#hms macedonian

[ltwilliammowett]

USS United States battles the HMS Macedonian, October 25, 1812, by Fred Pansing (1844-1912)

[clove-pinks]

In early 1812, months before the outbreak of war, two captains of frigates from rival navies met in Norfolk. One was Stephen Decatur, who held the unofficial rank of commodore in the United States Navy and who was in command of USS United States. With him was the British John Surman Carden, in command of the crack new 38-gun frigate HMS Macedonian. The two socialised frequently during Carden’s stay in Norfolk, and Carden often dined with Decatur and his wife. The two officers took a liking to each other, bonding primarily through discussion of their beloved frigates. While United States was by far the slowest of the three heavy frigates with the nickname ‘Old Wagon’, she was still a prestigious command as one of the most powerful frigates in the world and currently carrying a slightly heavier armament than her sisters. Macedonian was considered an exceptionally fast frigate, and her first lieutenant, David Hope, considered her to be one of the best-trained frigates in gunnery in the world. It was reported that during one of Carden and Decatur's discussions they had joked about making a wager over a beaver hat on the outcome of a prospective contest between their two frigates.

— Nicholas James Kaizer, Revenge in the Name of Honour: The Royal Navy’s Quest for Vengeance in the Single Ship Actions of the War of 1812

Engagement between the ‘United States’ and the ‘Macedonian’ (details) by Thomas Birch, 1813. (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

When Carden and Decatur met again, 500 miles south of the Azores, it was an American victory, with the heavier armament of United States making the difference. Her longer, 24-pound shot proved decisive, inflicting much more damage than Macedonian’s 18-pound shot. At closer range, the Americans’ twenty-four 42-pound carronades devastated Macedonian, who carried only fourteen 32-pounders. Carden’s ship was nearly dismasted and became unmanageable, with great loss of life. Over 100 dead, dying, and wounded men were strewn near her wrecked rigging and canvas. 

When Carden surrendered at last, some of his men cried and others were prepared to fight the American prize crew (the British sailors had also broken into the spirit stores, adding to the chaos). Nonetheless:

Decatur and Carden greeted each other as friends. The American refused to accept Carden’s sword and praised his gallantry, but he could tell that Carden was in a deplorably melancholic state. Carden admitted that he was devastated at losing his ship, believing that he was the first British captain to do so. Decatur’s attempts to console him by informing him that Dacres [of HMS Guerriere] had that unfortunate distinction only partially mollified Carden. He had still lost a ship in one-on-one combat, and Macedonian became the first and only British frigate to be brought into an American port as a prize. 

— Nicholas James Kaizer, Revenge in the Name of Honour: The Royal Navy’s Quest for Vengeance in the Single Ship Actions of the War of 1812

No word from Kaizer if the bet for a beaver hat was ever called in by Stephen Decatur. For those unfamiliar with the term, it refers to a hat made from highly processed beaver fur that has been felted, formed, and brushed to a silken sheen, like the top hat worn by this gentleman in an 1812 fashion plate (Flickr):

Beaver hats were also waterproof, and naval cocked hats were made out of the same material.

[manfrommars2049]

USS United States vs HMS Macedonian; By Rear Admiral John W. Schmidt via ImaginaryWarships

[princessmacedon]

They find it— steal it, others might say— on a little visit to reclaim some of their own stolen belongings from a rival gang. It's a quaint little wooden box, a lever sticking out one side, though the paint on it has long since faded to muted colors. When they wind up the lever in its side, it plays the melody of a waltz they danced to years ago now at the Ethereal Ball with a certain red-haired girl.

The music box sits innocently now on Maria's doorstep, tied up with a thin yellow ribbon. The tag on it reads in a hurried scrawl, “Happy birthday, Maria. May you have a long and happy life ahead.”

Knowing the birthday habits of certain someones in regards to particular Macedonian princesses, each time Maria opens her door on this day, she does so with a great and tender care -- yet it seems to her that now she has further someones to consider!

The box -- a music box, perhaps, from the way a lever juts from its side -- is world-weary and yet still tender thing. The colors on the outside have lost their vibrancy, scrubbed away by the inexorable wear of time; and yet, when she cranks the handle (gently, gently, pinched just so between thumb and forefinger!), though it may take a weary beat, the music follows. It follows! And it is no less capable of bestowing joy, of carrying it within itself, than it had been at its very beginning -- of this, Maria is certain.

"Oh!" And now it all makes sense, fingertips dancing and curling beneath that thin yellow ribbon, admiring it for a moment before deciding that yes... she thinks it looks even lovelier with the decoration still attached. A grin spreads across her face, a blossom in full bloom as she winds up the song a second time.

"Hm hm hm...~" With steps turned light and playful, the little robin of Macedon hops out of her chair, her skirt flaring out as she twirls, leans, reaches and grabs the cute little paw of one of the plush friends sitting on her bed.

Together, although the little stuffed dragon isn't tall enough for her to step on his toes, the two of them dance a familiar little dance. Perhaps if her imagination is rich enough (and it surely is), the soft-falling petals outside might become snowflakes, and she, like this still-remembered song, will carry this joy within herself and deliver it again.

[stinkyme]

Completely different topic, but I’m gonna start studying Slavic languages and literature in fall, and the uni requires me to choose two Slavic languages that I will be focusing on. I’ll definitely pick Russian, but I still need a second one and I’m still clueless which one to choose :(

I’m not very familiar with Slavic languages, do you think you can recommend one?

hm, it really depends on what exactly you want to achieve yk

for example, if you want to sort of ease it up, you can pick russian and ukranian because they are similar or (I am not trying to be biased here) serbian, because they are also similar..but, when you learn serbian you will also easily navigate croatian, bosnian and montenegrin because they are essentially the same, besides accent difference, some words difference and they use ijekavica & jekavica, while we use ekavica (serbian)

or, you could choose to learn slovene if you ever desire to live in Slovenia because (as far as i know) they have good life standard, but with inflation currently and all, I am probably wrong, however future wise speaking, you could choose that :)

polish is also a lovely language, but again, it ends up to what you want :) I love all languages, especially slavic ones because I, myself, speak it so I think there is absolutely not a wrong choice to pick.

obviously, some slavic languages like church slavonic or slavomolisano are much less spoken by people. I think slavomolisano has around 1000 native speakers (and maybe 1000-2000 passive speakrs) and it's usually spoken in Italy.

Now, church slavonic is rarely used nowadays and is only useful if you are looking forward to be a part of a church that still uses it, which i highly doubt, so I wouldn't recommend that one, but everything else I mentioned, it falls down to if you have a strong preference to visit a place or possibly live there.

Bulgarian and macedonian are also lovely languages!!

there is not a wrong choice in my opinion, as long as it provides you what you might desire :)

[kaitokrush]

My heart is chained to yours; a Junkrat and Roadhog fanfiction

Chapter 6

Preview

Packing ourselves into the truck, Lúcio takes off his hood to reveal dreadlocks with the tips dyed green.

"Uuuuhh Lúcio, is your favorite color green?"

"Hm? How could you tell?"

Turning around to face him, my eyes scan like a machine up and down his appearance.

"Green sweater, green headphones, green hair, green suitcases, green sneakers. Next thing I find out you have green nickers and use green condoms."

"Pfft I guess so, didn't think it was so obvious.”

“What!?!! Come on, I expect you to recite all the shades of green the human eye can see.”

Holland taps my shoulder.

"Jamison, you can talk to Lúcio facing the front."

"Y-yes sir."

Lúcio giggles while covering his mouth making me turn in my seat to talk to him again.

"Oi!!! What's so funny, mate!!!"

"You're practically under my uncle's thumb, aren't you? I didn't mean to be rude if it comes off like that."

"W-well he's nice to me and stuff so-"

Again, Holland taps my shoulder, snapping me to face forward.

"Jamison, how would you like to sit in the back? Talking with Lúcio would be much easier."

"Haha, boy would I?"

We pull over and I switch into the back, bringing my bag.

"Damn dude, your bag is huge."

"Well, it has all my stuff just in case."

I start shuffling around in my bag bringing out stuff in it and putting it back in after I say what they are.

"It has my meds, my knife, extra tissues, money, phone, protein bars, small water bottles, gum in case my breath is too stinky, Bluetooth headphones -"

“Don’t worry, I get the idea, don’t need a bag tour."

"Well, why don't you give me a bag tour of your own?"

"No thanks, dude."

“Siiiigh, alright mate.”

Sinking into my seat, my eyes wander to the window. But I don’t roll it down since I’m not sure if Lúcio enjoys his dreadlocks in the wind. Driving by a group of buildings, I’m able to catch what displays of Lúcio’s phone.

“Moore Park Synthetic Field, Macedonian Soccer Field, Heffron Park Synthetic Soccer…”

“Hm?”

Baffled, Lúcio looks up from his phone at me. My attention then diverts from the window.

“U-um…Do you play soccer or something?"

"Huh!?"

"Sorry, your phone, you're looking for public soccer fields."

"O-oh yeah, wanna join? It's rather boring playing by yourself. I’m sure tio has some footballs in the garage, he’s probably bought some just for me."

Rashly I take his phone and find a field closer to our place.

"The field in Condell Park, that's a bit closer to home."

Handing Lúcio back his phone, he looks a bit taken aback then instantly snaps back to being bubbly.

"Hell yeah that sounds great, I’ll pick you up in tio’s truck."

“Naw, the skate ain’t tooooo far.”

Chatting for the rest of the drive, Lúcio and Holland drop me off at my apartment so they can have some uncle-nephew time. Leaving me with Lúcio’s number in my contacts.

Now available on AO3 + Wattpad

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 10.25 (before 1920)

285 or 286 – Execution of Saints Crispin and Crispinian during the reign of Diocletian, now the patron saints of leather workers, curriers, and shoemakers. 473 – Emperor Leo I acclaims his grandson Leo II as Caesar of the East Roman Empire. 1147 – Seljuk Turks defeat German crusaders under Conrad III at the Battle of Dorylaeum. 1147 – Reconquista: After a siege of four months, crusader knights reconquer Lisbon. 1415 – Hundred Years' War: Henry V of England, with his lightly armoured infantry and archers, defeats the heavily armoured French cavalry in the Battle of Agincourt. 1616 – Dutch sea-captain Dirk Hartog makes the second recorded landfall by a European on Australian soil, at the later-named Dirk Hartog Island off the West Australian coast. 1747 – War of the Austrian Succession: A British fleet under Admiral Edward Hawke defeats the French at the Second Battle of Cape Finisterre. 1760 – King George III succeeds to the British throne on the death of his grandfather George II. 1809 – Golden Jubilee of George III is celebrated in Britain as he begins the fiftieth year of his reign. 1812 – War of 1812: The American frigate, USS United States, commanded by Stephen Decatur, captures the British frigate HMS Macedonian. 1822 – Greek War of Independence: The First Siege of Missolonghi begins. 1854 – The Battle of Balaclava takes place during the Crimean War. It is soon memorialized in verse as The Charge of the Light Brigade. 1861 – The Toronto Stock Exchange is created. 1868 – The Uspenski Cathedral, designed by Aleksey Gornostayev, is inaugurated in Helsinki, Finland. 1900 – The United Kingdom annexes the Transvaal. 1911 – The Xinhai Revolution spreads to Guangzhou, where the Qing general Feng-shan is assassinated by the Chinese Assassination Corps. 1917 – Old Style date of the October Revolution in Russia.

[alineuponthewind]

USS United States vs HMS Macedonian - Maarten Platje

[misshistory-journal]

Kudos to my classmate who didn’t do the reading and summarized a naval battle from the war of 1812 as a story about a man’s life on a boat and how he and his crew celebrated the sabbath at sea

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 30)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Like eleven things happen in the course of one chapter. I’m sorry lol

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr​ @samsationalwilson​  @peachyboneless​ @1950schick​ @punkrocknpearls​ @ietss​   @itsmysticalmystery​ @revolution-starter​​ @chibisgotovalhalla​

Ivar crawls over you, cages you against the cold ground, his lips a breath away from yours, “Half a kingdom for a promise...”

When you wake up the next morning, luckily free of any dreams you can remember, you are rather surprised by how not even Ivar getting out of bed, getting dressed, or the thralls that are walking around the room were able to wake you up.

And, of course, Ivar notices.

“Are you well?”

“Of course I am,” You reply easily, going through the motions of your day and slipping into the warm blue dress. When you pick the earrings and trinkets to wear today and walk back to your husband, you are greeted with a murmur of your name. After a deep breath, you amend, “Dreams, nothing more. I promise.”

“Don’t hide things from me.” Ivar reminds you, and you accept his words, feeling strangely reprimanded.

You start putting on the blue earrings you like to believe are the ones Ubbe gifted you shortly after your wedding, you muse, “‘Half a kingdom for a promise, half a soul for a ring’. That’s what they say about my Goddess, and her…”

“Marriage?”

“Abduction,” You correct, turning your back to him and trying and failing to suppress a shiver as he moves your hair out of the way with ease, fingers skimming over the bare skin of your back. “She had only to vow to be Lord Hades’ wife to earn half a kingdom, yet she had to give up half of her soul to bear his ring.

You toy with your own wedding ring absently, a nervous gesture you have found yourself doing more than once ever since Ivar first put it on your finger.

“You think that’s a bad deal?” Ivar insists, voice low by your ear, “She was made Queen.”

“Not fully, she…she is not fully anything. Not fully his, because he gives her up each spring, not fully her mother’s, who still mourns her every winter. Not dead, not alive. Nothing.”

“Or everything,” Ivar whispers, and he tugs a little harder on the laces of your dress, a playful reminder you ought to straighten your back. “I’d think you more than anyone would understand the privilege of being fully bound to nothing.”

“It wouldn’t be a privilege. I don’t know who I’d be, if…” If Fate weren’t tearing me in two.

“You could have been happy.” Ivar offers, voice low. You have a feeling he not only speaks of you and the circumstances of your life and what they made out of you.

You close your eyes, and let silence reign, because there’s no answer you can give that doesn’t lie.

Before you take your leave, you gather your strength, what your mother called your Athenian nobility, and call out Ivar’s name.

“You said I have your trust,” You start, certain steps taking you to the dresser where the golden snake a very skilled craftsman made into a bracelet lays. Without hesitation, you grab it, and put it on, on the same wrist Ivar did when he gifted it to you. “I want to talk with some men that arrived a few days ago. They come from Greece.”

He stops by the door, turning to you with a frown, “Your home?”

“Macedonia, further North from my-...from Eleusis. I want to know what…what the Gods have made of my land, of Greece. They surely have information.”

Ivar considers you for a few moments, before sighing, and limping towards a chair, where he sits.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he narrows his eyes, “I trust you, but I am far from an idiot.”

“If I were intending to fool you, I wouldn’t be telling you this.”

His head tilts to the side as he regards you. After a few moments, Ivar frowns and turns to you, “Am I the one being tested now?”

You offer him the same words he did once, “Can you blame me for my curiosity?”

Ivar considers your words, before accepting them with a movement of his head.

“Fine. But I want to be there.”

____

“The world you left behind isn’t the one it is now, Eleusinian.” The man tells you, offering a shrug. Your eyebrows lift, and you wonder if you ought to be offended, if there’s truly an edge of accusation behind the man’s words.

“Then tell her about it, hm?” Ivar presses, eyes set on the man that spoke, making something quite close to fear cross his features.

“I-I don’t know much.” The man stammers, but you step closer.

“It’s alright, I-…just tell me what you know.”

He shrugs, “There was an invasion by the Byzantine Empire on Laconia. It was all done on the orders of the Patriarch of Constantinople. To convert the…pagans of Laconia.”

The same crusade was sent to Attica, and they razed it all. They killed, and defiled, and burned. They won.

You grit your teeth, but force yourself to keep your voice steady as you press,

“And?”

“Sparta was well aware of the army they sent, they…prepared, and they fought. Anax Lysander was victorious. They burnt the Christians alive, left their bodies high up in the walls, for everyone to see.”

You smile slightly, brokenly. Leave it to Lysander to remind the Christians of their sins, burning their defeated warriors like they once burnt you. Who would have thought the mighty Anax of Laconia was capable of sentimentality?

“Those Athenians will not let you fight,” The Anax stands, arms crossed over his broad chest. “They will never follow a woman into battle.”

“I will not fight, Lysander,” You argue, “I do not need to.”

“Ah, I’ve heard that tone before,” Lysander’s mother chuckles, weathered skin wrinkling with her smile. Even her smile, you notice, is coated in iron and blood, backed by the mettle that makes Spartan women famous as they are. “You have your mother’s ambitions, child.”

“And my father’s drive. I do not come here empty handed, expecting Sparta to accept me without giving something in exchange.”

“And what is it you offer, sweet one?”

“An army,” You turn to your cousin, “Narses, the Strategus of Attica, he has put his men at my disposal.”

“For us to…what? Retake Greece from the Empire and their God?”

You smile. You know it is madness, you know it is a lost cause, but you still smile. And Lysander returns the smile, hungry and mad.

The man nods, slightly comforted, or reassured, it seems, by your smile.

“If I may,” One of the men says, stepping forward. He bows his head in greeting when he comes to stand before you, before speaking, “The Empire retreats from Spartan land. Your cousin has bought our lands and your Gods a few decades, with this display. The caliph recognizes Laconian independence from the Empire, if only because they have a common enemy. So do the Kievan Rus, and the Rashidun.”

You simplify his words with a phrase, and yet you know as you utter the words that you are standing there, begging for them to confirm it as true, to reassure you there’s no lie, no twist, in this.

“Laconia is free of the Empire. O-Of their God.”

The Macedonian man smiles, and nods his head, “It is free.”

You over your mouth as a sob threatens to leave your lips. Free.

The man bows his head again in a sign of respect.

“We honor your fight, even if we do not share your drive. May your Gods keep you, and our home.”

You nod your head, but you can’t say anything. Free.

“You can leave.” Ivar says somewhere behind you, but it sounds like you’re underwater.

The men leave, and you cannot move. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t think you can control your own body right now. Free.

Ivar stands before you, eyes searching yours. You cannot stop shaking.

You think you say his name, your voice small and broken.

His hand finds the back of your head, you think he is trying to soothe you with the soft caress of his rough hand on your hair.

A murmur of your name, and you can only look at him with wide eyes, begging him to have an answer to the chaos that brews inside you.

Ivar brings you to him, quickly and roughly, and you think dazedly that you wouldn’t have been able to thaw if he hadn’t made you move. Your face is pressed against his chest and you feel you can finally breathe since you’ve heard the word free.

Your hands scramble for purchase against him, and your breaths are quick and out of your control, and you…you…

The jarring movement of Ivar’s left arm as he thrusts his crutch deep into the ground, as if to find a way to keep you both upright, makes something break within you.

The panicked breaths become sobs, and you shut your eyes tight. You cry, you cry for the grief you carried for so long, you cry for the nostalgia that chokes you, you cry for the relief of being finally free of the flames.

Ivar doesn’t say anything, or if he does, you don’t hear it.

His free hand is warm and certain at the back of your head, keeping you safe and whole as you hold on desperately to him, trying to find any semblance of certainty in the world that has turned upside down.

Or maybe it is upright, for once, for the first time since they dragged your mother out of that temple and set her alight in front of you.

Free. Laconia is free of the Empire, of the Christians and their God.

You started a war you knew was doomed from the start, a war for the freedom you deserved, for the freedom your Gods had promised you. You hoped, you dreamt, you prayed, you died for that freedom; but deep down you always knew that it wasn’t a war you could win.

You believed for a while, when the pain of the burns was not so fresh on your body but still fresh on your mind, that maybe you weren’t meant to survive this war, that maybe you wouldn’t live to see the day the Gods were rightfully honored again. That maybe you’d die defeated and afraid in some realm that belonged to no one but the Christian God.

Each soul you lost on the way…their ghosts have haunted you with the memory of your failure, taunting you that for your arrogance and your pride you started a doomed war that only brought death and chaos to your home.

And there aren’t words to speak of the weight you feel lifted of your shoulders, and you can only grasp with shaking hands at whatever you can reach of Ivar, hoping he can somehow keep you from disappearing.

For so long, to so many people, you were nothing but the symbol of their hopeless fight, nothing but the rallying call of an already-lost war. And now, the fight proves not hopeless at all, the war isn’t lost yet.

And you feel like you’ll unravel at the seams, you feel like all the hopes and expectations and titles they put over your head, around your wrists and ankles, will disappear and prove you are nothing without them.

You know Laconia isn’t Attica, you know the war against the Christians will not end for many years, if ever; but…it is a victory.

You realize as your breaths slow, that when you once would have resented not being a part of a victory in this war, now all you can feel is relief.

Because as you loosen your hold on the Viking that seems to be trying more than anything to keep you standing and realize he might as well be the reason Fate hasn’t torn you in two yet; as past the mist of panic and chaos and emotion you find the peace that comes with knowing they don’t need you to fight or to win; you cannot help but take a breath and send the Gods you’ve given everything for a single plea.

To let another be the symbol of the fight, let another be the rallying call of the free Greeks. Let another fight and die, you have done so already.

To let you live. Let you choose, let you be free, too.

“Thank you.” You whisper when all that reigns between you and Ivar is silence.

Ivar’s hand moves down from the back of your head, settles somewhere at your back. His chin rests at the top of your head, and you feel him sigh.

“Don’t. I’m not here for gratitude.” He tells you gruffly, stubbornly, giving you back the same words you told him mere days ago.

____

You watch the men train, so differently from the orderly soldiers you would ogle as a teen back in your homeland. They go after one another brutally, grunts and shoves and yells and if blood is drawn then so be it.

You try it deny the part of you that is intrigued by it all, but apparently it cannot be hidden even from the Prince that stands at your side overlooking the training as well, judging from the chuckle he lets out.

“Different from you peace-loving Greeks, isn’t it?” He boasts, looking at the warriors with something akin to pride.

You offer a smile and a nod, “Quite.”

After a few moments of silence, he turns his head towards you, eyeing you for a few moments. You turn to him as well, the question written in your eyes going unanswered. The man instead walks ahead, reaching for a shield and an axe.

“Women in your homeland aren’t allowed to fight, are they?” He questions, turning to you.

Excitement that you try to bring down courses through you as you answer with a shake of your head. He tosses you the shield. It is heavier than you thought.

“We ought to care for the home.” You offer as explanation, but he laughs.

“Can’t you do both?” The Prince taunts, testing the weight of the axe in his hand. Nodding to the shield you hold, he instructs, “Defend yourself.”

“What?” You ask, panicked, but he has already lounged. The axe swings with a lot of strength but is stopped by the shield you raise just in time. “Gods!”

Even your leg suffers the strain of holding your stance when his weapon lodges in the wood. You hear Hvitserk chuckle.

“Now, push back,” He orders, and you are about to follow his command, putting all your strength in your torso to push him back, but his foot finds your leg and brings you to the ground. You let out a groan of pain as your back collides with the hard earth, and he chuckles, again, “That was for telling them about Thora, sister.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He offers you a hand to help you up, but you refuse it. This turns his smile a little proud, you dare say, as he readies his stance again and regards you with interest in his dark eyes.

You raise the shield the way he instructed you to you offer him a smile of your own. Hvitserk goes through axes and swords, gives you a smaller and a bigger shield. His short phrases telling you how to stand, where to put your strength help you, but after a while your body, unused to this, begs for retrieve.

When the Viking knocks you off your feet for the fourth time in a short while, he puts the axe back in the rack where he took it from, and offers you a hand to stand up.

“Turns out that fighting is as hard as it looks. Thrilling.” You dead pan, licking your lips and wondering why you taste blood.

The Prince smiles your way and tugs on a lock of your hair that by now has fallen in complete disarray and no longer resembles the traditional updo you worked on this morning.

“This won’t work if you want to learn to fight,” He laughs, “Don’t you know how to braid your hair?”

“Sit.” The Varangian asks, motioning behind her.

“No.” You state back, arms crossed. Her green eyes flash with fury for a moment before she sighs, running an inked hand over her face and attempting again.

“Sit, child.”

“I do not need to learn because I will not wear war braids, Sie-…”

Her expression when she lifts her eyes again to yours silences you quickly.

“Sit.” She orders.

You do. It never hurts to learn, after all, right?

She teaches your fingers to move with voice alone, and when you tug a little too hard, when you catch a knot and end up with a tuft of hair in your brush, she says nothing. She just grunts and tells you to start from the beginning.

You learn to make war braids, learn family is what we make it. Learn the Varangian is a mother to you, by Fate if not by blood.

“I do,” You reply, trying to ignore the pang in your heart at the reminder of the gently brutish woman that spared your life and raised you. “But we wear them differently in my homeland.”

He raises his eyebrows in question, and in a moment of confidence you do not have you motion for the wooden steps at the entrance of the longhouse, offering to show him.

Hvitserk laughs, but nods his head, “Alright, show me your magic, witch.”

You sit behind him and work meticulously on disarming the braids at the sides of his head, before moving upwards and separating the last one.

“You’re fast at that.” He notes.

You hum in response, focused on your task. Your fingers make quick work of his soft hair, finding it incredibly easier to disentangle than Sieghild’s. 

You start with the small braids by the sides of his head that would fall loose like a woman’s curls to frame his face, trying to recall the hair you saw actors of Leonidas wear when you were young.

You lose track of time as you work on his hair, but judging by the way he asks for an apple to one of the passing merchants and starts eating quietly, you do not think he is in a hurry.

While you are working on the braid that makes the hair move back and away from his face, you feel a tap on one of your knees where they rest one on each side of Hvitserk’s body.

“About Ivar’s decision to give me time to avoid losses in Strepshire,” The Prince starts swiftly, “Thank you.”

“I did nothing, Hvitserk.” You mutter back, but find your work interrupted when Hvitserk tilts his head back to look you in the eyes, skepticism written all over his face.

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” He sentences dryly, almost resting the top of his head against your stomach and messing up the braids, so you roll your eyes and push him so that his head is upright again.

“Because in my experience you sons of Ragnar are incredibly odd in your relations with one another.”

He laughs at your words, and you think it is an acceptance of them. “You don’t know half of it.”

From an errant thread of your own sleeve you manage to close the loose knot of braids at the back of his head. Although these people’s hairs are straighter and thicker than the ones you worked on back home, Hvitserk still could look like one of the depictions of young King Leonidas you saw when you visited Athens.

When you release his hair and lean back, he immediately reaches up to touch the braids, scrunching up his face.

“It’s strange.”

“It’s what we peace-loving Greeks wear.” You smile, correcting your work with a few light touches.

The Prince stands up and you do the same, but he still wears that uncomfortable expression on his face.

“I hate this.” He mumbles, looking indignantly at a minuscule braid that falls to frame his face.

“I don’t blame you,” You reply, shrugging. “I can disarm it, if you like.”

His eyes stray from yours and his eyebrows lift.

“I think you do not have any more time.” Hvitserk offers with the beginning of a knowing smile on his lips.

When you look over your shoulder you catch the King’s angry gaze set on you. Ivar stands unmoving by the entrance to the training grounds, making you question how long has he been watching you interact with his brother.

“Oh.”

“You see, I have dealt with…that my whole life. It’s your turn, witch.”

You watch him take his leave, and don’t miss the way the King’s eyes follow his brother as he walks past him. You are almost certain words are said, but you cannot hear them. Even then, this only seems to make Ivar even more angry, nostrils flaring and lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes quickly return to you, silently berating you for breaking a rule he didn’t set.

Still, you take a deep breath and walk towards the King. Before you have a chance to speak, his growled words reach your ears.

“What did he tell you?”

“Huh?” You ask, dumbfounded. He takes another step closer, the movement of his shoulders as he moves his crutch only helping remind you of that injured Lynx you stumbled into as a young girl. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“I don’t want you spending time with my brother.”

“Well, I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

He holds your gaze for a few moments, nostrils flared and eyes cold and yet furious; but eventually just grunts for you to come with him. You do, and you bite your tongue and keep silent as you do so, even if you itch to talk.

“You and Hvitserk seemed…content,” He starts, a muffled grunt leaving his chest when he moves his braced legs. If you weren’t so weirded out by his choice of words you would ask him if he’s in pain. Either way, the King soon continues, “Must be that he’s not a monster keeping you captive, right?”

“What?” You frown, stopping when he does. Ivar turns to look at you with fury in his eyes, however held by the mask of cold and distance of the King of Kattegat.

“Is that not what you think, hm?” He asks through a smile as false as it is cruel, “You have no interest in being at a monster’s side, isn’t that right?” It feels strangely like having your own words spit back at you, but you cannot dwell on it, for Ivar steals your focus and breath as he moves. None of the usual grace in his movements and another muffled grunt leaving his lips, he crosses the distance between you. You hold your ground, even as he towers over you with the eyes of a man that would kill for less offenses than yours, “You have been wishing and praying for a way out, but you won’t get one.”

You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest, and your temper begs to rise to meet his, to argue back with just as much fire and return as much as you get.

But, you force yourself to keep your calm, looking into his eyes and trying to see what is making him say these things. Surely it was not seeing you and Hvitserk together? No, this is something else, something else entirely.

“What…what brought this on?”

“You’ve blinded me, and you know it. Did the same to that poor bastard you promised to marry. I won’t let you-…” He snarls back at you, eyes blazing and mouth curled too alike an animal baring its teeth. Even though he stops himself, you hear the words he doesn’t say: I won’t let you tell me one day that it was all a lie. With an even lower voice, he reminds you, “Give me reason to believe you’ve betrayed me, and I won’t keep any promises I made to you.”

“Don’t threaten me. That’s not-…this is not what I want, for us to fight.” You try, your hands tightening to fists to keep your anger at bay. When you look into his eyes, you know he also hears the words you don’t say, it isn’t what you want either.

A clench in his jaw, his eyes hardening, his voice low as he speaks, “What do you want, then? What will you ask for now, hm?”

“Honesty.” You reply without hesitation, voice low.

To your surprise, Ivar tilts his head to the side, and accepts your words with a gesture of his mouth. It all looks awfully performative, false, an act, and you stand your ground, ready for whatever it is that he has driven himself mad with.

“Alright, let’s be honest, wife,” His gaze pierces into yours, and his mouth curls into a snarl, “How long did you wait for someone to come save you before you lost hope?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have kept your eyes on the people coming and going, on the ones close enough to your homeland. You have been waiting patiently for a chance to have them take you to your home, have them save you from me. But it never happened, did it?”

The edge in his voice, the bite, the tone, it all reminds you of that first dinner you had with him here in Kattegat. It reminds you of manic words, of deluded convictions.

“You sound…”

Ivar smile manages to make you feel cold and small. And you realize that is exactly what he wants, that was the game he was playing, the part he was playing. To corner you into defeat.

“Like a mad man?” His smile trembles, and for a moment you see the mask slip, for a moment you see him, and you see the fear, you see the pain, you see the desperation. But Ivar pushes, “That’s what happened, isn’t it? You waited and waited for someone to come save you, and when they didn’t you…” He gestures with his hand, the nonchalance in the gesture completely lost at the rage written in his eyes, “Caved.”

“Caved?”

He shrugs, but you see past the façade, “Agreed to play pretend, to…to keep the monster happy, to keep yourself safe.”

“I don’t cave, Ivar.”

His smile is mocking, “Oh, but you do. You like to pretend you don’t, your insufferable pride likes to pretend you don’t. But you do, and you have,” Ivar nods to himself, the cruel smile on his lips earning a manic edge you haven’t seen in a while. He presses, “Will you deny that’s what you saw in me? I thought you wouldn’t lie to me, wife.”

“I thought those things when everything was different!” You insist, gesturing with your powerless arms and not caring if someone is to hear.

Ivar moves closer again, and this time you meet his stride, also stepping the distance between you and looking into his eyes. Your Gods and his both know you may lose a battle of power with him, of strength, of courage. But not one of wills.

He will have to kill you to have you relent.

Still, he insists, and if the mask slips, if the so tightly held control vanishes through his fingers, if the armor cracks, if his questions are true and not cruel tricks, who can truly know?

“How are things different? How is any different how you see me now than before? To you I still am the monster that imprisoned you, nothing changed since the first time you saw me.”

“No. Ivar, if you’re a monster…what does that make me? I stand by your side, I trust you, I-…”

It makes you a monster too.

But the woman that lured Narses to the cliff the Varangians pushed him off of, the woman that accepted the thrill of war knowing she would lose and die, that woman was a monster already, and didn’t have anything to do with Ivar.

Maybe you both are monsters, maybe you’ve just been playing at being human.

The thought doesn’t unsettle you as much as it should.

Ivar holds your gaze, before he takes his eyes from yours with a breath that seems to shudder past parted lips. You keep your attention on his expression, on the tremble of his brows, on the conflict between vulnerability and anger.

After a few breaths you hold, Ivar lowers his head, leans closer, quietens his voice,

“Tell me things have changed. Tell me I’m not...seeing things.”

You cannot help the foolish and hopeless beating of your heart, that both soars and breaks at his despairing request. The words that that same foolish heart wants you to say back are at the tip of your tongue, held back by sheer will even as Ivar’s uncertain and unmoored blue eyes look into yours looking for…anything.

But you can’t give in. If you give words to it, if you name things you make them real, and if the flutter in your heart, if the emotion tight in your chest, if the truth even your mind accepts are real, then you are nothing, you’ve failed your legacy, your homeland, your people.

But you cannot return to fighting, to this mad chase for a freedom that never was and never could be.

Because you know the bindings keeping you tethered to Greece are as punishing and as suffocating as those Ivar first set on your wrists. Learning of Laconia’s victory wouldn’t have felt the way it did, you wouldn’t have threatened to break when the chains loosened, if you weren’t a prisoner to them as much as you are to Ivar.

And you’ve realized you are also nothing of without Sieghild, without her guidance and her Gods, without Kattegat and all the freedoms it has granted you, without…without Ivar.

So you look into his eyes, and you can’t do what your heart tells you to, but you can’t do nothing. So you step closer, you lay a hand on his chest, let your palm rest over his heart.

Your voice is hushed, “Everything changed. O-Or maybe nothing did, and I just don’t lie to myself anymore,” You take a breath, and after a moment you offer a helpless shrug, “Maybe we changed. You aren’t the man that put chains on me and forced my hand, I’m not the woman that would have ran from you at the first opportunity.”

Ivar’s eyes search yours, but it seems the fight leaves him for once, and he bites back the anger. Still, he grits his teeth, his head moves with a gesture of annoyance -that you dare think is at himself- and he huffs an angry breath.

Ivar stops leaning so close to you, and with a stab of his crutch on the wooden floor that looks more forceful than need be, he turns his back to you, and leaves you behind.

____

Two things: one, yes I probably broke the poor reader, I didn’t plan it but hey, these characters do what they want at this point, and two, I think somewhere in between I also broke Ivar, also didn’t plan it but hey, fuck it. These two wanna rush like three chapters ahead? Fine, go ahead, I suppose.

Bright side is, look at them argue and giving in/being honest instead of screaming their heads off! :P

Oh, and the Laconia stuff is just me playing loose with history, but Laconia was able to withstand the Slavic invasions of the 9th century and remained pagan till the 10th. I’d have to check, cause I decided on this plot point a long time ago and I can’t remember, but I think there was a failed attempt at christianization in the 9th.

Thank you so much for reading, I love you!!

[ltwilliammowett]

The USS 'United States' Engaging the HMS 'Macedonian', by Leslie Arthur Wilcox (1904-1982)

[thepompandcircumstance]

ETYMOLOGY: Alexandra

‘Alexandra’ is the female form of the name Alexander, a name famously associated with the Macedonian king Alexander III, otherwise known as Alexander the Great. In Greek, the name is written as Ἀλεξάνδρα, and means “defender of mankind” or “one who comes to save warriors”. This name comes in many variations, such as Alexandrine, Alexandria, and Alexandrina.

HM Elizabeth II of the UK [the world’s longest serving monarch bears the full name of Elizabeth Alexandra Mary, after her great-grandmother.]

HM Margrethe II of Denmark [Margrethe Alexandrine Þórhildur Ingrid is Denmark’s second queen regnant, after Margaret I.]

HM Queen Alexandra of the UK, Princess of Denmark [the eldest daughter of Christian IX and Louise of Hesse-Kassel, Alix is also the sister of Empress Maria Feodorovna of Russia, Frederick VIII of Denmark, and George I of Greece. She is also the namesake of Elizabeth II.]

HIM Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna of Russia, Princess of Hesse [Queen Victoria’s favorite granddaughter, Alix is the last empress of the Russian Empire as the consort of Tsar Nicholas II. The Romanov family was executed by the Bolsheviks in 1918.]

HM Queen Alexandra of Yugoslavia [the daughter of King Alexander of Greece and Madame Aspasia Manos, she is the consort of Yugoslavia’s last monarch King Peter II.]

HI&RH Grand Duchess Alexandra Georgievna of Russia, Princess of Greece [the wife of GD Paul Alexandrovich, she is the mother of GD Maria Pavlovna the Younger & GD Dmitri Pavlovich. She sadly died giving birth to her second son.]

[bibliocratic]

YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD OMG! How are you so talented?! :O your tma dialogue is on point! do you have any writing that you are working on atm that might come out soon? (if you wanna share).

Hi anon! That’s so kind of you to say! :D I do actually - I’m working on a RQBB fic that (fingers crossed) will be all finished for the big event at the end of the month. I can’t share any of it just yet (all very hush hush, I’m so excited to finally be able to show it.) BUT. I am working on a longer fic looking at the S1 OG Archives team and how they’d function as a polycule, so have some Sasha and Martin softness!

--

This time round, it's Martin's turn to open his wallet, wincing at the price. They alternate who shoulders this particular financial blow – one of them forks out for the tickets, the other buys drinks or coffees or sandwiches after. On their trips, it's only ever the two of them. Tim will only venture near a cinema to see whatever popcorn action flick he's seen advertised on the side of a bus, and Martin will watch those, in fairness, if Sasha badgers him enough, but only begrudgingly, trying and failing not to be a little bit of a film snob about it. Jon, for his part, has only ever said yes once, to a documentary about Macedonian beekeeping.

Afterwards, because it's usually a matinee screening, they'll secrete themselves somewhere within the in-cinema cafe, elbows on the table and and playfully dissect the movie inbetween bites of an overpriced panini. Martin favours symbolic films, whimsical scores at odds with the unfolding drama,  full of dream sequences and stunning cinematography and uncertain endings. Sasha prefers social realism and emotional acting and a concrete resolution.

Their tastes do find overlap. They'd both been looking forward to this particular film for weeks; Martin had sent Sasha screenshots of raving reviews from Sundance and Canne and the film festival circuit, Sasha had taken a picture of the poster outside the Curzon in Mayfair and captioned it 'SOON'. Which is why, when they came out as the credits rolled, Martin already venting and mid-bitch, Sasha interrupting with her own heated, infuriated additions, heading down the stairs to the ground floor cafe sounding like two enraged magpies, Sasha had bought them both two bottles of beer and overpriced cake slices and they'd taken great delight in stewing in calories and alcohol.

They conclude the night many hours later. Martin's wobbling as they stand at the bus stop, squinting at the sun-faded timetable protected by a scratched and graffitted plastic covering. Sasha's gone sleepy, leaning against his back as he peers at the information blurring in front of him.

“Sash, wu'v misst it,” He slurs. “'s'.... fuckit.....went like, 'n'our ago.”

“S'fine,” she burbles against his back. “I-I'll walk, s'cool.”

“Y' live in, in fuckin' Haringey, 's....'s miles away,” Martin says, and he's got a crease above his eyebrows and he's clearly thinking hard because he spins round and says: “And my flat's.... 's worm-food, innit. So. Right. Up. Tim's... Tim's, what, twen'y minutes away, summin like that?”

It is an abominable hour.  Tim will most definitely be in bed, and neither Sasha nor Martin have a key, so he'll be rough eyed and sore about the disturbance. But she is tired and staggering and she wants to go to bed. Martin is gesturing with that stubborn expression he gets, turning around and indicating that she jump on his back. She clambers up like a graceless forest animal, digging her shoes into the fleshy sides of his torso. With a bit of swearing and manoeuvring and a sketchy moment where Martin nearly loses his balance and topples the both of them, she is seated comfortably against his back, arms held like jumper sleeves around his neck.

“Hm, love you Marto,” she sighs into his hair as he sets off, carrying her easily.

After a minute, she gets a self-conscious little 'you too, Sash' and she falls asleep against his hoodie.

[52px]

from the @hetaliawritersdiscord drabble game! i’m hilariously late at posting mine because i thought it wasn’t big enough for my ao3 but didn’t think to put it on tumblr until now. Hm. Genius 

prompt: water

word count: 270

characters: ancient greece, ancient egypt, macedon (helen, sekhet, timandros)

“Is this all you do in life?” Helen asked as they floated on a reed boat down the Nile.

They watched as the river passed them, quite as their lives had, sparkling like a golden scarab in the sunset lighting.

“Hardly, my dear,” Sekhet laughed. Like a honey trap, she had lured Helen on this boat trip with an ulterior motive—to find out what was going on at home. Sekhet revealed all secrets on this boat. When two people were alone together, an oxymoron, and isolated from the world by a body of water, they were more likely to leave their secrets on the wooden floor. “I deal with the Greek government that you have sent me, for one.”

“These are not my men!” Helen insisted, as Sekhet knew her lover would. An eternity spent together often wore away any emotional protection one had, especially when they were only a short sail away. “They come from Alexander, from his successor Ptolemy, whose men come from Timandros’s stock.” Helen stuck her nose up in contempt. “I have no love for the Macedonians, no matter how much love Timandros has for me. They are no true Greeks. If they were, they would be in the Olympics. Only now can their royal family participate. Gods, Timandros’s tears that time of year could have filled this entire river.”

Later, when they were not lounging on a boat (where Helen could throw her overboard), Sekhet would figure out how to tell her lover that they all looked the same to her.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 9.15 (before 1950)

994 – Major Fatimid victory over the Byzantine Empire at the Battle of the Orontes. 1440 – Gilles de Rais, one of the earliest known serial killers, is taken into custody upon an accusation brought against him by Jean de Malestroit, Bishop of Nantes. 1530 – Appearance of the miraculous portrait of Saint Dominic in Soriano in Soriano Calabro, Calabria, Italy; commemorated as a feast day by the Roman Catholic Church 1644–1912. 1556 – Departing from Vlissingen, ex-Holy Roman Emperor Charles V returns to Spain. 1762 – Seven Years' War: Battle of Signal Hill. 1776 – American Revolutionary War: British forces land at Kip's Bay during the New York Campaign. 1789 – The United States "Department of Foreign Affairs", established by law in July, is renamed the Department of State and given a variety of domestic duties. 1794 – French Revolutionary Wars: Arthur Wellesley (later Duke of Wellington) sees his first combat at the Battle of Boxtel during the Flanders Campaign. 1795 – Britain seizes the Dutch Cape Colony in southern Africa to prevent its use by the Batavian Republic. 1812 – The Grande Armée under Napoleon reaches the Kremlin in Moscow. 1812 – War of 1812: A second supply train sent to relieve Fort Harrison is ambushed in the Attack at the Narrows. 1813 – Followers of the Eight Trigram Sect loyal to Lin Qing attack the Forbidden City in a failed attempt to oust the Jiaqing Emperor of the Qing Dynasty. 1816 – HMS Whiting runs aground on the Doom Bar. 1820 – Constitutionalist revolution in Lisbon, Portugal. 1821 – The Captaincy General of Guatemala declares independence from Spain. 1830 – The Liverpool to Manchester railway line opens; British MP William Huskisson becomes the first widely reported railway passenger fatality when he is struck and killed by the locomotive Rocket. 1835 – HMS Beagle, with Charles Darwin aboard, reaches the Galápagos Islands. The ship lands at Chatham or San Cristobal, the easternmost of the archipelago. 1862 – American Civil War: Confederate forces capture Harpers Ferry, Virginia (present-day Harpers Ferry, West Virginia). 1873 – Franco-Prussian War: The last Imperial German Army troops leave France upon completion of payment of indemnity. 1894 – First Sino-Japanese War: Japan defeats Qing dynasty China in the Battle of Pyongyang. 1915 – New Culture Movement: Chen Duxiu establishes the New Youth magazine in Shanghai. 1916 – World War I: Tanks are used for the first time in battle, at the Battle of the Somme. 1918 – World War I: Allied troops break through the Bulgarian defenses on the Macedonian front. 1935 – Nazi Germany adopts a new national flag bearing the swastika. 1940 – World War II: The climax of the Battle of Britain, when the Luftwaffe launches its largest and most concentrated attack of the entire campaign. 1942 – World War II: U.S. Navy aircraft carrier USS Wasp is sunk by Japanese torpedoes at Guadalcanal. 1944 – Franklin D. Roosevelt and Winston Churchill meet in Quebec as part of the Octagon Conference to discuss strategy. 1944 – Battle of Peleliu begins as the United States Marine Corps' 1st Marine Division and the United States Army's 81st Infantry Division hit White and Orange beaches under heavy fire from Japanese infantry and artillery. 1945 – A hurricane strikes southern Florida and the Bahamas, destroying 366 airplanes and 25 blimps at Naval Air Station Richmond. 1947 – Typhoon Kathleen hit the Kantō region in Japan killing 1,077. 1948 – The Indian Army captures the towns of Jalna, Latur, Mominabad, Surriapet and Narkatpalli as part of Operation Polo. 1948 – The F-86 Sabre sets the world aircraft speed record at 671 miles per hour (1,080 km/h).

[infernal-iris]

I’ll be answering all of them in this post! The answers will all be under the cut due to length. =)

📱 Show your phone lock screen and/or home screen!

Because I’m a Good Person™, both my phone wallpapers are images of my fictional husband feeling melancholy and miserable in the anime. :)))))

💕 Your two top fave fictional characters?

This is a tough one... But I’ll go with Jyugo (Nanbaka) and Shoto Todoroki (Boku No Hero Academia)!

🕹 Video game you are currently playing?

Currently? An app game called “Blood in Roses+”! I really like it so far! It has an interesting story plus the Heroine is very pretty! Also there are vampires in it lol.

🌡 Fave season?

Autumn/Fall! Summer is too hot...Winter is too cold...and I have too many allergies to count when it comes to spring... Which only leaves Autumn! It’s the only season I can truly enjoy.

🏫 Are you in school, what grade?

I’m in High School! And I’m currently finishing up with my first year. But I’m still technically a freshman!

🎒 Are you in college, major area of study?

Nah, I’m still not in college. But if I were...I’d probably be studying something like Computer Science/Information Technology or Architecture. 

🏢 Your job (You don’t have to be specific) or dream job if you don’t work!

My dream job is to become the owner of my very own firm/company for animated films! I have soo many ideas for books I’d love to adapt into movies so that’s a huge goal of mine. There hasn’t been a person in my country who has done this before but...who knows? I could be the first! (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

📷 Post the 12th photo from your phone’s gallery!

It’s just an image of my cat sitting in a funny position lol.

📅 Your birthday?

My birthday is on the 17th of August! ♌

🎂 How old are you?

I’m currently 15 years old! I’ll be 16 in August, though. =)

📏 How tall are you?

I’m 5′6″ (168 cm).

🔑 Key to your heart?

Honestly, I’ve never considered what someone needs to do to woo me...so far, all my crushes in the past have been guys who like anime, are down to earth, chill, easy to talk to, mature etc. I suppose a guy needs to share at least a few interests with me so I can develop a romantic attraction towards him!

📖 Fave book?

Ehhh I don’t really read too many books to be honest. But if I had to choose...I’ll say “The Great Gatsby”. Both me and my sister have read it and it’s a really good book!

📝 Fave quote?

“Sometimes good people make bad choices. It doesn’t mean they are bad people. It means they’re human.”

This quote is quite simple but...I really like it for some reason...it’s one of the few quotes that I haven’t forgotten. 

🌐 Languages you can speak and/or are learning. Which are you fluent in?

I can speak four languages fluently! Macedonian, English, German and Croatian! I’m very good at speaking those four in general. For any other language...I know very little...

💻 Desktop/Laptop/iPad/other?

Are you asking me what I prefer to use out of those? I’m gonna go with Desktop! I’m currently using that and it’s easier to access most websites by using my desktop instead of my phone.

📔 Do you keep a traditional diary?

Nope! I used to, but it started getting boring for me to write it in so I just stopped...or maybe I wasn’t motivated enough to write down what happened every day... Meh, no big deal, though. Just live in the moment and look forward to the future, instead of going back in the past!

☠ Something that angers you?

Haa...where do I start? There are many things that anger me but...If I had to choose one...rude commentary in general. Gossip, drama etc. I don’t like stuff like that. At all. Especially if it’s directed towards me. And the thing I hate most is when people try to make fun of or belittle me. I’ll just stop here before I start to go off. 

🐷 Junk food you can never get enough of?

Chips and french fries! Anything potato related, really.

🌼 Fave flower?

My favorite flower is an iris! That’s kind of the reason why the name of my blog is “infernal-iris” lol. But I also love hyacinths! 

📺 Fave anime?

Ah...just one? Hm...I’ll go with Tokyo Ghoul! I enjoy the story...the action...the suspense...and many more things! Even the gore. It makes the anime all the more exciting. It’s also one of the few anime shows that I keep up with the manga as well. 

🎥 Fave film?

“Horrible Bosses“, “The Hangover” etc. I love comedy movies with a dark sense of humor!

📻 Fave song currently?

This is the hardest question by far. I listen to A LOT of songs so it’s very difficult to choose just one... It’s a tie between “Chase Atlantic - Swim” and “Krewella - Calm Down”.

🎙 Can you sing?

Yeah! I even went to choir practice every week in primary school and participated in every singing competition I could find. I really enjoy singing but sometimes it’s embarrassing for me to do it in front of others haha...

🎁 Best gift you ever received and why?

Honestly...this is going to make me sound like a very greedy person but...it’s when my parents or grandparents give me money for my birthday! That way, I can buy the stuff I like and be happy with it!

👾 Do you believe in aliens?

YES. But I don’t believe they’re evil or anything... Like, I don’t believe they’re a species who would come to our planet to harvest our brains and eat them or something like that. I just think they’re an otherworldly species with their own unique inhuman characteristics. I doubt they’ll visit our planet anytime soon...but who knows? Only time will tell I suppose.

👻 Do you believe in ghosts?

Yes! But again, not in the traditional sense. I believe there are veeery little ghosts out there who are resentful and dwell the earth to torture mortals. Instead, I believe that there are ghosts out there, presumably of your ancestors or deceased relatives, who quietly watch over you and contemplate your decisions from a distance. 

⛪ What is your religion?

I’m an Orthodox Christian. =)

🌎 What country do you live in?

I live in a small Southern European country called Macedonia! 

📸 Post a selfie?

^ Das me. 

Phew! I’m finally done with all of them! Thank you for sending me those asks, Cat! 💕