenon put forward by journalists and sociologists, like Richard Parry. I’m not here to mock or make light of terrible circumstances. After all, the alleged spirits emerged in response to the circumstances which engaged Japan in a nuclear disaster, large-scale debris and infrastructure clearing, and widespread damage costing $360bn.

So, I wanted to start by reflecting on the earthquake and the tsunami that followed closely behind.

Known today as the Great East Japan Earthquake, it struck at 2.49pm and was soon followed by hundreds of aftershocks. Even a satellite orbiting the earth picked up sound waves from the quake.

But what made this earthquake quite so powerful was the lasting damage brought in by the surge of the sea.

One wave came as far as 6 miles, a feat not impossible to imagine given the unfathomable video clips captured by locals of water engulfing harbours, then roads, and then towns. 200 miles of this coastal land was flooded and forced 500,000 people - yes, half a million - to be evacuated.

Tsunami waves were even reported in the US, off the coast of Hawaii and California.

But today we’re going to start with the region first struck by the tsunami. An area in north east Japan that lay claim to one of the most tragic consequences of the natural disaster.

Tōhoku.

The Investigation Of Richard Lloyd Parry

Journalist, writer and expert in Asian politics and culture.

Parry put the invisible cultural effects of the tsunami on the map with his groundbreaking book Ghosts Of The Tsunami. And he focused his attention on the forgotten northeastern region of Japan.

Many other journalists showcased how well Tōhoku was coping and how well it survived the brunt of the disaster. Parry disagreed. The area had claimed 99% of the total death toll of the earthquake and tsunami. So, he went back to uncover how much the disaster had changed the area.

But what he found was rather more extraordinary. Or should that be supernatural?

He didn’t devote the entire book to the statistics or the costs. He dedicated it to the people and how they grieved their sudden, tragic losses.

“Since that day, everyone has something wrong with them.”

- A woman he interviewed for the book

He followed a simple line of thought that everyone’s experience of grief is different. That’s what made the tsunami ghosts so unique.

Post-disaster Tōhoku was reportedly crawling with them.

Strange women would enter people’s homes, sit down for a cuppa and vanish to leave behind a large damp patch of seawater. Familiar faces would be passed in the street and then disappear when they turned around.

It wasn’t long before local priests - Christian, Shinto And Buddhist - began to report being called upon to cleanse and remove unhappy spirits.

But this was rather odd for Japan, famously an atheistic country. It’s even considered one of the least religious nations on the planet - a statement that must’ve been difficult to judge.

In times of crisis, we turn to faith. And this faith was used to come to terms with not just the shocking amount of death during and following the crisis, but the number still missing. The inability to find their loved ones and bury them slashed any chances of closure.

This was emphasised by Shinto beliefs regarding spirits. They believed, as many would agree, that the dead were taken before their time. So, they were wandering this middle-ground between the realm of the living and their take on the afterlife. They were restless and they were lost.

Imagine trying to grieve and move on in those circumstances.

Another element of Japanese beliefs is that of ancestor worship. They emphasise commemorative rites with temples and gravesites that celebrate past ancestors. A prominent feature of this is elaborate funerals. Relatives that were physically and spiritually lost presented an insurmountable obstacle to this.

However, some believed that the spirits were trying to find their way back.

The Possessions

Unsolved Mysteries is a cult-classic TV show for paranormalists, true-crime fans and fledgling conspiracy theorists.

And one of its most striking and saddest episodes takes on the same spirits Richard Lloyd Parry devoted his attention to. They looked closely at the possession and exorcisms of the local population following the tsunami.

One of the most famous cases of this was the possession of Takeshi Ono (a pseudonym to anonymise the real person). He was a builder who was lucky enough to not live in an area ravaged by the disaster. But a few weeks after it happened, he drove down to the nearest beach to see what really happened.

Naturally, he was astounded. It was only later, when he sat down for dinner with his family, that he experienced his true grief in a bizarre, overwhelming manner.

He dropped to the ground, rolling around on the carpet and grunting various animal noises. He then rushed out of the house and dived into a pit of mud, continuing his strange behavior.

He remembered nothing the next day.

But then it began again. And didn’t stop for 3 more days.

He would speak in a strange, angry voice. He would threaten his family with violence, and he would talk about the dead.

They believed he was possessed with multiple spirits that had died during the tsunami and were now lost in a different realm. They took him to a local buddhist monk, Reverend Kaneda.

“I asked him about it once and he said it doesn't matter whether ghosts really exist or not. He said what matters is that people believe in them. These experiences are real.”

- Richard Lloyd Parry

Numerous people would come forward claiming to be possessed. This was a unique form of mourning.

The Psychics And The Primary School

I’ve already mentioned Tōhoku and how it was first hit by the devastating tsunami. But it's also become famous for claiming one of its most tragic tales.

The flooding of Okawa Elementary School.

Historically, Tōhoku has been considered the mythical realm of goblins and barbarians. It’s like a frontier for another realm. It would realise this destiny in a much more real way than expected.

The school was only 2 miles away from the coast and perched on the bank of the Kitakami River. It was effectively  in the direct path of the surging waves.

When the earthquake struck, the protocol was clear and closely followed. Japan has designed its infrastructure based on such an occurrence, and the public knows what to do and when to do it.

The staff and children gathered outside the school. Many considered running up a nearby hill, a basic instinctive response to a potential tsunami. But they were instead ordered to head to a nearby traffic island (I think this is an area containing lots of main roads that probably is accessible by emergency vehicles).

But the river bank was soon bursting with jet black water and frothing with white seaspray. It was aiming its water directly up the road towards the children.

Some of them froze in the face of the wall of water. Others turned back and pelted towards the hill. Many were quickly caught up in it and then swept away.

Out of the 78 children in school that day, 74 died. 10 out of the 11 staff members met the same fate.

The sudden death of nearly an entire school of young children was traumatic, to say the least. But the paranormal phenomena that supposedly followed made it rather more horrific.

The mother of one student lost in the tsunami asked a psychic to visit the site of the school.

“Some of them were stuck in the water, covered in mud, and swallowing the dirty water in terrible suffering. Some of them were trapped and trying to get out”

Another medium told a different, less harrowing story of the spirits.

“You might think that the kids want their parents to find them, that they are desperate to go back home. But they are already home. They are already in a very good place. And the more you bury yourselves in the search, the more desperate you will become.”

This conflicting view of the supernatural phenomena is important. As Parry and many others make clear, we aren’t talking about the existence of the paranormal. We are talking about grief and the many forms it can take.

Unfortunately, the tragic story did not end there. On another level, the loss of young children and teachers marked something else haunting local government. It was eventually revealed as the truth trickled in that these deaths were largely avoidable.

The school was inadequately prepared for such an occurrence.

A court case put the Ishinomaki City and Miyagi Prefecture to trial - but only in 2016 did witnesses finally give evidence. The prosecution claimed the city was guilty of negligence and that the children could’ve been saved.

On the 26th April, the verdict was delivered. It found the city guilty and ordered it to award the parents of the students of Okawa Elementary School over £11m. But this wasn’t a victory to celebrate.

I doubt it helped any of them grieve, gain closure or alleviate their suffering at all.

The Taxi Cabs And Other Tales

A variety of sightings of supernatural phenomena followed the tsunami. Some are very diverse, but often share distinct similarities, confirming that this was a cultural phenomenon as much as a paranormal one.

The most notable example was reported by taxi drivers.

In 2016, a sociology graduate travelled to Ishinomaki to study strange phenomena reported by locals. Specifically, the things experienced by the cab drivers that took the public around the most ravaged area of Japan.

One driver recounted a particularly haunting story:

In the summer of 2011, mere months after the tsunami retreated back to the ocean, he was hailed down by a young woman. She was wearing a winter coat and soaking wet, as if she’d been standing in a rainstorm. But it was a hot summer’s day.

She asked to be taken to the Minamihama district, a mostly-abandoned area.

The driver asked if she was sure she meant that district. She paused and then asked:

“Have I died?”

He turned around to see that she was no longer there.

Another cabbie experienced something very similar.

He picked up a confused-looking young man who said he wanted to go to Hiyoriyama, a mountain park nearby. By the time he reached the summit, he looked in the backseat and saw that it was empty.

The same sociology student was told of other terrifying sightings.

One man based in Kurihara even claims he can see the eyes of the tsunami victims in puddles when it rains.

A few specific ghosts are frequently sighted, making themselves at home at certain locations. In one refugee home in Onagawa, the ghost of an old woman is often reported to sit down on a sofa. But when she gets up, she leaves a cushion soaked in seawater.

In Tagajō, a fire station received frequent calls out to houses that had been destroyed in the tsunami. They went out to the ruined homes and prayed for the dead. The calls then stopped.

***

Reflecting on this natural disaster in a time of global crisis is not lost on me. Of course, COVID-19 did not last six minutes and then decide to stop. 

I wonder how we will reflect on this time of pain and powerlessness. Of loss and loneliness.  

If I have got any information incorrect or missed anything you think matters, let me know in a comment or a private message and I can edit the article.

[thecandywrites]

The Beginning of Stormbreaker Part 4 Finale

Ok, so unless you haven’t figured it out, Butternut- is my version of a Shae Nut, But the nuts are in this lovely fruit pictured above, that in my mind tastes like a creamy mango with hints of melon and papaya. And this lovely red apple looking fruit on the right is Dragon Heart Fruit which in my mind has the flavor of Lychee, mango and pinapple, still very tropical tasting. Also the lovely ladies above, on the top row on the left, that is Grat, Drad and Sarg’s mother, and on the left is Shari, Rhos’ and Esri’s mother. 

Part 4

It took over a week of going back and forth to the dragon’s lair to get all the scales and usable leather, sinew and good bones along with the dragon’s small horde of gold, jewels and other precious items, which when divided evenly between Rhosland, Esri, Drad and Sarg along with equal portions allotted to their mothers and Orcoth in addition to Rhos and Esri’s already gathered pearls which Rhos and Esri gave a portion of the pearls to their mother, Grat and Orcoth so that all seven of them would be richer, despite the failed raid while Esri and Rhos kept all the beautiful shells to keep to make jewelry later. 

Drad and Sarg happily ground down the good left over dragon bones into a fine powder back at camp while they rested and healed at remarkably fast rates, thanks to the dragon bone. By the time they had managed to forage all they could and the suits of armour for all four of them and three breast plates at least for Rhos’ and Esri’s mother as well as Orcoth, were done, they decided to head back to Skull Screamer, the four of them in the little row boat with extra large rafts tied to the boat behind them, that Sarg and Drad had built to carry all the smoked and preserved meat and fish and other foraged goods along with a few cuttings of the tree in the dragon’s cave and baskets that Drad and Sarg had woven themselves while they hung out at Rhos’ and Esri’s campsite out of the tall grasses to hold all the fruit from the tree and others and all the seeds left behind from the tree that had fallen in previous years that had been in a heap under the tree along with the fruits of the Butternut bush and hundreds of wild rose buds to make rose soap along with the ash from the smoker to get the lye to make the soap needed. 

However when they came rowing back up Skull Screamer’s main river Rhos and Esri looked worriedly to Drad and Sarg as everyone in the village looked at them like ghosts before they noticed that once they came upon Drad and Sarg’s mother’s house both of their mothers and Orcoth came out of the house as both their mothers were so happy and overjoyed to see their children come back as Drad and Sarg pulled the boat and the rafts up onto the shore as they were immediately surrounded by everyone. 

“You’re alive!” Shari cried as she embraced her daughters as her daughters embraced her in turn. 

“Of course we are alive, why did you think we were dead?” Rhos asked her mother. 

“Because Zash and his sons, got lost in fog and attacked Hurricane Breaker. And when Drad and Sarg’s horses along with many others came back without their riders and blood on their saddles, we assumed the worst and imagined that you and Esri had camped too close to the accidental battlefield and got caught up in it.” Shari cried. 

“We heard the battle but it was at a distance and we stayed inside the tent until the sounds of the battle stopped, and after the battle ended we were approached by Captain Tilge of Hurricane Breaker and her warband of shieldmaidens. But once we explained what we were doing there and that Skull Screamer must have gotten lost in the fog and had no intention of attacking and thus, we had no intent to harm them or their clan and they believed us and believed that we were younglings because of our size and saw that we were unarmed and therefore not a threat, they had no quarrel with us and left us in peace and safety and even discouraged anyone else in Hurricane Breaker from coming to us and to leave us alone. In fact they happily shared a meal with us and struck up a friendly peace with Esri and I and to signify that peace, I gave her the tribute necklace I had given to Shadi and Esri gave her the bracelet that she had made for Baka as tribute that they gave us as bride gifts when we left but when they said that Tar had been killed, we knew we weren’t going to be marrying him and when Drad and Sarg found us and we healed them from their own wounds. And when they were healed enough to walk on their own we came back.” Rhos explained to her mother and others who had come to see her for themselves. 

“What happened here while we were gone?” Rhos asked her mother. 

“Well after Zash unwittingly got lost in the fog and accidentally attacked Hurricane Breaker, he and his men died in the raid. As did all of Zash’s sons, we thought only the few men of the other warbands survived and came back and reported that everyone else had died. So almost all the people who came to deliver bride gifts before you left, came and demanded them back since you would not be brides to Tar. And it’s only because Grat opened up her home to me that I had any place to go. The whole clan thought that you and Esri’s joining Tar’s family was a bad sign of disapproval from the gods and would confuse them and thus sent the fog that caused us to lose everyone that we did, so Shadi and Baka, they burned down our house in retribution for losing Tar and in the commotion they gave birth only a few days ago, both to girls.” Shari revealed as Rhos and Esri gasped in horror as they stared at their neighbors in outrage who by now were lowering their heads in shame and backing away. 

“What kind of madness is this?! No! It was Zash’s and Tar’s own stubbornness and confusing leadership that led to us unwittingly attacking Hurricane Breaker and if it had not been for Shaman Orcoth who gave me prophetic advice that I and Sarg listened to his words and survived. And it was Rhosland and Esri who took us in and healed us and concealed us from Captain Tilge and did so in such a way to keep themselves and us above suspicion. Which takes courage and faith and loyalty. They have been blameless and Sarg and I both saw over the last week or so how Esri and Rhosland have been nothing but blessings for us. They healed us with medicine they instinctively know, they fed us from the game they were able to kill all on their own and they even shot down a bear and had victory over it. And then they found the hissing rocks which they realized wasn’t actually a cursed place but discovered that it was an old dragon’s home, the dragon had been trapped inside and had a tree growing from it’s chest to the roof of the place and when they investigated it, they collected the dead dragons scales and leather and made us these exquisite suits of armor and these weapons that have no compare and even used the bones to heal our own broken bones. Which is why we are at full health after only a week of sustaining almost fatal injuries. They are not a curse, they never were, they are our blessing and salvation and I am more than honored to have Rhos as my mate as is Sarg to have Esri. And just look what they were able to capture when they were given the right tools- they were more than successful.” Drad pointed out as he gestured to his suit of armor and then gestured to all the food and other supplies on the boat and on the rafts for emphasis as proof of what he was saying. 

“So Mother Shari- I would be more than happy to build you a house of stone and timber to replace the one of bricks that you lost. And don’t worry about anything that you lost, I will see to it that you are given at least twice what you have previously lost. Thank you Mom for doing the right thing by taking her in.” Drad declared as he grasped her hands and comforted her. 

“So, I have an announcement. Since Shadi and Baka had girls and that no one from Zash’s male line survived, as Tar’s First Commander of Captains, I hereby take the position of Warchief and I appoint Sarg as my Warlord and we will claim the neutral land that is just south of Hurricane Breaker and North of here since Rhosland and Esri are in a peace treaty with them. Since that land already gave us so much, it will give us more- still. And all those who did not get to take back their bride gifts to Rhosland and Esri are free to do so now that they are back. But know that if you do, you will not be welcome in Stormbreaker which is the clan I will be starting there, and all those that did and had a hand in burning down Shari’s house, will also not be welcome in Stormbreaker either and you will reap such unforgivable disrespect and never again will such things ever be permitted let alone tolerated.” Drad announced as Rhos had never been more proud of him as Esri and Rhosland put the tanned bear hide over their mother and comforted her and gave her, her fair share of the dragon’s horde.

Then Shari told her daughters exactly who had come and wanted what they gave back and remembered still who had given what before Esri and Rhosland spitefully got all of it out of their row boats and rafts and forced it back into the hands of those who had given it  in the first place and wanted it back even though the others, out of fear of Drad and Sarg and their new announcement had tried to go back on their word and their previous choices before Rhos and Esri simply let the gifts fall to the ground at the giver’s feet and wanted nothing to do with them before they unloaded everything else into Grat’s house which she didn’t have that big of a house to begin with but all of them did their best to squeeze themselves and all that they had foraged and hunted into it as Esri and Rhos gave Orcoth, Grat and Shari some of the dragon bone powder as it healed Orcoth immediately so that he did not have to limp as Shari and Grat both seemed to regain some of their youth and vigor and soundness of mind and body. 

“I tried to tell the clan that all of you were still alive and well but they didn’t believe me, but I think they will now.” Orcoth noted to Drad and Sarg who had readily accepted Sarg as his father also while they feasted on the smoked and preserved venison’s tenderloins and backstraps, the best parts of the venison along with the mushrooms and other foods that they had managed to forage for.  

“You should take Rhos home with you and prove to the whole clan that you’re verile though Warchief Drad.” Orcoth suggested to Drad. 

“Oh he already did.” Rhos laughed as she blushed prettily and beamed happily. 

“But he needs to prove it to everyone else. Here, burn this in the fireplace. It will help Warchieftess.” Orcoth said to Rhosland as he gave her a small sack of incense. 

“Come on, let’s show Shadi and Baka how it’s done at least.” Drad grinned giddily with a wink that made Rhos blush even harder.

“Ok fine.” Rhos agreed before she hugged everyone goodbye and took what meager possessions that her mother was able to save as Drad carried their portion of the food and other belongings to his own home that was close to Shadi’s and Baka’s house since he was the First Commander of Captains, he had the “privilege” of having a house close to Tar’s as they noticed that Rhos and Esri’s boat was now empty boats and rafts getting filled with the previous gifts that they had been given along with even more gifts and notes of deepest and most sincere apologies before Drad built a good fire in his stone fireplace before Rhos threw in small handful of incense into the fire and noticed the smell was heavenly as her whole body immediately reacted to it and she felt her whole body relax and her spirit soar and become happy as Drad then reverently made love to her with so much love and passion that Rhos lost count of how many times she had accepted her pleasure from him as the incense helped her forget all about the clan around them and Drad encouraged her to not hold back but to moan and keen and cry out in ecstacy as loud as she wanted so that he could make no mistake if he was truly pleasing her and quietly made her promise and swear to never fake her pleasure with him which she was all too happy to do as she was so overwhelmed with bliss she would have agreed to just about anything he asked of her. 

Come morning, Shadi and Baka were disgusted that they had to endure the sounds of Rhos’ and Esri’s love making and demanded that Drad and Sarg take all who wanted to follow them with them but that they needed to leave sooner than later, while anyone who wanted to stay true to Skull Screamer was welcome to stay but that anyone from Skull Screamer that left to join Stormbreaker were never going to be welcome back again when Stormbreaker failed and imploded as Rhos readily agreed to those terms as an equal Warchieftess to Shadi with the stipulation that any from Skull Screamer who wished to come into Stormbreaker would first need to make their peace with herself, her sister and especially their mother before they would be welcomed into Stormbreaker as this was announced in Skull Screamer’s town hall for the whole clan to hear. 

It took another week for everyone to pack all of their things and break their houses down to reuse the lumber and load them onto new boats they built themselves but over three quarters of Skull Screamer left to join Stormbreaker as Drad and Rhos used the stones from the Dragon’s own old lair as the foundation stones for their own house since just nearby was the wild rose bush that would take up the front yard of the home and easily pushed the stones over to make a large, surprisingly flat and even foundation that had plenty of space to dig down to make a root cellar and have a lovely inner courtyard where the original tree that had been growing from the dragon’s chest still stood. 

Others in the clan followed suit, using the very large but smooth stones from the rivers and streams to first dig down to set the foundation stones securely then build up with more stone and motar made from the clay from the little islands as they redirected all the little side streams into the main river and used the forrest of stone timbers to use for their houses before they all happily made new markers and marked out their territory, leaving a little space between Hurricane Breaker to the North, and Skull Screamer to the South and Bone Crusher to the East. 

Rhos and Esri were pleased to learn that Captain Tilge was now Warchieftess Tilge since she led the victory over Skull Screamer and between Tilge and Rhos, they made their own peace and alliance that Drad and Tilge’s husband Warchief Murzol agreed to as well as Rhos readily offered a good sized cutting of the wild rose bush to Tilge and a cutting of the Butternut Bush as well as a cutting of the tree that was in the dragon’s cave and gave them to Tilge to plant in her own home’s garden so that she could continue to have the wild rose scented soap and the fruits of the tree as Tilge taught Rhos how to make it herself and many other kinds of soap as well which Rhos readily learned and took to heart as Tilge and Rhos exchanged seeds and seedlings and saplings for the gardens of Stormbreaker and Hurricane Breaker. 

While Rhos and Drad were still living in Drad’s re-erected home on Stormbreaker’s territory next to their new home that they were building on top of the dragon’s lair, while they both worked on cutting down stone timbers to construct their new house over the stones. No sooner had they fell the first tree before a storm blew in but didn’t topple any tents or other homes but when the storm cleared, they found a fleet of ships moored and marooned on the shore of their beach that they had claimed. 

The crews of the ship were sick with scurvy and other ailments and close to death, had all the older commanding officers die from the sickness, just leaving the younger, newer orcish sailors who were barely bigger than grunts left alive. Drad offered them a choice, give up the vessels and all their cargo and they would be welcome into Stormbreaker’s clan and Rhos and Esri would use what was left the fruits and bone powder to heal them. Which the younger orcs readily accepted but they immediately knew that the fruit was known as Dragon Heart Fruit. It usually only grew on the islands that were the birthplace of dragons in the world after the convergence of the spheres and that dragons often came back to the islands to mate every so often and always had at least one seed of the fruit in their gut and when they died somewhere in the world, often the seed would sprout in a dragon’s dead guts, close to it’s heart so that it always looked like the tree sprouted from the dragon’s chest and the fruit was vaguely heart shaped and did best when planted in a gut pile of another animal when not planted as a cutting or sapling. And was famed for it’s taste along with it’s nutritional value and it’s ability to heal as well. 

The sailor orcs did not know where they were, only where they were from and have a vague where they were going and had lost their maps in the storms and their cargo was actually the goods to go into a palace of a king. And so Rhos and Drad got the first picks of all the cargos as Rhos put a special piece of paper with a mark to tag all that she wanted from all the holds, then Esri and Sarg were given their turn to stake claim to what they wanted, then Orcoth, as Stormbreaker’s shaman was given his pick of what he wanted and then Shari and Grat were also given their picks of whatever they wanted from the holds and the rest was given to the rest of the clan including the young orcish sailors who were excited to claim the goods they had coveted all this time, especially the large barrels of spices that were distributed to everyone in the clan evenly, except for Drad and Rhos who each got a triple portion, being Warchief and Warchieftess. Sarg and Esri, Orcoth, Shari and Grat were all individually given double portions as well to signify their high status as Orcoth happily claimed Grat and Shari as his wives, each of them equal in his eyes and in his heart and loved and cared for them the same way Drad cared for Rhos and the same way Sarg cared for Esri as both Shari and Grat were happy to finally have a husband who cared for them and took care of them they way they had always wanted and needed but never could manage before. 

Drad insisted that the first house to be built and finished should be Orcoth’s as his father and shaman which Orcoth happily accepted and Drad made good on his promise that both his mother and Shari both received more than double of whatever they had lost, the replacements being of much better and finer qualities than what Shari had previously lost as their house was built right next door to Drad and Rhosland’s house, Drad and Rhosland’s house being the second house to be built and finished and furnished and thanks to som ingenuity on Rhosland’s part, the foundations were stone, the floors, tiled, the walls were of stone timbers but covered in special oil and tar to preserve the timbers and then covered with a special plastar that had been in a powdered form in barrels on the ships. That once it mixed with water- became a white paste that she and others used to coat the walls and the cielings and then used the paint powders to mix special batches of plastar to paint all the rooms inside and outside the room, the most beautiful vivd colors as the house was now large enough to have dozens of rooms and a courtyard with it’s own special garden on the inside and a medicine garden and food garden on the outside, the wild rose bush being cut into two, so that she had wild rose bushes on either side of the front porch of her house and even used the special glass domes that were on the ships as skylights in her own house and even made a second story and a roof with walls and ledges and built in benches and the little stream that had been flowing into the original dragon’s cave served as her home’s own personal plumbing line to get water in and out of the house. Happy that her own years of having a mud and mudbrick house serving as the finest teacher to help her build her new house to exactly how she wanted it as Drad was only all too happy to help her realize her dream and fell in love with the sheer beauty of it all and it only served to show off how much of a beautiful person inside and out that he married and once it was done, it was just as much of a work of art as it was a home as others took what was left to decorate and build their own homes in such ways, happy to have bright, beautiful colors to decorate their homes that the warm tones of wood only accented and accentuated as they noticed the homes now had naturally warming properties in the cooler weather and cooling properties in the warmer weather. 

Sarg and Esri claimed the best captain’s quarters on the best ship as their home as once all the cargo was unloaded and the ships renovated into big fishing boats and docks were built on the beach so that the ships could anchor and be pulled up to the piers and decks and helped build a lighthouse and then the whole clan helped everyone else build their own homes all while Rhos’ and Esri’s baby bumps grew in size every day as the Shaman was adamant that Rhos and Esri were both definitely carrying sons. 

Meanwhile Shadi and Baka were fighting a losing battle. More and more of the remaining few clan members of Skull Screamer stayed because Shadi and Baka ruled and behaved in the same way they had always done which now that they didn’t have the Clan Cheif and his eldest son backing them, now others did not hide their offense to their behavior and when Shadi and Baka tried simply taking what they wanted and what they felt they were owed, for the first time in their lives- it was denied to them. 

Especially once the fleet of ships ran aground in Stormbreaker’s territory and Stormbreaker had effectively more than tripled in size and multiplied in wealth and success, to the point that the young sailors happily took on the widows and previous children of the fallen warriors of Skull Screamer after they grew bigger into full grown adults and after the widows had made amends to Rhos, Esri and especially to Shari as the widows were happy that instead of daughters being seen as a disappointment, but instead that every child was precious, they had no desire to go back to Skull Screamer. 

Plus Rhos and Esri were the opposite of Shadi and Baka. Where Shadi and Baka were domineering and demanding, Rhos and Esri simply asked how they could help each family be successful, from having full gardens with all the medicinal and flavorfull herbs and other produce to each house having at least one if not several dragon heart trees growing. Using the gut piles of the all the kills of the game to plant the seeds themselves along with Butternut saplings and wild rose saplings and to never take whatever they wanted but only when the family’s needs and wants were met, if the family truly wanted to give anything as “tribute” they would accept it but never demand it and such behavior endeared them to the whole clan as Drad, Rhos, Sarg and Esri all encouraged each family to really pursue their interests and passions and took to fishing and trading instead of raiding as almost every woman in the clan now had at least one necklace of fine pearls each woman had collected from the shellfish in the waters of the river and the sea. 

The sailors especially took after Drad’s example, along with Sarg’s and Orcoth’s and cared very lovingly and respectfully of their wives and adopted children since Drad always treated Rhos with the utmost care, respect and dignity so that all that was left of Skull Screamer now was Shadi, Baka and their mothers and their daughters, all living under Zash’s old, and by now, very leaky roof as all that was left was now their home and the clan’s old townhall, which had stood empty, unused and now forgotten as it was abundantly clear that the old prophecy was true, that Skull Screamer would fall when under the guidance of a lone Clan Cheiftess or Warchieftess with no Clan Cheif or Warchief. 

Once Rhos and Esri both went into labor at about the same time and both gave birth to sons- who Drad and Rhosland named their son Brock and Sarg and Esri named their son Cugas as both boys were almost identical and had heard that all who got to see them praised how big and healthy and handsome both baby boys were before even more babies were born the clan and much rejoicing took place. 

Shadi and Baka had to humble themselves and admit defeat. They were almost out of food, soap, clothing, wood for their cooking fires and hearth even after taking down the other remaining houses and using them as fuel for their fires and what was left of all the gardens and thus- out of options. And came for Brock and Cugas’ birth festivals when they were one month old and out of danger and came wearing the best garments they had left to offer Rhos and Esri congratulations and to see Brock and Cugas who were themselves the most handsome baby boys they had ever seen because they both took after their mothers but they could still clearly see some of Drad’s and Sarg’s strong and handsome features in their sons. 

“We have come on this most blessed day to offer our congratulations and a truce.” Shadi began. 

“What was wrong with the agreement we agreed on a year ago?” Rhos asked curiously as she sat in her rocking chair on her porch and rocked Brock who slept blissfully away in her arms as Esri was next to her and also sitting in a rocking chair doing the same to Cugas, each woman having special puffed quilts over them and their sons. 

“Skull Screamer has fallen, all that is left of it is us. And if you do not help us, we and our daughters will die of starvation, we can find no fish or any game or anything to eat on Skull Screamer’s lands. And all those who had at first agreed to stay true to Skull Screamer have left it to join the greater Stormbreaker and seeing it’s success, we can not blame them and we hold no grudge against them or you. In fact, if you will agree to help us, we give up all rights to all of Skull Screamer’s lands to Stormbreaker, and all we ask in exchange is a place in Clan Stormbreaker. And a space to have a home.” Shadi explained as she bowed her head submissively. 

“But since we are the warchieftess’ and warlordess’ won’t you take us into your home? We will happily submit to Rhos as Warchieftess and or Esri as Warlordess and be second and or third wives to them, just like they were going to be to us had Tar survived.” Baka pleaded as Rhos gave Drad a meaningful look as he gave her a reassuring smile from his place next to her before he got up from his chair and stood on his porch above them and crossed his arms over his chest, still wearing that dragon scale armor proudly. 

“I, Clan Chief Warchief Drad of Stormbreaker do accept all of Skull Screamer’s lands from your hands, and since you all have humbled yourselves to come and ask, you are now welcome to stay as clan members of Clan Stormbreaker. However, I will never let you into my home or my household because I will never tolerate any disrespect to my Clan Cheiftess Warchieftess Rhosland, who is my wife, my mate, my better half and my greatest friend and ally. Because lest you forget, I was there, sitting in the grasses when you came to Rhosland a year ago, to offer her- her own tributes to you- as your bride gifts to her - when Tar had announced that he would have her then but never got a chance to fully claim her. And I listened as both of you threatened Rhosland with death by drowning if she ever tried to usurp you or come between you and Warlord Tar. And I will never tolerate any threat or disrespect in any way, shape or form to her. And I honestly do not trust either you or your mothers to not harm Rhosland or her mother or sister or especially our son or Esri’s son who are still young and could still fall victim to you.” Drad leveled as Shadi and Baka both balked at him and stared in terror at him and flushed with shame or embarrassment. 

“We did no such thing!” Shadi insisted. 

“My girl is a good girl, she would never do that!” Shadi’s mother insisted. 

“Really? Because I was there with Esri, also sitting in the grasses, out of your sight but well within hearing range, as you came and put those bracelets on her wrists and threatened her with similar things, are you calling the Clan Cheif Warchief and the Warlord of Clan Stormbreaker liars?” Sarg challenged angrily as he stood up and stood next to his brother and took a similar stance, with his arms crossed over his chest, standing between them and his own beloved wife. 

“Shaman Orcoth, would you please shed light on this matter and make things clear for the whole clan?” Drad invited as he looked over at the other rocking chairs on his porch which Orcoth, Shari and Grat had taken up as Shari and Grat were still knitting baby clothes for their grandsons.  

“Of course Warchief Drad. It would be my pleasure.” Orcoth grinned as he cast a spell and showed the whole thing, including all the cursing Shadi and Baka had done on the way too and from meeting with Esri and Rhosland as the whole clan gasped and murmured as they watched in horror the way Baka and Shadi were so domineering and just awful and led the attack on Shari and her humble old house and Grat’s kindness and compassion in saving Shari and what meager possessions she could before the show ended before Shadi and Baka’s mothers took the babes from their daughter’s arms and forced Shadi and Baka to kneel and bow down on their hands and knees with their foreheads touching the ground and started yelling and berating their “wicked” daughters for behaving so indecently and disrespectfully and pleaded for Drad and Sarg to show mercy and leniency on account of Baka’s and Shadi’s daughters who had started to cry by now which woke up Cugas and Brock and got them to start crying as well which upset Rhosland and Esri along with Drad and Sarg as Esri and Rhosland did all they could to comfort and console their sons as they brought their sons into Rhosland’s house to take a rest on the wonderfully comfortable couches that had been put there. 

“What do you think we should do?” Drad asked Rhosland. 

“Well now that everyone effectively knows that they are a bunch of liars. No one will trust them not to fall into the same pattern of behavior. But at the same time, their daughters have no choice in who their mothers are and they are still young and they shouldn’t have to suffer on account of their mothers. So let’s let them stay, but a very far distance away from our home, let them keep their old home, and they can turn it into a brothel for all I care.” Rhos answered him. 

“Agreed.” Esri grinned. 

“Agreed.” Sarg grinned too. 

“Very well.” Drad nodded before he came back out to see that everyone was still there, waiting to see how Drad would react and how he would respond. 

“On account of your daughters, who should not have to suffer on their mother’s account. You are allowed to be members of Clan Stormbreaker and you are allowed to either remain in your old house, or you may choose to rebuild here, that is your choice. But I warn any man in Stormbreaker from taking either of you as a bride, for no man would want such a wife as what you two have proven yourselves to be. Use whatever talents you have to earn your living here. And if you have none, then you can always turn your old home into a tavern which would be helpful, or possibly a brothel which in that case, neither Sarg or myself will ever use, your choice.” Drad announced as Baka and Shadi gasped in horror before their mothers slapped their hands over their daughter’s mouths to keep them from saying anything more. 

“A tavern it will be then, thank you Clan Chief Warchief Drad.” Shadi’s mother graciously accepted on her daughter’s behalf as their old friends agreed to help build them before Drad went back into his house to be with his family and disbursed everyone so they could go about their day. 

“So, a tavern it is.” Rhosland grinned since she could hear from the window in the wall. 

“Yup, the first, of hopefully many.” Drad smiled before he sat next to his wife and enveloped her in a hug and kissed her sweetly as they both looked down at their son who was now awake and cooing softly to both of his parents. 

“Just one thing, you’re not allowed to marry Shadi’s or Baka’s daughters when you grow up unless they are nothing like their mothers and you really, truly love them.” Rhosland told Brock which got Drad to laugh before Esri repeated that to Cugas too before there was a knock on the door and Drad got up to answer it before he found one of Sarg’s first mate. 

“Warlord Sarg, there is a small merchant ship, that is trying to go up river to a city further up river, it’s requesting assistance in help guiding the ship up the river to the next clan’s lands, they are headed to the mountains in the east, said that there are towns called colonies in the mountains that they are trying to sell their goods to and are willing to pay us a fee of gold now and another fee in gold on the way out if we are willing to do it.” He reported before Drad and Sarg shared a meaningful look and both nodded to each other.  

“Hell yeah, that’s an easy yes.” Sarg easily agreed before he got up and left the house to direct the other sailors on the shore to guide the ships using ropes on the shoreline to maneuver through the twisting and winding river before more and more merchant ships came to do the same, grateful that there was now a settlement here so that they could simply pay these orcs a small fee both to and from the mountain colony of Suchi as they brought in their vessels full of goods and would leave, having the boats laden with heaps of gold, happy and grateful that they didn’t have to use Hurricane Breaker’s river because Hurricane Breaker was bigger and stronger and demanded to inspect them and their cargo and demanded a portion of the goods, usually the best ones and half of all that they had, and a half portion of the gold the remaining half of the goods sold for at Suchi’s sister colony Twilla that their rivier eventually led to. And for just a flat fee, they could now make more money using this new clan of Stormbreaker and sell whatever didn’t sell at Suchi as part of their fee too. 

And thus was the beginning of Stormbreaker. 

[hellsbellschime]

Viserys & Bran were the same age when forced out of their homes. Why is it okay for Bran to take back his ancestral home and declare himself King but not Viserys?

Well first off Bran isn’t actually working on taking back his ancestral home or making himself king, so jot that down, and I find it interesting that you sort of moved the goalposts to create an analogy that sort of works (but still really doesn’t) instead of just actually comparing what’s actually happening to what’s actually happening? Like, if Viserys wanted to return home and just return home then that would be fine, but he was planning a foreign invasion that would have put enormous stress on Westeros and would have resulted in thousands of innocent people being raped, tortured, and murdered for the sake of his throne. If any one of the Starks were actually doing something like that I’d be against that as well. However, what Viserys was planning is now irrelevant because he’s dead, and the problem is that Dany who has no real connection to Westeros has just co-opted it for herself. 

At present Bran doesn’t seem to have a fuck to give about Winterfell or the North or what’s going on in the south because he’s on his whole Bloodraven vision quest, and the only Starks who seem to have even an inkling of returning to Winterfell are Jon and Sansa. Jon wants to go back to save Arya and has already rejected a position of power in the North because he believes it’s not his to take, and Sansa basically just wants to go home. 

And aside from the fact that none of the Starks are actually angling for the throne or even a position of power (the only one who has even spared a thought to becoming the “heir” to Winterfell is Sansa, and that is only because she’s hyper-aware of the fact that everyone is using her for her claim), the huge distinction here is that the people who ARE in power in the North are treating everyone in the North abhorrently. Luckily for the Starks, any desire that they have to take back their home coincides with something that will be massively beneficial for the people of the North, because they’re going to suffer horribly under the control of the Boltons, and to a lesser extent the Freys and Lannisters. The difference between Viserys’ goal and the aims of the Starks is that Viserys would be bringing his murderous pillaging and raping army to Westerosi shores to regain “his throne,” whereas the Starks would be defeating the murderous pillaging and raping army that has overtaken their home, and none of them seems particularly keen on “taking the throne” of the North. Not to mention, Robb didn’t ever take a crown like the Targaryens did, he was given it. Whoever ends up ruling the North now will also be given it. I have a very hard time believing that you don’t see that distinction, and I find it interesting that even when you tried to rewrite the narrative in order to make the aims of the Starks and Targaryens equal they are still pretty diametrically opposed to each other.

[bktynes-writes]

As per the fantastic advice of the wonderful and amazing Mallory, @valleydean, I made some graphics for my fic, The Blood Of The Covenant. It’s a long, slow burn, Mafia AU, and I have no idea where it’s gonna end up, but I hope you’ll all reblog and join me for the ride. Here is the summary, and the first chapter is under the cut. Read on Ao3.

The Blood Of The Covenant The Winchester Dynasty will never fall.

At least, that’s what John and Mary, heads of the most powerful crime family in the city believe. They have built their empire from nothing, and are willing to do whatever it takes to maintain their control.

When a new family, the Novaks, threaten the delicate balance of power they have maintained for years, the eldest son, Dean, is tasked with infiltrating the ranks of the Novak’s organization to destroy them from the inside.

Dean has always been a soldier in his parent’s wars, never questioning where his loyalties lie, but when he comes face to face with Castiel Novak, one of the sons of the family threatening to destroy his own, he wonders if maybe there could be more to life than he believed. Maybe this blue-eyed stranger can offer him the ticket out he never knew he wanted.

They say that the blood of the covenant runs thicker than the water of the womb, but how do you turn your back on family? Will Dean choose love over loyalty? Will he leave behind all he’s ever known? Or are he and Castiel destined to just be pawns in the war for power that rules the city’s underworld?

Chapter 1: Dinner

The city at night always had a certain charm about it that Dean couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe it was the way everything lit up a bit more or the fact that the darkness hid the grime that clung to every surface like a second skin, but the alleyways and culverts of the buildings seemed more inviting when they were filled with shadow.

He loved this city. Every dirty stairwell, every seedy bar, every doorway that led to nowhere, Dean knew them all. He had grown up on these streets, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The sound of a car horn brought him back to reality, pulling him out of his nostalgic reverie and into the moment. He looked down at his dress shoes, sparkling in the neon lights against the damp pavement, and smiled. If there was one thing Dean Winchester knew how to do, it was dress to impress. His father had instilled in him that first impressions were important at a very young age, and how a man looks could change the direction of any transaction.

Tonight was the first Sunday of the month, which meant dinner with the Family at Cain’s. Dean never looked forward to these dinners - he found them to be mundane - but as the eldest son of the most powerful crime family in the city, he knew his mother and father expected him to attend.

Thus, he found himself in his best suit, pulling open the restaurant’s glass door and striding past the host stand like he owned the place. The young woman there gave him a nervous look, and he shot her his most charming smile, causing her to duck her head as a deep red blush crept up her cheeks. He passed by the other tables and made his way to the back of the restaurant, pointedly ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him from the other patrons. He was used to this behaviour. Anyone who was anyone in the city recognized the Winchesters, and their reputation preceded them.

He made his way past the kitchen, stopping briefly to say hello to Cain, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Dean!” Cain exclaimed, turning around and pulling him into a rib-crushing hug. “I didn’t think you were gonna show! Everyone else is already here.”

Dean laughed. In another life, he would have called him a friend.

But Winchesters didn’t have friends.

“Yeah, I figured they would be.” He said. “What can I say? Fashionably late is kinda my style.” He shrugged and smiled.

“That’s my boy, always gotta make an entrance.” Cain beamed at him. “They’re in the back room. I’ll get your usual added to the order. Hurry up before your dad tears a strip off you!”

“Thanks, Cain,” Dean said. He ducked past him and headed to the very back of the dining room.

Dean could now see the usual suspects gathered around their regular table. He spotted Bobby gruffly speaking to Ellen Harvelle and her daughter Jo. The Harvelles were powerful associates who owned many of the bars and rest stops along the freeway into the city, and Dean’s father liked to keep them close because he had been friends with Ellen’s late husband, Bill.

Ellen was a good source of information for the family. People let information slip that they shouldn’t after a few rounds of shots at one of Ellen’s roadhouses, and she and Jo had ears like bats. Dean was pretty sure the main reason she was included in these clandestine meetings of the family, though, is that his parents, despite their vehement claims otherwise, were a little bit afraid of her. He couldn’t blame them. He had grown up with Jo and, despite being six years older, had had his ass handed to him more times than he could count by the feisty blonde.

Dean chuckled to himself at the memory as he slid quietly into the seat next to his younger brother, Sam.

“You’re late,” stated the younger of the Winchester brothers, his arm draped lazily across his girlfriend Jessica’s shoulders.

“Yeah, I was over at the mill. Gordon owes us and is being…difficult.” He reached for the bottle of wine that sat on the table and filled his glass. He wasn’t usually a fan of wine, but Cain always brought out the good bottles for these meetings, and when he didn’t have to pay, it would be rude to refuse.

“Dad is gonna be pissed.” Said Sam, finishing his own glass and holding it out for Dean to refill.

“No, he won’t,” Dean replied, pouring too much wine into his brother’s glass. “He knows how Gordon is. He’ll just be glad I didn’t break too many of his fingers to get him to agree to pay his dues.”

“Whatever you say, Dean,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes. He ran his fingers through his absurdly long hair, and Dean found himself itching to strap his brother into a barber’s chair and order a buzz cut.

A clink of cutlery against glass brought the assembly to silence and drew everyone’s attention to the man standing at the head of the table. John Winchester was an imposing figure at the best of times, and his broad shoulders, clad in the threads of his fine Italian suit, added to his commanding demeanour. His neatly trimmed beard was flecked with grey, as was the perfectly slicked hair on his head. He stood with pride and demanded the respect of those around him with ease.

“Now that my son has finally decided to grace us with his presence, we can call this meeting to order,” John spoke with an air of distaste directed solely at Dean.

“Ah, you know me pops, better late than never,” Dean said nonchalantly. Sam was right; John was pissed.

“Indeed,” said his father coolly.

Dean tuned out most of the ensuing conversations. It was the typical discussion of territory, who was responsible for handling the gang activity on the west side, who was collecting from which businesses for protection owed and whether or not they had paid (Dean received a small nod of approval from John when he informed the table that Gordon would no longer be causing issues).

When the food came, Dean was treated to the most delicious looking plate of carbonara he had ever seen. Cain truly did know the way to his heart. Before he had the chance to dig in, a noise from the opposite end of the table drew everyone’s attention.

A beautiful woman with wavy brown hair rose from the table, and Dean rolled his eyes, huffing dramatically into his chair. Bela Talbot was always trying to draw attention to herself at these meetings, and tonight would be no exception. She wasn’t, strictly speaking, part of the Family, but she was part of a necessary evil alliance that the Winchesters had forged years ago to have hands in the art trade, and Dean had found her to be nothing but a nuisance ever since.

Her words dripped with a caramel sweetness, and despite his intense dislike of the woman, Dean couldn’t help but stare at her as she spoke.

“John. Mary. Dear Winchester Family. It has come to my attention that there appears to be a new family on the North shore. They arrived from New Jersey about six weeks ago and have been a thorn in my side ever since.” She scowled.

“Why hasn’t it been dealt with, Bela?” Asked Sam. “The North shore is your territory, isn’t it?” Sam was flexing his powers a little bit, addressing Bela that way. Usually, it would be up to John to chastise her for not taking care of a threat to their operations, but Dean could see the look of pride in his father’s eyes at Sam stepping in so willingly.

Bela’s face tinged pink slightly at the admonishing tone in Sam’s voice, and she puffed her cheeks out before speaking out again. “Under regular circumstances, Samuel, I would, but it seems that these Novaks are a bit better at playing cat and mouse than I would have anticipated.”

“Novak?” Dean snorted. “What is that, Polish?”

Bela glared at him. “I believe it’s Serbian, actually.”

Dean shrugged and twisted his fork idly in his pasta, hoping she would get to the point before it got cold. Sam continued to address her. “What’s the problem, Bela?”

“They’ve taken out three of my warehouses since their arrival, and the attendance at both the craps game and the pool hall is down by thirty-two percent.” She sighed, and Dean perked up. He almost wanted to shake the hand of anyone who could cause Bela this much distress, but this was clearly an attack on the family’s assets. “Half the shops on Arthur Street aren’t paying their fees because the Novaks have started charging them, and when I sent Ruby over to persuade them, she came back bloody and threatening to skip town.”

Dean’s smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Ruby was savage in the art of ‘persuasion,’ and he could hardly imagine anyone getting the better of her. He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. A new family trying to start a war with the Winchesters? The last time that had happened, Dean was a teenager, and, much to his dismay, his parents had insisted he not be involved. He had watched helplessly from inside the Catholic boy’s school his father had shipped him to, as his people were shot in the street.

But Dean was in his thirties now, and the prospect of war looming on the horizon made him giddy with anticipation.

Mary Winchester, who had been quietly observing her husband and sons until this point, suddenly cleared her throat, which made all the men at the table sit up a little straighter. She was a fierce-looking woman with high cheekbones, a square jaw, and deep eyes, all framed by locks of cascading blonde curls. It was easy to see where her sons had gotten their charming good looks from.

She sat forward and touched her husband’s forearm gently. “Bela. While I’m sure the loss of your warehouses is devastating, no one would be foolish enough to start a war with our family.” She smiled. “And if Ruby and the girls from Rowena’s can’t handle what is being asked of them, then perhaps it is time to remind them who it is they work for. I’m sure Sam and Dean would be happy to deal with the Novaks, right boys?”

Sam nodded at his mother, and Dean could feel his excitement bubbling. He looked to his brother and saw a dark glint in his eye. The two of them together were unstoppable.

“Anything for you, mother,” Dean said, and he basked in her pride.

“Wonderful,” John said, clapping his hands together, dispelling the tension surrounding the table, and causing Bela to sink back into her seat as her concerns were dismissed. “Now, let’s eat before the food goes cold.”

The rest of the evening dissolved into easy conversation amongst the members of the meeting. Sam laughed wildly at Bobby’s account of a man who he had once held over a woodchipper for his disrespect, even though he had told the story a hundred times. Mary and John spoke quietly with Jessica about her parents and how thrilled they were that her contacts on Broadway would benefit the Winchester dynasty. Dean occupied himself by kicking Jo under the table and watching her face go from mildly irritated to genuinely annoyed as she tried to maintain a discussion with her mother about liquor importing.

When the food and wine had been consumed, John stood again and waited patiently for the conversations to cease. “Thank you all for joining us this evening.” He spoke warmly to everyone. “I trust to see you all again next month.” A chorus of murmured agreement rippled through those assembled. John raised his glass, and everyone else followed suit. “To the family.” He toasted and drained the remaining wine from his glass.

The sound of chairs scraping back from the table filled the small dining room as the Winchesters and their associates made to leave. They passed the other patrons, enjoying their meals and trying obviously not to stare as the finely dressed men and women filed out the front door, thanking Cain with handshakes and smiles as they left.

Dean stepped into the street and stretched, breathing the exhaust soaked air deeply into his lungs and once again being reminded of just how much he loved this city. A large hand dropped heavily onto his shoulder, and he turned to find his gargantuan little brother towering next to him.

“You wanna come over for a beer?” Sam asked casually.

“Nah, man, I was thinking about heading over to Lee’s,” Dean said. His head was foggy from the wine, and he needed some real liquor to bring his senses back.

Sam scowled. “You know, Dad doesn’t like you going out without protection.”

“Always keep a condom in my wallet, Sammy.” Dean winked, and Sam rolled his eyes dramatically.

“That’s not what I mean.” He said. “If Bela is right and the Novaks are looking to start a war, none of us should be going anywhere alone.”

“Oh, is Sam freaking Winchester scared of a few Jersey boys?” Dean snarked at his brother, punching him in the arm playfully. “I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s Lee’s bar. I’m basically royalty there.”

Jessica appeared at Sam’s side and snaked her arm around his waist. She really was beautiful, far too good for his brother. Dean sometimes wished he had met her first, but he shook the thoughts from his mind. Sam was happy with Jess, and that’s what he deserved.

“Your parents invited us over to look over the blueprints of the new hotel, honey.” She said. “Dean, will you be joining us?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart, but hey, tell 'em to put one of those fancy water features in like they’ve got in Vegas,” Dean replied sarcastically.

Jess smiled at him. “You ready, Sam?”

“Uh, yeah, one second. Why don’t you go ahead with Mom and Dad? I’ll meet you at the car.” Sam said. He rubbed his hand across her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her sweetly. Jess cast one more smile at Dean before turning back down the sidewalk to where Mary and John stood waiting.

“What’s up, Sammy?” Dean asked. He knew there was a reason his brother was holding him back.

Sam stepped closer to Dean and quickly looked over his shoulder before shoving his hand into his pocket and producing a small black velvet box. “I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I can’t help myself.” He said, opening the box. Inside was a beautiful diamond engagement ring. The center stone was massive and cut into the shape of a teardrop. On each side were two smaller diamonds, surrounded by a cluster of sparkling rubies. “I’m gonna ask Jess to marry me.”

Dean laughed out loud. “Holy shit, Sam!” He blurted out loudly and pulled his brother into a hug.

“Shhh!” Sam warned. “Keep your voice down! I don’t even know if she’ll say yes.”

Dean scoffed. “Of course she’ll say yes! You two have been together, what, forever?” He grinned. “Although, if she does say no, you can tell her I’m available.”

Sam smacked him around the head, and Dean laughed. “Alright, have fun at Lee’s. Call Benny if there’s any trouble.”

Dean waved over Sam’s shoulder at John, Mary, and Jess, and gave his brother a nod before turning and heading down the dark sidewalk in the direction of Lee Webb’s bar.

Swayze’s was more than a few blocks from Cain’s place, but Dean didn’t mind the walk. He’d left his car at home after visiting Gordon this afternoon, and he enjoyed the refreshing night air against his face. The downtown lights glared into the sky through the ever-present smog rising from the city, and Dean hummed a little to himself as he walked. This was his city. The Winchesters owned these streets. He knew one day, the empire his mother and father had built would fall to him and Sam to manage, but that time was a long way off. John would never relinquish control of the family assets to his sons while he still drew breath, and without any heirs of their own to ensure the continuation of the dynasty, that was even less likely.

Dean smiled to himself, thinking of the ring currently sitting in Sam’s pocket. Jess would be an excellent addition to the family. Her parents were both high profile talent agents on Broadway with a lot of influence there and in Hollywood. There had never been a reason for the Winchesters to get into theatre, but he knew they wouldn’t turn down the opportunity if Jess said yes to Sam tonight. His smile faltered slightly. It had been a long time since Dean had been as happy as Sam was now. His last relationship had been with Lisa Braeden, and that had only lasted a few months. She had a young son, Ben, who Dean still saw on occasion, but he had left when things had started to get really serious. He wasn’t going to drag someone else’s kid into this mafioso life. It wasn’t his place.

The truth was, Dean didn’t even know if he wanted kids. He’d thought about it, sure, and his mother had been pressuring him since his mid-twenties to find a nice girl to make babies with, but Dean liked his hang-up free lifestyle. He was happy to carry out orders for his father, help the family, and maybe hustle a few out of town suckers at pool when the mood struck him. Sam was business-minded, and Dean was more than happy to allow his not-so-little little brother to take over for their father when the time came.

Dean had been so deep in his own head that he barely registered when he had arrived at Lee’s. He sat down on a barstool and scanned around the room. Dean sighed contentedly. As he had expected, the bar was devoid of anyone immediately recognizable save for Lee himself.

Dean rapped his knuckles on the bar top to get Lee’s attention. “Who do I gotta gank to get a drink around here, hey buddy?” He said as Lee tossed the towel he had been using to clean a pint glass over his shoulder and turned to Dean. His expression changed from annoyed to ecstatic when he registered who was speaking.

“Dean freaking Winchester.” Lee drawled. “It’s been a while. You too good to come see me anymore?”

Dean grinned. “Never too good for you, Lee.”

“What’ll it be? On the house.” Lee spread his arms, gesturing at the impressive selection of alcohol arranged along the wall behind him.

“Whiskey. Neat.” Dean replied. Lee nodded approvingly, selecting a bottle from the top shelf and pouring a heavy-handed three ounces into a glass. He slid it across the bar to Dean, and he took a sip, letting the liquid burn deliciously in his throat and warm him from the inside out.

“That’s good stuff.” Dean smiled as a low rasp crept into his voice.

“Only the best for you.” Lee matched his tone. “So, what brings you out tonight?”

“Dinner with the family,” Dean replied noncommittally.

“Yeah, you always did hate those.” Lee whipped the towel off his shoulder and picked up another glass, wiping the water from around the rim. “Anything exciting?”

“No, just business as usual. Bela is being a bitch, Bobby’s still telling the same stories he has for the past 20 years…” He paused before taking another sip of his drink. “Oh, and uh, Sammy’s gonna ask Jess to marry him.”

“No shit!” Lee said, his eyebrows rising in mild surprise. “I’d say that’s pretty exciting.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time coming.” Dean chuckled into his glass. “Never seen anybody as happy as those two. Kind of a miracle she hasn’t killed him yet with what a pain in the ass he can be.”

“Ah, you’re only saying that cuz he’s your brother.” Lee laughed.

“Yeah, well, brother or not, he’s still a giant pain.” Dean downed the rest of his drink and tapped the rim for a refill. Lee shook his head but complied.

“You feeling a little jealous there, buddy?” Lee smiled devilishly at him as he set the bottle down on the bar top.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Nothing to be jealous of. I’ve got my life, my health, my family,” he grinned at Lee over the rim of his glass. “And a buddy with a bar. What more could a guy need?”

Lee shook his head but said nothing. Dean appreciated the silence that fell immensely.

The sudden clatter of a barstool hitting the floor drew Dean’s attention to the opposite end of the bar. Two men stood chest to chest, shoving each other back and forth.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?!” One of them exclaimed.

“What’s my problem? What the hell is your problem?!” The other responded, punctuating his words with a shove to the man’s shoulders.

“Hey!” Lee shouted. “Take it outside, boys.”

“Yeah, some of us just wanna drink in peace,” Dean said.

“What the fuck did you just say?” One of the men said to Dean. Having found a common enemy in him, the two men turned towards Dean’s seat and advanced. He drew in a breath, immediately regretting his decision to speak up. They were both much larger than him by a wide margin, and Dean couldn’t help but think to himself ruefully that maybe Sam was right about needing protection.

As he balled his fists, ready to start swinging, he felt someone step into the space at his side.

“I believe both of these fine gentlemen just politely told you inbred walnuts to get lost.” The voice that spoke was low and gravelly, and Dean felt his stomach flip a little at the sound of it. He turned his head to identify the stranger and was met by a tan trenchcoat.

His eyes travelled upwards to the man’s face, and Dean felt his stomach do another small flip. A strong jawline covered in light stubble, slightly chapped pink lips, and tousled black hair were Dean’s first indications that the man suddenly standing next to him was unfamiliar. When the man cocked his head slightly, Dean caught his eye and felt his breath hitch in his chest. Framed by thick, dark eyelashes were a pair of icy blue eyes that Dean very quickly found himself staring at. He looked away as soon as he realized because, as much as he would have loved to stare, the two aggressively drunk men in front of him posed a much more immediate problem.

Returning his attention to them, Dean rose from his seat and drained the remaining liquid from his glass, vaguely registering that Lee had also rounded the bar and was standing behind him.

“Well, fellas. Looks like it’s two against three.” Dean said, gesturing at Lee and the stranger. “Not that I don’t like those odds being in my favour and all, but I’ll give you a chance to walk away before this gets too outta hand.” He heard Lee crack his knuckles and grinned. There was no one in this world Dean would rather have in his corner for a fight than Lee Webb, except maybe Sam.

The two men in front of him hesitated slightly before one of them let out a yell and charged towards Dean.

He reacted in an instant, ducking below the man’s outstretched arms and coming up under his knees to flip him over his back towards Lee. He heard the man hit the ground with a thud as Lee reached down and heaved him back up into the edge of the bar. Dean turned just in time to see the other man following his partner towards him, arms reaching out like some great ape. He didn’t have the forewarning or space to execute the same move, and so he simply ducked out of reach. As the man’s arms closed above his head, he heard the unmistakable sound of a fist colliding with a nose as the cartilage and bone crunched under the force. Glancing to his right, he saw the trenchcoated stranger land a blow directly into the second assailant’s face and smiled to himself. Not bad, he thought.

As the ape staggered back, clutching his now broken nose, blood streaming down between his fingers, Dean stood up and grabbed the man by his shirt. Together, he and Lee shoved the two towards the bar’s door and unceremoniously tossed them into the street.

“Don’t let me catch you goons in here again,” Lee shouted as they took off quickly down the alley.

Dean watched them go and shook his head ruefully. Even at Lee’s, trouble managed to find him. He looked to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Lee said, brushing him off. “Guys like that aren’t a problem. You and I both know I’ve fought worse.”

Dean laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.” They turned to go back inside, and Dean spied the mysterious stranger as he picked up a stool that had fallen over in the scuffle, cradling his right hand against his chest.

“Hey,” Dean called out to him. The man looked up at Dean, and he was pierced by the full intensity of his stare. Those blue eyes, which before had been icy and cold with adrenaline, were now pools of deep ocean blue, and Dean once again felt himself beginning to drown in them. He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that was quickly forming there. “Um, thanks. For that. You, uh, you didn’t have to get involved. Lee and I could have handled it.”

Way to sound ungrateful, Winchester, he kicked himself internally.

The stranger cocked his head to the side as he stared at Dean, his eyebrows knitted together in the most perplexing stare Dean had ever seen. Lee walked up next to him. “Lemme get you some ice for your hand. If that dude’s skull is as thick as it looked, you’re probably hurting pretty bad.” He walked behind the bar and began filling a small bag with ice. “Oh, and your next drink is on me. Dean may not know how to actually say thank you but, we aren’t all as uncivilized.”

Dean felt the heat rising in his cheeks as he sat back in his seat, and Lee refilled his glass, adding a second one for their new friend. “Thank you.” The man said, taking the bag of ice and placing it over his knuckles. He took a small sip of his drink and set it back on the bar top.

Dean shook himself and realized the man was still staring at him, and being under his scrutinizing eyes made Dean fidget uncomfortably. He cleared his throat again. “So, uh, you got a name?” He asked. Then, because Dean was not one to relinquish the upper hand, he plastered on his charming Winchester smile and said, “Or am I just supposed to call you handsome?”

A small smile lifted the corners of the man’s lips as he extended his uninjured hand for Dean to shake.

“Novak.” He said, and Dean felt the colour immediately drain from his face.

“My name is Castiel Novak.”

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part VI

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word count: 1,993

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

The Hound was fighting an unarmed opponent atop the Walls of the Red Keep during a tourney to celebrate your brother’s nameday. He knocked his shield away and the man fell hard into the courtyard below.

You were seated next to Myrcella, Sansa was on the opposite edge, faking smiles to keep the King pleased. You grew closer and closer with each day that passes, so as your feelings.

“Well struck, Dog!” He said out loud.

“Did you like that?” He turned to Sansa. You rolled your eyes.

“It was a well struck, your grace.” She replied.

“I already said it was a well struck.”

She waited a few seconds to confirm. “Yes, your grace.”

“Who’s next?”

“Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish. Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard.” The announcer exclaimed. The last one didn’t appear to be in his five senses. Joffrey gestured him to have more wine, Ser Meryn Trant and another Kingsguard began to pour the liquid down the funnel and the poor knight gurgled and struggled to continue drinking.

“You can’t!” Sansa suddenly shouted before the man collapsed.

“What did you say? Did you say I can’t?”

“I only meant... it would be bad luck to kill a man on your name day.”

“What kind of stupid peasant’s superstition...”

“The girl is right.” Sandor tossed.

“Yes, she is. You’ll reap what you sow on your nameday.” You added.

“He’ll make such a better fool than a knight. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death.” How kind of the northerner to save the life of someone she doesn’t even know. Those small actions make you admire her.

“Did you hear my lady, Ser Dontos? From now on you’ll be my new fool!”

“Thank you, your grace. And you, my lady, thank you.” They took him away.

“Beloved nephew.” Your uncle’s voice made you instantly smile. He was accompanied by multiple men.

“We’ve looked for you on the battlefield. Joffrey sat down. “You where nowhere to be found.”

“I was here, ruling the Kingdoms.” You almost sneer.

“What a fine job you’ve done.” He jokingly said.

“My dear niece! You look older and prettier.” He kissed your forehead. You grinned.

“You look younger and more handsome” He winked.

“Look at you!” He smiled at your sister. “More beautiful than ever.”

“And you! You are going to be bigger than the Hound, but much better looking.” The three of you laughed.

“We’ve heard you were dead.” Joffrey unconcernedly said.

“I’m glad you are not dead.” The little princess assured.

“We’ve missed you. We have to catch up.” He nodded towards you.

“And we will. Death is so boring, especially now with so much excitement in the world.” He looked at Sansa. “My lady, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Her loss? Her father was a confessed traitor!” The blond angrily screamed.

“But still her father. Surely having recently lost your own you can sympathize.” Not his, but yours. You closed your eyes before the grief took over you.

“My father was a traitor. My mother and brother are traitors too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.” All she can do is pretend and say the right words. The loathe she had for him was only getting bigger.

“Of course you are.” Tyrion smirked sympathetically. The redhead looked your way and you gave her a sweet smile.

He left the tent with his group of people ignoring the King’s questions. It’s so good to have your favorite uncle back. You were still concerned about Jaime. Will the Starks trade him for Sansa? It was sure that Robb was not going to come to the capital. Arya was still missing.

You wanted her to be reunited with her family. The other part of you was shattering at the thought of her leaving. If there was an opportunity you would definitely support her, after all, what mattered to you was her safety and happiness, you tried to provide both but nothing can really fill that hole. Not with Joffrey tormenting her. You would be sad but relieved if she left, you couldn’t be selfish.

“Walk with me, my lady.” You offered your arm to Sansa what she gladly accepted.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to steal you.” You quipped and saw she blushed a little. “Would you fancy visiting the streets of the city?”

“Yes, I’d love to.” Two soldiers were accompanying you keeping their distance.

“I remember when I used to wander around the castle in Winterfell. They were all warm to each other.” She seemed to recalled.

“The people who live here... some are happy and some are not. They don’t have enough resources to subsist. They manage to survive.” You gave silver and gold coins to the elder and children who roamed.

“My mother used to tell me... humility makes people great. Envy and selfishness makes them small.”

“And she’s right.” You halted in the market. Spotting the tent you usually go to. They make beautiful things. Such as purses, necklaces, bracelets, etc. They are not made of the finest materials but they are nice and these merchants work really hard.

“Princess Y/N! You honor me with your presence.” The black-haired woman said, a friend of yours.

“Hello, Addy. What did you bring today?

“I have these pins. And the two lions you have it made.” She showed you the wood pieces with flawless details.

“Do you like them, Sansa? Choose the ones you want”

“For my siblings and my mother.” She picked five wolf brooches.

“Thank you very much. Say hello to little Cass. And remember, anything she or the other kids on the orphanage need, tell me.” Addy nodded with gratitude and bowed.

“It’s very generous what you do for them. You are truly an angel.” The lady smiled warmly.

“I know being in the Red Keep can be suffocating. I’ll get you out of there anytime I get the chance.”

“You are my hero.” You part ways once you entered the big castle. You headed to your uncle’s new room.

“The Hand of the King... I didn’t see that coming.” He waved at you.

“Me neither, sweet niece. It’s so good to see you! How is everything in here? I just had a meeting with the council. The summer is over. Your mother was quite angry with the fact I’m the Hand in my father’s stead. She brought this on herself. The North has risen up against us when your moron brother called for Ned Stark’s head.”

“I tried to stop him. It was useless. He thinks he owns the world now, he is not ruling cautiously, I fear for my siblings life, for everyone’s life.”

“Luckily I’m here to supervise his moves. Advise him. Save the city. Not as easy as it sounds I’m afraid.”

“Did you stayed out of trouble?” You asked him well knowing the answer.

“Well... I pissed out in the edge of the Wall. I slept in a sky cell. Lady Arryn almost sentenced me to die. I fought with the hill tributes. So many adventures.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh I see, that must have been a lot of fun.” Both of you laughed.

“You can’t imagine.”

It has been an unsteady week. Being with little Tommen and Myrcella has been a distraction from the incoming war you’re dealing with. Renly and Stannis proclaimed themselves Kings. You like to be up to date, so you talk with your mother about these matters.

“My uncles... they’re going to get here anytime soon. We have to be prepared.”

“They have no claim. Let them try. We’ll kick them off the moment they set foot on the shores.” Cersei declared dryly.

“I’ve heard some... disturbing rumors about-“

“You believe them?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just curious.” You shrugged.

“Everyone’s intention is to tear our family apart. Destroy us from within. This gossip is just feeding those who don’t want your brother on the throne.” And you said nothing more.

“You’re losing the people, do you hear me?” Tyrion tried to make her listen.

“The people, you think I care?”

“You should.” You told her, annoyed by her apathy.

“Yes. You might find it difficult to rule over millions who want you dead. Half the city will starve when winter comes. The other half will plot to overthrow you. And your gold-plated thugs just gave them the rallying cry, “The Queen Slaughter babies.” She remained silent. “You don’t even have the decency to deny it.” You scowled. “It wasn’t you who gave the order, was it? Joffrey didn’t even tell you. Or did he? I imagine that would be even worse.” Your uncle growled.

“He did what needed to be done!”

“No. They were innocent. What’s wrong with you? What kind of King is he becoming? You objected.

“You don’t even know who they were, Y/N. This is what ruling is! Lying on a bed of weeds, ripping them out by the root one by one before they strangle you in your sleep.”

“I’m no king, but I think there’s more ruling than that.”

“You’ve never taken it seriously. It’s all fallen on me.”

“As has Jaime repeatedly. According to Stannis Baratheon.” You averted your eyes.

“How dare you say that kind of filthy lies in front of my daughter!” The Queen Regent gave him a withering look. “You’ve always been funny. But none of your jokes will ever match the first one, will they? You remember... when you ripped my mother, open your way out of her and she bled to death.” It hurt to see the look of your uncle’s face.

“She was my mother too.”

“Now she’s gone, for the sake of you. There’s no bigger joke in the world than that.” She stormed out, you followed her.

“You shouldn’t be so cruel with my uncle. If I had lost you when either Myr or Tom were born I would never blame them. I know it must have been pretty hard growing up without your mom, but don’t take it out on him.”

“She died so he could live. A little freak. An abomination.” She spat poison.

“Don’t speak of him that way.”

“Why you defend him so much?”

“Cause he is my family. He is a good person.”

“Joffrey is also your family. And yet you detest him.”

“He has a serious problem. You don’t want to see it or maybe you’re okay with it. Remember when we were kids? I was four and he was five. He used to find pleasure on pushing me, you just stared at us and said it was a normal thing. I grew up and I was able to defend myself, one time I did it and you freaked out, you yelled at me, made me feel so small... you held him while I was sobbing, just because I moved when he tried to hit me making him fell to the ground. Of course, it was my fault according to both of you. How many times did Joffrey hurt me? Said I was ugly cause I wasn’t blonde like him? That I didn’t deserve to be a princess, he was so mean to me and you never lectured him. I recall how many nights I spent crying alone in my room wondering why my mother didn’t care enough to stand up for me when my big brother treated me like I was worthless. You broke my heart a very long time ago. I learned how to pick up the pieces. I’m not that helpless little girl anymore.” You could feel your eyes starting to get teary. You didn’t expect her to say something soothing. Cersei apparently ran out of words, you thanked for her silence instead of lying to you, deep down you hoped she’d embrace you. It was too much to ask for. You lingered a bit more before turning and leaving. Heartbroken once more.