#he fought many battles in his name and won those

[boltmyth]

thinking about how nate was most likely zeus’s favorite son at one point in time only to now be one of his biggest failures

[zev-rynna]

I am made aware of the controversy around Jiyan on how he became the general and the terrible story writing from the writers part.

Jiyan has been called names like “Run-away General”, “The Faux General” etc etc, and the complaints that Jiyan is a hypocritical character that judged Geshu Lin’s decision making and yet made the exact same decision Geshu Lin made in the end.

Honestly speaking, I don’t doubt the possibility of terrible writing on Kuro’s part but I wonder if this also reflected the complexity of human nature in the sense that there’s just no perfectly evil/bad person (in this case Geshu Lin) or the perfectly good/right person (in this case Jiyan)? Maybe it was written this way, but wasn’t properly done? Idk..

This is going to be long, bear with me…

Geshu fought the battle and was almost winning, and he has lost too many people to back off. And in his “conversation” with Jiyan, he did also highlighted that backing down and running away will not do justice to all those lives he carried behind his back. It’s true, when it’s war, if you decide to back down knowing you could’ve won, you have nothing to explain to those who have lost their lives in previous battles. Geshu Lin carried all those lives with him, and in his knowledge, the retroact rain’s effect was relatively unknown to him, and his arrogance or overconfidence may have resulted in him disregarding the significance and danger of the unknown. And Geshu Lin was born a warrior, fighting to win battles also means sacrifices have to be made, and therefore his actions reflected his values.

On the other hand, Jiyan was born a medic. His values revolved around saving lives, and the purpose of winning certain battles is to ensure better lives for his people. So if a war caused too many sacrifices, is that war still considered a win for his people? And so with his knowledge and his instincts on the catastrophe that may happen due to the retroact rain, with no Geshu Lin in sight, he made the choice to save as many people as he can by ordering a retreat. I believe at that point, he has no intention to override Geshu Lin’s authority or to made Geshu Lin the “bad guy”, but solely to save the people left to save before they all perished.

But the society (Jinzhou citizens) will need someone to blame. This is the reflection of how humans are like. When loss is too big and incomprehensible, the tendencies to blame become prevalent. In that situation, without knowing all sorts of context, Geshu Lin led to the death of the people and Jiyan was the one who ensured lives saved. Jiyan naturally became the hero and Geshu Lin the villain.

I don’t believe that Jiyan personally wanted to reprimand Geshu Lin or try to taint his reputation so it can make his “promotion” to General more believable. Yes he did not agree with Geshu Lin’s ideals, but I don’t think the whole “Geshu Lin was the cause of this tragedy” talk was started by him. It was the people who needed a hero and someone to blame during the difficult times. Then he was chosen to be General, and when you get to a position like that, confiding in people to tell them how you truly feel becomes a luxury because people start to rely on you and in order for them to respect you and able to lead an army, you have to be composed, and mask all forms of doubts.

When Rover came as prophesised, Jiyan was seen having a “conversation” with Geshu Lin before the war, and Jiyan was mostly quiet on his part. You can sense his doubts manifesting as he is about to make the exact same decision Geshu Lin made years ago, and he questions himself. But then again, Jiyan was flamed incredibly cuz of the irony that he did in fact made the same decision Geshu Lin did, but Jiyan was in the luxury to make that decision knowing what he knew, and having Rover by his side made the odds significantly better. And this was what made the fans/anti-fans so bitter about Jiyan because this was pure hypocrisy at play, especially it made Jiyan looked weak cuz everyone knew the outcome may have been the same as years ago if Rover was not present. But that’s the thing, if Rover was absent, I don’t think Jiyan would’ve made the decision he made.

The tragedy was that Geshu Lin was too quick to be burnt on the stake by people who were desperate to find closure. And the situation Geshu Lin was in, made this grey in the sense that no one truly knew what happened at the war zone and Geshu Lin did not have everything that the people know now about the Retroact rain and Rover to made the war of his time a success. Jiyan has that, that was his luck. But how does one blame Jiyan for that? After all, luck is an also huge component of strength. And probably (just a speculation) - the irony of Jiyan making the same decision as Geshu Lin may be a foreshadowing of Geshu Lin’s return to mock the hypocrisy of the entire ordeal, including the people who blamed him.

The whole situation where Geshu Lin was strongly blamed as the villain and Jiyan was depicted as the hero and the best person ever was so overly exaggerated, I don’t think this was what Jiyan meant for to happen. And I know a lot of people say that “well but Jiyan took all those compliments bla bla”. But he was promoted to general though, he cannot just come out and disregard what people said about him because he needed these people’s vote of confidence, and during those dark times, he is in no position to show any form of doubts. But it doesn’t mean that he didn’t mourn the loss of respect and reputation of Geshu Lin when he’s alone.

I’m upset Jiyan got too much hate for this. This was a perfect depiction of how complex humans are and how things cannot be black and white. It’s so nuance that I’m not sure if I properly explained it in words.

Then again, I really like Jiyan’s character, although I have the admit, the writing was terribly done, which may have caused so much backlash cuz of all the unsaid things. I felt that with a little bit more of explanation on the plot and Jiyan’s thought process would’ve significantly helped with Jiyan’s character building. Now Geshu Lin is so well loved cuz everyone felt that Jiyan stole all that belonged to him. I wouldn’t say Geshu Lin was entirely innocent despite the fault of the people who were quick to blame him, but that’s for another day.

Again, there isn’t a perfectly evil person, just like there isn’t a perfectly good person. People are complicated and one action does not justify the other.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Based on the vampire au, Emil and Matthias get close. This is based on a friend's idea

Rated: T | Warnings: none

There is a portrait of you in one of the gallery rooms, a large frame with smaller pictures around you. You look different, same face but your demeanor is different along with the emotionless expression; Joseph says you were not the same person as you were back then. Naib Subedar got a close taste of it when he was “hired” to fight you by both Joseph and yourself (unknowingly at the time). Norton can also recall a glimpse of the Vampire Hunter's skills but the memory is foggy due to him not being in control of himself at the time.

Matthias only has heard stories, seen you spar with Joseph or Naib Subedar, and stare at the portrait of the Hunter who fought the Vampire Lord Bloody Sword… And won.

Joseph is surprisingly humble to admit defeat, probably because of Aesop who gave an unbiased recount of the battle.

Emil also stares at the portrait but only when you are not around in the manor. You currently are with Count's Banquet, a request you did not turn down.

There is enough history between the two of you for Joseph to appear jealous of the man he once was in a relationship with before Aesop. All the others know is that the Count knew you from when you were a novice under a man named ‘Misfit’, the man who taught you everything and one you cared for deeply.

Emil is sitting under your portrait when Matthias finds him, the other vampire talking to you. The others know of Emil's separation issues, it used to cause a lot of problems given your attention and time could not be solely devoted to him. Nowadays, he still gets sad and will not sleep for days, but he also accepts he cannot latch onto you… Not the way he did with Ada.

Ada fed into Emil’s need for dependency, embraced the role of nurturer and lover, but ultimately continued the cycle of dominance over her spawn Emil. This a fact you told him when he had to hear those harsh words of reality, the nature of vampires is complex and a constant power struggle. This is built within them, it takes strength to break the cycle. Emil has only a hundred years, less time away from Ada compared to time with her… He was married to her, loved her, grateful to her, then you一 His eyes hurt from crying all night while in the gallery alone, in the darkness with only the moonlight from the opened curtain as lighting. His hand rises to block the light coming from the hall when the door is opened by… Matthias? 

Matthias sees Emil sitting on the floor looking exhausted and hugging his knees; you told Emil he can trust Matthias. You told him he is safe here no matter what everyone looks out for one another. When Matthias sits beside him, Emil’s body stiffens as he is unsure what to do or say. No words are said at first, but a few shared glances before Matthias asks Emil if he has not slept yet. The other man looks over before nodding slowly but then shakes his head slowly, his eyes are swollen, and bloody tears stain his cheeks.

A vampire that does not slumber will feed more than a properly rested vampire. Emil's appetite has increased since he has not slept and he is returning to isolating himself.

When Emil speaks it often catches Matthias off guard how deep Emil's voice is, along with his height as he is an inch or two taller than Matthias. They both are attempting to converse, many moments of silence as they never truly spoke to one another and it is honestly due in part to Matthias's jealousy towards Emil.

You give Emil special attention, the attention he needs and craves, and he has immediate access to you via your bedroom. Matthias is not fond of the fact he has to share.

Matthias moves closer and then bends partly down to hold his hand toward Emil, he offers to rest with Emil in your room.

There they are lying side by side, back to back, Emil fast asleep from exhaustion. Matthias is awake as he never truly sleeps well between nightmares and whispers of the Embrace, plus he is lying in your bed with this man. The jealousy is there, the bitter feelings of Emil who has your attention… Your bodily warmth, your smile, damn sleeping in this bed with you!

Matthias grips the blanket covering him with an angry expression, and then that expression softens to disappointment. Self-deprecating thoughts as of course he cannot do something for himself.

A sigh, his eyes closed but open not even a second later he feels the bed shift multiple times, a whimper, and sharp intake of breaths. Emil is trembling, his hands ripping into the pillows, and blood tears start running down his face.

A nightmare, Matthias understands that— A number of them here understand this. Naib Subedar advised Matthias to not be too hard on Emil, he understood the jealousy though Naib Subedar has Norton.

Matthias turns around shifting closer, hand moving then stopping but ultimately he reaches out.

Emil jolts awake with heavy breathing as he feels the weight of an arm around his chest and back, head turning to see Matthias is close to him. He stares as the other man's eyes are closed.

Nothing is said but Emil turns around to be held properly by Matthias, both finding surprising comfort in one another. The nightmare does not return, the Embrace's voice is silent; a night of peace and comfort.

+

For the few weeks you are gone, this becomes the only way Emil can sleep. Matthias’ feelings shift as he is still envious yet it is not as strong as before. Some nights they talk, and sometimes Emil only listens to Matthias talk about what he is reading before bed, recently Emil has asked for him to pet while he places his head on Matthias’ chest.

Neither have beating hearts yet Emil likes to be this close to Matthias, to be able to hold and comfort each other.

“Can we,” Emil looks at the scars on Matthias' chest, “Sleep in your room next time?”

Matthias is quiet then the question is asked again, “Yes if you want.”

“Thank you.” A yawn after those words and Emil is asleep in no time.

“Seems you two are getting along.” Naib Subedar points out as Emil is following Matthias who is currently carrying around a briefcase holding the accursed puppet.

Matthias glances away.

“I'm glad you aren't alone.” The Mercenary taps the Puppeteer’s shoulder before walking past him to meet up with Frederick and Luca in the piano room, both are having a debate on music. They are loud though they are not shouting at each other, just being passionate as usual.

Emil moves next to Matthias and smiles.

Matthias stares then returns a small smile, “We should get going.” 

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Okay but for me this sounds good, Buddha with a 14 y/o fem!reader who's a warrior since young age, fighting battle after battle, know for not having any mercy to her opponents, ruthless killing machine for others, ignorant, serious, clam and collected, acting like a 6 y/o child only around Buddha because she didn't really had much of childhood but feel comfortable enough to act like that around him.

-Y/N was a name that struck fear into the hearts of many, despite being so young, only fourteen. But it was a name so many knew, both when Y/N was alive and in Valhalla.

-You were a fearsome warrior, growing up in combat, fighting to survive each day, giving no mercy as there was none given to you and even after you died and came to Valhalla, you kept that mentality, no mercy, no holding back.

-Many, mostly warriors, admired you, as you never held back, you always fought seriously, even if it was just a sparring match.

-You always seemed so calm and cool, levelheaded, always watching for your opponent’s next move, making you a very formidable opponent, despite being so young.

-There was only one person however, where you could be as childish as you wanted, Buddha, who could easily see the mask that you were wearing, longing to be just a normal child, even just for a bit.

-With Buddha, your self-proclaimed big brother, you were like a six-year-old child, whining and being affectionate, letting your harsh walls come down, showing your soft side.

-Buddha thought it was adorable, seeing you beating someone in the sparring ring, fire in your eyes as you showed no mercy, easily beating them down, to turn into a child, running into his arms, “Buddha~!” after you won.

-Many others, who did see it but never mentioned it, thought it was rather cute, seeing you being a kid for just a short while, seeing you be so soft.

-Those who were foolish enough to say something were quickly, and violently, silenced, while you were bright red, embarrassed for being ‘caught’ not realizing that so many others knew about your soft side.

-Buddha welcomed your soft side, sharing his candy and snacks with you, holding you close when you wanted to cuddle, and he just made you feel so safe, which helped you relax when you were being soft.

-No other had managed to get to the level of Buddha with your soft side, but there are a few who appreciated when you went easy on them, or when you would give them pointers.

-Hopefully one day you will feel safe enough to drop your façade around all of them.

[noneatnonedotcom]

The life and time of Nickolous Arc knight of Pitton

a continuation of Jaune's family line, this is a little bit before the reign of Uther Pendragon. Last time we left off Great Grandpa Arc was killed in the night of long knives by the treacherous saxions and Vortigern. his son Nickolous was knighted and inherited the manor at Pitton he married very well and won himself the daughter of a duke in 464.

Year 465 Vortigern, with his Saxons, marches back and forth across Britain, extracting tribute and plunder. Many more Britons flee the land. Nickolous, a young knight, remains in his lands, tends to his manor, and waits with his lord. Vortigern takes refuge in Gomeret, attempting to build a fortress. The youthful Merlin makes his appearance and begins his career here.

Years 466–467 Aurelius Ambrosius, son of the former King Constantin and brother of Constans, lands in Hampshire with an army from Brittany. He carries a great banner with a red dragon upon it. All across the land, discontented nobles muster their armies and join him. Vortigern seeks to escape, but his Saxon allies go back home to Kent, and many other allies desert him. After besieging a portion of Vortigern’s army at Carlion, Aurelius Ambrosius marches through the entire island, accepting the submission of those loyal to Vortigern.

Nickolous fought and died gloriously in this battle earning himself 1000 glory leaving behind a widow and a three-year-old son. (oof tough luck but at least he went out well.) his son Roland Arc would live through the following events without the protection and care of a father. Year 468

Aurelius Ambrosius and his army pursue Vortigern and besiege him in his new castle on Mount Snowdon. A battle ensues, at which Vortigern is killed and his army scattered. Aurelius Ambrosius summons the High Council, and they elect him High King. He takes the title of Pendragon (“high dragon” or “head dragon”), derived from his great battle banner.

Years 469–472 Many Saxons come over from the Continent and settle in Kent under their king, Hengest. High King Aurelius Ambrosius maintains an unsteady peace with the Saxons, Irish, and Picts, despite their raiding. His younger brother, Uther, makes a name for himself as a great warrior in countering these raids and leading picked warriors on raids into enemy territory.

Year 473 The Saxons, confident of victory, march into the Thames Valley. King Aurelius Ambrosius raises an army to resist, but loses the battle in a major Saxon victory

Year 477 Another Saxon king, Ælle, lands in southern Britain with a large army and takes over the area. Many of the peasants flee, but others are captured and enslaved. Ælle renames the land South Saxony, or Sussex. Aurelius Ambrosius marches with his army to oppose the foe, who is reinforced at the last moment by the Saxons from Kent. Ambrosius is lucky to escape with his army. The Saxons remain.

Years 478–479 For years, Aurelius Ambrosius has been building a fleet of ships in the ports of his western lands. In this year, he musters his army and sets sail, sweeping around the southern coast, where he destroys the fleets of the Saxons in Britain. Then he sails to the Continent, destroying all the hostile shipping as he goes. The British army lands in Frisia, doing great damage to the Saxons there, and winning a battle against the barbarians. The Saxons in Britain begin vicious raiding in retaliation.

Year 480 An army of Saxons sails up the Port River into Salisbury. While planning for the battle, Aurelius Ambrosius is poisoned by a false doctor. Despite his illness, Ambrosius marches with Uther against the enemy, whom they meet at Menevia. Ambrosius confronts the foe while Uther takes his army around to the Saxons’ rear and cuts them off from their ships, attacking them with great vigor. It is a great victory for the British, but Ambrosius is killed in the fighting.

Years 481–483 The Saxons are relatively quiet during this time, with small bands raiding here and there but no armies marching. It is reported that many of their women and children have now settled in their lands.

Year 484 Another wave of Saxons arrives by boat and settles in the land of Deira. Aided by the Saxons in Britain and some rebellious northern Britons, they attack in the land of Malahaut. Their army defeats the northern defenders, then lays siege to the city of Eburacum. King Uther raises his army and hastens northward to join the battle. However, King Uther, anxious to relieve the sorry inhabitants of Eburacum, is drawn into a trap and fights a desperate battle, from which he barely escapes with great loss.

Year 485 King Uther suffers heavy losses and raises many troops to make up for it. He orders all squires who are ready to muster at Windsor Castle to be knighted.

Roland Arc is knighted and entitled to Pitton in this year. having grown up without a father he is anxious to prove the family name. his family's naturally loveable trait goes a long way to getting him a good wife, one he meets at the feast for his knighting ceremony. due to the glory inherited from his father Roland starts with a glory of 1255 he meets Lady Juniper a woman beautiful beyond measure and through the feast courts her and flirts with her, their whirlwind romance is the stuff of legends and wins Roland even greater glory just through his actions at the feast to woo her. Lady Juniper was the beautiful heiress of a knight Named Hector (on a scale of 1-20 her appearance is a 28, she rolled very well) . a wealthy Vassle knight to the Earl of Salisbury who died in the battle of Eburacum last year. from his marriage, he gains two new manors and six librum (the gold coinage at the time) the new manors are Ford and Long Hedge, the three manors all fall along the road from Sarum to Camalot. Ford and Long Hedge are on the road's south and north sides along a river, respectively. this combination of manors gives the Arc family almost absolute command over trade tariffs moving between the two cities making them very rich. Roland gains 300 glory not just for the marriage but a further 10 glory every year for the beauty of his wife being known far and wide and 80 glory for the feast in which he wooed her and a further 100 glory for the wooing itself which became the standard for all love stories in the Earldom moving forward. still, not all was well within the realm for though love had found a champion in Roland and Juniper, war would take its due. Uther called forth the newly minted knights and did battle with the saxions all summer. in the battle Roland rode in the second line of knights to the right flank against the Saxon host acquitting himself well on the first charge, and on the second as well. A third time, he wheeled about and crashed into the host! the fourth he crashed through the line shattering the axemen and finding himself behind the enemy center! (rolled a crit on his lance skill) seeking out the enemy leader he found the king surrounded by his guards. only one stepped forth to oppose him and so did the duel commence between the two as the battle raged around them! dismounting and leaving behind his lance Roland did draw his sword and recklessly attacked! He cleaved through the enemy's axe and cut the dog in Twain! (modified crit from reckless attack) but another stepped forth to oppose him! the two matched each other trading blows that their chainmail only barely stopped.

throwing aside all thought of safety Roland recklessly attacked once more and the enemy did slip on the blood of his companion Roland claimed another as he lay on the mud! the enemy chief and his remaining protectors stepped forth rushing the knight, he called upon his passions for strength. his love of his wife told him to make it home, his loyalty to his liege told him to win glory and his hatred of the Saxons told him to cut the monsters down. it was hard fought, but Roland knew that he could only survive by being more clever than the enemy who outnumbered him. time and time again sword and shield met axe as Roland danced around his three enemies seeking an opening, but none would present itself. the sounds of battle began to fade as without the leadership of their chief the Saxons grew fearful and routed.

as the chief turned to run, though, Roland found his moment and surged forth, striking true against the king though failing to finish the job, the chief did forever more have the mark of Roland's blade across his eye.

though Roland was felled in the next moment as the guards of the war chief did strike his back, his armor absorbed the worst of the blows and the Cyrmic host did come to save their champion. roland would spend the next year in the care of his beloved wife, healing from his battle. he would be known as Roland the King Scar from hence forth. the first of his many daughters would be born that year though and a fear would take root in Roland, a fear that he would leave his family orphaned and alone without him. he would hold back from seeking glory from henceforth though he would serve honorably for King Uther. from the battle itself, Roland won a further 50 glory for his actions on the flank. 200 from the dead guards of the war chief, and a fantastic 500 from the scar he left on the Chief. 2495 glory in his first year as a knight is nothing to sneeze at, and while he would never again do such fantastic feats of martial prowess and his love of his wife would prevent him from earning more acclaim for his family's lovable nature the glory he would win from simply being a loyal knight would gain him the status of a renowned knight throughout the land. he would stir up controversy when he would try to prevent his own son from squireing some years later for fear that his beloved son might perish but such things are for the next story. levels for knights

Glory Quality of Knight 1–999 Squire 1,000–1,499 Unproven Knight 1,500–2,999 Respected Knight 3,000–3,999 Notable Knight 4,000–7,999 Renowned Knight 8,000–15,999 Famous Knight 16,000–31,999 Extraordinary Knight 32,000+ Legendary Knight (there was a lot of consistent glory won by Roland but in small amounts, his desire to protect and care for his family meant that he would never again take up such a key role willing to let others take the risk to gain greater glory, though as a knight he would fight many more times he just opted out of chances to do the extraordinary. he'd still manage to get up to 4000 glory by the time of jaune's birth and ironically send him to act as a page in the same manor Arthur would be squireing ending up with jaune becoming squire to a king) @howlingday you mind giving me your thoughts on Roland? I was trying to go for a character that jaune would be comparing himself to all his life but who actually wishes he was less well known and who after the death of his own father wants only to be a good dad to his children (though he tends to let his fear get the better of him) @weatherman667 would you mind letting me know how I did with the prose for the later half of the story? I was trying to mimic Le Mort De Arthur and I'm not sure how I did. @thatorigamiguy check it lol.

@heliosthegriffin more king arthur shit what you think?

also for everyone. if you got ideas on what the rwby characters would be doing in this au let me know. Arthur will be Artoria from fate btw although no one will know. at least not for a good long while

[goodqueenaly]

@diegoedil replied to your post “House Words Wednesdays: House Mudd”

But is Mudd House really extinct? In episode 4 of season 1 of HOTD, one of Rhaenyra's suitors apparently belongs to that House, as you can see his sigil on his chest.

I'm reposting this as a reminder to everyone that I am not talking about That Other Show and will be blocking anyone using my posts to talk about That Other Show.

As far as the books are concerned, House Mudd went extinct millennia ago. See, for example, this conversation between Catelyn and Robb in ASOS:

Robb studied the sepulcher. "Whose grave is this?" "Here lies Tristifer, the Fourth of His Name, King of the Rivers and the Hills." Her father had told her his story once. "He ruled from the Trident to the Neck, thousands of years before Jenny and her prince, in the days when the kingdoms of the First Men were falling one after the other before the onslaught of the Andals. The Hammer of Justice, they called him. He fought a hundred battles and won nine-and-ninety, or so the singers say, and when he raised this castle it was the strongest in Westeros." She put a hand on her son's shoulder. "He died in his hundredth battle, when seven Andal kings joined forces against him. The fifth Tristifer was not his equal, and soon the kingdom was lost, and then the castle, and last of all the line. With Tristifer the Fifth died House Mudd, that had ruled the riverlands for a thousand years before the Andals came."

As well as this academic discussion from Yandel in TWOIAF:

The penultimate and greatest of the river kings to stand before the Andals was Tristifer IV of House Mudd, the Hammer of Justice, who ruled from a great castle called Oldstones, on a hill by the banks of the Blue Fork. The singers tell us he fought a hundred battles against the invaders and won nine-and-ninety of them, only to fall in the hundredth, when he rode to war against an alliance of seven Andal kings. Yet it seems convenient that there are seven kings in the songs; likely this is another tale concocted by the septons as a lesson in piety. Before the Mudds, there had been other kings near as powerful. The Fishers are said in some chronicles to have been the first and oldest line of river kings (in others, they are accounted the second dynasty, and the fragmentary Annals of the Rivers from the ancient septry at Peasedale suggests they were third). The Blackwoods and Brackens both claim to have ruled the riverlands at various times during the Age of Heroes. The Mudds succeeded in unifying more of the riverlands than any of their predecessors, but their reign was not to last. The Hammer of Justice was succeeded by his son, Tristifer V, or Tristifer the Last, who proved unable to stem the Andal tide and failed even to hold his own people together.

To be sure, there was at least one other would-be claimant to the Mudd legacy in Westerosi history: Marq Mudd, the so-called "Mad Bard", one of those "dozen pretenders from as many houses would adopt the style of River King or King of the Trident and vow to throw off the yoke of the stormlanders". However, both his reappearance millennia after the fall of House Mudd as a royal dynasty as well as his "mad" epithet suggests to me that this Marq was less a late-appearing heir to a long-gone royal dynasty and more an ambitious adventurer canny enough to play on the mystique of a storied old name but uncertain enough not to be widely accepted as such. Indeed, Jon Connington himself links use of the "Mudd" name, among others, within the Golden Company with vaulting, specifically unearned dynastic pride:

Some of the sellsword captains bore bastard names, as Flowers did: Rivers, Hill, Stone. Others claimed names that had once loomed large in the histories of the Seven Kingdoms; Griff counted two Strongs, three Peakes, a Mudd, a Mandrake, a Lothston, a pair of Coles. Not all were genuine, he knew. In the free companies, a man could call himself whatever he chose.

See also this comment from GRRM:

A question that crops up concerning the two old River King dynasties -- is it wrong to assume that one of them was the line of the final River Kings, ended by the ancestors of the Storm King Arrec, and that the other (as Theon recollects in his first chapter in Clash of Kings) is the line ended by the old King of the Iron Islands whose slaughter of the then River Kings sons led to the naming of the Bloody Keep? A logical assumption, and maybe half true. There were actually more dynasties in the riverlands than these two ... [sic] but so far I've only come up with two names. The riverlands have been much warred over. The Mudds were the last of the First Men to rule the Trident, I seem to recall; it was Andal invaders who put an end to that line.

[hubristicassholefight]

Swordswoman Showdown 3rd place

Camilla Hect (The Locked Tomb) vs Brienne of Tarth (A Song Of Ice and Fire)

(Better here in a "preferred character" sense, not "who would win in a fight")

Camilla art by @friendamedes, used with permission

Propaganda below cut

Cam

trained w a rapier & knives. practical. handsome. extremely efficient and capable.; she’s my boyfriend and I love her. Please vote for cam she is my life

Gideon Nav uses one very large sword in defiance of the expectation that a cavalier should use a rapier, but Camilla Hect instead uses two. Just as much defiance of social expectation, twice as many blades. The reveal of her specific brand of swordiness is the heart of one of the book's most iconic lines: "Cam? Go loud."; In the spirit of the laconic charm of the Warden's Hand I will simply say "Camilla's competent."

She prefers two short swords but has been know to wield a rapier and other such bladder instruments; She also loves to organize spreadsheets

Go loud.

Brienne

gets gifted a sword made with the rarest metal ever because she’s THAT good; she’s simply the best

Brienne is one of the top sword users alive in her day. She's descended from a man who's catchphrase was "I'm better with a sword." Better than what? You. Jaime Lannister. Loras Tyrell. Any five given guys at once. She has a fantastic sword that might be magic or cursed and is named Oathkeeper because that's what she does; I love her

Beat like 20 guys in a tournament when she was 19. Was given a magic sword. Won a sword fight against the premier swordsman in the realm. Very swordly; Very tall and strong. Holds her sword in high esteem. Accomplished with other weapons as well!

She's defeated multiple of the top knights in the series in duels. One such knight gifts her the fabergé egg of swords and she uses it to defend orphans and stuff. Got out of a bad betrothal by dueling him and beating his ass so bad she broke multiple bones. Honestly there's so much more she is the swordswoman of all time. to me; She's buff and ugly and 6' 5" and so honorable and kind that she inspires the guy who fucks his sister to yknow. stop doing that. literally gets mauled for the sake of protecting a bunch of orphans (with her sword). also she's 20 she should be at the club ‼️

One of the best sword wielders in Westeros, the author says he would pick her to defend him. Has a cool sword called Oathkeeper. Manages to go up against 7 fighters and take out most of them,. The only true knight; First off, talking about book brienne, they massacred show brienne, the show runners simply didn’t understand what she’s about.“ She had no chance against seven, she knew. No chance, and no choice” brienne had plenty of choice but she couldn’t leave people to die. The chivalric paradigm is rotten and corrupted, but here is Brienne, the one true knight, who isn’t even a actual knight! “knights are for killing”, but here is a knight who risks her life again and again to protect innocents! Bri IS hope, she is the light in the dark that shows that things can be better, things must be better. Fundamentally an idealist: “Winter will never come for the likes of us. Should we die in battle, they will surely sing of us, and it's always summer in the songs. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining”

#BRIENNE WON A MELEE WHEN SHE WAS 19 !!!!!#DONT LET HER LOSE

#MORE LOVE FOR BRIENNE#SHE FOUGHT A DAMN BEAR WITH A WOODEN SWORD#SHE AVENGED A MAN UNJUSTLY MAIMED#SHE PROTECTED CHILDREN AGAINST SEVEN MEN#NO CHANCE AND NO CHOICE

I'm going to put some propaganda for Brienne, because she deserves the world.

Some people have been quoting the "no chance, no choice" in the tags, but for those that don't know it comes from this scene:

...she could hear the faint clink of swords and mail from beneath their ragged cloaks. She counted them as they came. Two, four, six, seven. (...) Brienne sucked in her breath and drew Oathkeeper. Too many, she thought, with a start of fear, they are too many.(...) Brienne tried to keep the fear from her voice, but her mouth was dry as dust. The children, she thought. The door to the inn banged open. Willow stepped out into the rain, a crossbow in her hands. The girl was shouting at the riders, but a clap of thunder rolled across the yard, drowning out her words. As it faded, Brienne heard the man in the Hound’s helm say, “Loose a quarrel at me and I’ll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I’ll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them.” The fury in the man’s voice drove Willow back a step, trembling. Seven, Brienne thought again, despairing. She had no chance against seven, she knew. No chance, and no choice. She stepped out into the rain, Oathkeeper in hand. “Leave her be. If you want to rape someone, try me.”

This is basically one of the most badass and awesome moments of the series... because here, Brienne is not guarding a King, vanquishing a great Evil Lord, or fighting a big glorious battle... this is an inn full of orphans being attacked by raiders, children whose lives really don't matter in the great scheme of things. If they were all to be killed, nobody powerful would really care, no history book would write their names.

The logical thing is to run away from there as fast as she could. And yet, Brienne decides to enter an unwinnable nightmarish battle (one where she gets her arm broken and her face eaten) because is the right thing to do. She is a true knight.

Because, in the dark pseudo-medieval world of Westeros, where the patriarchal martial system reigns supreme, there is no space for someone like Brienne, she herself said it best:

"You have a noble father who must surely love you. (...) I know he would tell you that he would sooner have a living daughter than a shattered shield." "A daughter." Brienne's eyes filled with tears. "He deserves that. A daughter who could sing to him and grace his hall and bear him grandsons. He deserves a son too, a strong and gallant son to bring honor to his name. (...) I am the only child the gods let him keep. The freakish one, not fit to be a son or daughter."

And yet, despite being on the fringe of this society that doesn't accept nonconforming gender expression, despite not being able to be named knight, Brienne is still the embodiment of the ideal of knighthood. She is a true hero, who over and over decides to defend the innocents and do the right thing.

So yeah, my conclusion here is... I think she and kiku should kiss <3

[siriuslyobsessedwithfiction]

Realizing a widely popular historical fiction/modernist novel (in 20th century) had a political figure fighting for freedom of his people, more influential forces wanting him and his people to lose autonomy, a borderline fanatic head of the church interfering in political affairs, a young woman who has special connection with animals and particularly deer getting caught in-between conflicts, an old spellcaster who has lived many lives with different identities who keeps secrets, and a civil war. Why does this remind me of Shadow and Bone trilogy...🤔

Only in this book, the man who fought for freedom of his people for years is not framed as an absolute villain, even though he led a battle because he wanted to pursue a woman. But rather, the narrative acknowledges he was a brave man who served his people since he was thirteen and fought countless battles for his country. And that such responsibility is heavy, and even he was human, wanting a connection. Although, his actions aren't excused, no one says it was right of him to go to such lengths for a woman and to maim her lover. His end is still tragic. But it doesn't feel like a disservice to his character because people know the good he did and acknowledge it. He showed more mercy at first than his enemies deserved. He had friends who were good people and loved him. Even people who hated him for personal reasons said it was better for him to rule than to start a war and get someone far less competent in charge, which would leave them vulnerable to foreign enemies.

But what does the Darkling from Shadow and Bone get? His centuries of work erased, his name being more demonized than ever and eternity of suffering. LB could either make him an actual villain, or let him be a morally grey tragic character. Instead, he got tossed between both of those and then got blamed for everything that went wrong ever. While the rapist King got a nice retirement and the leader of the witchhunters who was actively committing genocide is spared because he was only the product of the system, apparently.

"Aleksander had marched south with the king’s soldiers, and when they’d faced the Shu in the field, he’d unleashed darkness upon their opponents, blinding them where they stood. Ravka’s forces had won the day. But when Yevgeni had offered Aleksander his reward, he had refused the king’s gold. “There are others like me, Grisha, living in hiding. Give me leave to offer them sanctuary here and I will build you an army the likes of which the world has never seen.”

“He … he said that Darklings are born without souls. That only something truly evil could have created the Shadow Fold.”

"Not everyone thought like Eva or the old serf, but I’d been in the First Army long enough to know that most ordinary soldiers didn’t trust Grisha and felt no allegiance to the Darkling."

"I've committed many sins, Pippa, as a king and a man. I carried almost all the virtues and all the defects of my people. I was bold and faint-hearted. I set at nought the Byzantine Emperor but was afraid of snakes. I was conceited, heartless and loathsome, but I never betrayed my people, Pippa. Our misfortune is the same now: among us, the traitors outnumbered the loyal ones. I know very well, even in my army, half of them were bought by the Byzantines, and half by the Sarkinos. When the people have so many traitors at home, even Alexander the Great cannot defeat the enemy. If the nobles had not deserted me at Basian, I would have defeated Basil Caesar there too, you know. If the whole nation doesn't want to win, Alexander Macedonian can't help either, Pippa, because cowards and emissaries have never won anywhere. I gave my childhood and my youth to Georgia, but the Kartlels called me "the Abkhazian," and by the Abkhazians I was considered to be a Kartalinian spy, I who was a Bagration, a Laz."

"I rarely saw the Darkling, and when I did it was from a distance, coming or going, deep in conversation with Ivan or the King’s military advisers. I learned from the other Grisha that he wasn’t often at the Little Palace, but spent most of his time traveling between the Fold and the northern border, or south to where Shu Han raiding parties were attacking settlements before winter set in. Hundreds of Grisha were stationed throughout Ravka, and he was responsible for all of them."

"The King is a child. But you've made him a very happy child."

"I was slowed down by the squabbling of the nobles and the commanders, Pippa. Every scoundrel in us longs for nobility, every bastard - to be a commander.

No one knew his name to curse or extol, so I spoke it softly, beneath my breath. “Aleksander,” I whispered. A boy’s name, given up. Almost forgotten.

"He took off his clothes and was surprised when he saw a body marked by wounds, some old, some newer. A completely young man's body."

"It was a gravedigger who dared to confront the truth first, once everyone had left: "Not even in death has King Giorgi had any luck."

[catch-needed-hobbies]

Jack and Fire Types

The Elite had a hard job in professional wrestling; entertain the masses, showcase incredible athletes, change the world, pray on people’s downfall—the lives of the EVPs and their associates were not easy. As such, Jack Perry only thought it was deserved for him to rest by the pool for the afternoon.

Tropius meanwhile, was splashing away in the water, its foliage soaking up the sun reflecting off the water droplets sticking to it. Because of the Pokémon’s large size, water was going everywhere, and Jack felt justified in pulling his lawn chair further into the grass than to stay in its original spot.

Grass types loved being in the water, and growing up in California meant that even if Jack didn’t have a Water type Pokémon himself, someone he knew did. It was not uncommon to wander through beaches and see people letting their Pokémon out into the sea so they can enjoy the warm sun and bask in it. Both Water types and Grass types enjoyed such things.

Fire types… not so much. It wasn’t rare to see them at the beach—bonfires and fireworks and grills were a thing—but rarely ever would you see any getting close to the ocean, especially if any of them had flames actively engulfing any part of their body. It wasn’t life threatening or anything; it seemed to just be an instinctual avoidance of bodies of water on their part.

But then again, Grass types exhibited similar behavior in the wild. A lot of forest fire safety PSAs focused on how certain Grass or Bug type Pokémon could grow to fear their home if fires were made by humans there.

So he supposed it was a bit funny how many people with Fire types as their partner Pokémon Jack had surrounded himself with. Funny but also pathetic.

The first one that came to mind was of course Christian Cage; joining Jack and Luchasaurus—not Killswitch, fuck that stupid name—with his at-the-time Litleo. Christian was one of those wrestlers that had been in the game for so long his original partner no longer fought alongside him, being a stay-at-home Mon while Christian returned to the sport with a new partner. That of course was the little Litleo with fire in her heart and a mischief in her eyes. It was cute at first; a man of Christian Cage’s reputation and status battling with a cub that barely produced a powerful enough Ember to make the other Pokémon even flinch.

But Christian had insisted on nurturing and raising his new partner from the beginning, as he’d done when he first started wrestling. And soon enough, Litleo evolved into a powerful and vicious Pyroar, one that Christian adored very much and spoiled rotten. Jack had always been amused by how much of a diva she’d evolved into, until the betrayal hit and he watched as that same Pokémon he used to carry in his arms to the ring viciously attacked his poor Tropius.

The singe marks on its leaf wings didn’t go away for weeks.

But one bad experience with Fire Pokémon was nothing; there are no bad Pokémon after all, only bad trainers. So Jack didn’t think anything of it when Hook offered him a helping hand after he was attacked; a hand that extended to his Pokémon as well as Jack watched Hook’s little Scorbunny helping Tropius stand on his feet—well, try to help at least. It was a cute sight and even Tropius seemed to agree.

The cuteness however didn’t stop Tropius from Headbutting the way smaller creature down the ramp at Forbidden Door while Jack attacked Hook. Type advantages went a bit out the window when your opponent was about eight times your size. Still, Jack couldn’t deny Scorbunny still looked cute as it stood protectively in front of Hook’s crumpled body, its angry stomps not exactly helping him look threatening in the least.

Jack was even a little sad to see the adorable innocence of Scorbunny make way for the stoic demeanor of Raboot after Jack won the FTW Championship a month later. But it also made him finally understand why Hook’s partner was that Pokémon and not anything else; Raboot and Hook we’re comedically similar. And Jack got to see that in full at Wembley as the stupid thing pelted him with rocks during the match.

Whatever, the FTW Championship didn’t matter anyways.

Speaking of championships, the next person on his list was never a real partner but… there had definitely been something there.

Darby and Jack had teamed up out of convenience, but then their Pokémon started to hit it off rather well. Darby’s partner was… interesting. A regional variant of Marowak hailing from the Alola region; Jack didn’t know how he had obtained him but he knew better than to question anything about Darby.

Fire/Ghost was a fascinating type combination though, so against his better judgment Jack found himself asking questions. A lot of them about how he and Marowak had adapted to the sudden change in typings upon evolving. Darby had merely laughed it off, saying that he’s nothing if not adaptable.

Understatement of the century.

It didn’t matter; Jack and Darby both lost the match for the AEW World Championship and the rest was history. They hadn’t crossed paths again until Jack returned from his exile as a member of the Elite.

It was ironic; for as many Fire type enemies as he’d made thus far, it took Darby for him to be lit on fire. It wasn’t even Marowak that did it; Darby’s just insane and needs to be locked up.

So after all that, one would imagine Jack would stay away from Fire types, for Tropius’ safety as well as his own. Maybe team up with some Water or Rock types he could easily beat if the need arose. A Ground type would be ideal, but definitely not an Ice type or an Electric type that could take care of the secondary Flying type his chosen partner had.

But no, once again Jack found himself surrounded by trainers with Pokémon that easily outmatched his own. He was talking of course about the Young Bucks.

Nicholas with his brutish Electivire and Matthew with his powerful Magmortar. An Electric type and a Fire type respectively. But he hadn’t felt like he needed to keep his head on a swivel constantly around the two. They wanted him around, they chose him! And the two Pokémon had already taken a huge liking to Tropius. For once in what seemed like a lifetime, Jack felt like he and Tropius belonged.

But betrayal isn’t always cut and dry, and as he watches Darby threaten to yet again—and let Marowak do the same to his Pokémon—light him on fire he can’t help the disappointment and heartbreak that makes its way onto his face as Matthew gives Darby a match for the TNT Championship and the win at Blood and Guts.

Whatever came next, Jack knew one thing for certain: no more Fire types…

[delemis]

That Lie, Cruelty

I was young, when I married him. Young and afraid, as is only traditional. But he was not the man I expected, not at first. He was beguiling, intoxicating, and I fell in love with him. His smile assuaged my every worry. How did he do it? I have wondered that time and time again. How could such a brazen lie be so utterly convincing? Was it Azura’s favor? A natural charm? Or was it because, like so many young girls, I was all too willing to believe it? And indeed, what else was there than to believe? Only a loveless marriage, wretched servitude to an ungrateful and uncaring husband. So I became his greatest accomplice, living in the lie of his smiles for as long as I could.

The illusion shattered eventually. I never stopped clinging to it, but the evidence continued to pile up until the day I knew the man I married was not the man I loved. And yet? I loved him still. Shared his bed, fought his battles, savored that intoxicating smile, all the while knowing what lurked beneath.

He was a cruel ruler. Cruel, and merciless. And yes, his charisma won him friends and allies, made him lord of all he surveyed, and for that he is still renowned. But there was no slight that my husband would not punish, no threshold he was not willing to cross if it meant that his power was secure. In private, he would confide in me that his actions were out of necessity. That, like a dutiful father, it was his duty to instill discipline in his children even if it meant resorting to harsh methods. Spare the rod, spoil the child. 

I resented him for it with my every breath, but his choice of metaphor was the object of my fascination for a long time. My father had never beaten me when I was a child, never mistreated or abused me. How could he, to the child he had loved so dearly? It was enough already that my fate was to be married off. Was I spoiled, for having been spared such misfortune? I mused that perhaps my husband had been set upon me as a punishment.

And what of our children? Would he treat them the same way he treated his beloved Resdayn? That thought terrified me more than anything else. That I never bore any by him was my greatest triumphs in those days.

What motivated him? A hunger for power, certainly. Faith, blind faith in our ancestors, in Azura especially. It was no secret that she favored him; the poet once jokingly inquired whether he would moan her name in bed. I had no love for them myself, our fickle ancestors who had never treated us as anything but objects of their will. His cruelty was a murky reflection of theirs, shrouded in his natural charisma so as to remain palatable to his subjects. The Daedra have no need for charisma; their cruelty is upheld up by fear and temptation, giving power in exchange for worship. Veloth freed us from the yolk of Aldmeris only to enslave us to a different master.

But I think the most potent motivator was fear. Of what? My husband was the man who unified Resdayn, who made a bloody war against the Nords and a prosperous peace with the Dwemer, heroic feats that would have taken lesser mer decades to accomplish each, let alone in succession. He risked his life and his fortune. But what he feared losing, what he fought so desperately to protect, was his legacy. When I looked into his eyes I could see it, that desperate need to keep what he’d built from unravelling. In my own way, I was afraid for it too; the Resdayn he’d built was prosperous, his children - our children - were safer now than they had ever been. 

But then I’d think back to what he’d said about fatherhood, and I would see the cruelties he inflicted upon his own people simply to protect that legacy which was so dear to him. The sacrifices alone, the intolerable rituals that he demanded of our people simply to keep the Daedra appeased, sickened me. Ultimately his children were nothing but another means to an end, fodder for his precious legend. Every drop of blood spilt was a sweet lie he told himself, each meeting with Azura a means of assuaging his fears the way he had assuaged mine.

He died as he had lived, afraid. I wept bitter tears for him, for the one who I had loved so dearly and who had done so much wrong on me and others. He was a cruel king, a deciever and a coward whose smile could move mountains. He taught me everything that I would need to succeed him.

I will be a merciful queen.

[nightingale2004]

Cair paravel was known as the kingdom of four thrones. It was also home to the two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve, the Kings and Queens of Narnia.

But Cair Paravel is not the only famous kingdom in Narnia known for its creatures and royalty.

In the western lands of Narnia stands the great kingdom of Terabithia, ruled by the great King Jesse Aarons and his beloved sister, princess May Belle Aarons

Terabithia was taken over by the dark master, who enslaved Terabithians for centuries. That was until young Jesse Aarons and his best friend Leslie Burke came and helped free all the slaves and started a great revolt against the dark master befriending the great Terabithian giants and recruiting the most mightiest and tiny of warriors to help with their cause including a little troll hunting companion Prince Terrian aka P.T

After the great battle, Jesse and the Terabithians won, but he lost his best friend Leslie and many warriors in the process, but those who fought and survived mourned with Jesse for the loss of their friends, family, brothers, and sisters including Leslie who they already considered their young Queen along with Jesse as their King.

Jesse helped rebuild Terabithia, and all Terabithians named Jesse their King despite him being young, but before he could do anything else, Jesse brought his little sister May Belle to become their princess and rule alongside him which brought great happiness to kingdom of Terabithia.

As the years went by, Jesse was known as King Jesse, the Visionary who was known for his bravery to protect his kingdom and family, his loyalty to his subjects, and his kindness. He was also known for his artistic painting abilities.

As for May Belle, she grew up beautiful both inside and out. Her kindness and generosity were known to all Terabithians (along with her love for purple flowers), and she was also known to be just as stubborn and protective of her kingdom just as much as her older brother. May Belle was known as Princess May Belle the Kind.

She and Jesse have ruled side by side, bringing prosperity and peace to their land and have even expanded their alliances to other kingdoms and lands. They even had the pleasure of meeting the Kings and Queens of Cair Paravel, building an alliance and sharing stories with each other.

King Jesse Aarons the Visionary

Faceclaim: Josh Hutcherson

And his sister Princess May Belle Aarons the Kind

Faceclaim: Bailee Madison

(Hope you all enjoy this little au I made.)

[stories-from-the-shaded-moon]

THIS IS SPARTA

Mr. Lon cleared his throat. “Is everyone done with their test?” He heard a chorus of answers, all of which were akin to yes.

“Well, I don’t have anything else for you to do. So, you have…” he looked at the ticking clock, “thirty minutes of free time.” He heard sighs of relief and smiled.

“Truely, a test on Greece couldn’t be that hard,” he laughed. “It was mostly wars, Persian and Pelopponesian, you lot like wars, don’t you?”

Then he saw a hand raised. It was Sky, one of his best students. “Yes Sky?”

“Well,” he laughed a little, “like, Sparta right?”

A wider smile rose on Mr. Lon’s face. This is why he loved his job. The thing about history is that there are so many interesting things about it. The thing about being a history teacher is that you can rant about it, and outside sources think that you’re teaching.

“What about Sparta?” Time felt the little guy inside of him start to jump.

“Are there more things about it?”

“Well, I’ve told you a lot. However, If you’d like to hear me…rant…about Sparta, I am more than happy to!” Time internally begged them to let him.

Then another hand raised. “Yes Twilight?”

“You said that their last training thingy before they became military was…killing a slave?”

“They called their slaves Helots, and yes. The last or near last thing they had to do to be considered a man, was to kill a slave. They also couldn’t be found out, or they’d get into reasonable trouble.”

“That’s…”

“Today, if there was a city or state who did that, someone would eventually burn it down for crimes against humanity…Well,” Time tapped his chin, his hand on his hip. “maybe it’d actually be about them killing disabled babies.”

Another one of his students caught their laugh in their hand, his royal blue beanie coming off of his head. “That’s going in the quotebook.”

Sky’s head was on his desk, his shoulders shaking. “Agreed.”

“Live abortion…” Twilight lightly chuckled. “That’s not funny guys.”

“Well, on a sadder note. The only graves that got marked, or had names on it, were those of soldiers who died for Sparta in battle, and women who died during childbirth,” Time thought about this ‘quotebook’ silently.

“On one note, Sparta is pretty barbaric, but Athens was honestly worse. Well, in my opinion.” Mr. Lon began walking in circles. “Yes, Sparta threw babies and killed them or killed slaves as a test, but women were actually appreciated and somewhat equal with the men. They were educated and learned how to fight. In the event that someone came to Sparta to invade and the men weren’t present, it was up to the women to fight. They had to know how to fight to protect Sparta.”

“That’s another thing, everyone in Sparta was under Sparta. The rich in Sparta were still under Sparta and fought to protect Sparta. That connection is probably why I don’t consider Sparta barbaric.”

Mr. Lon laughed. “Athens, on the other hand, was a hot mess. The poor were, in many cases, three years behind the rich. The Romans followed a good deal after Athens, which is probably why Rome fell the way it did.” He stopped at the boys’ table. “I feel like Rome took the bad aspects of Sparta and the average bits of Athens…”

“Isn’t it crazy that they called the ones who respected women, the savages?” A girl asked from some tables away.

“Well, Dawn, I find that ironic. But there are some barbaric aspects to the Spartans, no matter how beautiful I paint them.”

“But they basically saved Athens during the Persian war. They’d be dust without Sparta.” Dawn’s eyes looked bored, but Time could tell that she was challenging him again. She did this thing where she’d bring up a topic, and they’d debate about it for some time. Well, she was the captain of the debate team, he was the teacher responsible for the debate team. It’s only natural that she’d want to win. Well, she’s won one debate against him. Though, how was he supposed to know the message of My Little Pony other than Friendship is Magic?

But then again, how was she supposed to know that Alexander the Great and Hephaestion or Achilles and Patroclus were definitely not straight for each other?

“Ah, but Sparta would be dust without Athens in that sense. Yes, the Battle of Thermopylae was a Sparta stand for Athens. And, yes, without King Leonidas holding out for…three days, the Athenians wouldn’t have had time to evacuate to Salamis for the final fight, but if you really think about it, the Persian wars wouldn’t have been won by Greece without Sparta and-“

“The Persian Wars wouldn’t have happened if Athens didn’t send their ships.” Dawn cut him off. Time chuckled.

“Good point, however-“

“And after the wars, Athens decided that they wanted to fill themselves with hubris, which is why Sparta attacked them, which is why the Peloponnesian War happened, which allowed Alexander the Great to conquer Greece.” Dawn’s face grew a smirk, the same one she’d pull when she knew she’d won.

And, suddenly, Time found himself losing a debate about history in his own history class.

[faun-the-hound]

Going back to the MCD rewrite for a bit

The Story of The Phoenix

Irene was married to the Hollow King, chosen from a crowd of noble women to be Queen of the ancient kingdom that once occupied north-west Ru'aun.

The marriage wasn't overly affectionate or healthy, but it was amicable. They were friends, co-workers, running the Kingdom together. Irene gave the King one child, a son she later entrusted to her head guard, Xavier, to raise when the Hollow King started losing his mind to the Void corruption.

Xavier travelled south across Ru'aun into werewolf territory to keep the boy safe from the war between his mother and father. He was six when they left, eight when Xavier began teaching him to fight, protect himself, hunt and forage, then eighteen when it was finally safe enough to return to the north.

Stories of the Divine Warriors began circulating after a few years, tales of people with god-like Magicks, fighting off the destruction the Void and Hollow King were causing. Wild stories of undead soldiers being fended away by a woman who shone brighter than the sun itself.

Xavier found it hard to believe, until the boy was fifteen. The monsters, undead beasts shrouded in darkness, limbs stained red and glistening, slick with viscera of the recently dead. Xavier fought them back for days with the other soldiers of the magi village they had called home for the last nine years.

The boy got involved in the fighting, against his guardian's wishes, getting cornered for his resemblance to Irene. Having raven hair and golden eyes just like his mother. The Primal Knights cornered him, holding Xavier down, forcing him to watch as they closed in, raising their weapons, ready to kill the boy he had raised as a sone for almost a decade.

A flash of silver cut the arm off the nearest Knight. A golden burst of light- a lion made of glowing golden wisps lunged for another. Tendrils of purple shadow tore away the three holding Xavier down, and a burst of vivid red fire crashed into another.

The Divine Warriors descended on the Knights like locusts, picking off and making very short work against the invading dark forces. Irene herself arrived like a comet, tearing through the Knights, enveloped in light, bright and beautiful as the blazing sun.

Xavier almost didn't recognise her. But he could never forget those eyes.

He was amazed by the power his friends had acquired, seeking answers from Irene as she dealt with the last of the Knights. The wings on her back, spear in her hand, and light that shone from the runes across her arms and face, he needed to know what it was.

Even regular Magick was something feared in many of the small villages, and this- this was something else entirely.

Irene brushed him off, though. Assured him that she would be fine, leaving him behind to continue caring for the boy. Promised that she'd explain another time.

Before leaving, she gave Xavier a small blessing, along with Menphia, giving him Magick to control fire, to protect the village should the Knights return.

It took three years and seventeen more attacks before Xavier heard from his Queen again. He used the fire gifted to him to protect the village and his boy, the Prince, from the corruption. Earning himself the nickname The Phoenix as he fought battle after battle, bringing down the Hollow King's forces.

Until one day, in the middle of a raid, the Knights' eyes dimmed, and they fell, inanimate corpses once again. Two days after, a letter arrived for The Phoenix from the capital of the ancient kingdom. The Hollow King was dead, the Void had receded, and the Divine Warriors had won.

Xavier returned to O'khasis with his boy. Irene was the Lord of the city, denouncing the title of monarch and creating the system of individual Lordship that is still in place by the time of Avira(Aphmau, changing her name).

He returned to his position as head guard of O'khasis, soon creating the Jury of Nine when the amount of fans, assassins, suitors and general popularity became too much for Irene and the Divine Warriors to handle. Kul'zak gave up his position on the O'khasian council and disappeared from the map because of it.

When Noctis snapped, taken by the corruption, Xavier the Phoenix fought alongside his Lady, sending the boy, his boy, away with the protection of the Jury to the east of the region, as far away from the fighting as he could possibly get.

The Prince travelled for months, fighting off Shadow Knights, defending villages and rallying the people to fight. Helping more rural towns to organise, mediating disputes and electing officials to keep the towns organised and peaceful.

He settled on the east coast in the company of the jurors and his followers. Establishing a settlement on the coast while his mother and Dad were fighting their former friend on the opposite side of the region.

The word came on his thirtieth birthday. He held his own son in his arms, his wife at his side as he read the letter from Esmund- The Empty was dead, O'khasis was safe. The Matron, Lady Irene, had fallen in the combat, and Xavier was gravely wounded.

The Prince brought his family to his Dad's side one final time, the Jury of Nine returning to their rightful place in O'khasis. Xavier passed away with his boy and his guards at his side, and the Prince returned to his home on the east coast.

He named his village Phoenix Cove (later Phoenix Drop), in honour of the man who raised him, who was willing time and time again to give up his life for a boy that wasn't his, but who he loved as a son regardless.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

Maybe Someday

Daryl Dixon x Reader

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote for Daryl, but thanks to my bestie @kazosa an idea came to life, so here we are. Wasn't sure who to tag, so just tagged those who I know used to read my TWD fics.

Summary: With the fighting done, and the Commonwealth holding steady under the leadership of his group, Daryl still finds himself feeling restless. An old friend, from before the fall, plagues his mind and he thinks maybe it's time to finally find out if she survived.

WC: 6.5K

Warnings: Language.

Tags: @kazosa @wings-of-a-raven @twdsunshine @valeriiecameron @jodiereedus22 @rhyatt-deauxtreve

The roar of his bike down the graveyard highway wasn’t loud enough to drown out his thoughts. Daryl thought once he hit that open stretch, with no car coffins of the dead, he may be able to hit the throttle hard enough to escape the notion he was doing the wrong thing. It felt wrong in his gut to leave everyone behind, especially with all that happened as the Commonwealth fell under new leadership. His friends could use his help, and the kids—Judith and RJ—already lost one father, they didn’t need to lose him, too. He had done everything he could to keep them all safe for so long. He needed to be there for them now. He also knew that if he didn’t take care of himself, he wouldn’t be at his best for them. He felt used up and tired. He couldn’t feel that way and be there for the kids. No way he could make mistakes with them around. 

Daryl wasn’t planning on leaving forever, either. Until he got his head right and got back, he knew Carol would be there, and they’d be okay. It hadn’t been an easy decision to go, but through all the years since the world fell, he’d had a thought nagging at the back of his mind. Through all the horrors of battles won and lost, with all the blood that had been spilled in the last ten years, she should have been the furthest thing from his mind. Yet, there she was. Her name itched the back of his brain, irritating him in the worst possible moments. Her face still haunted his dreams, and he would wake with the guilt of knowing he had left her behind. 

In the years since, he convinced himself she hadn’t made it. That was how he got on with every day, doing what was necessary for his new-found family to survive. He rarely worried about his own life; he didn’t before the world fell, why would he now? Then, he met them all. He met Glen and Rick, and Hershel and Maggie. They fought like hell, side by side, in some of the most terrifying situations; and most times, they won because they had stuck together. Now, there was some quiet. Some assemblance of real peace. That’s when (Y/N)’s face came back into his dreams, and her name started to itch again. He never really let her go, just like he never really let Rick go. 

Carol caught him one night, out in the Plaza at the Commonwealth. It was after the mess had been cleaned up, and those who had been in charge were now nothing but a memory. Weeks had passed and he just couldn’t find that sense of contentment that most of the others had. When his best friend asked him why, he absently said her name and had realized he said it allowed. Carol asked a few more questions, and Daryl’s dam of memories with (Y/N) crashed open. After an hour of recounting story after story about their childhood together, Carol encouraged him to head down south.

“You’ll never be able to really be happy, Daryl. I know you. You carry these things with you and don’t know how to set them down. Yes, the chances that she’s still alive are small. But how many times have we thought that, and we were wrong. Hell, you dug me a grave at the Prison, remember? I was stuck in that cell for days. You found me. I’m here because you wouldn’t give up. You found me.” She placed her hand on the knee of his ripped pants and gave it a squeeze. “If she is still stuck in your head, then at least go to give yourself some peace of mind. If she’s not there, then you know. If she is, then you know.”

It took him a few more days to convince himself to pack supplies for the trip. The Commonwealth had cleared a lot of the areas between there and where he was headed, so the risk was minimal, but not totally gone. RJ and Judith were okay with him going, as long as he promised to come back. No matter what, that would be a promise he would keep.

Two days on the road with clear pavement, he made good time before entering South Carolina. The dangerous part was going to be traversing the backroads to the southwest part of the state where he figured she would be. IF she was alive… IF she was STILL alive, that’s where she’d be. 

The sun was setting, and with it the heat of the day started to fade. Daryl was grateful for the relief and began to slow the bike as he approached yet another abandoned small, one-stoplight town. Coming to a stop at the ghostly intersection, he had to make the choice to push on through the dark or try to find a safe place to hold up for the night. He could hear a few far off groans of the walkers, and thought he would be better to push on past this little hamlet, and maybe find a spot off the road to camp. (Y/N)’s family estate was maybe another hour further, going at the slower pace he was now. 

He had only been there once, a million years ago, and never inside the place. She had called him on a rare night he and Merle had actually been home. There was a bad storm raging, and Merle had been too drunk already to even think about leaving the house that night, so of course, Daryl stayed in with him. Their father was on a bender somewhere in Atlanta, and it was a rare treat to have the place to themselves for an extended amount of time. So, when she called crying, asking him to pick her up on the corner by the gas station, his gut reaction was to say, no. Then he heard the fear in her voice and knew he could never leave her alone and afraid. Merle was too far gone to see Daryl steal the keys to the ratty old pickup truck, and he certainly didn’t notice when it started up and left the house. 

Daryl found (Y/N) standing in the pouring rain, absolutely soaked to the bone. Make-up was running down her cheeks, but he didn’t know if it was from the rain or from her crying. She was visibly shaken, and when he asked her what happened she couldn’t answer him at first. He had known her since they were five years old, and in all those years between he had never seen her like this. (Y/N) was normally tough and stoic. She wasn’t one of those girls that showed a lot of emotion. If she fell off her bike, she never cried. The time she fell out of the stupid fort they tried to build and broke her arm, she waved it off and walked home without a complaint. (Y/N) wasn’t a neglected kid, at least not like him and Merle had been. Daryl didn’t always know the extent of what she dealt with at home, but he knew she was broken like he was, even as kids. Maybe that’s why they stayed close for so long. They could see that in each other.

Being so deep in thought about (Y/N), Daryl wasn’t paying enough attention to the road ahead, and it was nearly too late to swerve to avoid the old wreckage in the road, but he still was able to not hit the ancient station wagon that stood in his path. He veered enough to the left to avoid it, but not avoid laying down the bike completely.

“Shit!” he shouted, as he slid across the pavement away from the bike. Thankfully he had slowed down a lot since the highway, but didn’t make it hurt any less, or mean that his bike hadn’t been damaged. He checked around him to see if the sound of the accident drew any attention from the dead. When he was sure it was safe, he got on his feet with a grunt and limped back to where his bike lay on the ground. Once he got it upright, he could see right away that it would need a few repairs before it would be safe to ride. “SHIT!” he growled again, then released a deep sigh from his chest. 

A sharp, stinging pain in his left arm caused him to stop and check out the injury there. He couldn’t see how bad it was without taking off his leather jacket, but it had torn through enough to see blood. He took the rag from his back pocket and quickly tied it around his upper arm as a make-shirt tourniquet for the time being. It only took a second for him to realize the wound was almost in the same spot he’d been cut there before. 

“Really hope she’s still alive and still there.” Despite being in pain, frustrated and tired, Daryl snorted a laugh when the memory popped into his head of the first time she had to tend to one of his injuries. “Gonna need her to stitch me up ag’in.”

“What the hell happened to you?” she asked, examining the cut above Daryl’s eye and the large gash he had on his arm. “Just what you need. More scars… Was it your dad again? Or Merle this time?”

“Neither. Stupidass Tommy Blake. He thought he’d be smart and try to start shit.”

“Clearly, he started it, but I hope you finished it. That guy deserves an ass kickin’.”

“Mhm,” Daryl grunted. “C’mon, stitch me up, would ya?” Daryl used his chin to nod at the yarn and hook she had sitting beside her on the porch swing.

(Y/N) looked over her shoulder to see what he was referring to. “That’s crocheting, you ass. I don’t know how to sew.”

“Same shit. C’mon, I’m bleedin’ all over mama’s precious porch here.”

“Good. I hope she sees it.” She grabbed his arm again to see how deeply he had been cut. “Seriously though, why me? Better off at the Urgent Care.”

“Got no cash. Besides, you do all that craft shit. I know you can do it.”

“I CROCHET Daryl, I don’t SEW.” 

He rolled his eyes at her. “Whatever! Just grab a needle and thread, I’ll walk ya through it.”

That’s what she did. They sat on the porch swing on a late Georgia summer afternoon, and as she painstakingly sewed up the cut on his arm, he had to laugh at how her tongue peeked through her parted lips proving she was deep in concentration.

“Some time this century grandma, this ain’t no cotillion dress.”

“Fuck you. I’m going as fast as I can.”

“Mhm, sure. I think you just like touchin’ my arm,” he teased, knowing it would piss her off. 

“I swear, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will punch you right in the stitches that are already done if you don’t shut up and let me work here.”

Daryl could hear a rumble of thunder far off in the distance, and began to walk his broken bike in the direction of where he hoped (Y/N) was. He hoped against all that told him she was already dead, that she would answer the door, and maybe help stitch him up again.

An hour by bike turned into nearly four while walking with the broken bike. It was well past midnight, but whatever storm had blown through was gone, and the sky was as clear as could be. He lucked out and had a nearly full moon that was able to guide him in the right direction. When the large, rambling estate finally came into view, he was surprised to see that it didn’t look as run down and abandoned as he worried it would be. 

Finally reaching the wrought iron gate that stood a quarter mile between him and the front door of the home, Daryl leaned the bike against it and drew in a deep breath. His mind begged him to rest for a few minutes if for no other reason than to be ready to battle whatever came out of that house. It could be a house of walkers. It could be a house of people. Those people could NOT be (Y/N) and they could be armed to the teeth. You just never knew what to expect from this world anymore.

He took the pack from the bike and slung it over his shoulder. Daryl paused, and made sure his gun was still in place and checked to reassure himself it was fully loaded. His rough and scraped fingers touched against the set of knives he wore on his hip and then felt ready to go see what or who was living in the big house.

Staring up at the big iron gate, he could easily see the large chain and padlock that was on it. No big deal, it had never stopped him before. He began to walk the perimeter and found a spot where the ground rose up enough that he could make a jump, grab the top of the iron fencing and pull himself up. The pain in his arm screamed at him and he felt a gush of blood warm against the inside of his jacket, but paid it no mind. 

Once he hoisted himself over the fence and onto the grounds, he ended up facing the side of the house. In one of the windows, he could see some faint light and the shadow of a person moving around. A small bit of hope grew. He rechecked that all his supplies and weapons were still in place, and headed in the direction of the light. 

“Sure you don’t want me to take you further?” Daryl asked her. (Y/N) slowly shook her head. “Why not?”

“You know that my dad would have something to say if you brought me to the front door. He hates that I hang out with you.”

“Fuck him. He’s a dick.”

“You’re not wrong. But after everything that happened last night, I don’t need to deal with that, too.”

She had finally told him how Tommy Blake had turned on her and attacked her when she said she wouldn’t go have sex with him by the quarry. Daryl gritted his teeth the whole drive from their modest Georgia suburb to (Y/N)’s father’s house in South Carolina. He would have brought her back to his house, but with a drunk Merle lurking, who knows what would have happened. 

“I hate it here,” she whispered and looked out the window at the oversized southern mansion. 

“Shit, I’ll stay. You take the truck back and go home to the trailer and Merle.”

“Um, no.” She laughed. “Though, can’t really say your drunk brother would be a worse alternative to my drunk father. But at least here I have a room with a lock on the door.”

“He better not lay a hand on you. Why the hell you wanna come here anyway? I coulda just taken you home.”

“Nah,” she shook her head and sighed. “Mom is no better. She’ll just tell me to suck it up, was probably my fault anyway.”

“You know it wasn’t though, right? That asshole has it comin’ to him when I get back home.”

“Don’t bother, Daryl. He was so high he won’t even know or remember why you’re beatin’ his ass.”

“Like I care.”

“I need you to care. Okay? I’m not staying here forever. I will be back in Georgia soon. I just need to breathe. And when I get back, last thing I want to have to do is bail your ass out of jail.”

“Fine,” Daryl grunted. “You call me when you’re ready to come back. If I can steal the truck again, I’ll come’n get ya.”

(Y/N) got quiet again. She looked like she wanted to say more, but instead she just turned to him with a sad little smile and nodded. “Thank you.”

Daryl was within steps of the front porch. He never got the chance to climb the steps to knock. Whomever was inside must have heard him somehow and came downstairs to see who was lurking. Another faint light began to illuminate the room right beyond the front door. After a loud click of the interior lock, the front door opened a crack. The light from inside was enough for him to see the barrel of a shotgun sticking out. 

“Who are you!?” a deeper, but female voice, called from inside.

“Name’s Daryl,” he called back and slowly raised both hands into the air so that whomever was inside could see he wasn’t carrying a weapon. “Lookin’ for a girl that used to live here.”

“Lots of people have passed through here in the years. We got an army inside, fully armed. So if you’re here to cause trouble–”

“Nah, just lookin’ for an old friend,” he yelled back. He wasn’t too scared of the threat, he figured if there had been an armed army inside, he would already be surrounded with guns pointed at his head. “Her name is (Y/N). Back before the world died, this was her dad’s house.”

Silence. The barrel of the shotgun never moved, nor did the door. A minute passed, and finally the gun was lowered and the door cracked open a bit more. 

“Daryl, who? Daryl Dixon?”

A feeling of relief tore through his chest and despite everything he had been feeling, he smiled. “Yeah, Dixon.”

The door opened all the way, and the lights from inside spilled out onto the porch. (Y/N) stepped out into the night air. The way the shadows fell, her face was obscured from him, but Daryl would know her from anywhere. 

“Had an accident on my way here. Ripped my arm open. Was hopin’ you could stitch me up, again.”

(Y/N) reached the top of the front steps, and this time the moonlight allowed him to see her face. She was older for sure, but the years hadn’t seemed to be too hard on her. She was still beautiful, and when her lips twitched into her crooked smile, he felt even more relieved. 

“I don’t sew, you asshole. Thought we’ve been through this already.”

“Still got the magic tough,” Daryl laughed and snaked his now sewn up arm back through his leather jacket. 

“I just–I can’t believe you’re alive. And here. Where… HOW are you here?”

“Figured if you were still standin’ you’d be standin’ here. At least I hoped.”

(Y/N) bit down on her lower lip and drew in a deep breath through her nose, slowly releasing it. “Yeah. Here I am. You look like you’ve been through Hell and back.”

“Close enough,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling shy and unsure of what to say. “It’s been rough. The group I got with, we had our troubles along the way. But it’s a strong group, I guess that’s why we made it.”

“Merle?”

Daryl hadn’t heard his brother’s name in a long time. Though it had been years since he had to put Merle down, it still stung. He lowered his head and shook it slowly. “He didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry.” It was all she could manage to squeak out. The shock of seeing Daryl again was still fresh. She had thought he was long gone, though that didn’t stop her from thinking about him all the time. “I’m glad you’re here. Shocked, but glad. I have a room upstairs you can use. Take a hot shower. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat. But shower sounds better.”

“C’mon, I’ll show you the room. You get cleaned up and I can make you something to eat.”

Daryl finished cleaning up, put on a clean shirt from his pack and found his pants, now patched up, laying on the bed. He made his way back downstairs and slowly walked through the house looking for the kitchen. With each room he passed by or looked into, he was in awe of how well things seemed to hold up through the years. He had a million questions for her but didn’t want to push for answers. Finally, he pushed through a set of swinging doors and found himself standing in the kitchen. (Y/N) was at the island counter, slicing what looked like ham off the bone and piling it onto a hearty slice of bread that already had lettuce and some ripe tomatoes on it.

“Damn, looks good,” he said as he slowly made his way closer to her. 

“Veg is from the garden out back. Been able to keep it going fairly well. Baked the bread this morning and the ham, well… a great sacrifice from one of the older piglets.”

“So, just you here?”

“Mhm. Wasn’t always just me. People have passed through, some stayed for a while. But after the last bunch, I stopped taking people in. Figured if they were this far into the pandemic, they could survive on their own.”

“Last bunch? Lemme guess… caused a whole lotta trouble?”

(Y/N) nodded without looking away from slicing the ham. She placed the other piece of bread on top and pushed the plate towards Daryl. “Eat up. Want a drink? Got water from the tap. Actually stays cold from the well. Or, I got whiskey.”

“Whiskey,” he said without hesitation before pulling the plate with the sandwich on it closer. He used both hands to pick up and took a big bite. It didn’t strike him until that moment that he hadn't eaten all day. Last meal was a can of beans over a campfire with a few hunks of stale bread. The Commonwealth hadn’t been hurting for food, but the rations he took for the trip didn’t last long.

(Y/N) rifled through the cabinets until she produced a clear decanter of whiskey and two crystal tumblers. She placed them on the counter and poured a hefty shot into each. “My grannie sure did love her crystal,” she said absently as she moved one of the glasses towards Daryl. “Lotta good it did her in the long run.”

They lifted their glasses and clicked the edges together. “To old friends,” she said. Daryl repeated her toast and they each downed the biting brown liquid. 

Some brief small talk was exchanged while Daryl ate his sandwich, but when he was done, the kitchen got very quiet. 

“Why are you really here, Daryl? And, where have you been all these years?”

“Been all over,” he said quietly. A flash flood of memories whipped through his mind, not really sure if he should start from the beginning and tell her all of it. “Now we’re staying in a large community north of here. The Commonwealth.”

(Y/N) let out a loud, snorting laugh and promptly refilled her glass. “Oh, I know the Commonwealth. Some of their,” she used her fingers in air quotes, “‘soldiers’ were the last group that I had here. Claimed to be recruiting for the community. But really they just wanted my land and the house. Heard them talking about how their leader would love the place. Just what she needed. When I told them no, they got hostile. For two days I battled to get them out of this place. When the last of ‘em finally left, I told them if they were ever spotted this far south again, I’d resurrect the Confederacy and reign hell down on them.”

Daryl laughed. “And they believed you?”

“I took out six of them before they could even blink. I think they got how serious I was.”

“Six? Shit. I trained to be one of those soldiers. They aren’t soft men and women.”

“No. They aren’t. But I’m harder and I won’t take shit from outsiders.”

“I can see that.”

“You never answered me. Why are you here, Daryl?”

Daryl cleared his throat, then reached for the decanter of whiskey. After another shot, he simply shrugged. “Wanted to know if you were still alive.”

Her gaze narrowed on him as if she didn’t believe him straight away. By all that he could see, it looked as if she survived fairly easily. The house wasn’t in a state of decay, she was clean, clothes neat, and still looked like she did all those years ago but she’d gotten harder than her fancy granite counters. It made him wonder how the girl he knew had become the woman before him.

“I’m alive. So are you, though, you look like you’ve been through it. You certainly look different. Last time I saw you, you weren’t a boy exactly, but you sure are a man now.”

“Yeah, well. I didn’t have a fortress like this to hold up in. I was out on the road, always fighting to stay alive, to eat, to… to keep others alive.”

She shook her head and reached for the decanter again, but Daryl stopped her. “Nah, don’t do that. Roll your eyes then go for the booze. Say what you wanna say.”

“Ok, fine. That was your choice, Daryl. When things started going to shit and I told you I was heading up here. I told you to come with me. Hell, I fucking BEGGED you to come with me.”

“I remember,” he said, the rush of the moment and the heat of the whiskey was fueling him. “I also remember you said, but NOT my brother. Merle wasn’t welcome.”

“Damn right Merle wasn’t welcome. You were though. You could have been here with me all this time. But no, loyalty to your brother kept you living on the road. Scouring for scraps of food, dealing with God only knows what kind of people.”

“Worst of the worst kinda people.”

“My point.”

“You damn well knew I wouldn’t leave Merle behind. He’s my brother! WAS my brother, (Y/N). He’s all I had in this goddamn world back then.”

“Bullshit. All he ever did was get you in trouble and bring you down. Since we were all kids, he was always dragging you into some kind of mess. Remember Tommy Blake? That fight you had with him and I had to sew your arm up? That was because of Merle!”

“What was I supposed to do?! He was the only one who ever gave a damn about me growing up!”

“No, he wasn’t and you know it! Your loyalty had you blinded to him. I gave a shit about you!” Both of their voices were getting louder and louder with each line thrown at the other. “And look, you still lost him anyway! How much trouble did he cause for you until he died?!”

Daryl wanted to lash out at her, but he couldn’t because she was right and also because it wasn’t why he came all this way. (Y/N), however, wasn’t done with her tirade. 

“Goddamnit, Daryl! You know how many years I stood on that porch and watched people approaching the gates, praying that you would be among them? Hoping, just HOPING you were at least still alive somewhere!”

“Just, stop… I wasn’t gonna leave my brother behind. Not for anyone.”

“Clearly, because he was the end all be all of your existence!”

“Jesus… I didn’t come all the way for this…”

“Some things never change. You’re still an ass!”

“Yeah, well, you’re still a know-it-all bitch!”

“And I still love you!”

Her words stopped Daryl from saying anything else. It was his turn to narrow his gaze at her, trying to understand what the hell she meant by that. 

“Look, I don’t wanna fight with you–”

“What does that mean? You never told me that.”

“What? That I loved you?” she snorted a laugh. “Why would I have told you, Daryl? I had to spell everything out for you. You weren’t the only one with a shitty childhood, you know. My parents, they didn’t hurt me the way yours did; never laid a hand on me. But, they never laid a hand on me lovingly, either.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I don’t know how to show people I love them. I don’t know when I should hug someone, or show affection. If I tried with them, I got swatted away, like I was a fuckin’ pest. I was a burden to them and everyone around me. Including you. It wouldn’t have mattered back then, anyway. Even if I could have stripped myself naked in front of you and told you everything I felt for you, and you still wouldn’t have seen it. Your world revolved around Merle. I’m sorry he’s gone, I am. But, I can see you’re a different man now. You’re not the same guy that was led around by his brother anymore. I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I can guess that change happened after he died.”

He hated that she was partially right. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Ok, keep telling yourself that. It may have been ten years since I last saw you, but don’t forget, I knew you for years before that. YEARS, Daryl. I know everything about you. I know, at your core, who you were, and how badly you wanted to allow yourself to be that person. I also know that man is standing here in front of me now. He wouldn’t be if Merle–”

“Stop, (Y/N). Maybe you’re right. He’s been gone for years, and yeah, he did hold me back. The people I was with all this time, people I’m still with, they made me who I am now. That kid you knew back then, he’s long gone. And for the record, you weren’t some kinda burden to me. You were my friend. I woulda done anything for ya.”

“You did, to a point. Then Merle would come along and… But you’re right. It's the past and bringing up Merle doesn’t do us any good now.”

The kitchen grew quiet again. This time, it was Daryl that reached for the whiskey and refilled both glasses. Slowly, they each lifted the crystal to their lips, but this time sipped on the drink. (Y/N) placed her glass down and leaned her elbows on the island counter. 

“Want another sandwich?”

“Nah,” he grunted. 

“Wanna tell me why you’re here? We keep getting sidetracked from that question.”

“I told you, I wanted to see if you were still alive.”

“So, let me get this straight… you and your friends are living it up in the Commonwealth, training to be soldiers, working jobs, living life… and you just decide to travel all this way through backroads of who knows what, and see if I am alive?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Bullshit.”

“Ok then, asshole, why do you think I did it?”

(Y/N) was thoughtful for a moment, but then Daryl noticed her lips forming into that little smirk she had; the one he would dream about. “Maybe because you missed me. And now that you’re in a stable place, you wanted to come ‘n tell me as much.”

She challenged him with a raise of her brow, and as much as he wanted to deny it and tell her how wrong she was, he couldn’t. Instead, he shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe I did.”

(Y/N) reached her hand across the counter and covered Daryl’s. “I’m glad you did.” She saw that the bandage she had put on his arm earlier was bleeding through. “C’mon, get out of that shirt.”

“Damn girl, I just got here.”

“You’re bleeding, dumbass. I wanna change your bandage. Jesus… Tell a guy you love him and he immediately thinks you’re trying to get laid.” She paused before walking out of the kitchen and turned back to him, one brow raised and a smirk on her face. “And, maybe I am… but you still need that changed first.”

Daryl followed her out of the kitchen through the swinging doors and down the hall to a parlor room. There were lanterns burning low, giving off a soft light but enough for him to see the medical supplies she had set up around the room. 

“Here, sit.” She pointed to the bench near the lantern. “Shirt off please, and no smart smartmouth comments.”

“No promises,” he grumbled and watched her go to a cabinet that was filled with rubbing alcohol and bandages. “Damn, you got a stockpile here.”

“Yep. You think I just hid away in this big… fortress is what you called it, right?”

“C’mon, (Y/N), I was just–”

“I know, being salty. I didn’t just hide here, Daryl. I mean, yes, at first I did. But once dad and grannie were gone, and it was just me, I went out, gathered supplies. Found animals to breed for food. Found ways to fortify this place and make a sustainable home. I did that. Me. I’m not some weak ass woman who just hid.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. Trust me, never thought you were weak. Like, ever.”

“Good.”

(Y/N) came and sat down on the bench next to him. She repositioned the lantern to see his wound easier, and that’s when she caught sight of his back. Some of the scars she knew well, they had been courtesy of his father’s belt. But there were so many more, some fresh. She thought she could actually feel her heart break in two thinking about the horrible things he must have gone through.

“Daryl…” she started to say, then stopped. Dabbing a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol, There’s so many more, she thought. Gingerly, she sponged the fresh blood from around his cut. “What happened out there?”

He didn’t answer at first. In the low light of the room, she could see the mix of emotions that ran across his face. His blue eyes cast to the ground as if he was ashamed. 

“Whatever it was… I won’t… couldn’t ever think less of you.”

“Doesn’t matter. People tried to beat us down. We wouldn’t let them.”

She absently reached up and tucked a long tendril of his hair behind his ear, then lightly took his chin between her fingers and turned his head to look back up at her. 

“I have never been good at expressing my feelings. Never been good at anything like that. I’ve gotten better about it over the years. Losing people left and right like we do. Had to learn to let people know what they mean to me. So, for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. For whatever you fought through, whatever you had to endure. You’re still here, thriving in this hellscape of a world. And now you’re here sitting in my house just because you wanted to know if I was alive. That means something.”

Daryl dared to look up and meet her eyes. For the second time in his life, he saw tears there. They were a whole lot different than the tears he saw the night he picked her up in the rain at that gas station, but she was still just as beautiful. He reached up his hand and took hers that held his chin, bringing it down to his leg, then laced his fingers with hers. 

“I shoulda went with you when you asked.”

She slowly shook her head no. “I’m glad you didn’t. Because it wouldn’t have lasted. I think part of me knew that back then. You would have always wondered about your brother. Regardless of what I thought of him, you loved him. You had to stay with him. You woulda just gone to look for him, like you are here looking for me, now.”

“And, maybe, you had to do this,” he said, motioning around towards the room. “Being here, helping people that came through. Going out to scavenge for supplies on your own. You were always tough, but now, you ain’t that scared kid anymore, either.”

“Guess we both did some growing up,” she said, and reluctantly took her hand from his to continue dressing his wound. “So, what now? You see I’m alive and doing okay. Stay a few days and head back home?”

“Guess so,” he said, though he didn’t know if that was really what he wanted to do. Back home meant the Commonwealth. Sure it was safe, and aptly stocked for its many residents, but he never really did feel comfortable in such a big place. Even with his own people in power, it felt too open, too exposed for his liking. “I got people back there. Kids… I promised ‘em I’d come back.”

“You have kids?!”

“Well, no. I mean, kinda. They ain’t mine. I’m just keeping an eye on them til their mom gets back. The girl, Judith, she was born in the beginning when we were on the road. Her dad, Rick, he… he became my brother in it all, ya know? Her ma died havin’ her, so we all kinda took part in makin’ sure she was okay. We got to this new place up in Virginia, things were good. Rick found someone again, they were happy. Then, he was gone. I lost another brother and it damn near wrecked me. Spent months trying to find him, but all I ever found was his gun. His new wife was pregnant, so when RJ came along, we did what we always do, helped out. They call me Uncle Daryl.”

“Wow…” she whispered, genuinely touched and surprised at what he was telling her. “I cannot imagine you with kids. Even if they aren’t yours.”

“Their mom, she thinks Rick may still be out there, so she’s out lookin’. Me ‘n Carol, we take care of them.”

“Carol? Is she part of your group, or is she… your wife?”

Daryl snorted. “Wife? Nah. Carol is my best friend. She’s the one who told me I should come ‘n try to find you.”

“Remind me to thank her if I ever meet her.”

“You’d like her. Hell, she’d love you.”

“Good to know,” (Y/N) said, and he noticed the little smile that came to her lips. 

“So, uh, what you said before in the kitchen. You mean that?”

“What part? That you’re still an ass? Yes, with all my heart.”

Daryl rolled his eyes and watched her finish replacing the bandage on his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh,” she said, “that. I meant it.”

Daryl bit the inside of his lip and nodded before he stood up and put his shirt back on. (Y/N) stood up alongside him and once he had his shirt situated, she stepped closer and threw her arms around his neck to hug him before he could even think about objecting. Not that he would have.

“I only ever wanted you in my life, Daryl. I want you to stay for as long as you can stay and I hope that’s a long time.” Her words were muffled a bit because her face was buried in his neck, but he heard everything she said. A moment later, she pulled back and while her eyes were dry, he could see the high emotions set across her face. “I know you have to go back. You have family there, and you have to keep your promise. But now you know where I am and that I’m alive, maybe next time, don’t take so long coming back around.”

Daryl wanted to say what was on his mind, but instead it came out as a deep grunt from his chest. 

“Yeah well, I woulda come sooner, but needed to find my own way, first.”

“Maybe we can find our way together now?”

“I do gotta go back. But, I think we could. Not now though, and probably not tomorrow. Would like to stay for a while, if that’s okay.”

(Y/N) lightly touched his cheek and guided his face closer to hers so she could leave a soft kiss on his lips. “It’s more than okay. Maybe one day when you do come back, it will be to stay for good.”

Daryl thought about that, and thought, maybe it could be. The reason he was so restless at the Commonwealth was because even though it was now a peaceful community in good hands, it never felt like home. That moment, sitting in the big house on the sprawling grounds, with (Y/N) was the most he had felt like he was home in years. He couldn’t get himself to tell her this now, but maybe one day he could. Maybe one day, he would tell her that he loved her too, and his home was wherever she was. 

Maybe.

[theoceanoasis]

Decepticons winning a fight and the captured Autobots are being made slaves. Mechs fight for Hot Rod since he was always considered attractive but Soundwave gets him because he's always been in love with him.

He sighed in disinterest. Pulling out some datapads to work while Megatron watched the fight below. It was lackluster at best and nothing like their battles in the pits of Kaon.

Looking up he could see the bored look on his leader's face. As the Decepticons fought over some Autobot he didn't know.

After the Decepticons victory they had rounded up the Autobots and forced Optimus to make a deal. Either they kill all of his Autobots for being traitors or they'll be given off to Decepticons.

Optimus of course didn't want them to die and signed them over. Which meant they needed to decide who got which Autobot. Since some wanted the same one they decided to have them fight for it. Winner gets them as a prize.

He wasn't interested in all of that. None of the Autobots attracted his attention, they weren't him.

"This is boring. Why don't you join in?"

"I'm not interested in any of the Autobots we captured."

"We recently caught a few more and I think there's one in particular that might catch your optic."

He gave him a confused look when he saw the fight end and one of the Decepticons claimed victory.

Then the next match later that day was being announced along with the prize. He tensed hearing people whisper around him a few sounding excited.

He didn't pay any attention to them. Instead he was focused on the screen in front of them which showed an injured Hot Rod in handcuffs.

Behind him Megatron laughed.

"I thought you'd be interested."

He along with a group of Decepticons signed up for the next fight. He could hear them talking about Hot Rod and it made him angry. He was going to punish them for ever talking about Hot Rod like that. He was more than just share ware.

He looked back at the screen knowing he'd have to win.

So many people signed up that they had to break it up into groups. Everyone was randomly assigned the person they'd be fighting against. Whoever won would go onto the next round. Until only one person was standing who could claim Hot Rod.

His first fight was easy with his competitor being no match for him and his years is experience. Watching his name go up he found himself drawn to Hot Rod. Who was watching the show from a cage. His hands pressed against the glass as he watched. For a moment he could have sworn they made optic contact. Before he needed to prepare for the next round which was starting soon.

He didn't know how many people he defeated that night. But by the end everyone was cheering his name. He looked at his competitor and glared while they smirked. Telling him all the things they planned to do to Hot Rod once they won.

Enraged the moment the bell rang he was viciously fighting him. The mech tried to fight back but it barely did anything. Hot Rod was his and he made sure everyone knew that.

He watched as his competitor fell to the ground unconscious. Everyone cheered so loudly the ground shook and he knew it was one of the best fights they had. Everyone gave him a standing ovation including Megatron who seemed excited by the fight. Likely thinking of his own victories.

He turned away from the cheering crowd and went to Hot Rod. He scooped him into his arms and carried him back to his room where he'd take care of him. Making sure Hot Rod knew how much he loved him. Unlike those other Decepticons who wanted to use what was his.

[childotkw]

I can't stop thinking about Luke surviving the dance (with or without dragon tbh) and basically taking over Driftmark since Corlys has gotten too old to rule it. He isn't legally Lord of Driftmark but everyone respects him and calls him as such. I'd imagine him either being a hostage for the greens for a bit before escaping them or surving the fall and finding his way around Stormlands, maybe some family in a small village takes him in for a month so that he can regain his strength. But then he is absolutely fucking furious and goes all sicko mode. He claims a dragon (could be any of them or maybe Arrax is alive) but he never really forgets how much of a problem Velaryon fleets and ships could be to the greens, so he takes after Corlys and leads the Velaryon troops into war and they win pretty much everytime. He maybe even basically (spoilers for fire and blood if you haven't read it) saves Jace in the Battle of The Gullet with Velaryon ships and his dragon. After the war no one ever dares to call him a Strong again, he is both a Velaryon and a Targaryen and he is proven himself as such. You can sneak in Lucemond into this somehow haha i just conpletely forgot about Aemond here. Maybe when Arrax dies Aemond basically thinks the debt as payed (an eye for a dragon, a dragon for an eye) and when Luke goes and claims another dragon Aemond cannot blame him for it, bc then he'd be a hypocrite. I'd honestly love an AU where Luke is captured and it's a whole story about how he goes through some shitty stuff but those only make him stronger in the end. (ig theres many plotlines in GoT that contains hostage situations too haha it just has the best potentials)

I love this and I'm gonna do a twist on it, if that's okay?

Lucerys survived, and when he came back to Dragonstone he refused to claim another dragon. He lost Arrax and the pain of that severed bond was too raw, too fresh, for him to contemplate replacing his friend. In the future, maybe, but right now? No. No, he couldn't bring himself to do that.

So, he embraced his Velaryon heritage instead.

The sea almost took him once after all, but it gave him back, and that marked him in some way. Being at the mercy of the vast ocean and allowed to survive - it changed a person.

He was more a tempest than fire now, but he's just as sharp, just as dangerous as any dragon that soared through the sky.

And Lucerys had always wanted to protect his family. It was the one thing that never failed to rouse his temper, and to defend their cause from the sea while his mother, father and siblings defended it from the sky? It was - not perfect, but as close as he could get.

He became known as the 'Sea Dragon'. His weakness for sea travel fell away to a confidence unmatched by any other, and Corlys would burst with pride at how his grandson grew to take command of Driftmark and the Velaryon fleet.

Lucerys sailed, and he fought, and he won more often than not. For all that he was young and untested, he was reckless and bold, and his ingenuity was one of his biggest strengths.

And his men loved him for it.

By the end of the war, no one who worked under his command would dare claim him unworthy of the title Lord of the Tides. Bastard or not, he carried the Velaryon name and lived up to the legacy.

(And if it were a kinder world, one where Aegon eventually decided that enough was enough and he was sick of being a pawn in his mother's games and his grandsire's ambitions, and he bent the knee to his sister? Well, Lucerys and Aemond would eventually reunite, and though he had known his nephew had survived their ill-fated fight above Shipbreaker Bay, Aemond still found himself breathless when he saw Lucerys again for the first time.

His nephew had grown in the past year, the last of his boyishness peeling away to reveal a defined jawline and strong features with the beginnings of stubble on his cheeks. Muscular and tanned from his days on board his ship, Arrax, and eyes that roiled, he looked -

Handsome, Aemond realised with a jolt.

But the thing that bothered him the most was that, for all the pain and anger that lurked between them, Lucerys didn't look at Aemond. Not during the negotiations. Not during the tense feasts that followed. Not even at his mother's coronation when they stood right across from each other. It was as if he had ceased to exist in his nephew's eyes, and that burned.

For Lucerys, his indifference was the last armour he had, because if he acknowledged his uncle, if he dared look at the man that had carved half of his soul from his chest and now seemed to live under his skin, then he'd do something he'd regret. Like kill him.

Or kiss him.

He wasn't going to tempt fate and see which side the coin landed on.

Too bad for him, Aemond refused to be ignored.)