#ive done that too many times and i hate job hunting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ric0cheted · 4 years

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battle magic

a witcher, a bard, and a sorceress encounter each other on a hunt. it all goes downhill from there.

(aka jaskier may have a little combat magic. as a treat.)

this is the dumbest, most chaotic thing ive ever written. please enjoy.

Fuck, Geralt hated monster hunts.

Not the contracts he took from frightened villagers, or even those given to him by the local authorities of the bigger territories. It was the spectacles, the hunts that people flocked to for huge sums of coin and acclaim, put on by the bored and rich.

Geralt didn't hunt monsters for sport, or glory; nor to furnish bastard lords with trophies to mount over their mantles. But Geralt was a Witcher. He had a job to do, and that job didn't make enough coin to turn down the bounty on a creature he already intended to pursue.

The reports told of a monstrous beast, roaming the forested mountains that formed the border between Kaedwen and Redania. From what Geralt could tell, it sounded like a wyvern; but mutated somehow, strange and twisted. A kindred spirit, Geralt supposed, lips curving bitterly.

Whatever. The hunt began tomorrow--up the mountain and through the trees, avoiding the others as thoroughly as possible, hopefully reaching the wyvern before they could. Geralt was grateful only for the fact that the mountain was shorter than its nearby brethren.

Well. That, and the tavern at the bottom of it. Ugly and dirty, but a tavern, still. Geralt bought a drink and claimed a table in the darkest, dingiest corner of it, assuming that his demeanor was foreboding enough to dissuade those foolish enough to want to talk to him.

Apparently he needed to rethink how fucking foreboding he was, Geralt thought, darkly, given that it took naught but a half hour for some idiot to approach him. Geralt took stock of him out of his periphery; tall and lithe, clad in a ridiculous blue outfit with an instrument--a lute, maybe--strapped to his back. Handsome, enough that Geralt would bet good coin that he was also profoundly annoying.

He reached Geralt's table and struck a casual pose, to limited success. The dark, messy hair swooping over his blue eyes looked stupidly, purposely disheveled. "You know, for a man as dashing as yourself, you seem to be tragically lacking in company."

Of course Geralt wasn't lucky enough to get a regular idiot. He got one with balls to hit on a Witcher. “Fuck off.”

The man had enough sense to not sit down, but not enough to stop talking. “The name's Julian! Julian Pankratz. Just a humble bard, as you can see.” He gestured towards his lute. “My apologies for interrupting whatever deep thoughts you’re clearly entertaining, but I’ve never met a Witcher before. I can’t imagine how many stories you must have, of all of your noble deeds and, just--general heroism, I suppose." He smiled at Geralt, eyes bright and eager.

Geralt scowled, but the bard's baffling enthusiasm was sincere enough to lower his hackles. Just barely. "Well, then. Fuck off, bard."

Undeterred, Julian flashed him a saucy grin. “How about this? I’ll fuck off and leave you to your Witcherly business, once you’ve let me buy you a drink far better than the swill they’re slinging for the rest of this lot.”

Geralt swept his gaze across the room and let it fall on the bartender, who was serving everyone from the same dingy barrel. "Must've missed the menu." His voice turned mocking. "Or are you going to pull some strings? Have a lot of connections in bumfuck Redanian taverns?"

“I’ve found that purse strings are the most effective strings to pull. Well, the second-most effective.” Geralt raised an eyebrow and Julian winked and waved towards his lute once more. “Through the lute, one can reach the purse and, just as critically, the heart! Which also happens to have very pull-able strings. It’s tremendously versatile, really. The, ah, lute.”

Geralt snorted despite himself and considered his ale. It really did taste like goat piss. Geralt carefully weighed the prospect of a decent drink against being forced to suffer through the bard’s...everything. “Will you keep your mouth shut while I’m drinking?”

"I cannot, in good conscience, promise that,” Julian replied, beaming. “But! I’ll buy you an especially expensive drink as compensation for your time.” Geralt rolled his eyes, but shoved his mug towards Julian. He watched the bard dart over to the bar and chat with the bartender; the man raised his eyebrow at the coins Julian subtly slid over the counter and, to Geralt's immense consternation, pulled something out from beneath the bar and poured two mugs of it.

Julian sauntered back and took the liberty of sliding into the booth across from Geralt, looking deeply smug. Geralt frowned and took a wary sip from the mug passed to him. It was good. Fuck.

"So," Julian said, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. "Would you prefer to regale me with what I'm sure will be tremendously vivid and intrepid tales, or would you like me to fill the silence while you drink?"

"Is that an offer or a threat?"

Julian pursed his lips in thought. They were very pink, and very soft-looking. "Hm. Both, I suppose." The bard cupped his chin in his hands and leered. Geralt groaned and took another swig.

One drink turned into two, turned into three, turned into Julian fumbling the fourth mug and cleaning the fancy ale trickling down his wrist with delicate swipes of his tongue, turned into Geralt hoisting Julian up by the thighs and shoving him against the back wall of the tavern to suck dark bruises into his throat and grind their hips together in a rough, dirty rhythm.

Julian dragged Geralt into a hot, biting kiss, moaning breathlessly against his lips. "Let me down, come on, let me see it,” Julian panted, scratching his nails down Geralt’s arms. Geralt gave him a parting bite just below his jaw and dropped him, allowing the bard to frantically undo Geralt's pants.

“Oh, fuck," Julian panted, pulling Geralt out. He licked his lips and stared at Geralt’s cock. "Gods, that is something.” He nuzzled against it, before heaving a regretful sigh. “Listen, love--”

Geralt scowled through the hazy lust and tugged at Julian's hair. “Don’t call me that.”

Julian pulled back to make a disbelieving face at him. “Are you always this crotchety with your bedmates?" He directed his gaze towards the night sky and sighed again, dramatically. "You really are lucky that you’re so incredibly attractive.”

Geralt stared at the bard with matching disbelief. “What about you? Do you always fucking talk this much?” Julian licked a stripe down his cock and Geralt’s mouth snapped shut.

“Anyways, as I was saying, I would really, truly love to tackle this, but I've got a job to do tomorrow, and I need everything, you know." Julian gestured vaguely at his throat. "Intact." He looked wistfully at Geralt’s cock. “And that would ruin me. Fuck."

Geralt bit back a groan of frustration. His cock throbbed. “Then what do you propose we do, bard?"

“Ah, well,” Julian said. He tilted his head and paused in mock thought. "I can eat you out until you cry. Or you can fuck my thighs. Or you could jerk us off with those massive, lovely hands of yours." Julian sat back, legs spread, eyes glinting. "You've had sex before, right? With a man? I wouldn't want to deflower you behind some shamble of a tavern."

Slowly, Geralt raised both eyebrows and looked down at Julian. "You want me to answer those, or do you want to get up so I can show you?" Julian nodded quickly in assent, a blush rising to his cheeks. Geralt offered him a hand up.

"Wait, wait, wait! One for the road." Julian leaned forward to suckle briefly, gently at the head of Geralt's cock. “Okay, okay, I’m done,” Julian breathed, rocking back, ignoring Geralt’s shocked moan and instinctive thrust. He slapped lightly at Geralt’s thigh. "Down here, anyway. What do you say to a location change, Witcher? I’m sure you’ve got a tent or something somewhere.”

***

Geralt woke the next morning with the sun, and without Julian. He wouldn’t have cared, if it hadn’t meant that he slept so deeply that he somehow missed the bard leaving. Swearing, he rifled through his supplies and gear; swords, potions, coin purse, each of them present and accounted for. He huffed out a breath, relieved that he hadn't been robbed blind, and by a bard at that.

Readying himself quickly, Geralt set out for the day, armored and armed to the teeth. He made it to the border of the forest in good time; he'd taken a different route than the other parties, and while he couldn't be sure that it would pay off in the long run, he certainly appreciated the quiet.

He smelled Yennefer before he saw her, the scent of lilac and gooseberries drifting in the breeze; it took but a moment for her to fall into step with him. “I thought I might find you here, Geralt. It’s good to see you."

Geralt looked her over. “Good to see you too, Yenn. Bored with your lordling already? Looking for somewhere to summer?” Geralt gestured broadly to the forest around them. “Seems like the Pustulskie mountains are nice this time of year. Rampaging beasts aside, that is.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, gathering her skirt up to step over a muddy patch of grass. “No, to both. But you know that. I’m here on business, and I thought we might be able to help each other.”

“Oh, is that what you thought?” A smirk played at Geralt’s lips. “And I figured. This isn’t your usual crowd.”

"Quite," Yennefer said, dryly. "I happened to see some of the others on my way. Charmers, all of them, with their quaint little blades and ratty beards."

Geralt hummed in agreement, pushing a tree bough aside. "There's even a bard here, if you can believe it.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think about them. Shit. He felt a touch of heat rise in his cheeks.

To his surprise, Yennefer tensed. “And what, exactly, did this bard say his name was?”

"...Julian?" Geralt paused, trying to remember through the haze of drink and his own indifference. “Fuck, not pancakes. Pankratz?”

“Jaskier’s here?" Yennefer hissed. "Geralt, we need to move." She quickened her pace, hurriedly traipsing through the trees.

Geralt matched her stride, snorting in amusement. “Why, are you secretly afraid of lutes?” The rest of her words caught up with him. “Wait, who the fuck is Jaskier?”

“Because I refuse to let him jeopardize this endeavor.” Yennefer scowled, brow furrowing. “Fuck, what is that idiot even doing here?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Yenn. I heard we’re hunting a wyvern, might be for that.” Yennefer stopped in her tracks, turning to shoot him a look that suggested that he should hold his tongue if he wanted to keep it in his mouth. “But if you tell me what the fuck you’re talking about, I might be able to help.”

"Julian Alfred Pankratz," Yennefer said, voice dripping with derision. "Otherwise known as the troubadour Jaskier." She prodded at a flower emerging from the dirt with the tip of her boot and rolled her eyes, tone turning lofty. "Oxenfurt's first mage."

Geralt stared at her. "Mage? He told me he was a bard." He scoured his memories of the night before, trying to remember an instance in which Julian--Jaskier--had used magic, had given any indication of magical ability whatsoever.

Yennefer made a disgusted face. "Ugh. He is." Her eyes narrowed intently, gaze sharpening. “What else did he tell you?”

Geralt kept himself from coughing, just barely. “We didn’t exactly bare our souls under the moonlight, Yenn. I think he mentioned that he had a job to do today, but that was it.”

Yennefer closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, grimacing. Geralt could hear the grind of her teeth. Without speaking, she reached into a pouch at her side, picking carefully through the contents and quickly withdrawing a blue scrap of cloth tied with twine.

"I swear, this had better be worth it," Yennefer muttered under her breath, undoing the twine. Wrapped in the cloth was a lock of soft, brown hair. Pinching it between her fingers, she brought it to her mouth, whispered something Geralt couldn’t parse, and blew on it.

Geralt startled as the lock of hair immediately burst into flame, billowing smoke that drifted against the wind. Yennefer’s gaze snapped to the direction that the smoke had begun to waft, a vicious, determined spark in her eyes.

"You find the wyvern, Geralt. I'm going to go have words with our bard."

***

Geralt saw the glade before he walked into it. Even through the trees, he could tell it was gorgeous--the light of the midday sun shone brightly upon the foliage dotting the clearing; at its heart lay a clear, glittering pool of water.

It would've been the picture of serenity, if not for the massive, fuck-off wyvern right in the middle of it.

Geralt had seen wyverns, had seen royal wyverns, with their golden fringe, massive horns, and venomous barbed tails. But the creature before him was far larger than it should've been; besides, all of the wyverns Geralt had encountered had just a single tail. This one had three of them.

Wings folded close to its body, the wyvern dipped its gaping maw to drink from the spring. Geralt let out a very quiet breath, grateful that it hadn't seemed to notice him.

A slight movement to the right caught his eye. There, weaving slowly, quietly through the trees, was Jaskier, wearing no armor, carrying no weapons, and seemingly oblivious to Geralt’s presence. The only equipment that the bard seemed to have with him was his fucking lute.

Geralt watched, dumbfounded, as Jaskier inched closer; using what Geralt could only assume was his singular shred of reason, the bard kept to the shadows where the forest canopy was too dense for sunlight to break through. By the time he’d managed to process the idiocy he was witnessing, Jaskier had tiptoed right to the edge of the glade.

Mage or not, Geralt thought, that fucking moron was about to get himself skewered.

Gritting his teeth, Geralt growled, drew his sword, and burst into the clearing. The wyvern reared up, towering over him as it unfurled to its full height; Geralt should've been prepared for the beast’s ear-splitting screech, but he still had to fight the urge to drop his sword and clap his hands to his ears.

Because of course he did, Jaskier swore and rushed into the clearing, entirely defeating the point of Geralt’s ploy. The bard stumbled to a halt beside him, staring at the wyvern in awe.

Geralt shoved him away and hefted his silver blade, bracing for the heat of the wyvern’s breath as it snapped and bit, the sharp rush of air as its tail--fuck, tails--whipped around to stab at him. Instead, the wyvern just shrieked and flapped its massive wings before taking flight, vanishing over the tops of the trees.

“Shit,” Jaskier breathed. He bolted into the forest, following the direction that the wyvern had flown. Geralt followed instinctively, faster than Jaskier but slowed by the foliage in his path.

He crashed through the treeline just after Jaskier, emerging onto a flat, grassy plateau. They both watched the wyvern soar through the air, making its way towards the peak of a nearby mountain. Jaskier clenched his fists and let out a wordless yell of frustration.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Geralt sniped, sheathing his sword. He surveyed the plateau, noting the cliff's edge a couple hundred feet away.

“No!” Jaskier hissed. “That was not the time for--for gallantry!” Comically aggrieved, Jaskier threw his arms out in a broad sweep. “Gods, do you know how much harder this is going to be? At this distance? With these acoustics?”

Geralt stared at Jaskier, but the bard just sighed, reaching for his lute and checking its strings. “Needs must, I suppose.” He quickly strode forward and turned toward the forest, frowning when Geralt followed and stood in front of him.

“Listen, if you don’t mind, I really need to get to this,” Jaskier said, hurriedly, peering over Geralt’s shoulder into the trees. “I encountered an, ah, acquaintance of mine back in there, and as delightful as I find your company, I really don't think I bought myself enough time to hang around and enjoy it.”

An acquaintance. “Yennefer,” Geralt breathed.

Jaskier stared at Geralt, aghast. "Excuse me, you know Yennefer?" His eyes widened with mounting horror. “Oh, gods, are you with Yennefer? Professionally? Sexually?” He brought the lute closer to his body, cradling it protectively. “That’s--horrible, really. For both of us, I suppose.”

“What the fuck did you do to her, bard?” Geralt snarled, drawing his sword.

Jaskier eyed the blade. "Not to worry, just something to hold her in place, for the time being.” He bit his lip, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. "This is a nice forest, really. Quite a bit of flora and fauna, all very obliging."

Geralt lunged forward. Jaskier danced just out of reach, shockingly nimble. "Oh, she’ll be fine! For that matter, it’s only going to keep her occupied for so long, and I would really, really, rather not have to deal with what comes after.” Geralt growled, but Jaskier just grinned at him, clever and confident. “Fighting Yennefer would be messy, to say the least.”

He took another swing, but Jaskier dodged once more and leapt back. “So,” Jaskier announced, strumming lightly at his lute strings. “If you’ll excuse me, love.”

Geralt barely had time to wonder what the fuck the bard was doing before Jaskier’s fingers came down on the lute and a battering wave of force smashed into Geralt, throwing him backwards. Like Aard, Geralt thought, dazed, as he tumbled head-over-heels through the grass. Skidding to a halt, he coughed up a mouthful of dirt and lifted his head.

Ahead of him, Jaskier looked to the sky, opened his mouth, and started to sing. The bright swell of it burst forth from his chest, accompanied by the sound of his lute, a livelier tune than what’d sent Geralt flying. He couldn't understand it, but that didn't keep it from filling his head so completely that he could barely think over it.

Gritting his teeth, Geralt got up and stumbled a few steps forward, only to hear Jaskier weave the same violent sound from before into the lute's melody, unleashing another concussive blast and hurling him to the ground once more. Geralt punched the dirt, furious, and looked up to see Jaskier wink at him, lips quirking up as words continued to spill forth from them.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Geralt shouted, trying to pitch his voice to carry over Jaskier's. Instead, Jaskier closed his eyes, voice spiraling through the air, head cocked as though waiting for something. After a moment the bard's eyes flew open, shining with delight. His voice rose to a crescendo before hitting one final note and breaking off, just as suddenly as it had begun.

Geralt staggered to his feet, yet again, only to see Jaskier scrambling to return the lute to its place on his back. "I'm going to rip that lute apart with my bare hands," Geralt seethed at him, hands flexing, teeth bared.

"No," Jaskier said, looking past Geralt, blue eyes bright and wild. "You’re not." With a parting grin at Geralt, he turned and began running towards the cliff's edge.

About to give chase, Geralt paused for the barest moment, tilting his head; just beyond the echo of Jaskier's song ringing in his ears, he could hear something that set his teeth on edge, something unearthly. It sounded like--

Geralt dropped like a stone and flattened himself to the ground just as the wyvern barreled through the sky, swooping over the plateau and missing him by a claw's breadth, keeping low as it hurtled past him.

Screeching, the wyvern pulled up to Jaskier's flank, about to outpace the bard. Geralt watched, stunned, as Jaskier put on a final burst of speed and leapt sideways, grabbing the stringy tendrils hanging from the wyvern’s sides and scrabbling up onto its scaled back, situating himself ahead of the beast’s dorsal spikes.

With two flaps of its wings the creature soared over the cliff edge, bringing it and Jaskier into the open air. Taking the wyvern into a broad turn, Jaskier wheeled them around to face Geralt, looking tremendously smug.

Something bright and scorching roared past Geralt’s head. Whipping around, Geralt saw Yennefer run forward and send another fireball hurtling towards Jaskier and the wyvern, just missing them. The wyvern shrieked in agitation and Jaskier crooned at it, patting at its spines. He glared at Yennefer, who held her hands up, flames already beginning to lick at her palms anew.

Geralt grabbed her arm, ignoring the heat of the flickering fire. "Yennefer, enough. You'll just shoot them both out of the sky."

"Who says that's not what I intend to do?" Yennefer muttered, viciously.

"Yennefer!" Geralt growled, tracking the way the bard tightened his grip on the wyvern, lips parting around a volley of words. The creature's jaw lolled open, too, teeth bright and sharp; its tails flicked from side to side, dripping venom. “Don’t do this.” Yennefer glowered, but extinguished the fireball.

Seemingly reassured that Yennefer wasn’t about to take another shot, Jaskier laughed, joyously, and flashed them a winning smile.

“Yennefer, good to see you! As always, kindly consider dying in a fire. Geralt, genuinely lovely to meet you, and I hope that this is but a mere bump in the road of our blossoming acquaintance!" Geralt snarled when the bard had the gall to fucking wink at him, again. "Swing by Oxenfurt, if you get a chance. A week, give or take." With that, Jaskier petted fondly at the wyvern’s side and whistled, beaming when it trilled and beat its massive wings, taking to the sky.

Geralt stood there beside Yennefer, rooted in place. Silence hung between them. It was almost jarring, after the tremendous noise that had reverberated through the air just moments earlier.

“Well,” Yennefer said, finally, huffing out an annoyed breath. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Geralt agreed.

#geraskier #fic #my fic #magic jaskier #witcher au #must a fic be 'good'#little bit of the ol' smut there #right at the beginning #sorry yall this came to me while i was listening to the horror & the wild and high off my face #but like jaskier with actual bard combat magic is so fucking great to me

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itsthecupbros · 4 years

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Just a scene

I wrote this with @shattered-ecilpse-varian last night for out hogwarts au and I thought Id format it here-

Mugman looked into the mirror of the 4th floor boys bathroom and saw and felt his face flush blue. It was near midnight, no no one should walk in on him, but he was still anxious. Bracing his hands on either side of the sink and taking a deep breath, he looked himself over. Maraca, a hint of dark blue eyeshadow, light pink lip gloss. He knew that if his father, heck, anyone in his old neighborhood saw him like this, they would never wash the blood out of the road. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cold surface of the mirror. After reassuring himself, he released the sink and took a step back, looking at himself in the clear glass surface. The long blue dress gently brushed the tops of his bare feet as he turned slightly on the spot. It had two straps, leading his white shoulders and upper back exposed. He thought he looked amazing, but then all of the the memories and facts came crashing down onto him. What people would think, what they would say. Guys can't wear dresses, guys can't appear like this. His face flushed dark again and he looked at the cold floor, trying to push away the shame already rising in his face.

Indigo was wandering around stress forcing him to walk was exhausted he couldn't sleep so he sweared he heard loud angry footsteps coming his way he quickly entered the boys bathroom panic-stricken he didn't want to get in trouble all over again. He saw his crush dress up in a beautiful dress he just froze staring not knowing what exactly to say

It was a few moments before Mugman noticed him. He turned and let out a Yelp, taking a step back as his face flushed darker in embarrassment. "I-Indigo! Wh-what are you doing here?" He looked downward, his face hot. He braced himself for indigo to laugh at him, or cry out in disgust, or ridicule him in some other manner.

"Tt. Um.. you... i..." Indigo flushed red looking down dying inside "I'm sorry I...I didn't m-m-mean to i-intrude I'm sorry"

"N-No! Please! I-I was just startled..." The toon let out a nervous laugh, avoiding his eyes and rubbing at the elbow joint of his prosthetic, suddenly self conscious that it was so exposed.

"Um... what what are you why are you up this late?: Indigo mumbled softly squeezing his already scratched off and red arm trying to stay awake trying to not let anything bad happen

"I-I just wanted to... to t-try some things on without the boys from my dorm looking on..."

"Oo...um understandable..." Indigo smiled a little scratching a little. "Um....you...you looked look nice..."

Mugman flushed darker. "R-really? I..I wasn't sure... you.. you don't think I look like... l-like a freak? ..o-or something...?" He wrapped his arms around himself, still avoiding his eyes.

Indigo shook his head "N-no! I no? You don't!"

Mugman seemed stunned for a few seconds before he gave a chiming laugh and a glowing smile, his eyes shining. "..thank you..."

Indigo just gave an embarrassed thumbs up. He looked away and tried to think of more conversation "Um...so...... you can't sleep I'm guessing?"

"...no... too many nightmares..." mugman replied, looked away and biting his lip.

"Mmhm...same.... want to wander around?..um I've been doing that for the past... I don't know how many hours.. we can try to find new secret passageways and such! I do that when I can't sleep or I just watch over the dorm.. but it seems like Atlas got that one covered tonight" Inido smiled looking down reaching out his hand.

Mugman reached out, gripping it gently and smiling. "I think I'd like that..."

Indigo smiled nervously holding his hand and it started walking. "Okay! Let's do this"

Mugman giggled as he started speeding up. "Come on, I know this great hidden room up ahead!"

Indigo smiled letting the toon go first "Okay! Show show!" He said fidgeting, extremely excited and well happy. He was barely flustered anymore just happy to hang out with someone

Mugman rushed around a corner and ducked through a tapestry, starting to talk as he sped by. "My older brother is quite the troublemaker. On our first day, he showed me and lost the best spots in the castle. You would t believe the trouble he's gotten himself into in the past..."

Indigo quietly followed knowing a bit about getting in trouble "Mmhm! that's always nice"

After running down a passageway for a while, mugs turned a corner and came to a large open room with a small fountain off to the side, ornate pillars around the walls, and a tree growing in the center. Mugman smiled. "This has to be my favorite of the places he showed me... I'm not sure what it's used for, but I think it's beautiful..."

Indigo stared gobsmacked he started looking around and just smiled "Whoa..."

Mugman gently squeezed his hand. "...I know right...?" His voice had taken a softer tone.

Indigo gently squeezed back "Yeah.."

Mugman looked at him and felt his heart flutter, warmth rushing to his face. He looked away again, pushing the feeling down. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't want to tempt fate.

"So...um.." Indigo squeezed his hand a little and started walking to the tree "Let's hang out?"

Mugman walked beside him, squeezing back. "We'll have to be back before morning, but I'd love that..."

"Okay... that sucks" Indigo mumbled softly and sat down exhaustion hitting him hard

"...tired...?" Mugman asked with a small smile.

"Always.." Indigo mumbled softly rubbing his eyes

Mugman hesitated "...I get that.. some... things... have been happening lately... I... I actually really need to talk about it... s-so.. can I vent to you...?"

"Mm..do tell... I'm here.." Indigo smiled, as his eyes closed he was quietly listening

Mugman paused for a few moments, bracing himself "okay.. s-so... I...I suppose I should start at the beginning... C-Cuphead and I got kicked out of the house when I was 3... our mom was a witch, but she didn't tell our dad until after I was born. She... she died shortly after... I don't know how... our dad was already n-not fond of us because we were wizards, but when he found out my brother was gay... it was the final straw..." he paused, taking a deep breath to stop the tears forming in his eyes. "...w-we lived on the streets for a while until cups could get enough money to rent an apartment. One day, we found another toon. He literally bumped into us on the streets and begged us to help him, he said he was being hunted and he had been under the control of dark wizards for over a year... we weren't sure, but took him in... he didn't remember his name... so he gave himself the name lost... surprisingly, we were accepted into this school and were able to escape for a while... unfortunately, apparently the people who had been controlling lost didnt want to give him up... th-they... came for him... I-Ive never see Lost so scared... he was screaming and begging... we fought them off... but... we didn't get out in one piece..." he gestured to his prosthetic, tears were starting to slip down his face. "...what scares me most is that they... they hired someone... they call themselves void and they're one of the most wanted magic users in country... they crushed cuphead's hand and... they never stop until they get the job done... we have an agreement with the headmaster... so we can stay at the castle over break... b-but I'm still terrified every night that they'll find us... Im terrified they'll take lost and kill the two of us for standing in their way... and.. th-theres no way to know if today will be the last day... I.. Im just so scared..."

Indigo just stared at him worried and bewildered. He just didn't know what to say he just looked down hugging himself

Mugman realized he'd been rambling, his face flushing. "O-oh jeez... I'm so sorry... I ruined it, didnt I...? I-I shouldn't dump that on you... jeez... stupid, stupid..." he bit his lip. He completely ruined it. They were having such a nice night... Indigo didnt need to hear about all the terrifying things going on without him and his brothers...

He quietly pulled him into a hug. He quietly mumbles "I'm so sorry..."

He closed his eyes and hugged him back, repressing a sob as all the emotions he had been repressing came crashing down on him at once. The horror of watching his own brother screaming and begging for mercy. The terror of living every day having to wonder if this would be the last time he would see the sun. He was trembling, clinging to indigo as his resolve finally broke and he sobbed into his shoulder, his body shaking I violently as wave after wave of emotion crashed into him.

Indigo gently held him rubbing his back. He tried to comfort him, he was pretty sure it wasn't good enough but he had to try

He choked out apologies as he struggled to regain control, praying indigo wouldn't hate him and already hating himself for dumping his own emotions onto the person he considered his best friend.

Indigo just started softly speaking in German in a tune of a lullaby. He scooped him up the best he could and just held him continuing to speak

After the toon managed to stop himself from sobbing, he continued to cling to him, his arms wrapped around him and his face buried in his chest.

The twin buried himself into him as well mostly in his shoulder. He didn't cling on to him as tightly but he still held on to him still mumbling that German tune

After a few minutes, mugman took in a shuddering breath and gently pulled away, looking downwards. His mascara was smudged and there were black tear tracks running down his pale face. He kept his eyes downcast. "I-I'm sorry... you mustn't think much of me now... right...? ...s-sorry... I just... g-god I'm so weak...

Indigo shook his head holding both of his hands not caring about the prosthetic. He just tiredly mumbled "....you're strong...you're strong.."

Mugman hesitated "...I-I just broke down in your arms and you still tell me I'm strong.. I... I really don't deserve you as a friend..." his voice was weak and broken as he bit his lip. "...you don't deserve me dumping this on you... I-I'm sorry..."

He hugged him tightly "N-no I... don't go please" Indigo's voice out of nowhere became weak and filled with terror

He hesitated before squeezing his hand, swallowing the lump in his throat before nodding, his voice only a whisper. "O-okay... I won't go..."

"Sorry.." He eventually mumbled his eyes closed trying not to slip into sleep

"...please don't be... I'm the one who just dumped a ton off emotional trauma onto you..."

Indigo mumbled incoherently clinging onto him exhaustion finally pulling him down to slumber

Mugman ran a hand through his hair, soon realizing that he had fallen asleep. He started to panic for a few seconds before managing to calm himself down, leaning back and letting his eyes flutter shut, focusing on indigo's even breaths. Maybe just a little rest... he could... wake up before morning.... before he could stop himself, he drifted into unconscious.

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sharpnothashtag · 4 years

Text

The Good Ship CrushWay, Chapter 34

Note: This is going to be a bit more plot heavy. I had some explaining I needed to do.

Sick Bay. EMH and Seven are behind the forcefield with Locutus, and Bev and Picard are on the viewscreen.

Picard: That’s our side of the story, Locutus. Why don’t you tell us yours?

Locutus flinches after hearing his name (as he has every time and I have totally not forgotten to write that in even though I was building to this all along). It’s clear it’s torturing him. He has teared up hearing this story. He clears his throat and reaches down to straighten his uniform, but he’s still in a gown from surgery. He takes a deep breath.

Locutus: Kathryn Janeway was declared lost along with her entire crew a few years ago. I thought it was such a shame--she showed such promise. When my crew came across Jouret IV, there was no colony. There was almost nothing left. Will Riker was offered a command, and someone who wanted his job was on the ship, annoying him to no end. The Borg hailed us while we were investigating the remains of the colony. They (struggling) demanded I surrender myself. Of course, I refused, but they came and kidnapped me anyway. They assimilated me. I---I (the EMH places his hand on Picard’s shoulder for support. Locutus looks down and shuts his eyes as tears well up.) I destroyed sector 001. They weren’t able to stop us. Millions of people, dead. Starfleet Academy, ruined. Utopia Planitia, vaporized. My feelings became too overwhelming for the emotional suppressant I was given. I began to rip the visible implants off my body--wires, metal plates, lasers, plasma weapons. I stole a vessel we’d conquered, and I flew it away at warp 9 as I sobbed. My entire crew was gone. Beverly, Riker, Worf? Never to be heard from again. I was so distraught that by the time I reached the border to the Delta Quadrant, I had passed out from exhaustion. I didn’t come to when the computer warned me I was going to crash-land on a planet full of people. If I’m aligning the timelines correctly, my shuttle killed the species that helped Tuvok and all of the remaining crew members as well. I’m honestly not sure how Tuvok survived. I realized what I had done, and I decided to kill myself. Nothing could help the people I had destroyed. I was severely lacking in tools to help me in this deed, so I thought starving myself would be the best way. The Borg from my universe put a vital-sign-homing-beacon in my cortical node. If my vitals were below a certain threshold, the homing device would activate and the Borg would be made aware of my location. After nearly a week of starving, I had finally started to drift away into death’s sweet release. I was so relieved. The next thing I knew, I was a Borg again. The Queen must have realized I was from a different universe, but never bothered to share that information with me. She said the Borg had changed. She asked me who I missed the most. The first one that came to mind was Riker. She smiled briefly, nodded, and then left me to my duties. That must have been when they hunted him down. She knew his was the death that would hurt me the most. While everyone else got the chance to say goodbye to their families or destroy what hurt them the most, I had to rewatch so many people I loved die over and over again in my head while I walked from one end of the cube to another, repairing and replacing parts. I heard when she talked with the Enterprise, but I was not allowed into the conversation--the Queen blocked me out. When she realized she needed me gone, she built a shuttle and shot me off the ship. I crash-landed on the same planet again, and not long after, Tuvok came and found me. I must have twitched because he put me in the Vulcan death grip and you all beamed me up here.

I asked you not to call me Locutus. Every time I hear that name, I think of... all that. I’m asking you to please let me think about something other than murdering millions of innocents. Please. Please call me something else.

Locutus is rocking back and forth, sobbing, hyper-ventilating, knees to chest, mumbling over and over, “Please.” Everyone is clearly in shock. After a few beats of silence, the EMH puts a weighted blanket over him and shoots him with a hypospray. Locutus’ body relaxes enough to put him on his side, but his breathing doesn’t slow and he continues to rock back and forth.

EMH: Breathe with me, friend. (Coaches him through breathing exercises. Locutus’ breathing slows, and he is able to stop rocking back and forth.)

Bev: Hey, Jean-Luc. It’s me—Beverly. Do you want to know about a really good thing from this timeline? (Locutus nods.) You’re in it. I know that seems like an empty statement, but I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am that you’re here in a place and time when we can help rid you of the Borg trauma, both mental and physical. You survived. And I’m so glad you did. I’m going to bring up DeAnna on your screen. I think it’s best if you let her help you out for now. (Locutus nods.) Picard: Jean-Luc? (Locutus raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement.) Je suis a toi.

The Bridge. Tom and KJ take over for Tasha and Ro. On a turbolift:

Tasha: So, do you have any plans? Ro: Right now? (Tasha nods.) I was thinking I’d go back to my quarters and eat something. Tasha: Are you up for some company? Ro: Um, sure? What are you in the mood for? Tasha: (uncharacteristic shyness) Well...I was kind of hoping we could talk more. Ro: Computer, halt turbolift. (Computer response noise) Tasha, is there something going on with you? Tasha: W-why? Ro: Tasha Yar, I have known you for years. I can read you pretty easily. Tell me what’s wrong. Tasha: ...well, it’s just that...we broke things off when you left because I thought you didn’t love me anymore. I thought you hated Starfleet, and by extension, me. We were happy and then you were gone. Now that I understand why you left and I know that you don’t hate me I...I just thought that-- Ro: That we could pick up where we left off? Tasha: Well, yeah. Ro: I don’t think I can. Tasha: What? Ro: I’m not saying I don’t love you, Tasha. I’m saying that I don’t know if I can do that. Tasha: Laren, you’re the love of m-- Ro: Please. Please don’t. There’s more to it than that. Computer, resume. (Computer chirps, opens doors almost immediately.) Have a good evening, Commander. (Ro exits.)

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whence-the-woody · 4 years

Text

Finale commentary under the cut

So I wanted to kind of liveblog as I was watching but held back so these are my remembered reactions/second watch reactions

Bummed there was no song recap but quickly figured itd play at the end

PUPPY. Best part of the ep, lbr, Dean was so cute with him

Theyre really doing a cheesey life montage huh - still not clear whether monsters are a thing in this new world?

I was watching the mins tick by during this first montage like OKAY we get it, cheesey happy home life, move along. There was only 40 mins left of the whole show like get on with it, it went way too long

We definately needed to restablished that Sam is neat while Dean is messy. Totally necessary to spend time on that. Also didnt Dean get houseproud when they moved into the bunker?? What happened to that?

OMG get on with it

Then becomes apparent that hunting is still a thing. Which if so what was the point of showing then doing fucking laundry and dishes while “Ordinary life” plays - if its not just an ordinary life?

At this point i thought it might go the route of them being listless without hunting as a job but then murder scene so I guess not

This whole pie sequence is stupid and a waste of time, we all know it

Dean being a cold, heartless bitch about everyone being dead. Aces. Not unexpected but still just great. How dare you be so happy about pie fuck you dude.

DOES ANYONE REMEMBER EILEEN

Pie is the face is not funny my dudes come the fuck on

I started skipping through during the murder scene. I was bored. Like, I dont care about tension building to the murder of a family we dont fucking know. Ive always skipped these scenes, what is the damn point. Its not scary or interesting.

GET ON WITH IT

Same old FBI bullshit. Nice to see the journal again I guess. But like, this is STILL what we’re doing? In the very last ep? Same old, different day, just like 15 years ago. Really?

Singer and Kripke. Subtle.

I skipped through the interrogation too. I dont find the scary brother act cool or entertaining

15 mins in and nothing has happened

Theyre trying so hard to give Dean jokes and nothing is landing, its so cringe just stop

The way the little clown faces pop up - if that supposed to be scary? Really? Its all just so silly rn

Watching it again I realise just how easy this hunt is. The answer is in the journal. They find the exact family. They find the exact barn. The kids are just stood in a cupboard. This is what takes Dean out, really? Its not even a normal hunt, its a way too fucking easy one.

I do not remember this chick or what ep she was in, maybe theres some parallell or foreshadowing by bringing her back but if there is I dont get it

Bottom line if youre gonna bring people back WHY THE FUCK THIS RANDOM GIRL

I knew so fast he was gonna go out like that. Hanging from a fucking nail

I kept saying out loud not like this, no way, this is so stupid, its so stupid omg

I paused and tried to talk myself into putting aside how stupid and awkward it was for him to be doing this scene hanging off a pole and just try to invest in the emotion of the speech. Which I achieved at times

but why was is so awkward tho?? Just the way hes stood pressed against it is fucking weird. Also 1000% Sam couldve gotten help and he wouldve been FINE. It took so long for them to talk, an ambulance couldve been there before they were done, there was no need for this

Okay the speech did make me cry once I pep talked myself into being invested. The reference to being scared Sam would reject him, the I love you so much, Sam saying dont leave me, the stay with me and tell me its okay - all those moments got me and I did cry. I appreciated the family business line. I liked Jensen telling Jared he always keeps fighting, that was a nice reference.

BUT there were also those moments that made me scoff, roll my eyes or laugh. The whole “always you and me” bullshit especially. The second I knew he was going to say I’ll be in your heart I yelled at them to no do it, I hate that cheesey move, then literally was like “oh my god, he did it”. It WAS NOT always going to end like this - so much of the last 15 years was proving him wrong about that. This is all just so wrong, it is not good.

Jensen and Jared did a good job with what they were given in this scene but my god

The audacity of the Cas erasure- always you and me. FUCK YOU.

I laughed out loud when his last shot was a One Perfect Tear. I was literally like “Oh wow they did that”

DEAN DESERVED A BETTER DEATH

It also kinda loses all impact when you see him like 2 mins later

MIRACLE IS THE REAL MVP ILY

Theyre really doing another montage. Really. Like we get it, hes sad, we didnt need the toast to understand that

Omg Miracle by his side. The best of bois.

Looking around his room like beer and guns was all dean was. Sure. Aces.

I choose to believe Bon Jovi was a ref to before Dean went to hell

If Donna is back why isnt anyone else?!?

Oh Jared you look so old bby. Go home. He looks older there then later in the ridiculous make up

Why is that shot made to look like hes leaving the bunker forever?? Like that makes no sense

Bobby greeting him is nice and all BUT IT SHOULDVE BEEN CAS

Also they are 1000% doing the show don’t tell by having Bobby just sit and explain everything. SO FUCKING LAZY

Cas has been out of the empty, helping rebuild heaven. Okay, fine. Even Dean’s reaction to hearing that was fine. BUT YOU ASK WHERE YOUR FUCKING BEST FRIEND IS AND GO SEE HIM. WHO IS THIS VERSION OF DEAN WTF

I know people are upset Cas is back working in heaven but I dont think its anything like before. It sounds like he helped fixed things then got his own heaven. Also he’s God’s Dad, hes not serving God, hes teaching him. I know human Cas done right is what we wanted but I dont hate this for him. BUT WE SHOULD HAVE FUCKING SEEN IT.

Why is a memory of being a kid with his Dad what Dean is reminiscing on. They have literally reverted him back to s1. There are so many memories dean should be thinking about in fucking heaven

Hes going for a drive

Hes going for a motherfucking drive

In the car he was just in

WHY THE FUCK IS HE ACTING LIKE HE HASNT SEEN BABY IN YEARS WHAT IS THIS SHIT

Hes going to drive around doing nothing until Sam gets there are you fucking kidding me. Not going to see any of his family from the last 15 years, just driving. Absolute horseshit.

This is the moment where you realise that this episode has changed NOTHING. This is the same ending as the last ep except theyre in heaven not on earth

ITS THE EXACT SAME FUCKING THING

Okay so they skip over how Sam went from going on a hunt to walking with a toddler. OMG how unsubtle that they have literally just labelled the child Dean in big yellow letters. I couldnt help but laugh, how fucking stupid.

I did get a bit teary when the music started I’ll be honest. But mostly through the whole montage (ANOTHER ONE) I was saying to myself This is so fucking stupid. omg this is dumb, what the fuck is this, so stupid.

They literally did a montage so long they had to play the song twice. Im just done at this point wow.

The old man make up is so bad I just laughed. The only pictures being of the 4 of them, reinforcing the Winchester only bullshit, great. Not even pics of this new random family Sam’s got. The painfully cliche Dad moments for Sam, again so bad its funny. Omg the hand on the head of this random kid, this is so ridiculous. Old man sam in his bad wig trying so hard to move like hes old and crying in the impala. Wtf is happening, this is SO STUPID

I thought theyd cast a more attractive son I’ll be honest. So he has the tattoo - are they a hunting family? Because that would go against both s1 Sam they’ve tried to go back to and the s15 Sam they build up to for all those years

I know they were going for an emotional parallel with that “you can go now” but this random man saying it to Sam in that make up, with the music cue lined up right there - its just funny coz its so dumb im sorry

I cant believe they actually played another different version, I’ll never get over that

Theres alot of things I’ll never get over

Is this bridge supposed to mean something? They shouldve picked a setting that meant something

I know theyre trying so hard to make Dean look happy and peaceful to convince us its a good ending but sis no

I laughed out loud when Dean turned around - WHAT IS THAT OUTFIT SAM?

Really, they have nothing to say? No questions, no convo? They just have cheesey smiles and look over the water? This is so wrapped up in a fucking bow trying to force us to feel good my god

The cut almost immediately to them talking to the camera, still in character getup, was so cringe I yelled and turned it off

And they pan out to literally none of the people we want to see . Great, Good.

LITERALLY WHAT WAS THE POINT

#supernatural #me #ranty #we achieved nothing with this ep yet I have THOUGHTS #finale

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bxthharmon · 4 years

Text

White Butterflies pt iii. || Hvitserk Lothbrok x Reader

Words: 2028

Warnings: Mentions of arranged marriage, drowning, (veiled threats?)

Summary: An owl’s cry is bad luck

A/N: Ah, took a couple of days, sorryyyyyy

i | ii | iii | iv | v

This story doesn’t follow the plot, so you don’t have to know the story to understand it.

“Princess Y/N” Bjorn greeted you, “Come with me, Ivar’s going to announce the raids.”

“Firstly, we can stop with the titles, I’ve been here almost two months now, we’re friends, no?” you grinned, and he nodded, beckoning you to join him on the path to the hall, “and secondly, since I am no shield-maiden, do I really have to have my afternoon spent watching men argue and shout over their mead?”

He laughed, “All the same, you are a member of the family, and I feel that you should find out, I wanted you to know earlier, but Ivar refused.” you frowned, curious, but followed him into the Great Hall. You picked out your husband and Ubbe in the crowd, greeting them and kissing Hvitserk on the cheek.

Ivar called for the attention of the hall, and the room fell silent. “People of Kattegat,” Ivar started, “I have called you all here to announce the destination of our summer’s raids.” the crowd cheered enthusiastically, spilling ale in the process, “Now, I understand that you all have been asking for the last few weeks, and I’ve come to my decision. We’ve fallen out with plenty of countries, and so I feel we shouldn’t take on more than we can handle, no? That is why, in a moon’s time, we will be travelling to the home of my dear brother’s wife, Y/N.”

Cheers went up around you, but Ivar and Hvitserk kept their eyes on you, watching for a reaction. Standing there, you realised that your mother had done an amazing job on training you to keep your emotions private. You stood there, straight-faced and calm, but internally panicking.

“Brother,” Ubbe said, “By doing this, you breach the terms of the agreement one that you signed, it would be unwise to do such a thing. They have a large army, a strong one, have you considered that it would not be so wise?”

“We have the largest army in the world,” Ivar said, a cheer went up, “And we have an inside woman, no?”

Stares turned to you, and you sighed, stepping forwards. “My king, it would be an honour to help you in this attack. Though I must admit, women were not told battle plans and such where I come from.”

“Well I suppose you’ve just got to tell us all you know, hmm?” he said, as if he expected nothing less.

You walked away, full of panic. You did not care for your family, your country or its people - there wasn’t a single good person in that court - but you were worried. If your father found out he would try to get to you - contact you or hurt you - he would do anything to turn you back to your old country. He would expect it. You had no doubt he would hurt the people you were close to, maybe even kill them, if it meant you helped him. You felt a hand on your arm.

“Y/N,” said Hvitserk, “Are you okay?” you turned abruptly to face him.

“My family is many things, but they are not high-minded people.” you said, “I have seen both cultures, and you, as vikings, in the way you fight, you are honourable, and honest, but they will stab you in the back, they will poison you and manipulate you to meet their own ends. Their army is smaller, but they will find out our strategies and plans. To do this, we would have to fight in the least viking way possible.”

Hvitserk stared at you, and you continued, “Ivar is punching above his weight, and I don’t want to watch a futile battle. I’ll help, but don’t expect me to support this. I don’t love them, but I also don’t want this to start a war, and by doing this Ivar is starting a war that I don’t think he’ll win.” You pulled your arm out of his grasp and exited the hall, inhaling the cold, fresh air.

“Y/N,” Arthur greeted, and you looked up from your embroidery.

“Arthur,” you forced a smile, “What brings you here?”

“Theodore.” he says, and you frowned lightly.

“What’s Theo done?” you said, trying to be as polite as possible.

“Theodore told a servant girl that you were… courting… a boy from Lord Jackson’s court.” he sat down in front of you, and glared into your eyes. You held the stare, swallowing the fear induced by the glint in his eyes. Like he was mad, like he would kill you. “Now,” he began, drawing his dagger, and holding it to the light, “You are young, too young for betrothal, but in a couple of years, no doubt, once you’ve got your monthly blood, you will undoubtedly marry. And you know, our family is the most important thing.” he lifted the blade so that you could see your face staring back at you, “so we can’t have you marry some unimportant, good-for-nothing Lord in one of our own courts, can we?”

“Mother said-”

He pushed the flat side of the blade against your collar bone, the edge cold metal threatening to twist and slice your skin. “Mother knows that you will marry to form an alliance, and if you stray from the path that your father is building for you, then people will get hurt, and you are too kind to let that happen.” the blade twisted, and drops of blood trickled down your skin.

“Thank you for your counsel, brother.”

You’d known then that everything he’d said was true. You’d spent your whole life preparing for this marriage. You’d learnt Frankish and German and Latin fluently, and could just about get by in at least four other languages, so that you could speak to any foreign suitors and handle visitors to your court. You’d learnt to write, read, sew and embroider so as to have reputable skills to help in your life. You’d learnt manners and etiquette to impress suitors. You’d been taught how to veil threats, hide emotions, and test other’s certitude.

You had been prepared for it, yet when it had happened, you couldn’t have been in more shock. You had been thrown into a world with different Gods, customs and celebrations. You already understood and spoke the language, but were nowhere near fluent, and struggled to keep up with conversation, especially given the refusal to teach any language relating to another religion.

You felt out of your depth.

You stood on the docks of Kattegat, the sea stretched out before you, turbulent and stormy. The waves rising metres into the air, and winds cold and harsh against your skin, biting and clawing at you. The swell of the wave was noticeable from the moment it entered the fjord, rising and surging towards you with purpose. You wanted to run, to get out of the way, but your feet were stuck, you couldn’t move. The wave only seconds away from hitting, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

As the impact hit you, you were blown away, floating in the undercurrents as water took the town as its own. The wave pulled back, and you were swept away, out of the fjord, and into the endless waters of the sea. Your lungs screamed for air, but you couldn’t tell left from right, up from down. The depths gave you no means of escape, and your lungs were collapsing, you were sinking. Forced by the water, your mouth opened, and water filled your lungs.

But you did not die.

You hung there, in the middle of the sea, breathing water. You pulled yourself forwards through the water, your eyes wide open, stinging, but seeing. You pulled yourself through the water, and realised that you suddenly knew how to swim. You felt yourself begin to relax and felt your guard drop. You regained your bearings.

But then the water became a mess of fangs and scales and blood and you were disorientated and hurt again. Panic filled your system and you pushed yourself away, trying to escape the huge writhing body that was thrashing all around you. You found yourself watching the thing from a distance, before you saw its eyes.

Evil, red, hateful, they caught you in their gaze, growing bigger, more vicious, bloodthirsty and hunting. You saw its fangs, pale and sharp and full of venom, its scales smooth and perfect. This - this thing - was a monster, a beast, made for murder and hate and unspeakable deeds. It was hunting.

And you were the prey.

The mouth of the serpent came close so quickly that if you shut your eyes you would have missed it. It was so big that for a split-second you realised it would swallow you whole, and you were as small as a mouse is to a bear.

You were going to die.

Air filled your lungs as you sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, panting. Everything was blurred and all you were aware of was your breathing - shallow, quick and ragged - everything else was unclear.

You felt faintly aware that someone had sat up next to you and you could feel their arm over your shoulders, pulling you into them, stroking your hair, kissing your forehead.

“Y/N, are you okay? Y/N, tell me what happened, talk to me, me heart, talk to me.”

The murmur pierced through your dumb state, and everything came back into focus. You could feel tears streaming down your face. You brought your attention to Hvitserk, whose face taught with concern, eyebrows pulled down to a frown, his eyes, dark and strong, but he too looked scared witless, on the verge of tears.he took your face in his hands, “My Princess, tell me what happened.”

“I, uh, I was at the docks.” your speech, you realised, was broken. This was the most vulnerable you’d ever been in front of someone, “and there was this - this wave. It was coming towards me, so fast, and it seemed… almost, I don’t know, angry. It flooded all of Kattegat - the whole thing - and took me with it back out to sea. And I was trying to hold my breath - obviously - and I don’t know how to swim, so I was panicking. But - but I could breathe.”

He frowned, “Underwater?”

“Yes, it was like I was breathing the water itself.” you sighed, “But then, just as I got my bearings, this huge thing came and it was, like, thrashing, around me. I - I got away, but this, giant, huge… snake, I think, it saw me. And it looked like it wanted to kill me, for no real reason. And it surged towards me, it was so big that it fully, like, I don’t know, it consumed me?” you looked at your lap, and felt tears falling.

“Hey,” he looked into your eyes, “hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. But do you know what this means?”

“No,” you said, “I’ve never had a dream like that before.”

“You could breathe underwater, that means you have Njord’s favour.”

“Njord?” you asked, despite how you were trying to learn about the Gods, you didn’t know them all.

“The God of the Sea, and the Wind, and of Trade.” He explained. “We should tell the others of your dream, it’s important.”

“Important how?” you asked.

“Important because we want to have his favour for our sails to your land.” he kissed your nose, lightly. “It’s daybreak anyway, come to our meeting with me later, help us out.”

“For you,” you kissed him, and then left the bed, calling a thrall to help you dress. Hvitserk left quickly, kissing your cheek and assuring your attendance to the small war council.

You went to the yew tree before the council, and prayed. You prayed for family, but not family that shared your blood. You prayed for the family whose home you lived in and whose success depended on you. You wondered what had become of Theo, and if your family was still healthy, and you questioned if you wondered this out of love or curiosity, and if they thought the same of you. Somewhere, in the distance, an owl called.

tag(s): @soleil-dor @siliethkaijuy

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direwrath · 4 years

Photo

50 Questions: OC Interview

tagged by @alejandrocortez 😊

1. What's your name? "My real name?" *Smirks* "Ruvik, the name is Ruvik."

2. Give me your full name... "You always ask strangers such personal questions? My full name is Ruvik Damion Veill, don't dare use it against me."

3. Do you have a nickname? If yes, what is it and how did you come to have it? "No I don't really have one." Girl screaming from the background "yes he does, Gavin calls him Blondie. Cause of his hair!" "Iara, this is my interview!" *rolls eyes and turns back around* "yeah, so there is that one."

4. What species are you? (Human, werewolf, etc? Or are you an alien?) "Wait what?" *leans back in the chair* "I'm pretty sure that I'm a human, dare I ask? But what exactly is an alien?"

5. Where were you born? "In a cave." *snickers* "I was born on a ranch my family owned near a small town called Bellevue in what at the time, was the Nebraska territory. My parent's moved the family and the animals down to Rhodes to be closer to my grandparents. That was where I grew up."

6. I see. And that would make your age...? "31"

7. Okay, now...are you a good guy, or a bad guy? *pauses with a light grin* "I don't think I'm the best one to judge my own character. Let's just say that I've done things that can be considered... unkind."

Part II: Tell Us More About Yourself...

8. How would you describe your personality? "Well Iara calls me grumpy all of the time, Gavin says I tend to spoil the fun and likens me to a sour boar. I tend to be realistic, and anytime I try to make a joke the women tend to slap me and the men ball their fists with insult. I mean if they can't get my humor it isn't my fault? Right? So I don't know how to really explain my personality much"

9. Would you say you're someone who can handle pressure? "I take things in stride, nothing much else I can do."

10. Do you like to read? *sighs and looks down* "I used to.. when I was younger I would read to my little sisters before bed." *lightly smiles* "I really haven't thought to pick up a book in years though." 11. Favorite color? "Blue"

12. Do you get along with others? "I try to be cordial when I need to be. But I really am not a people person."

13. Do you have any enemies? *snickers* "The better question should be, who isn't my enemy?"

14. How about friends? "I have a few individuals that I can trust, so yeah, I guess that might make them friends."

15. Are you patient? "According to my cousin Iara, heck no."

Part III: Hypothetically...

16. Suppose that you could become any creature you know of. What would you pick, and why? "Such an odd question?" *thinks for a second* "I think I would pick an eagle. Think about it what an eagle sees every day of their life? They get to see the world from above the chaos, and if they choose they can just fly away from everything. That's true freedom."

17. One of your enemies in question 13 just complimented you. Response? "Why?" *confused glance* "That seems an odd thing for any of them to do."

18. One of your friends in Question 14 just insulted you. Response? "I'll bet it was Gavin, that guy can be such a jerk."

19. If you could change anything about yourself... "Is that even possible? Well, I think I would like to stop being so straightforward. Sometimes I say things that I regret later."

20. About your home... "I no longer have a home, that was taken from me long ago."

Part IV: Now We Get Personal

21. What're your parents like? *takes deep breath* "They were amazing people. My mother was a hard woman when she had to be, but her heart was pure gold. She was born in a small village near the Carpathian mountains and came to this country when she was younger? I have no clue where exactly she was born but she would tell me it was very far away. She had this distinct accent, and people would treat her differently because of it, though she never let on that this bothered her. Me and my father knew better though. My father, now he was not as strict as my mother, and he did all he could to spend time with me. To teach me things that he said I needed to know and all that. He taught me how to shoot, to hunt." *pauses and laughs* "But the man could not catch a fish for the life of him. *takes another deep breath* If anything my parent's were good people, they had money and helped anyone that needed it. It's what brought the bad men to our door..."

22. Do you have any siblings? "Had." *hands clench into fists* "Viola and Lea were my younger sisters. Viola was 11 when she was taken and Lea had just turned 4, her birthday was a few days before the day she died. I don't really like to talk about them."

23. What's your occupation? "I tend to have many different trades. Mostly I take in wanted men and women for the money, not that I like working with the law after everything is said and done. But the job keeps me on my toes and it brings me good money."

24. I see, that's a good job to have. Do you like it? "Eh, it's okay. Has it's good and bad moments. Mostly just hate hearing the fools try to talk their way out of the situation."

25. Are you seeing/dating anyone? "I was a part of something, and to be honest I think she was more involved with what was going on than I was. In my defense, I had to keep her happy or her father was going to put a rope around my neck.” *circles finger around throat* “When she started playing that she owned me was when I had, had enough and I broke it off. It was a rough break up and her father put a price on my head for it, but it wasn't going to last forever. Yeah, you know that question you asked me about enemies before this? Well, there you go." *coy grin*

26. Married/Engaged/Other? "Nope, I'm absolutely single at the moment. Iara keeps telling me to go find someone because I need a good woman to tone my attitude down a bit. I keep telling her that it's never going to happen."

27 If yes, how did you meet?

28. Tell us your biggest secret. "My baba, or my mother's mother was considered a znakharka, which is basically a healer in their old country. Although most around Rhodes called her a witch, which is why she left." *leans forward* "she taught me a few things before she went though."

29. Your worst fear? You don't have to answer this one if you don't want to. "To lose anymore of the people I care about. Which is probably why I try not to get too attached to very many people."

30. Favorite food? "Venison Stew, don't know why?"

30. Favorite drink? "Whiskey." *shrugs*

31. Tell us one thing you're the most proud of. "My little cousin Iara and how strong she has gotten. Honestly I don't know how she manages to pull through like she does. But if you're asking on my behalf, I ain't got much to be proud of myself."

32. Something embarrassing? You don't have to answer this one, either. "Pfft, I don't, there isn't... Let's move on." *shifts uncomfortably* Feminine voice from the background "Tell them about that time with the goat!" *Turns back to look at interviewer, eyes wide* "Nobody wants to hear about that Iara!"

33. If you didn't answer Questions 29 and/or 33, tell me why. "I don't think we should be ashamed of our fear, really."

34. Is that a good reason? "I think so."

Part VI: Closing

35. Are you satisfied with your life? "If you're asking me if I am I where I want to be, than no. Sometimes I just want to not have to worry about the world coming to strike me down, maybe if I were a better man that time would come."

36. Anything you feel like you have to do? It can be something long-term, like a bucket list, or something you need to do right now. "Find a place to call home for me, Gav, and Iara." 37. Any hobbies? "Not many, but I do like to play guitar. My grandfather was very good and he taught me."

38. Quick, you get one wish! What did you just wish for? It's alright, you can tell me... "I'd wish that night never happened."

39. How would you describe that wish? Good? Bad? Selfish? Selfless? Other? "Selfish, heck I dunno. Is it selfish to need to see the people you lost to feel whole again?"

40. Have you been honest with these questions? "Yeah, I guess. What, you calling me a liar?"

41. Your personal quote? "The devil will always need someone to blame."

42. Do you like change? "I can't get comfortable for the life of me, it doesn't matter whether I like it or not."

43. What's your most valued possession? *holds out a picture of a family* "This."

44. Anything else you feel like sharing? "Not really into sharing anything more. Something tells me I've already said too much."

50. Last question! How do you feel? "I feel like getting a bottle of whiskey and sitting under the stars, that's what I feel like."

I’m gonna tag @mileycyprus-hill 🤗

#rdro oc #rdr oc #myoc #my oc character #rdr2 oc #red dead online #red dead online oc

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silvermystification · 4 years

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okay tumblr. i think you’ve become my diary at this point. if only i didn’t repeat myself so often. but i guess i gotta get this out of my system. if you’re reading this from the discord you’re more then welcome to reply to me.

i don’t know what’s worse when i come here with my thoughts scattered and im just rambling about my pure emotions or when my sadness is calm like it is now? this almost numb feeling.

so i went hysterical over my job like a month ago. realized it was bad for my mental health and i’ve been looking for a new job. but the thing is my useless ass can only seem to sign up for retail jobs. i want out of this and here i am just trying to find a new one.

because no matter what. like. i’m stuck in this whole. and i hate how much it’s affecting me. that even if i get jobs i would like a bit more. in a retail job i believe in a bit more. that the 8 years of this has taken it’s toll. that i can barely bring myself to job hunt cause i don’t want to do this anymore. ive filled out 2 applications. and gave my phone number to a third. that’s it.

i’m just such a loser. i just. i have nothing for myself. and i tried cheering myself up. ive been trying to get this book out there. i’m trying. it took me 2 years to write this book. and i thought now that it’s polished and clean and i just need it edited basically that i would be able to put it out there sooner rather than later. i just. it’s taking more work then i expected. i mean. i know hiring the artist for the book cover is more things that would push it back. but i didn’t expect that the writing part itself would still be going. and since so many people bailed on me i’m just really worried about the current beta read. cause now it’s making me worried that the book won’t do good once i publish it. and it’s telling me that it’s prob gonna need more polish then i thought. and that means pushing it back more. but the more i push it back the more useless i feel. like i just. i’ve done nothing with my life until i get it out there. there’s nothing. i have no skills otherwise. i have nothing to show for myself.

i’m. useless. i’m pathetic.

i want my life to change. i want it to get better then this whole it’s been in for years. the most it’s changed is what retail job i have. and the fact that im not homeless. somewhere in there i got hit by a car. and now the pain i still get is almost like a constant reminder that life did that to me.

and the thing is retail makes me wanna curl into the corner and cry. i can’t stand it. even if i get out of my current job, just going into a new one isn’t gonna be much better. i’ll be new again and then i’ll have the starting over jitters all over again. and i don’t know if i can handle it any longer. i feel so broken about it.

i feel broken that i can’t think about my job without feeling broken about it. i can’t think of my life without thinking of my job.

And i hate how my day went today. i hate how unproductive i felt. cause i did nothing but watch The Flash and play video games. but i didn’t write. when i’m not just writing one book but an entire series. for the writing is the only thing that brings me joy anymore. but then i’m stressed when i don’t do it. cause i gotta keep myself busy with this next book so i don’t stress so much that the first one isn’t published yet. it’s all i want in life. is to publish this book. continue to make this series. and i dream of one day being able to turn the money made with the book to do something more with my life. but i turned that dream and tipped it on it’s head and i know ive put too much stock into it. but it’s all i got. it’s all i have to cling onto this stupid life of mine.

cause i gave up on my dream to do voice acting cause a long time ago. have nothing to show for that. recording equipment is expensive. and a voice coach even more so. but i don’t even have that lucky shot of having friends who wanna do something stupid and silly. that i can voice in.

so i gotta write. i have no other dream. and i need it. it’s my life force. but when i can’t even do it on my day off. i just.

i’m babbling and i’ve said all this before. i know. this isn’t my first post about this. i just. i wish i knew what to do. i wish there was something that made me feel less broken.

i wish i didn’t want to punch a wall just because i spilled a small amount of food onto my couch today. i just. i’m so stressed. i hate it.

i hate that i feel more useless just because i “relaxed” for a day. i hate that. i hate that i HAVE to feel productive in a day.

and i hate that every little thing that stresses me out just adds to me wanting to die. it hurts to have those thoughts. but life has been trying to kick me down for the last, what? 10 years now? over and over and over again.

no wonder my vents sound like a broken record.

#rant #vent #silver dustings #personal #my vibes are just no goo today

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yeniayofnymeria · 5 years

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Arya Stark and Valkyrie

(It’s not my theory but i need to share. It’s really interesting subject. It's really long but I promise, it's worth reading. )

I have a crackpot theory that the FM have some prophecy or at least some recruitment profile regarding a rare girl with Valkyrie-like abilities or role. The Red priests of R'hllor have their prophecy of Azor Ahai reborn and the Targaryens have the Prince that was Promised. There is the legend of the Last Hero about the Long Night that belongs to Westerosi First Men beliefs. But they are not the sole factions and societies and orders in the books that may have some sort of prophecy about a special person. I think the FM have a secret prophecy that fits Arya's profile. And I even go as far as to propose this prophecy is based on the identity of the First FM - a woman and not a man, who served the slaves as some nurse with food and drink. That's how she knew their prayers and was able to administer them the poison to help them die. And one of the sayings in the books is that poison is a woman's weapon.

What are Valkyries in mythology?

Valkyrie = "chooser of the slain". (meaning of the word)

Original Valkyries

Originally these were woman who were Odin’s helpers on the battle field. To prepare for Ragnarok, warriors needed to be picked amongst the slain to be able to fight for Odin in the final battle. These warriors would prepare and live in Walhalla, awaiting Ragnarok. The other warriors went to Freya’s Folkvangr. Valkyries were armed and wore armor, but they were not female warriors. Instead they surveyed the battle and then picked half of the slain men to go to Walhalla. These original Valkyries were old hags, ogresses and ugly women. And when there was no battle they served the fallen warriors in Walhalla as cupbearers.

Norns

These were the Norse version of the Greek fates, except there were many more Norns than just three. The good fairies and Malificent of the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty are some of the modern remaining leftover over beliefs in Norns. They could decide about the different fates for the whole course of a newborn's life (male and female).

Later Valkyries

In time Valkyries became beautiful maidens heroes could fall in love with. Who can blame the Norse for wanting to be served by beautiful maidens in Walhalla, instead of old hags, huh? Aside from maidenhood and beauty, they also gained certain Nornlike powers. Instead of just deciding which afterlife the slain of a battlefield could go to, the Valkyries gained the actual power to decide who would live and and who would die in war and battles, and therefore had the ultimate decision over which side would win a battle or war. Normally they would do this in concordance with Odin's will - they knew which side Odin favored. Because of this, battles would end up being dedicated to the Valkyrie believed to supervise the battle for Odin.

Some extra special powers: One Valkyrie had resurrection powers (Hildr), which resulted in an everlasting battle where the slain were revived every night so the battle would commence in the morning (for both sides of the battle were loved by Hildr). And another was more of a trickster who used potions to make a hero forget certain events and offer him advice to start a war (Gondul).

Summary of Valkyrie aspects

They are "choosers of the slain"

serve as cupbearers on their time "off"

beautiful young women

battles/fights get dedicated to them, though they do not actively participate

serve a person or order with Odin hints

believed to know a god's will when it comes to who's supposed to die, live, win or lose and make it come to pass with supernatural powers

Valkyrie aspects featured in Arya's FM arc

From the start of Arya's interaction with Jaqen we find hints of him either testing or pushing Arya to have her serve as a 'cupbearer' as well as empower her as a 'chooser of the slain'

One of the men in irons was talking to her. Warily, Arya approached the wagon, one hand on Needle's hilt.

The prisoner lifted an empty tankard, his chains rattling. "A man could use another taste of beer. A man has a thirst, wearing these heavy bracelets."

...

"A man must be ashamed of the company he keeps, Arry," the handsome one said. "This man has the honor to be Jaqen H'ghar, once of the Free City of Lorath. Would that he were home. This man's ill-bred companions in captivity are named Rorge"—he waved his tankard at the noseless man—"and Biter." Biter hissed at her again, displaying a mouthful of yellowed teeth filed into points. "A man must have some name, is that not so? Biter cannot speak and Biter cannot write, yet his teeth are very sharp, so a man calls him Biter and he smiles. Are you charmed?"Arya backed away from the wagon. "No." They can't hurt me, she told herself, they're all chained up.He turned his tankard upside down. "A man must weep." (aCoK, Arya II)

Jaqen's first interaction is to ask Arya for beer, lifting his tankard. If she does that, she acts symbolically as his "cupbearer". Doing this for a prisoner/criminal is a hint he's testing her for empathy. He tries to persuade her to overlook Rorge's and Biter's behaviour, but she steps back and does not give him a drink.

The next time he textually adresses her (aside from thanking her for the treat of a spoon of rabbit) he asks her to free him and whether it is war

Before they could hoot her down again, the sound came shuddering through the night—only it was no wolf this time, it was Kurz blowing his hunting horn, sounding danger. In a heartbeat, all of them were pulling on clothes and snatching for whatever weapons they owned. Arya ran for the gate as the horn sounded again. As she dashed past the barn, Biter threw himself furiously against his chains, and Jaqen H'ghar called out from the back of their wagon. "Boy! Sweet boy! Is it war, red war? Boy, free us. A man can fight. Boy!" She ignored him and plunged on. By then she could hear horses and shouts beyond the wall. (aCoK, Arya IV)

So, the two first times Jaqen adresses Arya it's to have a drink, or to fight. Hmmm.... She frees them when all is lost and they must run, and the threesome is in danger of being burned alive.

QuoteJaqen saw her, but it was too hard to breathe, let alone talk. She threw the axe into the wagon. Rorge caught it and lifted it over his head, rivers of sooty sweat pouring down his noseless face. Arya was running, coughing. She heard the steel crash through the old wood, and again, again. An instant later came a crack as loud as thunder, and the bottom of the wagon came ripping loose in an explosion of splinters. (aCoK, Arya IV)

At Harrenhal she works under Weese, and later under Pinkeye, and part of her job is "serving" drinks.

QuoteWeese used Arya to run messages, draw water, and fetch food, and sometimes to serve at table in the Barracks Hall above the armory, where the men-at-arms took their meals. (aCoK, Arya VII)

Jaqen, Rorge and Biter join Amory's forces, while separately Arya, Gendry and Hot Pie are caught by the Mountain's men and marched to Harrenhal. During the march Arya starts to pray her list, which she recites nightly. We can regard her list/prayer as her marking people for death. She starts to become a "chooser of the slain". She's already a while in Harrenhal when Ser Amory returns and Arya discovers the three have joined Ser Amory. Rorge and Biter do not see her, Jaqen does, although he pretends he didn't.

I should have let the fire have them. Gendry said to, I should have listened. If she hadn't thrown them that axe they'd all be dead. For a moment she was afraid, but they rode past her without a flicker of interest. Only Jaqen H'ghar so much as glanced in her direction, and his eyes passed right over her. He does not know me, she thought.

She spent the rest of that day scrubbing steps inside the Wailing Tower. By evenfall her hands were raw and bleeding and her arms so sore they trembled when she lugged the pail back to the cellar. Too tired even for food, Arya begged Weese's pardons and crawled into her straw to sleep. "Weese," she yawned. "Dunsen, Chiswyck, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei." She thought she might add three more names to her prayer, but she was too tired to decide tonight. (aCoK, Arya VII)

Remember that FM are good in spying. It is not farfetched for Jaqen to have investigated Arya, and overhear her prayer. But very remarkable about her prayer is that she does not offer a sacrifice or price for it. That same night Jaqen wakes her.

QuoteJaqen H'ghar took his hand away. The cellar was black as pitch and she could not see his face, even inches away. She could smell him, though; his skin smelled clean and soapy, and he had scented his hair. "A boy becomes a girl," he murmured."I was always a girl. I didn't think you saw me.""A man sees. A man knows."She remembered that she hated him. "You scared me. You're one of them now, I should have let you burn. What are you doing here? Go away or I'll yell for Weese.""A man pays his debts. A man owes three.""Three?""The Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life. This girl took three that were his. This girl must give three in their places. Speak the names, and a man will do the rest."He wants to help me, Arya realized with a rush of hope that made her dizzy. "Take me to Riverrun, it's not far, if we stole some horses we could—"He laid a finger on her lips. "Three lives you shall have of me. No more, no less. Three and we are done. So a girl must ponder." He kissed her hair softly. "But not too long." (aCoK, Arya VII) The voice startled her. She leapt to her feet and drew her wooden sword. Jaqen H'ghar stood so still in the darkness that he seemed one of the trees. "A man comes to hear a name. One and two and then comes three. A man would have done."Arya lowered the splintery point toward the ground. "How did you know I was here?""A man sees. A man hears. A man knows." ... "Some men have many names. Weasel. Arry. Arya."She backed away from him, until she was pressed against the heart tree. "Did Gendry tell?""A man knows," he said again. "My lady of Stark." (aCoK, Arya IX)

Jaqen could not have known her name directly from Gendry. But he could have overheard her shout "Winterfell" just as Hot Pie did during the battle at the holdfast at the Gods Eye, or overheard the conversation where Gendry warns her how he covered for her when Hot Pie wondered about her shouting that, or oeverheard Hot Pie asking Gendry directly about it. There are three occasion where Jaqen could have heard and seen Arya's tie to Winterfell. Her name Arry and the name Winterfell do not make it hard for him to deduce she's Arya Stark of Winterfell.

But we can already conclude that Jaqen seems very interested in Arya in particular, in a manner he is not interested at all in others. He showed that interest on KR already, before the Gold Cloaks arrived (who ironically enough for once instantly reocgnized her as a girl). So, he offered her the three names. This is actually quite a lot. Supposedly the reasoning is that she saved 3 lives, and so 3 must die for balance. But the sole price for 3 names was throwing an axe into the cage. They basically still had to save themselves. She can choose any 3 names she wants, including a queen regent and a king. Quite a bargain isn't it? She isn't even required to go to the HoBaW for him to kill even one of those of names. In theory she could have said, "Tywin Lannister, Queen Cersei, King Joffrey." She has some high profile targets on her list, and Jaqen was willing to do them. She gives the name Chyswick and Weese, and then realizes she should make the last one count. Vargo Hoat brings in the Northern prisoners, Gendry doesn't want to help, she blows off steam in the godswood with her stick and Jaqen tells her he wants a third name.

QuoteHe looked down at her pitilessly. "Three lives were snatched from a god. Three lives must be repaid. The gods are not mocked." His voice was silk and steel."I never mocked." She thought for a moment. "The name . . . can I name anyone? And you'll kill him?"Jaqen H'ghar inclined his head. "A man has said.""Anyone?" she repeated. "A man, a woman, a little baby, or Lord Tywin, or the High Septon, or your father?""A man's sire is long dead, but did he live, and did you know his name, he would die at your command.""Swear it," Arya said. "Swear it by the gods.""By all the gods of sea and air, and even him of fire, I swear it." He placed a hand in the mouth of the weirwood. "By the seven new gods and the old gods beyond count, I swear it."He has sworn. "Even if I named the king . . .""Speak the name, and death will come. On the morrow, at the turn of the moon, a year from this day, it will come. A man does not fly like a bird, but one foot moves and then another and one day a man is there, and a king dies." He knelt beside her, so they were face-to-face. "A girl whispers if she fears to speak aloud. Whisper it now. Is it Joffrey?"Arya put her lips to his ear. "It's Jaqen H'ghar."Even in the burning barn, with walls of flame towering all around and him in chains, he had not seemed so distraught as he did now. "A girl . . . she makes a jest."

At first read it seems Jaqen simply wants to be done with the 3 name business and continue on his way to do his "real" duty. However, this is actually a deception on Jaqen's part. He in fact knows the Bloody Mummers intend to turn their cloak and massacre Ser Amory's men (and he is one of Ser Amory's men) and that the Wolf banners will fly on Harrenhal by the next day. It is war. A battle there will be. He hints that he knows this when he says, "A man hears the whisper of sand in a glass." But keeps this information hidden from Arya until the fights and massacres break out in the yard, after the weasel soup action. So, time is of the essence. If she wants to go with him to Braavos, it must be now, for perhaps the next day Robb's bannermen may recognize her. And if she does not want to come with him, she will be safe, but he has no wish to be targeted by the Bloody Mummers, or Robb's bannermen. Hence he must have the 3rd name now to complete his deal with her. Note how he sounds like salivating almost over her third name possibly being Joffrey. But she gives his name instead. She extorts Jaqen into helping her by giving him his name. Yes, he swore by all the gods, including for him the Many Faced God. But if he regards her as some type of "chooser of the slain" his distress at her giving him his own name would indeed be even more upsetting. This would mark him for death in the eye of the gods (and she does this in the godswood). He says he will not sleep until she unsays his name.

Jaqen's smile came and went. "A girl might . . . name another name then, if a friend did help?""A girl might," she said. "If a friend did help."The knife vanished. "Come.""Now?" She had never thought he would act so quickly."A man hears the whisper of sand in a glass. A man will not sleep until a girl unsays a certain name. Now, evil child."

So, he orders her to make broth, and later appears with Biter and Rorge to fetch the broth. Jaqen makes a point of it to have her present as a witness, and dedicates the weasel soup action to her, by smearing his bloodied sword on her shirt. And while he dedicates it to her, he does not want her participate in the fight.

Biter licked the grease and honey off his fingers as Jaqen H'ghar donned a pair of heavy padded mitts. He gave a second pair to Arya. "A weasel will help."

...

Inside the door a winding stair led down to the dungeons. Rorge led the way, with Jaqen and Arya bringing up the rear. "A girl will stay out of the way," he told her.

...

"Fuck, we need bowls, cups, spoons—

""No you don't." Rorge heaved the scalding hot broth across the table, full in their faces. Jaqen H'ghar did the same. Biter threw his kettles too, swinging them underarm so they spun across the dungeon, raining soup. One caught the captain in the temple as he tried to rise. He went down like a sack of sand and lay still. The rest were screaming in agony, praying, or trying to crawl off.

Arya pressed back against the wall as Rorge began to cut throats. Biter preferred to grab the men behind the head and under the chin and crack their necks with a single twist of his huge pale hands. Only one of the guards managed to get a blade out. Jaqen danced away from his slash, drew his own sword, drove the man back into a corner with a flurry of blows, and killed him with a thrust to the heart. The Lorathi brought the blade to Arya still red with heart's blood and wiped it clean on the front of her shift. "A girl should be bloody too. This is her work."

...

"This of the soup, that was clever," the man Glover was saying. "I did not expect that. Was it Lord Hoat's idea?"

...

"This man has the honor to be Jaqen H'ghar, once of the Free City of Lorath. This man's discourteous companions are named Rorge and Biter. A lord will know which is Biter." He waved a hand toward Arya.

"And here—"

"I'm Weasel," she blurted, before he could tell who she really was. She did not want her name said here, where Rorge might hear, and Biter, and all these others she did not know.

She saw Glover dismiss her. "Very well," he said. "Let's make an end to this bloody business."When they climbed back up the winding stair, they found the door guards lying in pools of their own blood. Northmen were running across the ward. Arya heard shouts. The door of Barracks Hall burst open and a wounded man staggered out screaming. Three others ran after him and silenced him with spear and sword. There was fighting around the gatehouse as well. Rorge and Biter rushed off with Glover, but Jaqen H'ghar knelt beside Arya. "A girl does not understand?"

"Yes I do," she said, though she didn't, not truly.

The Lorathi must have seen it on her face. "A goat has no loyalty. Soon a wolf banner is raised here, I think. But first a man would hear a certain name unsaid."

She has served, she has chosen the slain, she chose a side in a battle and forced him to help fight for her chosen side. With the battle over, Jaqen has her unname him, changes his face, offers her to go with him to teach it, but when she refuses he gives her the coin, and teaches her the words, before he departs.

Not only Jaqen dedicates the Harrenhal switch to Arya. Shagwell (a singer/poet) does too, and many other people, including servants. Of course, Vargo Hoat would have switched sides anyway, but people regard her as the one who decided the battle for the Mummers and the Northerners.

All morning she watched the Bloody Mummers strip the dead of their valuables and drag the corpses to the Flowstone Yard, where a pyre was laid to dispose of them. Shagwell the Fool hacked the heads off two dead knights and pranced about the castle swinging them by the hair and making them talk. "What did you die of?" one head asked. "Hot weasel soup," replied the second.

Arya was set to mopping up dried blood. No one said a word to her beyond the usual, but every so often she would notice people looking at her strangely. Robett Glover and the other men they'd freed must have talked about what had happened down in the dungeon, and then Shagwell and his stupid talking heads started in about the weasel soup. ...

Vargo Hoat came forward. "My lord, Harrenhal ith yourth."The lord gave answer, but too softly for Arya to hear. Robett Glover and Ser Aenys Frey, freshly bathed and clad in clean new doublets and cloaks, came up to join them. After some brief talk, Ser Aenys led them over to Rorge and Biter. Arya was surprised to see them still here; somehow she would have expected them to vanish when Jaqen did. Arya heard the harsh sound of Rorge's voice, but not what he was saying. Then Shagwell pounced on her, dragging her out across the yard. "My lord, my lord," he sang, tugging at her wrist, "here's the weasel who made the soup!" ...

"My squire could take a lesson from you, it would seem. Frequent leechings are the secret of a long life. A man must purge himself of bad blood. You will do, I think. For so long as I remain at Harrenhal, Nan, you shall be my cupbearer, and serve me at table and in chambers."

And finally, Lord Bolton makes her his official cupbearer. The serving of drink reoccurs several times more after this, often combined with death.

With the men in the crow cages and Stoney Sept, when Lem and Gendry help her up, before Anguy puts them out of their mysery with his arrows.

With the man of Pinkmaiden, before Sandor gives him the gift of mercy and puts the dagger through his heart

With Sandor, as he begs her for the gift of mercy. She gives him the water, but refuses to give him the gift of mercy, possibly thereby choosing him to live on as the gravedigger on the Quiet Isle.

With the bravo at the pool in the HoBaW when she enters for the first time. She sees him at the pool, reaching. Takes the cup and fills it with the poisoned water and gives it to him. Thereby personally giving him the gift of mercy, completely unaware of it. As her first act within the HoBaW with the waif and KM nearby, watching her no doubt, this must speak volumes to their minds. She could have drunk from the cup herself or inspect the bravo first and cry for help instead. But her first act was to give him the gift of mercy.

Inside the HoBaW she serves as a cupbearer to the FM during their meetings.

The bars were too narrow to pass a cup through, but Harwin and Gendry offered her a leg up. She planted a foot in Harwin's cupped hands, vaulted onto Gendry's shoulders, and grabbed the bars on top of the cage. The fat man turned his face up and pressed his cheek to the iron, and Arya poured the water over him. He sucked at it eagerly and let it run down over his head and cheeks and hands, and then he licked the dampness off the bars. He would have licked Arya's fingers if she hadn't snatched them back. By the time she served the other two the same, a crowd had gathered to watch her. "The Mad Huntsman will hear of this," a man threatened. "He won't like it. No, he won't."

"He'll like this even less, then." Anguy strung his longbow, slid an arrow from his quiver, nocked, drew, loosed. The fat man shuddered as the shaft drove up between his chins, but the cage would not let him fall. Two more arrows ended the other two northmen. The only sound in the market square was the splash of falling water and the buzzing of flies.

Valar morghulis, Arya thought. (aSoS, Arya V)

...

They had passed a small pond a short ways back. Sandor gave Arya his helm and told her to fill it, so she trudged back to the water's edge. Mud squished over the toe of her boots. She used the dog's head as a pail. Water ran out through the eyeholes, but the bottom of the helm still held a lot.

When she came back, the archer turned his face up and she poured the water into his mouth. He gulped it down as fast as she could pour, and what he couldn't gulp ran down his cheeks into the brown blood that crusted his whiskers, until pale pink tears dangled from his beard. When the water was gone he clutched the helm and licked the steel. "Good," he said. "I wish it was wine, though. I wanted wine."

"Me too." The Hound eased his dagger into the man's chest almost tenderly, the weight of his body driving the point through his surcoat, ringmail, and the quilting beneath. As he slid the blade back out and wiped it on the dead man, he looked at Arya. "That's where the heart is, girl. That's how you kill a man." (aSoS, Arya XII)

...

Long before noon, Sandor Clegane was reeling. There were hours of daylight still remaining when he called a halt. "I need to rest," was all he said. This time when he dismounted he did fall. Instead of trying to get back up he crawled weakly under a tree, and leaned up against the trunk. "Bloody hell," he cursed. "Bloody hell." When he saw Arya staring at him, he said, "I'd skin you alive for a cup of wine, girl.”

She brought him water instead. He drank a little of it, complained that it tasted of mud, and slid into a noisy fevered sleep. When she touched him, his skin was burning up. Arya sniffed at his bandages the way Maester Luwin had done sometimes when treating her cut or scrape. His face had bled the worst, but it was the wound on his thigh that smelled funny to her. (aSoS, Arya XIII)

...

In the center of the temple she found the water she had heard; a pool ten feet across, black as ink and lit by dim red candles. Beside it sat a young man in a silvery cloak, weeping softly. She watched him dip a hand in the water, sending scarlet ripples racing across the pool. When he drew his fingers back he sucked them, one by one. He must be thirsty. There were stone cups along the rim of the pool. Arya filled one and brought it to him, so he could drink. The young man stared at her for a long moment when she offered it to him. "Valar morghulis," he said."Valar dohaeris," she replied. (aFfC, Arya I)

...

One time the fat fellow and the squinter came together. Umma sent Arya to pour for them. "When you are not pouring, you must stand as still as if you had been carved of stone," the kindly man told her. "Can you do that?"

"Yes." Before you can learn to move you must learn to be still, Syrio Forel had taught her long ago at King's Landing, and she had. She had served as Roose Bolton's cupbearer at Harrenhal, and he would flay you if you spilled his wine.

"Good," the kindly man said. "It would be best if you were blind and deaf as well. You may hear things, but you must let them pass in one ear and out the other. Do not listen." (aFfC, Arya II)

Note: when she gives the bravo the sweetwater, the door was opened for her, but there was no one there to welcome her or guide her. She's a 10 year old child wandering into a hall with a pool of poisoned water. It seems strange and especially unsafe that they would let a child wander around into such a dangerous place, towards a pool that looks like water to the uninformed - a pool with stone cups along the rim of the pool to lavish thirst. Arya could have drunken from a cup herself. Or she could have inspected the bravo first and cried for help for his wounds. But she did exactly what the man was there for - the gift of mercy in a cup of sweetsleep poison - without even knowing it. Immediately after this the waif and the kindly man show up and approach her. They must have been watching her. She chooses for Dareon to die. While initially it seems to Arya that she's punished for this by being made blind, in fact we know this is not punishment, but speeding up her training. In a way she's rewarded for the act.

"Just so," said the kindly man. "And the third thing?"

This time she did not hesitate. "Dareon is dead. The black singer who was sleeping at the Happy Port. He was really a deserter from the Night's Watch. Someone slit his throat and pushed him into a canal, but they kept his boots."

"Good boots are hard to find."

...

He turned to the waif. "My throat is dry. Do me a kindness and bring a cup of wine for me and warm milk for our friend Arya, who has returned to us so unexpectedly."

On her way across the city Arya had wondered what the kindly man would say when she told him about Dareon. Maybe he would be angry with her, or maybe he would be pleased that she had given the singer the gift of the Many-Faced God. She had played this talk out in her head half a hundred times, like a mummer in a show. But she had never thought warm milk.When the milk came, Arya drank it down. It smelled a little burnt and had a bitter aftertaste. "Go to bed now, child," the kindly man said. "On the morrow you must serve."(aFfC, Cat of the Canals)

Summary of Valkyrie elements in Arya's FM

"chooser of the slain"

cupbearer

the battle for Harrenhal gets dedicated to her

female

she is not supposed to participate in fights

FM and Valkyries

So,on the one hand we have Arya showing Valkyrie features in her arc, but this could either be symbolically done by GRRM, or it may be features the FM are looking for. Long before Harrenhal, before Arya has a list to mark people who should die in her opinion, Jaqen asks her to give him a drink and to free him referring to war, in other words he's pushing for the "cupbearer" and "battle" aspects then. And at the HoBaW, her first act is to be the bravo's cupbearer, which prompts the kindly man to approach her in his skull-face, while her "choice to slay" Dareon moves her training up. So, the "cupbearer" + "chooser of the slain" elements is what they test for and respond to. So the FM are definitely looking for those elements in a profile.

The cupbearing element serves a sense of inner humility as well as empathy. It requires a high deal of empathy and humility to give a dangerous criminal in a cage a drink. You won't do this, unless you recognize at heart that basically we are all humans. On the other hand it requires a marked sense of justice as well as confidence in it to put a list of names together marked for death: murderers, rapists, thieves, abusers, liars, deserters, and the truly monstrous end up there. Only two of them have hurt her directly (Weese, Polliver), three hurt her father, some her friends, but there are also those who hurt strangers to her (the Mountain, the Tyckler, Chyswick, Dareon). That Arya's list goes beyond personal harm shows Arya's list is less about personal revenge, and more about justice. So, the FM are looking for an empathic person with a marked sense of justice, and a rather egalitarian sentiment.

[special note: personally I'm not a proponent of the death penalty, on the contrary, and I am glad to be living in a country and of a union where the death penalty has long been scrapped out of constitution]

The gift of mercy

These are not the characteristics we tend to associate with hired assassins, hired to execute the job. Of course, nobody expected the Faceless Men to engage in assisted suicide either. More, the number of people they help with assisted suicide is far greater than the number of people they are hired to assassinate. And it is actually their first cause of origin.

"The tale of our beginnings. If you would be one of us, you had best know who we are and how we came to be. Men may whisper of the Faceless Men of Braavos, but we are older than the Secret City. Before the Titan rose, before the Unmasking of Uthero, before the Founding, we were. We have flowered in Braavos amongst these northern fogs, but we first took root in Valyria, amongst the wretched slaves who toiled in the deep mines beneath the Fourteen Flames that lit the Freehold's nights of old. Most mines are dank and chilly places, cut from cold dead stone, but the Fourteen Flames were living mountains with veins of molten rock and hearts of fire. So the mines of old Valyria were always hot, and they grew hotter as the shafts were driven deeper, ever deeper. The slaves toiled in an oven. The rocks around them were too hot to touch. The air stank of brimstone and would sear their lungs as they breathed it. The soles of their feet would burn and blister, even through the thickest sandals. Sometimes, when they broke through a wall in search of gold, they would find steam instead, or boiling water, or molten rock. Certain shafts were cut so low that the slaves could not stand upright, but had to crawl or bend. And there were wyrms in that red darkness too."

...

"Didn't the slaves rise up and fight?"

"Some did," he said. "Revolts were common in the mines, but few accomplished much. The dragonlords of the old Freehold were strong in sorcery, and lesser men defied them at their peril. The first Faceless Man was one who did."

"Who was he?" Arya blurted, before she stopped to think.

"No one," he answered. "Some say he was a slave himself. Others insist he was a freeholder's son, born of noble stock. Some will even tell you he was an overseer who took pity on his charges. The truth is, no one knows. Whoever he was, he moved amongst the slaves and would hear them at their prayers. Men of a hundred different nations labored in the mines, and each prayed to his own god in his own tongue, yet all were praying for the same thing. It was release they asked for, an end to pain. A small thing, and simple. Yet their gods made no answer, and their suffering went on. Are their gods all deaf? he wondered . . . until a realization came upon him, one night in the red darkness."All gods have their instruments, men and women who serve them and help to work their will on earth. The slaves were not crying out to a hundred different gods, as it seemed, but to one god with a hundred different faces . . . and he was that god's instrument. That very night he chose the most wretched of the slaves, the one who had prayed most earnestly for release, and freed him from his bondage. The first gift had been given."Arya drew back from him. "He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!"

"He would bring the gift to them as well . . . but that is a tale for another day, one best shared with no one."(aFfC, Arya II)

The gift of mercy was the origin of the FM. It requires empathy, humanism and a mind free from religious dogma for a person to come to such a conclusion and help people find freedom from agony and pain in death. This was someone with the ability to freely move amongst the slaves, witness their ordeal, hear their prayers, day and night. It was someone who seemed to have no special belief in one of the hundred gods prayed to, but instead recognized that all those gods were actually the one and the same - death. It sounds like an agnostic, who came to regard death as a god, and death is egalitarian, since everybody dies - rich, poor, sick, healthy, happy, miserable, handsome, ugly, old, young, the worst, the best, men and women.

The cupbearing element is heavily associated with the gift of mercy, bothin Arya's arc as well as the FM's practice of assisted suicide. Poison is their main weapon - both for assassination as assisted suicide - and poison is said to be "a woman's weapon". This is why I think the First was not a "he", but a "she". This was a free woman, most likely learned and of highborn religious liberal upbringing who served in the mines as a nurse or medical assistant, with knowledge on poisons, pain relief and daily confronted with the inability to save the afflicted, while overhearing the prayers for death. Such a person would far more likely come to the conclusions the First made - to become the instrument that gives the gift of mercy. In religion "an angel of death" is often male, but it is often the title given to female, serial killing nurses.

Targets of assassination

I killed Cat when I killed that singer. The kindly man had told her that they would have taken her eyes from her anyway, to help her to learn to use her other senses, but not for half a year. Blind acolytes were common in the House of Black and White, but few as young as she. The girl was not sorry, though. Dareon had been a deserter from the Night's Watch; he had deserved to die.

"And are you a god, to decide who should live and who should die?" he asked her. "We give the gift to those marked by Him of Many Faces, after prayers and sacrifice. So has it always been, from the beginning. I have told you of the founding of our order, of how the first of us answered the prayers of slaves who wished for death. The gift was given only to those who yearned for it, in the beginning … but one day, the first of us heard a slave praying not for his own death but for his master's. So fervently did he desire this that he offered all he had, that his prayer might be answered. And it seemed to our first brother that this sacrifice would be pleasing to Him of Many Faces, so that night he granted the prayer. Then he went to the slave and said, 'You offered all you had for this man's death, but slaves have nothing but their lives. That is what the god desires of you. For the rest of your days on earth, you will serve him.' And from that moment, we were two." His hand closed around her arm, gently but firmly. "All men must die. We are but death's instruments, not death himself. When you slew the singer, you took god's powers on yourself. We kill men, but we do not presume to judge them. Do you understand?" (aDwD, Blind Beth)

This paragraph is what often leads to people concluding that FM assassinate anyone for the right price, regardless of the target's morality, innocense and crimes. But that conclusion does not follow the story of the First's assassination of the slave master.

Let us being by examining the story of the First:

A slave prayed for a slave master's death, some time after the beginning where only those who yearned for the gift of mercy were killed, and offered a sacrifice (all he had).

The First thought this prayer and sacrifice would be pleasing to the god of death

Hence, the First considered the slave master marked by death and killed the slave master.

Did the First ever hear the Many Faced God whisper "that one", or saw it in a vision of flames? No. The First "thought it would please the god". The First and the FM regard themselves as the god's instruments who know what would please the god of death and simultaneously what would not please the god. So, in fact, the First and the FM are the ones who "decide" who dies and who lives.

But how does that mesh with "not judging them"? This is in reference to Arya having said to the kindly man that Dareon "deserved" to die. The kindly man is telling Arya that the mark of death comes from an intuition that would please the god of death, rather than using human laws or rationale of "deserving" death. The order is assumed to have an intuitive link with the god. And that is exactly what a Valkyrie is supposed to be. A Valkyrie doesn't go to a battle with a death-list handed by Odin. They just "know". The most famous Valkyrie is Brynhilde of the Nibelungenlied (the legends and stories on which Wagner based his 3-part opera). Brynhilde had agreed to side with a mortal man at every one of his battles. However, with one battle, she knew Odin wanted the other side to win, and she still made that man win the battle, going against Odin's wish. Odin punished her by making her a mortal woman, a shieldmaiden. She was a "fallen" Valkyrie.

So, the kindly man's message is not "we assassinate anyone for the right price", but "we assassinate those we know the god wants to die by assassination." And what he's warning against is the hubris of overriding the god's will they serve, but not necessarily saying she was wrong in regarding Dareon as being marked for death. After all, they sped up her training by at least half a year for Dareon's murder, which basically means in choice and actions at least, the kindly man sanctions Arya's choice. The blindness also serves as a type of "sacrifice", in exchange for the murder, even though the sacrifice was only temporarily and gained her more awareness than she had before.

With the insurance man she's trying to convince herself with all sorts of silly reasons he deserves to die. The KM does not want her to use such reasoning. And yet he gives her enough background info on the man - that he cons hard working captains, who put their live savings in their cargo and ship, out of their money and puts widows and their children out on the street to beg by refusing to pay up when the captain and ship are lost at sea. Once, she knows this, she has no further need to justify her action and does it.

Marked for death

"Death is not the worst thing," the kindly man replied. "It is His gift to us, an end to want and pain. On the day that we are born the Many-Faced God sends each of us a dark angel to walk through life beside us. When our sins and our sufferings grow too great to be borne, the angel takes us by the hand to lead us to the nightlands, where the stars burn ever bright. Those who come to drink from the black cup are looking for their angels. If they are afraid, the candles soothe them. When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?" (aFfC, Arya II)

The kindly man ends this paragraph by mentioning those actively seeking their dark angel by drinking the black cup - out of guilt or suffering. But note that "sins" are a part of the beliefs of the FM's faith. The sufferer will pray for the gift of mercy for himself. The great sinner not necessarily so, and yet the mark of death may still be put on him, and then he/she has to die by the hand of an FM as an instrument of the god of death.

Who have followers of the Many Faced God assassinated? (regardless of contract)

a slave master

Chyswick: a gang rapist

Weese: an abuser and liar

Balon: (based on GoHH's dream), a reaver

Pate: a thief and betrayer of his master for coin to someone who may have just as well had every intention to kill Marwyn

Dareon: a deserter, betrayer of friends and leaving them to die for all he cared, liar and ogling a 14 year old

a ship/cargo insurance man: cons captains and ship owners out of their money, and when they die along with their shipwreck, the widow and children end up on the street begging

the waif's stepmother: who poisoned the waif when she was a young girl to remove her as heir

possibly the Ugly Girl's father: a child beater

Not one of them can be called a "good" person. Even if people are grey, there's pearl-grey and there's anthracite. Pate is the lightest grey of them all, and that's because he's still so young and only just started on a path of darkening grey. Not one of these characters is a light pearly grey character, none.

Him of Many Faces and many names

"Him of Many Faces.""And many names," the kindly man had said. "In Qohor he is the Black Goat, in Yi Ti the Lion of Night, in Westeros the Stranger. All men must bow to him in the end, no matter if they worship the Seven or the Lord of Light, the Moon Mother or the Drowned God or the Great Shepherd. All mankind belongs to him . . . else somewhere in the world would be a folk who lived forever. Do you know of any folk who live forever?""No," she would answer. "All men must die." (aFfC, Cat of the Canals)

The title of the god of death can actually be seen as a reference to Odin. Odin has 170 names/styles and at least 50 disguises, appearing as a young man, an old man, a blind man, a beggar, a king, animals, on and on it goes. So, Odin is a god of Many Faces and many names, wearing disguises and masks. On top of that he is a god of death, resurrection, sacrifice.

Hence, a girl with Valkyrie aspects would be a servant of the god of Many Faces, and it would be very fitting that members of the order can change their appearance so drastically as the FM, and have the knowledge how to accomplish this.

Volunteer

There is a difference between the First FM and the Second. The First was a volunteer. The Second became FM because he offered all he had to have his prayer answered, and the First demanded he'd join her. The waif is not an assassin, but she is not strictly speaking a volunteer, even if becoming one of the guild was to her benefit. We do not know how the other acolytes were recruited, but we do know for certain that Arya is volunteering.

"Die?" she said, confused. What did he mean? "But I unsaid the name. You don't need to die now."

"I do. My time is done." Jaqen passed a hand down his face from forehead to chin, and where it went he changed. His cheeks grew fuller, his eyes closer; his nose hooked, a scar appeared on his right cheek where no scar had been before. And when he shook his head, his long straight hair, half red and half white, dissolved away to reveal a cap of tight black curls.

Arya's mouth hung open. "Who are you?" she whispered, too astonished to be afraid. "How did you do that? Was it hard?"

He grinned, revealing a shiny gold tooth. "No harder than taking a new name, if you know the way.""Show me," she blurted. "I want to do it too."

"Show me," she blurted. "I want to do it too."

"If you would learn, you must come with me."

Arya grew hesitant. "Where?"

"Far and away, across the narrow sea."

"I can't. I have to go home. To Winterfell."

"Then we must part," he said, "for I have duties too." He lifted her hand and pressed a small coin into her palm. "Here."

"What is it?"

"A coin of great value."Arya bit it. It was so hard it could only be iron. "Is it worth enough to buy a horse?"

"It is not meant for the buying of horses."

"Then what good is it?"

"As well ask what good is life, what good is death? If the day comes when you would find me again, give that coin to any man from Braavos, and say these words to him—valar morghulis."

"Valar morghulis," Arya repeated. It wasn't hard. Her fingers closed tight over the coin. Across the yard, she could hear men dying. "Please don't go, Jaqen."

"Jaqen is as dead as Arry," he said sadly, "and I have promises to keep. Valar morghulis, Arya Stark. Say it again." (aCoK, Arya IX)

...

"You know that you may leave this place. You are not one of us, not yet. You may go home anytime you wish."

"You told me that if I left, I couldn't come back."

"Just so."

Those words made her sad. Syrio used to say that too, Arya remembered. He said it all the time. Syrio Forel had taught her needlework and died for her. "I don't want to leave."

"Then stay . . . but remember, the House of Black and White is not a home for orphans. All men must serve beneath this roof. Valar dohaeris is how we say it here. Remain if you will, but know that we shall require your obedience. At all times and in all things. If you cannot obey, you must depart."

...

"Why would you wish to fight? Are you some bravo, strutting through the alleys, spoiling for blood?" He sighed. "Before you drink from the cold cup, you must offer up all you are to Him of Many Faces. Your body. Your soul. Yourself. If you cannot bring yourself to do that, you must leave this place."

...

..."You believe this is the only place for you." It was as if he'd heard her thoughts. "You are wrong in that. You would find softer service in the household of some merchant. Or would you sooner be a courtesan, and have songs sung of your beauty? Speak the word, and we will send you to the Black Pearl or the Daughter of the Dusk. You will sleep on rose petals and wear silken skirts that rustle when you walk, and great lords will beggar themselves for your maiden's blood. Or if it is marriage and children you desire, tell me, and we shall find a husband for you. Some honest apprentice boy, a rich old man, a seafarer, whatever you desire."

She wanted none of that. Wordless, she shook her head.

"Is it Westeros you dream of, child? Luco Prestayn's Lady Bright leaves upon the morrow, for Gulltown, Duskendale, King's Landing, and Tyrosh. Shall we find you passage on her?"

"I only just came from Westeros." Sometimes it seemed a thousand years since she had fled King's Landing, and sometimes it seemed like only yesterday, but she knew she could not go back. "I'll go if you don't want me, but I won't go there."

"My wants do not matter," said the kindly man. "It may be that the Many-Faced God has led you here to be His instrument, but when I look at you I see a child . . . and worse, a girl child. Many have served Him of Many Faces through the centuries, but only a few of His servants have been women. Women bring life into the world. We bring the gift of death. No one can do both." (aFfC, Arya II)

...

No, she thought. "Yes," she said."You lie. And that is why you must now walk in darkness until you see the way. Unless you wish to leave us. You need only ask, and you may have your eyes back."No, she thought. "No," she said. (aDwD, The Blind GIrl)

...

They hung upon the walls, before her and behind her, high and low, everywhere she looked, everywhere she turned. She saw old faces and young faces, pale faces and dark faces, smooth faces and wrinkled faces, freckled faces and scarred faces, handsome faces and homely faces, men and women, boys and girls, even babes, smiling faces, frowning faces, faces full of greed and rage and lust, bald faces and faces bristling with hair. Masks, she told herself, it's only masks, but even as she thought the thought, she knew it wasn't so. They were skins. "Do they frighten you, child?" asked the kindly man. "It is not too late for you to leave us. Is this truly what you want?" Arya bit her lip. She did not know what she wanted. If I leave, where will I go? She had washed and stripped a hundred corpses, dead things did not frighten her. They carry them down here and slice their faces off, so what? She was the night wolf, no scraps of skin could frighten her. Leather hoods, that's all they are, they cannot hurt me. "Do it," she blurted out. (aDwD, The Ugly Little Girl)

She offers no sacrifice in her prayer list

She gets 3 names for throwing an axe into a burning cage. These names could have been Tywin + Cersei + Joffrey and Jaqen would hae done them

Jaqen gives her a coin and the password, and offers to take her with him, but nowhere is there any force exerted by him

The kindly man offers to find all sorts of alternative lives to her if she desires it, and with each new step asks her she can still leave;

Jaqen's behavior and the kindly man's with regards to her volunteering in light of having killed 3 (well way more than 3) for her, while she offered nothing is in severe contrast to how the First recruited the Second. That is very peculiar and seems to suggest her volunteering is a requirement, either of a profile or prophecy. Arya then is more like the First - one who came to regard him- or herself as an instrument of the Many Faced God of her/his own volition.

Fighting

Of extra note that like Jaqen, the kindly man does not see any need for Arya to fight. Nor is she trained in sword fighting at the House. Instead, she is taught in making poisons. She learned one knife trick on the streets of Braavos, and she used it to cut open a purse and replace one coin with a poisoned one. And as I mentioned, while Valkyries presided, influenced and supervized a battle, they were not participating shieldmaidens. Instead they used their magical and divine powers, trickery and words. As assassin and spy, Arya is taught to use magic (faces), sleight of hand and poisons.

Conclusion This sums up the features of Arya related to the FM:

cupbearer

intuitive chooser of the slain

servant of a god of death of Many Faces and many names (Odin references)

the battle of Harrenhal is dedicated to her

no fighting (neither while guided by Jaqen or the kindly man)

female

volunteers like the First

It is likely the First was in fact a woman, while women are rare in the order. With Arya ticking off so many Valkyrie features, I think the FM have a prophecy regarding a girl-child to be the FIrst Born Again who strongly knows the will of the Many Faced God, and want her as the god's voice to guide them against the foes who would destroy humanity and defy the natural order of life and death, for she will intuitively know which deaths and which sacrifices would please the Many Faced God. (https://asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php?/topic/133891-the-valkyrie-of-the-fm-theory-about-the-first-and-the-first-reborn/ )

#AryaStark #valkyrie #asoiaf #JonryaWeek2020

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oveliagirlhaditright · 5 years

Text

Swallow Part 2

My idea for a Kingdom Hearts IV–that will eventually have all that entails, like Shibuya and Verum Rex and Sora’s PoV–but that deals with the idea of a dark Kairi after everything she’s been through, because this girl deserves to be allowed to feel things. First chapter is from the TV show “Angel the Series”–as it’s Fox and Disney owns Fox now–but you don’t have to know Angel to get it.

Madness Surprisingly enough, it hadn’t been Kairi’s idea for her to train like it was the only thing she had left in the world. It had been Riku’s—as many things in her and Sora’s life had started out with him—as he had thought that she should actually try and do something and have less reason to hate herself that way. “But is that… really a good idea?” Kairi had asked him when he’d suggested it, as she’d sat on the paopu tree—the stupid place she had lost Sora at—and worked on making more lucky charms for him and letters, on the off-chance that one of them would work and bring her boy back to her. “Riku… maybe I just was never cut out for fighting. Sora paid a high price in bringing me back. Do you really think I should dishonor his sacrifice by putting myself into even more danger that I can’t handle?” Riku had looked like he wanted to push Kairi into the water beneath them then—and honestly, she could have hardly blamed him even if he had; she’d been so weak then, and she was ashamed to think of it now—and got right into her face as he said, “That’s not the girl who said she wanted to fight like me and Sora, so we wouldn’t be the only ones getting hurt… or who said that she was tired of getting left behind and that ‘wherever one of us goes, the other follows’. Kairi… you made all of these promises to Sora before the Keyblade Graveyard. Do you really want to go back on them now?” No, she hadn’t. That was the last thing in the world that she would have ever wanted. But the person she’d been a few months ago—who had said so much of that stuff—was so different from the girl she was now. That Kairi had gotten a Keyblade into her hand for the first time and had thought that with just a little training, she would easily become as strong as Sora and Riku were. That wasn’t the part of her that had gotten training and still couldn’t get her body to cooperate… and had had to realize that most of her worst nightmares might actually come true, as Terra-Xehanort had charged at her. And they had come true after that. Oh, how they had. Kairi had had one brief moment of peace and pride in herself—when she had kept Sora from fading away, that had then allowed him to save everyone else—but then it had all gone to hell, like so much of Kairi’s life had, and she didn’t know if she wanted to go there again. “Kairi, the problem is we had you train with someone who isn’t a Keyblade wielder at all… And is actually someone who uses his magic to stay away from enemies, when you—in pretty much using a sword—would be in close contact with people. That was our fault, not yours… I’ll properly train you now, so you never have to feel so horrible again. Just let me.” And that was what started it. Many hours a day—eight or more, as if they were working a full-time job and in Kairi’s eyes they were—Riku was training Kairi in the hours that they weren’t looking for any hint as to Sora’s whereabouts. And while it started out rough, and Kairi had continued to think that maybe she should just work on her light magic because of it, she steadily got better and better and even she could see it—it was nothing like what she had encountered with Merlin and Lea. It was actual tangible progress that she could see in her scars and feel in her muscles. And Kairi took it even further than that. She didn’t tell Riku or anyone about this because she didn’t want to worry them, but in the hours when she should have been sleeping or resting, she would do the familiar drills again until they were completely beaten into her. And then she was taking the gummi ship that Mickey had thankfully left for her and Riku out into the ocean between worlds, to find Heartless or Nobodies to fight: something that didn’t help her that much, because Kairi had been able to handle these just fine in the Keyblade War, but every little bit of actual experience helped. And she’d just hoped against hope that on her journeys she could run into some Darksides or Twilight Thorns, and how happy she was—the first time she’d been remotely that in ages—when she did, and began handling them better and better: with little injuries and destruction to her hair and outfits. And at one point—when Kairi had unintentionally taken a page out of Roxas, Xion, and Lea’s book—and had bested five giant Heartless in one night, she had finally felt good about herself… and that nothing could ever happen to her again. She wouldn’t let it. And that furthermore, she knew that she was going to find Sora and bring him home. But it was just when she was beginning to feel great, that such a feeling of euphoria didn’t last. Kairi heard a Corridor of Darkness open from behind her in Twilight Town—a sound she’d made certain she always knew now, as not being able to recognize it with Xemnas before had led to her death—and who would come out of it but someone cloaked in an Organization robe? Of course. Kairi had backed away from her assailant, growling at them as she prepared to send Firaja after Firaja after them. But first, she’d had to berate them a little bit. “You have got to be kidding! I thought the lot of you had been defeated in the Keyblade War. All that we did—which- which led to Sora’s death—was so we could defeat any of you who would survive to try and get the X-Blade again. So, who are you?! And are you at all connected to Sora’s fate?! Do you know where he is?! Tell me!” “Tsk tsk, little princess,” the attractive voice of a man replied—as he motioned with his hands that Kairi should calm down, in the way that Master Yen Sid often told the Keyblade wielders of the new generation to sit down. “It’s… good that you’re so strong now. Go, you! But don’t you know you’re killing yourself? So much sleep deprivation isn’t a good thing. And I know you’re not eating or drinking much, either. You’re going to be dead as a doornail soon, and your boyfriend’s going to come back to see that he sacrificed himself for you for nothing… or worse. That you’ve become a different person from the girl he loved… There’s blood on your hands now, isn’t there Kairi?” Kairi had wanted to deny this, of course. After all, she’d only been fighting Heartless and Nobodies and that was something that needed to be done! But at the same time… she knew that they had once been human, and the thought made her violently sick on the inside. But even more than that… she was hunting the things as sport now, whereas everyone else had only ever fought the beasts when they’d attacked them on their adventures… and she enjoyed killing them too much. And she kept score, the way Sora and Riku once had with their fighting. Every injury she got was a point against her, but each hurt she gave them was a point for her: especially if she could give them many of those without being touched at all. Kairi wasn’t trying to be quick or end their suffering fast at all, but to just use them as target practice as long as she could. And while Kairi hadn’t yet fought another human since the War, she worried that she would do the same when she faced them because it was such a routine now. Sora had only ever told her stories about how Clayton had wanted to kill the gorillas, but Kairi thought that if she herself ever run into him somehow… she’d fight him the way she was now Heartless, and be thrilled for it—that the fear he’d struck in Terk’s heart she could put in his. So, she was falling. Falling into darkness, it seemed… and this man had known this, and it had been only the start for her. “What do you know about it?!” Kairi had demanded then, furious. Throwing her hand out to the side in a way that Sora had used to when he glared at his enemies. “You know nothing. You don’t know me at all! You’re just a forgotten relic from a cause that’s already seen its best day. Now just tell me what you know and get lost, before I-” “Before you what, Kairi?” the voice had cut her off. And there was a sweet cadence in his voice that she hated, as if he’d talked to someone like her before and was trying to be a friend since he’d apparently cared about this other person. “Do something unseemly to me and make Sora hate you even more that way? He loves his little light princess—that’s why he fights for you so much—so what do you think he’s going to do when he comes back and sees you aren’t like that at all anymore? Do you think he’ll stay the knight in shining armor, or will he move onto something bigger and better? “You’re also angry. So angry. And, hey: I applaud you for it—you’re entitled to those emotions, and I may even have use of them—but Sora preferred the sweet and loving little girl, not the one who’s going to get called to many worlds because of her fury now.” Furious? Was she really furious? Kairi had asked herself. She hadn’t felt it at the time—if torn between “bloodlust” and “fury”, she definitely had thought she was more bloodlust at the time—but the Kairi of the present could recognize how her blood had boiled back then, and continued to do so now. But having not liked what this man had said about her getting pulled into an adventure all about her madness—because that wasn’t her at all—Kairi had tried to backtrack a little. “Maybe… maybe I’ve been a little hard on you. You haven’t really done anything to me. Perhaps if anything, you’re just giving me some… helpful advice. And I guess you don’t have to be with Organization XIII... I know a Moogle has worn the coat before, I mean, and clearly they weren’t one of Xehanort’s vessels. So can you just tell me who you are, and what you wa-” “And how easily you fall back into the Naminé routine. Kairi, did you ever think that maybe the two of you were split for a reason? You may be the Princess of Heart… but you have far more fire to you than your Other did, and there’s a reason for it and you should relish it—you must do so—even if it means you can’t have Sora. You must let him go. Can’t you see that?” This had put Kairi in a horrible mood, and she’d cried. But not because she was sad, but because she waslivid—maybe this man was right about that—as it hit the nail on the head too much on how she’d been feeling lately: that fate was keeping her and Sora from being together. So Kairi made a decision. “Perhaps… perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should go back to just barely training from now on, and be who I once was. And I will. I won’t fall into your plan, and I’ll be what Sora wants me to be.” And partly to spite the man, Kairi had opened a Corridor of Light—something Master Yen Sid had taught her how to do—and left the guy alone. And she did try to make good on her promise to herself. But it never could’ve worked.. For far too long, Kairi had repressed her feelings… and she was done with that. And she had no idea that trying to force herself to do that again, would send her spiraling over the edge. Author’s Note: I was originally going to have more than just a flashback in this chapter… but since it ended up pretty long, I think I WILL cut it here. Maybe it’ll even work better to have flashbacks and present stuff in different chapters. IDK. But I hope you all enjoyed!

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wellhalesbells · 6 years

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I see you reblogging some comic stuff an I was wondering if you have a favorite comic or favorite character or ship?

this ask is from so long ago but [DEEP BREATH IN] i’m finally going to answer it, nonny. finally. i kept wanting to read a little bit farther in my comics stack because.... maybe i’ll like that and will regret not having recced it, i just hafta--get--to it, see? and, honestly, i’m still there BUT, come on, i’ll never be caught up because that would mean comics would just have to stop coming out and i would be sad forever if that happened, SO

i’m not even going to pretend like i can narrow this down to one comic. (one ship? sure, that’s spideypool. one character? sure, that’s the merc with a mouth, the regenerating degenerate, wade motherfucking wilson. but one comic?!) there is just straight-up too much out there to make a definitive ‘yes, this is it, this is THE ONE ™ ’ statement. instead, uh, let’s break this shit down, yeah? (super special secret bonus round, will note all lgbt+ rep and standalone comics.) in no particular order, here the frig it goes!

HORROR

infidel, by pornsak pichetshote and aaron campbell. in case you haven’t seen this on every 2018 best list ever, here it is. and, yeah, it was good. a muslim-american main character living in a haunted apartment building where the entities feed off the xenophobia of its occupants. if that’s not a fucking modern horror story i don’t know what is.

spread, by justin jordan and kyle strahm. THIS IS ONE OF MY NEW AND ALREADY ALL-TIME FAVORITES. what an awesomely weird and epic story. the spread is an uncontrollable, unstoppable monster-making force that humanity accidentally unleashed by digging too deep. it infects everything it touches and basically all of humanity is running from quarantine to quarantine just hoping for the best. and speaking of hope.... she’s a baby, rescued by no, and the only thing that’s ever been able to stop the spread. also, no’s gay? and i just DID NOT see that coming. it seems like it’s going to be such a formulaic, bro-y story about the action hero who kisses the face off his girl (her name’s molly and she’s batshit insane and amazing) and instead, nope, it is not that at all. lgbt+ main characters.

the black monday murders, by jonathan hickman and tomm coker. hate capitalism? think all the rich and powerful are evil, soul-sucking monsters? [obnoxious, low-budget commercial sound effects] MAN, HAVE I GOT THE SERIES FOR YOU.

the beauty, by jeremy haun and jason a. hurley. i just started this recently but so far, oh my good golly gosh, i looove it. a sexually transmitted disease that makes you conventionally gorgeous.... at least before it explodies you. [wide, creepy smile] the art is gorgeous, the characters are aces and i am very, very pleased so far. lgbt+ minor characters.

the great divide, by ben fisher and adam markiewicz. this? was a COOL idea. the execution stumbled a bit but, gosh, was it neat. it’s post-apocalyptic where touching another person will literally kill.... one of you. the survivor then absorbs the memories of the person who dies, taking on a ‘rider.’ some people collect them, some people go mad, some form a bond, all have the side effect of dyslexia. like i said, neat as all get out. lgbt+ minor-ish/main-ish character. standalone.

revival, by tim seely and mike norton. a rural town in wisconsin experiences ‘miracle day,’ where the dead rise again.... except, they were kinda already mourned and buried and this is really just fucking up the status quo.

the woods, by james tynion iv and michael dialynas. a high school gets picked up and plopped down in an entirely new, and wickedly hostile universe. it’s all survival and alliances and seeing what you’re really made of when it comes down to it. lgbt+ main characters.

clean room, by gail simone and jon davis-hunt. a cult, a journalist and a clean room walk into a bar...

anya’s ghost, by vera brosgol. you think it’ll be a cute story of a girl and her ghost. HA HA THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENS AT ALL, OKAY.

FANTASY

rumble, by john arcudi and james harren. SCARECROW WARRIOR GOD, SCARECROW WARRIOR GOD, SCARECROW WARRIOR GOD!!! okay, first off, the art in this? pushes every friggin’ button i’ve got, and many i did not know i had. second, this book is so fucking fun. it’s mythology that’s balls to the wall ridiculous, funny, and features a main character whose life motto is basically: ‘do i have to?’ infinitely relatable and then some.

heathen, by natasha alterici and rachel deering. UGH, ONE OF MY FAVORITES. the art is just horribly, horrendously gorgeous and it’s LESBIAN VIKING MYTHOLOGY, OKAY. OKAYYYY??? lgbt+ main characters.

the wicked + the divine, by kieron gillen and jamie mckelvie. one of my favorite ever series right here. it’s a hella cool concept (gods reincarnating as humans every twelve years, and burning up their hosts in two), whip-smart and if you’ve ever met a human being who likes a pun more than kieron gillen i defy you to produce them. lgbt+ main and minor characters.

batgirl, by gail simone and adrian sayaf and vicente cifuentes. you know how people rave about gail simone? there’s a reason people rave about gail simone. honestly, i’ve never had much interest in babs. i don’t tend to go for superheroes who don’t kill and i have even less interest in ‘the killing joke’ story line and i am convinced only gail simone could’ve done the recovery on that and she did a GLORIOUS job of it.

red hood and the outlaws, by scott lobdell and dexter soy. (ignoring recent - and annoying - developments), this is my favorite of all the rebirths dc did. scott lobdell is the only writer to have gotten the idea down of: okay, we’re starting over, i assume you don’t know anything but i also assume there are a bajillion people reading who know everything, and hit the perfect medium between those two things. so if you want to start a jason todd run, you legitimately can here, and get all the found family, badassery, batman-teasing enjoyment there is to be had.

iceman, by sina grace and robert gill (covers by kevin wada). classic super-heroing here and bobby’s first solo title. he’s figuring out coming out while fighting (and flirting) with baddies. sina really gets his humor and how truly wonder-awful it is! lgbt+ main character.

spider-man/deadpool, by joe kelly and ed mcguinness. watch those names there, those are your guys right there, period. they looked at the void of a spider-man/deadpool series and filled it with absolutely everything you could possibly want for the pair (sans a hardcore make-out sesh, though they did get a few variant covers with some puckered up lips in there!)

limbo, by dan watters and caspar wijngaard. a fusion of 80s aesthetics, voodoo elements and a noir tone. just some remarkably cool shit in this. the ending, for me, left something to be desired but it was more than worth it to see worship via mixtapes. standalone.

hawkeye: kate bishop, by kelly thompson and leonardo romero. kate bishop is, apparently???, a super impossible character for a lot of writers. kelly thompson is not one of them. kelly thompson is my favorite kate bishop writer, actually, and the fact that she is ever not writing her is a gd travesty.

the unbeatable squirrel girl, by ryan north and erica henderson. honestly, i’m so tempted to just stick this under ‘contemporary,’ because it really does just feel very... normal. doreen’s navigating college, new friendships, and y’know... the squirrely-ness. this had every opportunity to suck and instead it’s funny as heck, never takes itself too seriously, and is just pure good-hearted entertainment through and through.

wolf, by ales kot and matt taylor. a paranormal detective and the-possible-antichrist go on a road trip. people hated this comic and i don’t know how you can hate a comic that has a character called freddy chtonic who has tentacles for a mouth???

ms. marvel, by g. willow wilson and adrian alphona. hi, you read ms. marvel because the world is a garbage fire and people are terrible and your cynicism is at an all time high and then kamala khan waltzes in and reminds you people generally want to help each other and the world improves when we work together and that thing optimists feel? you’ll feel that for as long as you’ve got the pages open and that’s a magical thing. lgbt+ minor character.

monstress, by marjorie m. liu and sana takeda. psychic links with monsters, matriarchal societies, magic and witchery, half-human/half-animal (and other ratios) characters, all through a steampunk lens. what’s not to like about that??

inhuman, by charles soule. i love this series, i love the idea of being a total average joe/joanne, getting smacked in the face by a cloud of mist and suddenly having to figure out how to live basically a whole new life. also, if you don’t fall madly in love with dante pertuz, i don’t even know what to tell you, my dude.

heart in a box, by kelly thompson and meredith mcclaren. break-ups suck, but only because of that whole pesky broken heart thing, right? so emma gives hers away. problem solved, no? standalone.

i kill giants, by joe kelly and j.m. ken niimura. i didn’t cry my eyes out or anything. did not. standalone.

sex criminals, by matt fraction and chip zdarsky. having sex = stopping time, which leads suzie and jon to the only logical conclusion: let’s rob some banks!

hawkeye, by matt fraction and david aja. honestly there are a lot of other artist combos in this run but the only ones that are worthwhile are the ones that have fraction and aja’s names on them - sorry not sorry.

SCIENCE FICTION

black bolt, by saladin ahmed and christian ward. saladin revived this character one hundred million percent. there is absolutely a reason this was parading around all over ‘best’ lists when it was released. it really, really did the damn thing.

saga, by brian k. vaughan and fiona staples. this is the comic you recommend to people who don’t even like comics because it is that good. like, my dad - who hadn’t read a comic since he was a pre-teen, eagerly awaits each new trade. the world-building, the characters, the care put into every single solitary bit of all the things? unparalleled. lgbt+ minor characters.

frostbite, by joshua williamson and jason shawn alexander. a post-apocalyptic story that has humanity dying from a plague that literally freezes you from the inside out. very neat, very cold, very readable. standalone.

descender, by jeff lemire and dustin nguyen. this had a rough start, for me, with the main character of the first trade being tim-21, an android who is literally incapable of having the depth to be a lead BUT that does not last through to the next trade, thank god. lots of space and found family and world-building in this to be had! but you know how people rave about jeff lemire? there’s a reason people rave about jeff lemire.

paper girls, by brian k. vaughan and cliff chiang. the 80s and time travel and lifelong friendships. it’s brian k. vaughan, you know it’s good, okay? why do i even have to sell you here, man? lgbt+ main characters.

injection, by warren ellis and declan shalvey. this is another one on my list that started out a little rough but really appealed to me later on. there was just a lot to absorb in that first trade but, once you’ve got it, the ride gets way, way smoother. lgbt+ main and minor characters.

black science, by rick remender and matteo scalera. this was a rocky start, because the main character is such an asshole but in a way where he can’t see he’s an asshole, he’s just a tortured genius who’s superior to all of you, don’t you know? but i am so glad i persevered because if that’s the set up? the rest of the series is knocking him back down. super scientist grant mckay finds a way to access the eververse, every possible reality the universe has on offer, and that’s really what causes every single problem that follows. hard to cause the apocalypse and be an arrogant prick, ya know?

CONTEMPORARY

giant days, by john allison and lissa treiman. this series is so funny and smart and warm. these girls are so kind to each other and relatable and failing at adulting regularly and often and i love reading about them. lgbt+ main character.

lumberjanes, by noelle stevenson and grace ellis and brooke a. allen. this is funny and ridiculous and kind and cool and all other awesome adjectives and you should read it, fact. lgbt+ main characters.

my brother’s husband, by gengoroh tagame and anne ishii (translator). this is such a sweet story about acceptance and family tbh. lgbt+ main character.

fence, by c. s. pacat and johanna the mad. i mean... i need to see nicholas and seiji hook-up, i need that, stat. stat means now! lgbt+ main characters.

WEB/INDEPENDENT COMICS

long exposure, by kam heyward. so mitch and jonas are my absolute faves and i love them to death and the author is so kind in that they actually put this up in print on indyplanet so i can read it the way i, personally, love to read comics (and - bonus! - support them with the monies). lgbt+ main characters.

modern dread, by pat shand and ryan fassett (editors). i’ve been trying to find more better horror comics lately so i’ve been kind of half-heartedly stumbling through kickstarter on the hunt and this was SUCH a great find. it’s an anthology but more cleverly done than any other kickstarter anthology i’ve read, with a main story line that seamlessly strings together the would-be-disjointed ones. this was really thoughtfully put together and really well done! standalone.

heartstopper, by alice oseman. a very sweet story about two high school-aged boys becoming fast friends, playing rugby and falling in love. the two characters are mentioned as an aside in the author’s book, solitaire, and she became so invested in them that she wrote their backstory as a free webcomic. lgbt+ main characters.

the pale, by jay fabares. JUST started this (like, just a day or so ago) but i’m enjoying it so far!

hotblood!, by toril orlesky. i mean... is it a webcomic about a centaur falling in love with his boss? it just might be. did i get a bound edition through a kickstarter campaign? maybe. maybe i did that. who’s to say? lgbt+ main characters.

the bay, by bbz. life on mars through the lens of three young professionals who form an odd but lasting friendship. lgbt+ main characters.

hard drive, by artroan. is it a nsfw comic about a dude and a robot? .... it might be a nsfw comic about a dude and a robot. [coughs] lgbt+ main characters.

seen nothing yet, by tess stone. a nsfw comic about two amateur ghost hunters. can’t imagine why i might be interested in that [coughs] lgbt+ main characters.

captain imani and the cosmic chase, by lin darrow and alex assan. i mean did i want a starship captain who can’t help but lust after the smuggler he’s chasing. i mean, maybe i did. maybe. lgbt+ main characters.

taproot, by keezy young. ghost falls in love with boy, boy falls in love with ghost, AND THEY LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER. lgbt+ main characters.

always raining here, by bell and hazel. just two boys falling in lurve. lgbt+ main characters.

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vinylackles · 6 years

Text

the story

word count: 4,367

requested by: anonymous

summary: this is a bit of backstory about sam and the reader, from their proposal (towards the end of season 11) all the way to their honeymoon!

a few of my other fics [ring and the cabin] are kind of involved in this fic (the timeline for ring, and the actual cabin if you’d like to read them as well, though you don’t have to :)

all my works || request imagines here

the push:

Dean had been on his ass for weeks, and Sam had gone out to the store to buy a new duffle bag simply so he would never have to share one with his brother again. He wasn’t supposed to find the box, but he hadn’t stopped prying, and today was no exception.

“If you’ve already got the ring why don’t you just ask her already you chicken,” Dean had said as soon as he walked into the kitchen.

“You’re right Dean, I’m so sorry for not taking your advice, considering how many successful proposals you’ve done. Oh wait, that’s right...”

“Alright, low blow,” Dean grumbled, sipping at his coffee. They fell back into the tense silence that had been over the bunker for the last few weeks. They knew, with Amara lurking out there that they were going to have to act, and soon.

The aching fear in Sam’s belly about what would happen when the time did come to face the darkness wasn’t helping his tolerance either.

“Sorry. I’ve just got more important things to worry about right now,” Sam mumbled, turning back to the book he had been scanning before Dean interrupted.

“No you don’t,” Dean countered. Sam only lifted his eyes to roll them. “Seriously Sam, you shouldn’t be puttin’ all this crap above your personal life.”

The younger Winchester had to stifle a laugh.

“Uh, where have you been for the last 25 years of our lives? That’s what we do Dean, that’s what all hunters do. You stow your crap and you do the job. And right now, the job is Amara.”

“I can handle Amara. It might not be pretty but I can handle her.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Sam murmured, frustration growing. Dean was silent for a while, and it put an odd tension back into the room.

“Sam.”

“What.”

“Sammy look at me.” There was an aching vulnerability in his brothers voice that Sam couldn’t deny even if he wanted to. He looked up, marking his spot in his book.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been on your ass lately, about proposin’ and all that. It’s just, I think I see the end of this road, with the darkness and everything. I think I know - I think we both know how this is gonna end, and I know how screwed up I got all those times that you were... gone. I just want you to be happy. Once I’m gone.”

“Dean, stop it.”

“Just hear me out, okay? I know I’ve always been the one that said we keep hunting, that we could never stop. I gave you crap for leavin’ me in purgatory and going after your normal apple-pie life. But I want you to know, that if this ends with me on a pyre, and you wanna walk away.... that’s okay with me. You’ve more than earned it, and besides, you’ve got somethin’ more important to care about now.”

Sam’s throat was too tight for him to answer, and thankfully, Dean didn’t wait on one.

“That girl of yours, she’s somethin’ else Sam. I knew it from the minute you found her, and I couldn’t think of anyone better for you. I mean that. She’s basically a little sister to me, and you two deserve each other. You deserve to be happy Sam. I know that’s not easy, with what we do, so if you need to throw in the towel, you can.”

“Can you save the death bed speech Dean? Please? You aren’t dying over this, I’m not gonna let you,” Sam’s voice cracked on his brothers name, giving him away.

“We’re all gonna die eventually little brother. And you’ve gotta make the best of it while you’re here. From where I’m standin’, it looks like the best of it for you is in the shower right now, blaring that song she’s been playing all week.” He chuckled a bit, the sound of Y/N’s music a dull murmur in the background. “So could you do your big brother a solid and lock that down, for good, before I end up walkin’ into something I’m not sure I’m gonna walk out of? It’d give me some peace of mind.”

Sam just nodded, unable to say anything around the lump in his throat. But when Dean clapped him on the shoulder he reached up and caught his hand, squeezing tightly.

the proposal:

It was only three days after his talk with Dean, and he hadn’t planned on doing it then. He’d run through a thousand plans in his head, and eliminated them all one by one. Rent out a stadium - too over the top. Just ask her one morning - she deserved more than that. Get her a puppy and put the ring on the collar - tempting, but they couldn’t take care of a dog.

And so he’d decided that it would be whenever it felt natural, and preferably before anything major happened with Dean and the darkness. He could give his brother what he asked for - it was the least he could do. It wasn’t like he wasn’t planning on doing it soon anyways.

It started when Y/N had climbed into bed, still fully clothed, and cuddled up to his side, resting her chin on his chest. She looked up at him through her lashes while he read his book, a tell-tale sign that she wanted something.

“Hi baby. Whatcha need?” He asked.

“I want ice cream.” She grinned, hopeful. He couldn’t resist that smile, and she knew it too.

“I think we have some vanilla in the freezer. But you want Mosley’s, don’t you?” He knew her order at the local ice cream shop by heart.

All she did was smile sheepishly as an answer, scooting up the bed to press a kiss to his lips.

“Let me get my shoes on.” He kissed her again before getting up and heading to the closet. Y/N snagged one of Sam’s flannels and threw it on with the shirt and leggings she was already wearing.

“I’ll get the keys from Dean, meet you in the garage!” She gave him one more peck on the cheek before bounding out of the room, obviously excited for the inevitable ice cream.

When she was gone, it struck him. Maybe tonight could be the night. So he pocketed the ring quietly in his jacket, trying not to focus on the weight of it against his chest.

He almost forgot about it, no room for much else in his mind when he saw her perched on the hood of the impala waiting for him. She was just mindlessly scrolling through her phone, perfectly relaxed with no idea what was coming. He didn’t want it any other way.

“Ready beautiful?”

“Mosleys here we come!” Y/N exclaimed, hopping down off the car and moving to the passenger side. Sam had barely gotten in before she slid over to lean against him, nuzzling up to his side like she always did when it was just them.

“You’re so comfy. How can you be so muscley and so comfy at the same time,” she mumbled, her cheek squished against his shoulder. He just laughed, wrapping his right arm around her and kissing her forehead.

When they got to Mosleys, she stayed in the car. Sam was good enough friends with the owner to ask for a special favor, and he walked out with both their favorites in a small styrofoam cooler filled with dry ice.

He could see Y/N’s eyes squint in suspicion through the windshield as he got to the car.

“What’re you up to Winchester?” She asked as soon as his door was open.

“It’s a surprise. You know, those things you hate?”

She squinted her eyes even more, scrunching her nose in the most adorable way. He leaned over the cooler and kissed her softly, bringing her out of her mood, but only slightly.

“I’m just taking my girl on a date, is that allowed?” He teased as Baby rumbled to life.

“I suppose.” She muttered, moving the cooler to the other side of her legs so she could cuddle back up to him. They drove for about 30 minutes, to a little outlook that sat high above a lake. They’d been there before, but never at night, and as Sam expected, when they got out the sky was spattered with some of the brightest stars he’d ever seen.

“Woah,” she whispered as she got out of the car, eyes wide, cooler in her arms. Sam popped the trunk, silently thanking his brother for the fact that there was still a blanket in the back. He spread it out over a patch of grass, motioning for Y/N to come join him. She sat down while he unpacked the ice cream - the man had given him pints of each of their favorite flavors on the house once he’d told him the plan.

She toyed with the fog that was coming out of the container from the ice, fascinated by it as it disappeared in the warm Kansas air.

“It’s even more beautiful out here at night,” she said when she finally looked back up at the sky. Sam passed her the pint with a spoon stuck in the top. She took it happily, scooping some out and pressing it against her tongue. He wasn’t sure how she looked so cute all the time - surely it was exhausting.

Somehow, while staring at her at that moment, all his nerves disappeared. He was so sure of her, of them, that it seemed silly that he was nervous in the first place. So the next words out of his mouth came naturally, easy as water.

“Do you wanna get married?”

“Duh, you know that,” she said, staring up at the sky.

That didn’t go as planned.

“I mean, do you want to marry me?”

“You bought me ice cream and took me to see the stars, who else would I marry?” She mused, still not looking at him. Even when he reached into his pocket and pulled out the box, she remained oblivious, staring at the sky. He took the opportunity to move back a little bit and prop himself up on a knee.

“Y/N. Will you marry me?”

“I mean are you gonna give me a ri- HOLY CRAP!” She turned around finally, almost swallowing her spoon at the sight of him there on one knee.

“Don’t choke,” he chuckled, resisting the urge to reach over and swipe the spoon out of her mouth. She did the honors, letting it drop onto the blanket.

“Sam.” She was breathless it seemed, her eyes flickering between his face and the ring.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, I just wanted it to be the right time. You’re all I want, forever. And I thought we could make it, you know, official? If you’re up for it?”

That was so not what he was planning on saying. But she didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes holy crap yes!” She practically squealed, tackling him in a kiss. He rolled slightly so his legs didn’t get trapped behind him as he kissed her back, both their smiles bursting through every time their lips parted.

“You didn’t even let me put your ring on,” he teased, brushing some hair back from her face. Y/N sat up, tugging him up with her so she was sitting on his lap. He picked the box up, pulling the ring carefully out of the velvet and sliding it onto her finger. It fit perfectly, making him smile.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, and he could hear her tears in her voice.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

the engagement:

Planning a wedding and hunting weren’t exactly conducive activities.

“Baby, you can stay here if you need to, I know you wanted to meet with that florist,” Sam sighed a bit, watching you pack your bag.

“Flowers aren’t going to do me much good if my fiance is dead in a vamp nest somewhere,” you muttered, tossing an extra change of clothes in and zipping it up.

“Hey. C’mere.” Sam’s voice was gentle and you felt the tension leave your shoulders as you moved over towards him.

“I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, I’m just stressed out. I want it to be a perfect day,” you mumbled, burying your face in his chest as he held you.

“I know. It’s gonna be perfect no matter what, cause we’re gonna be married at the end of the day, regardless. But I know you want it to be a certain way. I just wish it didn’t stress you out so much.”

“Have you met me? Everything stresses me out.” You chuckled, pressing your forehead into his chest. He laughed with you, hand coming up to run through your hair.

“Well, we’ve got a few months left before the wedding. What’s left?”

“Flowers. And I’ve got the last fitting for my dress, Jody is coming with me for that. All the guys have their suits, the girls are getting their dresses back from the tailors. We have the cake, we’ve got the rings. Dean’s building the alter stuff.”

“So.... just the flowers then?”

“And the honeymoon...”

You tried again, though you knew it was futile. Maybe, just maybe he’d slip up and give it away.

“The honeymoon is taken care of, I promise. How about when we get back from this hunt we go to the florist together, yeah?”

“You don’t want to go to the florist, you couldn’t care less about the flowers,” you accused, but it was lighthearted.

“Yeah, but you care, which means I care. Now c’mon, we’ve got some vampires to kill.”

the wedding:

For once, the Kansas weather had decided to cooperate. It was a beautiful day, sun shining over the bunker, a nice breeze keeping it from being too hot. Everything was perfect, and yet you still couldn’t breathe.

“Y/N? Hey, are you gonna be okay if I leave you here to walk mom down? I can get Cas to do it if you need me to.” Dean's worry was obvious as he slipped a hand under your elbow, as if you were going to fall. You weren’t sure that you wouldn’t.

“No, no I’m okay. Just, uh, hurry back, okay?” Your voice was strained. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous - everything had gone to plan, everybody you and Sam loved were there.

“You got it. Hang in there.” Dean squeezed you a bit before letting go and moving up the line to let Mary take his arm. You knew Sam was close by, so you stayed hidden in the bunker stairwell. Neither of you had wanted to see the other beforehand, but not having him there with you was probably why you were so nervous - you two had never been the greatest at separation. Music had begun to play, and you knew the processional was moving along.

The alter had been set up behind the bunker, in a little clearing of the woods. There was a path lined with flowers, up to a beautiful alter that Dean had built from some reclaimed wood he’d found. It was beautiful to anyone, not just your biased eyes. You kept yourself hidden, but peaked out just enough so you could see everyone walking down.

Cas lead, with Claire on his arm. He kissed her cheek before they moved to their appropriate sides of the alter. Next was Jack, who did double time and walked both Patience and Alex down, since Dean was on his way back to you.

The sight of familiar faces made it a bit easier to breathe. Garth was there, and Donna. Mary was beaming at her son, but you refused to follow her gaze. If you looked at Sam now, you knew you’d start crying. Jody was standing at the alter - she’d gotten ordained just for you two.

Dean made it back to you quickly, holding up his arm for you to take.

“You ready for this?”

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s just Sam,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Dean.

“You’re just excited I bet. Sam was shakin’ in his boots all morning waiting for you. I’ve got yah, okay? I’ll get you down the aisle and Sam will take it from there.”

Something in the familiar cadence of his voice, and knowing that you’d be right there with Sam in just a minute made your nerves cease enough for you to take that first step, out into the light.

You clutched onto Dean’s arm and matched his pace, watching the petal-covered grass underneath your feet. And when you heard the sound of everyone rising from their chairs, you lifted your eyes from the ground.

And there he was.

You’d known what suit he was going to wear. What color his tie was, which flowers would be on his boutonnière. You’d seen his smile a thousand times. But he was beaming, and you could see the tears welling up at the sight of you in your dress.

And it didn’t matter that everyone was looking at you, or that you were crying too. He was there and he was about to be your husband, and you couldn’t have been happier in that moment.

“Easy tiger, it’s not a race,” Dean murmured, trying to slow down your pace. You hadn’t realized you’d sped up so much, automatically drawn towards Sam. Why had you made the aisle so long?

Finally, finally, you got there. Dean kissed your cheek and guiding you up the few stairs that he’d built. You passed your bouquet to Claire, who fixed the train on your dress and then you turned, gazing up at Sam.

He was still crying, but trying to keep it together a bit more as he took your hands in his. You couldn’t do anything but stare at him, and take it all in as Jody spoke, about love and the importance of it.

You both pulled it together enough to repeat your vows to each other, though the tears were still streaming. Dean handed Sam the rings, and yours settled perfectly on your finger, as if it was meant to be there all along. Perhaps it was.

You weren’t sure you’d ever heard sweeter words than “you may now kiss your bride”, and you couldn’t help but smile when you felt the cool metal of Sam’s ring on your cheek when he cupped your face, bending down to kiss you.

It was soft and warm and different somehow. You were kissing your husband, and you weren’t sure you were even going to get over that.

Everyone cheered as you headed down the aisle, back to the door of the bunker that you’d come out of.

You disappeared inside for a moment, pulling Sam with you. As soon as the door closed behind you you were kissing him again with as much fierceness as you could muster, somehow trying to put action to the happiness that was burning inside of you. He obliged, taking your hips in his hands, hands splayed out against the white fabric that covered you.

It took you a minute to work it out of your system, and you knew that everyone would probably starting to trickle in from the ceremony in just a moment. When you pulled away, you weren’t sure you’d ever felt happier.

“You didn’t even let me carry you over the threshold,” Sam chuckled, resting his forehead against yours.

“Sorry,” you whispered, laughing with him.

“The stairs will do,” he grinned, getting that boyish glint in his eyes that made your heart warm since the first time you saw it. He scooped you up, starting the descent off the balcony.

“Please don’t fall and break a leg, I know you can’t see those stairs over this dress,” you cautioned.

“Ever the romantic,” Sam teased, kissing your cheek. You reached the bottom at the perfect time, getting one more kiss in before the doors open and everyone began to funnel in from outside. You both waited at the bottom, accepting everyone’s hugs and well wishes.

When Dean got to you, he took you by surprise, picking you up and spinning you around.

“Welcome to the family Winchester,” he had said, and it was the first time in a long time you’d seen Dean truly happy.

The night moved on like most weddings, you assumed. Everyone ate pizza that you’d ordered from the local joint, and there was wine and beer and cake and dancing. You’d pushed all the tables to the walls in the library, leaving the whole space open; a makeshift dance floor.

Your first dance song played from the record player in the corner, and you smiled as Sam held you close, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. After that, it seemed everyone wanted a chance to dance with the bride, so you were passed around through the slow songs. Much to your surprise, Jack seemed to be the best dancer of all of them. He later revealed he’d watched some youtube videos on how to slow dance, obviously proud of himself.

You found yourself back in Sam’s arms again as the night began to wind down.

“You ready for our honeymoon?” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“How can I be ready if I don’t know where we’re going? You wouldn’t even let me pack my own bag,” you countered, scrunching up your nose at him.

“You’ll know soon enough. C’mon, let’s go.”

the honeymoon:

“I knew it!” She exclaimed, making Sam smile as he brought the car to a stop outside the cabin. He didn’t tell her that they were only spending the night there, that in the morning they’d be driving to the airport and heading off to the beach.

He got out first, moving around the car to open Y/N’s door for her and help her out. She had been so eager to leave and see where they were going that she’d insisted her dress was comfortable enough to ride in. She somehow looked even more beautiful out there amongst the trees, dressed in white, relaxed and completely herself.

“C’mere,” he said quietly, taking her waist in his hands and pulling her to him. She melted under his touch it seemed, pliant under his lips as he kissed her. She was sweet to taste, and he could feel her smile. With a sigh he pulled away, but only to grab the smaller overnight bag he’d packed for them.

“We don’t need the big bags yet. Besides, I don’t see many clothes in our immediate future.”

“Oh?” She blushed bright pink.

“As sad as I am to see it go, I am so ready to get you out of that dress. Also, you aren’t cheating me out of my threshold this time,” he grinned, tossing the bag over his shoulder before scooping Y/N up.

“I love you,” she said, breathless as he carried her through the doorway.

“I love you too, wife.” The word felt so natural on his tongue, and the he wished he could keep the smile it brought to her face there forever. “C’mon beautiful, let’s get you to bed.”

Their shoes were first, and the dress was next. It had delicate buttons along the back, and he fumbled with them, his long fingers getting in his own way as they both laughed through his struggle. When he finally got them undone it fell heavy to the ground, revealing delicate, white lingerie that about sent him to his knees. It took all his self control to move away and hang the dress up on a spare hanger, hooking it over the door of the bedroom.

He slipped out of his dress shirt, having already lost the jacket and tie back at the bunker before they’d left. He was about to sit back down before he caught the look his wife was giving him.

“What?”

“I’m only in my underwear... you too. Equal partners, remember?” She teased, quirking an eyebrow.

He just laughed, undoing his belt and tossing it aside before letting his pants fall to the floor. She gasped, making him panic a bit, looking down at his plain black boxer briefs.

“What!?” He asked yet again.

“No white lace?! What kinda wedding night is this!?” She faked her exasperation, but she could only keep up the act for a moment before she burst out laughing.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he teased, moving to the bed in a fluid motion, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and lifting her just enough to guide her onto her back.

Everything paused when she winced, sucking in a breath.

“Baby? What’s wrong?”

“One of my hair pins just poked me. I swear, there must be five hundred of them in there,” she muttered, nose scrunched as she looked up towards her hair.

“C’mere, I’ll take em out.”

Sam guided her back up to sitting, letting her settle in his lap facing away from him as he began to run his fingers through her hair, picking out the pins that were stuck within it. He smiled as the curls began to fall, and she relaxed more and more every time he found a new one to take out.

His hand was full by the time he was done, and he put them all on the bedside table, running his other hand over Y/N’s sore scalp. She was practically purring under his touch, leaning her weight back onto his chest. He peppered kisses along her skin, up her neck, along her jaw, finally catching her lips when she turned to look at him.

She twisted on his lap, settling with her legs wrapped around his waist, moulding to him like she always did.

The night was spent intertwined in every sense of the word, slow and warm and soft, with whispered I loves you and promises. They fell asleep pressed against each other, safe in knowing that it was really the two of them, forever.

leave me feedback and i’ll cry okay

#WOW this turned out long #but I think I like it #let me know what you think!!!#feedback is my fuel yall and i'm feelin kinda shitty about my writing lately #so it would mean a lot :')#sam winchester #sam winchester imagine #spn imagine #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #aintnonetwork

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ascalonianpicnic · 5 years

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Maroon, Brick, Bronze, Sky, Teal, Violet, Lilac, Blush, Cotton candy, Coconut, and Black for Lace, Wrelia, Rhosill and Aselif

Oooh lot’s of good questions for lot’s of good kids! And by good, I mean every single one of these idiots is morally grey at best. You get a read more because it’s gonna be at least a little long. Have fun~

Maroon - What are you most passionate about?

Lace - They think for a moment, then laugh. “Well, there’s a lot of things I could say, but I’ll keep it appropriate and say the people I care about. Strair, Cue, Kvold, Ive, and others, I’d really do anything for them, and anything to keep them safe.”

Wrelia - “Oh! Oh! Yeah! My research! I put a lot of time into the study of magic, specifically necromancy. I’m mostly self taught, aside from the tips I’ve gotten from Odollumn and Trahearne, and I’m always working to learn more and expand my capabilities!”

Rhosill - “I’m not. Sorry.”

Aselif - “I’m most passionate about my poisons. It’s work I chose for myself, and that I enjoy. It helps with my job, and lets me explore new things. It’s really very lovely. Cayde is the other thing I’m passionate about. I love him, truly and surprisingly. I didn’t think I could, but I do.”

Brick - What are some things you dislike?

Lace - “People who treat public spaces like they’re private, idiots who think they can get the drop on me, people who try to use Cue to get to me. People who don’t respect boundaries. Tenor. Fire. Gods. Not having control. I can go on longer if you want...”

Wrelia - “The Elder Dragons have all been pretty mean. And I don’t really like being alone. And coffee makes me very shaky and doesn’t taste great, though chocolate covered coffee beans are pretty good. I don’t like that Mom has been trying to take on all this burden by herself, when she has so many people around her that want to help. I don’t like that things keep hurting my loved ones. I don’t like that I could lose everyone at any given moment, and that I wouldn’t be able to save them or bring them back. I really don’t like wyld hunts. I hate that we can’t stop, or the world will end. I don’t like this question.”

Rhosill - “Myself, the inquest, bandits, and my old job as an assassin, to name a few things.”

Aselif - “Let’s see, I’m not very fond of Lusus. I don’t particularly like any of the people I meet with for the court, they’re all fairly horrible, especially Tenor. I dislike many of the things the court makes me do. There’s so much more, too, but it’s a long list, and it would only bore both of us.”

Bronze - What is your favorite way to warm up when it’s cold?

Lace - “Coffee, and cuddling with Cue under a blanket if I can. That’s the first thing I did when I got back from the Shiverpeaks after finally finishing my wyld hunt. Second favorite is sharing a bed with someone exciting.”

Wrelia - “Blanket cape and baking. Embrant and I like to joke that we’re royalty, and the oven heats the whole kitchen up pretty well. Plus, we get food after we’re all warmed up!”

Rhosill - “I don’t usually need to, but if I do, then a campfire, and some hot cider.”

Aselif - “Cuddling up with Cayde is always nice. Even when I’m not cold.”

Sky - What is your favorite time of the day?

Lace - “Very late at night to very early in the morning. The wee hours, when everything is quiet, and it’s just you, the stars, and maybe some stray crickets. It’s so peaceful during that time.”

Wrelia - “Late morning! Making brunch with my wife when we both have a day off! And we laugh and joke and each food that should probably count as desert, but brunch has no rules~”

Rhosill - “It’s changed a lot over the years. Right now, it’s lunchtime.” He smiles a little. “You haven’t seen excited until you’ve seen a bunch of recruits being let out from their morning drills to go eat and hang out.”

Aselif - “Dawn, the moments before the sun rises. Responsibilities don’t exist during that brief period of time, and the sky just look beautiful. I wish I had more opportunities to be up then.”

Teal - What makes you feel most at peace?

Lace - “Quiet and solitude, or having complete and total control of a situation. Both together is especially nice.”

Wrelia - “Spending time with my friends! They’re all great people, and we all make each other feel loved and wanted and welcome! It’s a nice feeling, and it helps me forget some of the big problems I’m facing.”

Rhosill - He mimes holding his rifle. “Gun in hand, and a bandit or inquest bastard in my sights.”

Aselif - “When Cayde comes to my office to just sit with me while I work. He makes the work go quicker, and makes it easier to think. And it is also simply nice to hold him close while he gets a break.”

Violet - What is your ideal date?

Lace - “Cue and I built my house together, and we fucked in every room as we built them. I’d say that was pretty ideal!”

Wrelia - “Whenever Em pulls out the blanket fort again! We usually bake cookies, and sometimes other treat too, and we spend all day curled up together and having a relaxing time!. It’s the best. Embrant’s the best.”

Rhosill - “My... what? I dunno, have I ever been on a date?” He hasn’t, and he wouldn’t know how to go on one, or what he’d want from one.

Aselif - “Any chance I get to spend an entire day with Cayde. I’d love to take him out to see more of the world together with him at some point, but our responsibilities keep getting in the way of that.”

Lilac - How would someone win you over?

Lace - “There’s... well there’s a lot of intricacies to it, so it’s kind of hard to say.” They rub at the back of their head for a moment, thinking. “Well, if you aren’t looking for any serious sort of relationship or friendship, good, kinky sex is a very fast way to my heart. Longer term, respect my boundaries, respect my privacy, respect my triggers... really just show some fucking respect and don’t push for shit I haven’t given you permission to push for.”

Wrelia - “If you have any notes or research on necromancy, that’d be great! I just really like when people talk to me in general, though. I’m pretty easy to win over.”

Rhosill - “Uh, whiskey? I guess? Tvelle punched me, and I let the recruits all try and fail to beat me up, so I guess whiskey or kicking my ass?”

Aselif - “Usually, I’m the one doing the hard work of winning others over.”

Blush - Do you have a crush on anyone? If so, who is it?

Lace - They laugh. “Cue, pretty obviously! That’s why I’m dating him! Strair, too, I suppose, and Maric. I’m sleeping with all of them, though, so it’s not really a thing.”

Wrelia - “Does my wife count? Even though I already married her? Ummm, Sayeh al’ Rajihd was really cool. I only got to meet her like once, but I have a little bit of a crush on her still.”

Rhosill - “I don’t think so, no.”

Aselif - “I think you should have gotten the picture by now. I am taken.”

Cotton candy - Would you say you have a sweet tooth?

Lace - “No, that’s why I drink my coffee black. I don’t hate sweets, but I don’t love them either.”

Wrelia - She looks around a little awkwardly and giggles. “I think it’s pretty obvious that I do. I’d eat pastries for every meal if I could get away with it! Uncle Ruzzier caught me last time I tried though, and I got this whole lecture on the importance of a balanced diet.”

Rhosill - “Don’t really care how things taste at all, if I’m honest. So no, I don’t.”

Aselif - “Yes, I would. I especially love the sweetness of fresh fruit.”

Coconut - What would be your ideal vacation?

Lace - “I’m admittedly not a huge fan of vacations. I’d usually rather be working. But if I were to pick anything, I’d like to follow Cue while he goes to work and just spend the day watching him.”

Wrelia - “One that my mom, Laighe, takes. She can take all of mine for all I care, as long as she uses them and takes a break.”

Rhosill - “Fuck, I don’t need a vacation. I’m basically always on vacation already. Not like I have a job right now or anything.”

Aselif - “I’ve been told Elona is quite beautiful, and has an abundance of new plant and animal life that produce fascinating toxins and poisons. I’d love to take Cayde to Amnoon to explore, and spend some time working with the new materials I find there.”

Black - What is the darkest thing you’ve ever done?

Lace - They grin and quirk an eyebrow. “Are you sure you really want to hear that? I can go into some pretty intricate details about how I torture people, if that’s what you’re looking for. Like how I hung a man by his wrists and whipped him until he blacked out, then I healed his wounds and started the whole process over again. Or how I froze a woman’s lungs in her chest and watched her suffocate. Or the courtier whose legs I cut off one inch at a time after they tried to force Kvold back into the court. That was a good one.”

Wrelia - “I, uhm, I don’t really wanna talk about it... so how about I talk about this lil guy instead.” She holds up a strange looking rat, leaking a black tar-like substance. “I named him Jeremy. He’s awakened. I awakened him! Isn’t he cute? I guess this counts as dark, right? Well, I’m studying him with the hope that I can figure out some sort of way of treating the free awakened when they get sick or injured. It’s pretty cool, but just a side project. Taimi takes precedent right now.”

Rhosill - He shrugs. “Mass murdering a bunch of inquest when I was a sapling, maybe? My work as an assassin, could also count. Or my time with Scarlet. I’ve done a lot of very dark things. I only regret some of it.”

Aselif - “I’ve sold many of my fellow courtiers into worse lives than the ones they already had. And I’ve helped torture lots of people. The one that haunts me most was a knight from my own court, who I sold to one Lady Tenor. I see her around more often than I’d like. I haven’t seen the knight since. I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

#my characters #lace's tag #wrelia #rhosill #aselif #oof yeah that got very long #thank you for the ask!!!#that last question got very dark thanks to lace #but wrelia tried to keep it lighter #mytalikes

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outlawnurse · 6 years

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He Insists - Chapter IV

A RDR2 Modern AU Written by: @ninja-nurse, Inspired by: @heart-of-gold-outlaw and with Special Thanks to: @ceruleanchillin @teumessianfox and @letsloveimagines

Warning: Language, Spoilers

Dutch sat in the tent with Hosea and Arthur. "Those Pinkertons were looking for me. They had my wanted poster. How did they know where to find me, Dutch?" Arthur asked, angrily. "I don't know." He sighed. "Cait said they were going to offer me a deal." The two men looked at him. "Freedom for us," he hesitated, "if I gave him you." Dutch rubbed his forehead, "Would you have taken it?" "Of course not, Dutch." His brow furrowed. Dutch sighed. Hosea shook his head, "What are we going to do, Dutch? They're obviously on to us, and this little visit was a little too close for comfort." "We just need to lay low. We can't have anymore attention brought down on us."

"I think there's a rat." Arthur blurt out. "Arthur." Hosea said with caution in his voice. "How else would they have known about the Blackwater job? How would they have known where to find us all the way out here, huh?" "....and who do you think it is?" Dutch asking, knowing the answer. "Micah has been nothing but...." "Son," Dutch started. "No." Arthur snapped, "Don't 'son' me. There is something about that man that is rotten, and if you don't trust me, trust Cait." He looked at the man. "She's terrified of him. She doesn't trust him. She jumps out of her skin if he so much as looks in her general direction." Arthur kept his voice low, "The girl knows every goddamn thing that happens to us. What does she know about him?" Dutch sighed, rubbing his forehead, "I don't know, Arthur, but..." "Can you just.... Can you at least keep a closer eye on him?" Arthur asked, sounding exasperated. Dutch nodded, sighing.

Arthur kept his eye on the woman, worried about her after the ordeal. "What are you doing?" Abigail asked, walking over to the girls, who were working behind Pearson's wagon, "Where's Mr. Pearson?" "We're making dinner tonight." Sophia looked up, "We're going to celebrate my sister's stupidity." "Stop." Cait shook her head. Sophia laughed, "You got arrested for pulling a gun on a federal agent... in eighteen ninty nine... Why don't you just try robbing a bank while you're at it?" Caitlin looked at her for a minute, before bursting into laughter, "Maybe tomorrow me and you can go hit a stage coach!" Abigail shook her head at the two, laughing, glad to see the two getting along again. Arthur smiled to himself, seeing the girl enjoying herself. His smile faded, as he saw Micah lean on the table, as Sophia stepped away.

"How're you doing, jailbird?" Caitlin's eyes shifted up, meeting with Arthur's first, then looked to Micah, "What do you want, Mr. Bell?" "I want to know why you hate me so much." She didn't answer. "Your lovely sister doesn't hate me." "My sister doesn't know you like I do, Mr. Bell, and I'll thank you to stay away from her." "There has to be a reason." "There is." "...and what would it be?" She looked at him, holding the butcher's knife in her hand, tightly, "I can't tell you why, but I can tell you this... Be fucking nicer. Help out a little around here. Would it kill you to maybe go hunting once and a while? Do a couple of chores? The horses could use a good grooming and feeding." "That's Kieran's job." "It's everyone's job." "I don't need to worry myself with chores, Miss Marston, I am a stone cold killer." "You, Mr. Bell," she leaned into him, "are not intimidating." He looked at her, standing tall, "I've been nothing but nice to you and Sophia." "You tried to choke me to death when I first got here." "...but I didn't." "Because Arthur threatened to shoot you!" She gasped. "Why are you so protective of him?" "Because he deserves to be protected." She grumbled, returning to her food preparations. "...and I don't." "No, Mr. Bell." She slammed the knife down on to the table, "You do not. You don't deserve to be protected. You don't deserve to be liked. You don't even deserve to be breathing the same air as the rest of this camp. I know who you are. I know what you've done, and I know what you're going to do. You are not a good man, Mr. Bell." "Because your little lover boy, Arthur Morgan is?" He scoffed, angrily, "He's robbed just as many banks and trains and stages as I have. He's killed just as many men as I have. He's got a mean streak in him that sends shivers down my spine. You're precious cowboy isn't the saint you paint him to be." "I know who he is." "Well, what's he got that I don't?" "Besides my attention?" She hissed, pointing the knife at him, "He's not a fucking rat. I know what you did, Micah." He stared at her, not knowing what to say. "There is still time for redemption though." She glared at him. He swallowed hard, clenching his teeth. "Stop feeding them information." "How did you..." "How did I know?" She scoffed, "I'm from the goddamn future, Micah. I know everything." "How?" "Oh, my God. I can't with you anymore. Just stop being a fucking asshole all the time." She yelled at him. He balled his hands in fists, walking away. Caitlin slammed the knife down on the piece of meat on the table in front of her, "God, I fucking hate him." Arthur smirked, proud of the girl, who seemed to be toughening up in her time with the group.

"What was that all about?" Sophia returned. Caitlin rolled her eyes, "Nothing." "You know... He's not so bad once you get to know him?" "I'm sure Hitler had a good side too, but that doesn't mean I want to spend time with him." "You're being dramatic." Caitlin stepped closer to her sister, whispering, "He killed Arthur." Sophia just looked at her. "Yeah." Caitlin turned back to the food in front of her, "You know, the deliciously angry looking cowboy standing against the tree that has the most gentle kisses. The man who is the reason that we had a family to come from. Him. Micah is going to kill him." "What does that even mean?" "Arthur sacrificed everything to save John. He is the reason John, Abigail, and Jack got away from Dutch when he lost his shit. He is the reason they were able to have a life and a family." "I thought John was killed by Pinkertons." "He was, but... not until years from now, and Jack survived. Jack did his thing and he started his family, and here we the fuck are, so maybe stop hating him for two minutes just because I fell for him, and thank him, but don't actually, because we shouldn't really tell him what the future is. If you want to hate someone, hate Micah Bell. He deserves to be hated." "Honestly, he's not really that bad." Caitlin just looked at her. "Wait, did you just say you kissed Arthur?" "No." She turned back to preparing dinner. "Goddamn it, Caitlin." Sophia rolled her eyes.

"Goddamn it, John Marston!" Abigail yelled. The girls looked up, as the man stormed off, they looked at each other, then back at the man.

"You're just like him, do you know that?" Caitlin shrugged, "The apple doesn't fall that far, I suppose." "What's with you?" Sophia glanced at her, before returning to making food, "You're... different." "Prison changes a person." She said, dramatically. She laughed, "Oh, my God, you're so fucking weird."

***

"I need to get out of here for a while." John looked at Arthur. "Do you want to go swimming?" Arthur chuckled, "Oh, wait..." "You're not funny." "I am." Arthur nodded, "Come on. We can go fishing. Do you want to bring Jack?" "No." "John." "Arthur, please. Can't you just be a friend for once?" Arthur looked hurt. "I'm sorry. I just..." "It's fine." He pat the man on the back, "Come on."

***

They stood on the river back, "I just don't get Abigail. Things have been really good between us, you know? I mean, sure... It was a shock when those girls got here, but... It's been good. She's always got to find something to nit pick about." Arthur snickered, "Women." "Speaking of." John looked at the man. "What?" "You've been getting a little cozy with my little Caitlin." "You're little Caitlin," Arthur laughed, "has eleven years on you, Marston." "She's like two hundred years younger than you!" "Two hundred..." He shook his head, "John, relax." "I just want to know your intentions with her." "My intentions?" "Do you love her?" "John," Arthur shook his head, "stop. She saved my life. She's a good girl. I'll admit, I'm keen on her, but a girl like her would never be with a man like me. I'm not good enough for her." "No one is good enough for those girls." John admitted, "I overheard Mary-Beth and Karen talking about the two of you. They said they saw you kiss her." "I kissed her.” He was honest, “I didn't... it’s not like I..." He cleared his throat, "You know what? I'm not talking about this with you." "She's my blood, Arthur. I have a responsibility to her... to keep her safe." "To keep her safe from me?" John looked at him, "That's not what I meant." "None of this matters anyhow. We don't know how long she's going to be here. It'll only hurt both of us if we..." Arthur squirmed, "I don't like talking about this with you." "Yeah." John sighed, "This was a bad idea. I'm sorry." "Sure." Arthur nodded, "That was a nice salmon you caught earlier. Shame she got away." "Yeah." John replied, "I want to bring something to Pearson so he gets off my back." Arthur let out a small chuckle. The two men spent the rest of their fishing trip in silence.

*Horseshoe Overlook, New Hanover*

Caitlin looked up, hearing the two argue. "He's an adult, Susan." Dutch said, "He can make his own choices." "We all know what he's going to do." "You need to let him decide for himself." Dutch said, suddenly getting quiet. He smirked, "Besides, I think with your new... guest... I think he may surprise you." She shook her head, lifting the envelope for Dutch to see, "I hate this girl. I've always hated her. She breaks his heart over and over again and he keeps going back to for more." "The boy is loyal to a fault."

"Ain't that the truth." Caitlin grumbled to herself, suspecting she knew what they were talking about.

"I'm not giving it to him." She shook her head. "You have to." "I don't have to do anything." The woman turned, calling out, "Cait!" She looked at her, "Yes, Miss Grimshaw?" "Susan, leave the girl out of it. She's got enough going on as it is." Dutch sighed. She handed her the envelope. Caitlin tilt her head, "...but it's for Arthur." "Do what you will with it." She said, "Give it to him. Don't give it to him. I don't care, but I will not." Caitlin shoved the letter into the pocket of her apron, "Where is he?" "He went fishing with John." Dutch offered. She nodded, "Well, dinner will be ready shortly."

Susan knew what she was doing when she handed that girl the envelope. She had a knack for reading people. She knew Caitlin was in love with Arthur. She knew Caitlin had to know about Mary, and the trouble she caused for the man. She could tell Caitlin had a dark side to her. She's already see the woman's loyalty and passion for protecting the family. Moreover, she'd seen the girl's temper. Susan smiled, knowing she had someone to do her dirty work for her.

***

The group celebrated Caitlin's return from her one night stint in prison in typical Van der Linde Gang fashion. Food, alcohol, singing, and dancing were in abundance.

Arthur leaned against the tree, his arms crossed, as he watched the group. "You alright there, Arthur?" Karen stood beside him. "Sure." He answered, without looking at her. "You look sad." He looked at her, "I'm fine, Karen." She shrugged, watching as Caitlin danced with Sean, "You should ask her to dance." "I don't dance." He said, firmly. "Not even for the woman you love." "I don't love her." "Do you want to know how I know you love her, Arthur?" Karen put her hands on her hips, "I never told you who I was talking about. You just knew." "Stop." He shook his head. "Come on, you old mope." She hit him playfully, "Dance with me, and show the love of your life that you are capable of having fun." He sighed, "Fine." She curtsied to him, as he put his hand out to her. He held her hand delicately, as she put her other hand on his shoulder.

Caitlin looked toward the man, as she danced with Sean. Their eyes met, as he twirled Karen. She smiled at him. She felt her heart jump in her chest, as she watched the corners of his mouth turn up, and though it was too dark to see with the shadows of the fire dancing across his face, she knew his cheeks were red. She lowered her head, blushing herself. "Why don't you go to him, love?" Sean said, quietly. "Who?" "Arthur Morgan." The Irishman chuckled, not too drunk to notice she'd been looking at him all night. "Why would I do that?" "...because you love him, so ya do." He twirled her around, pulling her in close again. "I don't love him." "Oh, but you do, love." He insisted, "I can see it in your eyes... The way you look at him... You've been in love with that man for a long time, eh?" Her brow furrowed, her step slowed. "It's alright, love." He slowed to keep in step with her. "His journal was in my family since he.. I couldn't help reading it. The pictures... He's so talented, and handsome... It's strange, right? That I would fall in love with a man who'd been dead for over a hundred years." "Love is a crazy thing." Sean said, "I personally think that the two of you would do well together. He needs someone that makes him happy, and I haven't seen the man smile that much since I've known him as he does when you're around." She lowered her head, smiling to herself.

The man had just enough alcohol running through his veins not to care about the consequences of his actions. "Ma'am," he gruff voice all but caught in his throat, "may I have this dance?" Sean smiled. She blushed, putting her hand in his outstretched hand, imitating a sweet southern belle accent, "Well, yes, you may, kind sir." "Well," he pulled her quickly, close to himself, his hand on her hip, "I don't know that I would call myself a kind sir, with the thoughts I'm having about you right now." "Arthur Morgan!" She feigned shock, "Why whatever do you mean?" He swallowed, "Was that too much?" She cocked her head back, laughing, drunkenly, "Arthur, always the gentleman, even when you're trying to be naughty." He blushed. She rest her head on his chest, as Javier played a slower song on his guitar. She felt him wrap his arm around her tighter, holding her close. He smirked, feeling her sigh deeply against him, "Why would someone like you be interested in someone like me?" She looked up at him, "Really?" He just looked at her. "Arthur, you may have made some questionable life choices, but... You really are a good man inside, and a fine looking one on the outside." He laughed. "Arthur, to be honest... This is going to sound... weird, but..." She hesitated, unable to look at him, "I fell in love with you years ago." "What do you mean?" She sighed, "Your journal..." "You read my journal?" He sounded offended. "I mean, you were dead, so... I didn't think you'd mind." He looked at her for a minute before laughing. She chuckled, resting her head against his chest again. "Well, no I suppose I wouldn't have." "The drawings... They're wonderful." He grinned. "Where did you learn to be such an artist." "My mother." He told her, "She taught me to read and to write and how to draw." "She sounds like a fine woman." "She was." The two danced quietly, for a few minutes. "What did you save me from?" "What?" She looked up at him. "Why didn't you want me to collect that money for Strauss a while back?" She swallowed, finding no harm in telling him now, "Tuberculosis." "Tuberculosis?" He repeated her words. "The man was sick... He... I don't know the details, but that's how you got it. At least that's what you thought." "...in my journal." "...in your journal." She sighed, "You were so sick... There was no way you could have defended yourself when..." He looked at her. "I know you don't think much of yourself, Arthur, but I do." "I ain't a good man." "You are though. You're a good man who did some bad things, but you've done some good ones too." He just looked at her. Caitlin's eyes shifted, as she caught a glimpse of her sister out of the corner of her eye. "What is she doing?" Arthur looked, sighing, "Micah." "She better not." Caitlin snapped. "You really don't like him." "Neither do you." "I have a reason." He looked at her, "I think even more so when I see how much you don't like him. I'd love to know what you know about him." She just looked at him, sighing, "I don't want to ruin this moment talking about Micah Bell." "That's fair." He sighed.

Arthur bowed awkwardly to the woman, as the song ended. She laughed, as she curtsied him. He smiled, thriving on the affection he got from the woman.

Micah stood beside the woman, as she stood watching her sister laugh with Arthur, "She's a little hot headed that one, isn't she?" "You have no idea." Sophia rolled her eyes, "She always was." "I don't understand why she hates me so much." He spoke softly to her, testing her to see what she knew, "I am not a bad person." "You're an outlaw." Sophie looked at him, "You're not really what I would call a good person, Mr. Bell." He shrugged, "Do you know?" "Know what?" "The things she does... about... all of us?" She shrugged, "Some. I was never really into our past like she was. She was closer with Grandpa Arthur and our dad... I mean, Jesus, the more I get to know John, the more I realize that she's just like him, so it's no wonder." Micah snickered. "She would feed on all those old stories. Who knows how many of them are even made up or exaggerated?" "Was I in any of them?" He stood tall. She shook her head, lying, "Not that I know." "Oh." He seemed disappointed, "I don't get what she sees in that sad cowboy anyway." Sophia looked at him, shrugging, "She sees him for his goodness, I suppose." "His goodness?" The man laughed, "He's a vicious outlaw!" "That's what I tried to tell her!" "Eh, I wouldn't worry about it too much. I imagine you girls will go back where you came from soon enough." "I hope so." "You know, if you ever want to get out of camp, I wouldn't mind riding into town with you. We could get a couple drinks at the saloon and eat some real food... maybe sleep in a real bed?" "Thanks for the offer." She nodded, only half disinterested. He smiled at her.

*The Next Morning*

"What's that?" Sophia asked her sister. "It's a letter." "...because you've made so many friends in the last month we've spend in the old west?" "It's not for me." She made a face at her sister, "It's for Arthur. Miss Grimshaw gave it to me to give to him, and I forgot about it." She nodded, "I'm going to go see if Mr. Pearson needs any help with breakfast, are you coming?" Caitlin nodded, "I'll be right there."

She looked at the envelope, as she walked toward the lit lantern in the tent, "I'm sorry, Arthur." She took the glass off, holding the envelope over the fire. She looked at it for a few minute, the flame threatening to scorch the paper. She pulled it back, cursing herself, "Damn it." She blew out the flame, leaving the tent.

Arthur sat on the edge of his cot, slipping his boots on, "Miss Marston, how are we this morning?" "I'm well, Arthur, how are you?" "Is something wrong?" He noted her tone. She held out the envelope to him, "Miss Grimshaw gave this to me to give to you yesterday, but... I forgot." "Thank you." He looked at it, then up at the girl, as she turned to leave. "Yep." Caitlin walked away, but stopped, sighing, looking up to the sky.. He looked at her, curiously, as she turned around, "Are... you ok?" "That's wasn't the truth." She admitted, "I don't want to lie to you. You..." She sighed, "I have to keep enough from you, you deserve the truth when I can give it." He furrowed his brow. "It's from Mary." She told him, "I wasn't going to give it to you. I was going to burn it, but... That's not fair to you." "I appreciate your honesty." He nodded, looking at the envelope. She nodded, "I just ... I didn't want to see you get hurt." "She's not going to try to kill me, is she?" He joked. "I suppose not, unless you can die of a broken heart." He didn't know what to say to her. Caitlin took a quick breath, "Well, there you are, so... I'd better get to work before..."

"Miss Marston, I think there are some dirty dishes and utensils over here with your name on them, and the chickens need to be fed.."

Caitlin still looked at Arthur, pointing to the woman, "...before that..." "She really is a great woman." Arthur stated. "I don't doubt that." Caitlin sighed, "I just don't know what's harder: quitting my job as a nurse to run the Marston Ranch by myself for the last few years or working for Miss Grimshaw." He let out a little chuckle, as the girl started to walk away, "Miss Marston." She looked back at him, digging her hands into the pockets of the white apron covering her blue skirt. "Caitlin." He walked over to her, "I wanted you to know that... Well, what I mean is..." She raised her eyebrows, curiously. "I care about you." He gestured toward her, "I know you probably won't be here forever, but... I wanted you to know that." "I care about you too, Arthur." She felt herself blush, "I want nothing but the best for you, and know that if I'm gone tomorrow that..." She looked up at him, feeling herself become emotional, "I just want you to know that you are good enough, Arthur. You've done some bad things, but that doesn't make you a bad person. You're a good man with a big, loving heart... I know you love Mary, but... I've been in relationships like that one, Arthur. Don't let her continue to hurt you. You deserve better, whether you think so or not, and I'm not saying that I'm better for you than her, but... I love you without wanting to change you." He just watched her walk away. He swallowed down a lump in his throat. He looked at the envelope, "I'm sorry, Mary..." He placed it carefully against the woman's picture that he kept by his bed. He looked at it for a moment, before leaving his tent.

To Be Continued.......

#rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #modern au #fanfiction #fanfic #rdr spoilers #rdr2 spoilers #spoilers #arthur morgan #john marston #micah bell

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kumeko · 6 years

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harley’s rehabilitation

Prompt: Bruce takes in Harley and helps her get a roof over her head for once

Character/Pairing: Harley, Bruce, Cassandra Cain, Selina

A/N: For the @dc-secret-santa for @tjada-sees-the-world-go-round. Sorry for the delay, hope you enjoy! (Harley is so hard to write, I hope I did her justice.). I’m basing this off BTAS for the most part, with a little comic mixed in. I’m in the process of writing up the Diana/Bruce prompt, so hopefully I’ll post that tomorrow.

Summary: It was strange, trying to be normal, trying to be good. Harley wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, let alone having the Batman of all people help her.

...

i. A favour

“I need a favour,” Selina asked, perched on the edge of the roof. “I know my favours aren’t worth much, but still…”

Batman glanced at her. She clutched her wrist uncertainly, biting her lip when he didn’t say anything. A nervous energy emitted from her and whatever she was asking, it was important to her. He approached her from behind, staring down at the city. Far below them, tiny headlights zoomed down the street. “What is it?”

“Harley, she…” Selina took a deep breath, turning to him. “She wants to change.”

“Does she?” Batman asked. When Selina glared at him, he clarified, “It’s a serious question.”

“Right…she has tried before.” Selina sighed. “She’s serious this time. I know she is.”

And how? He didn’t ask—while he wasn’t around for most of it, he had heard of Selina’s, Ivy’s, and Harley’s time together. ‘The Gotham Sirens’, as the underground jokingly called them. For a while, it had worked. Ivy kept off the streets, Harley kept away from Joker, and Selina…well, whatever she’d gained from it, she’d only smile mysteriously when questioned. Like he’d expect any other answer from her.

And now, it seemed, despite their separation, it had done a world of good by convincing Harley to reform again. Maybe he should have more supervillains live together. Dick was always complaining about how boring reality shows were these days.

“I did it,” Selina pressed, taking his silence for disagreement. “It took time, I slipped back, but I did it. She can do it too.”

I’m having a bad day, Harley had declared once, one the verge of release from the Asylum.

I had them too, he’d answered as he returned her pink dress and perhaps that was all it took. A single bad day. A single good hand. She hadn’t succeeded then but now could be different. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

Grateful, Selina kissed his cheek. “Thanks!” When he gave her a flat stare, she grinned. “Can’t blame a cat for trying.”

ii. A warm bed

Harley Quinn jumped on her bed, testing the bed springs. There was a direct correlation between bounce height and how good a bed was. Science had proven that.

Probably. She was completely bullshitting it but there was a kernel of truth in every lie. Or so she’d heard. Anyways, this bed was in great condition. Nothing sagged. There was no smell. Hell, there were actual springs inside and none of those cheap slinkies either. Batman didn’t mess around when he helped.

And perhaps that was the strangest thing about this—not the ordinary neighbourhood or the smooth walls of her apartment, not the normal neighbours or even the cleanliness of her room. These were things she sort of expected when she decided to go ‘good’. The way she got them, though, was completely surprising. Harley Quinn was getting help from Batman. The Batman. What sort of strings did Catwoman pull?

She’d always thought the pair were close, but maybbeeee…Harley pouted. They could have had girl talk all this time. Ivy was terrible at it, hating people, but Selina? Ahhh, so that was what her sly smile meant when Harley asked about any lovers.

Well, Harley knew now. Next time they’d met, Selina wouldn’t slip out of dishing it out.

She bounced one more time before flipping off the bed. Tumbling through the air, she landed almost perfectly. A 9.2, if she was honest. An Olympic contender. Heading to her window, she peered out at the peaceful town. Her street was dark and empty and quiet, so very quiet, nothing at all like the streets of Gotham. In the far distance, she could make out the silhouette of her old home city.

Better to stay away from it all, Batman had explained after he drove her here. That and Don’t touch that were the only things she’d heard the entire ride.

Crossing her arms, she leaned on her sill. There might be some truth in that. It was too easy to get sucked back into it in Gotham. Mister J would never let her get away, not for long. Harley knew that, she knew that all too well, each time she got out, like quicksand he dragged her back down.

Better here, far from temptations reach. From Mister J and his poison, from Poison Ivy and her smile. He was too far gone to turn back and Ivy…she had rejected the choice entirely.

At one time, Harley would have agreed with that. At one time, she did agree with that. What had she gained from that? Nothing. Nothing at all. All she had was loss. They wouldn’t love her the way she loved them, she could see that now. And if she didn’t have love, what was left for her?

Harley stepped back and closed the blinds.

iii. A resume

“Please, take a seat.” The receptionist gestured at the waiting room.

“Sure.” Harley gave her best Normal™ smile before scanning the fancy-ass glass room. The whole company felt too modern for such a small town. They were here for the tax breaks. The lower wages. And they called her the monster. At least she was honest about it.

Picking a seat, she adjusted her glasses. God, it was strange wearing them again, she’d been wearing contacts for ages. Her reflection this morning was like looking at a ghost. Brushed back hair, glasses, a suit; it was so easy to look domesticated.

To be honest, this freaked her out. Just a little. None of her skills in the past few years could help her here. Well, maybe the bullshitting, she was a grade A bullshitter, but beyond that...Harley sighed as she looked at her clear case folder. Inside was her resume, all neatly typed up.

Batman had installed the latest devices in her temporary house—a laptop, a printer, a phone. He even included one of those fancy-smancy virtual assistants. Oracle, it called itself. Cute name for such as a useful tool. Before Harley could even consider destroying her computer, Oracle had found a template, hooked up her printer, and even found several sites to help write it up.

“Harleen Quinzel?” The receptionist called out and Harley stood up quickly.

“Here!”

iv. A rejection

“Were you raised in a barn?” Harley asked as she closed her door behind her. On the other end of the room, directly across from her, the Batman perched on the edge of her couch. Her non-ratty, non-smelly, barely-stained couch.

Maybe she should serve him tea. And then take a photo of the great Batman, holding a tiny teacup, his pinky out. And send it to Selina, just to get a rise out of her.

When he didn’t say anything, she added, “Jeez, would it kill you to lighten up?”

“Probably not,” he answered, and was that a joke? A dry, bad one, but a joke nonetheless? Before she could follow up, he asked, “How is it?”

“Let’s see, it’s been…a month?” Harley counted with her fingers, double checking. “A month. I made no moolah. I can’t take care of my babies like that.”

“You are not taking care of those hyenas even if you made money.” Batman corrected and she pouted.

“They’re my babies!”

“Noted. I’ll cover your bills until you make enough.” Was he rich? Or did the JLA have some sort of ‘reform trust fund’? “How was job hunting?”

“Gee, I wonder what responses you’d expect an ex-super criminal to get?” Harley asked, rolling her eyes as she laid down on the carpet. Stretching her arms above her, she waved her latest round of rejection letters. “I’m actually impressed by how many excuses I’ve heard—and I thought I was a great liar.”

He took the letters without warning, flipping through them quickly.

Surprised, she stared at him. “Ya know, reading someone’s letters a crime. I could get you thrown in jail.”

His lips curved up, slightly, almost a laugh. If there was one thing Harley could take pride in, it was this: Batman had laughed at her jokes, not Mister J’s. Getting up, he headed to her window. “I’ll see what I can do. This is good effort so far.”

And with that, he launched himself out of his window, without a bye or a see you later. Par the course. Did even his friends at the Justice League have to deal with this?

“Good effort,” she muttered getting up. The thing people said to losers to make them feel better. Effort. When there was nothing else to compliment.

Effort. She really shouldn’t like that word as much as she did.

v. A night

Harley barely reacted when another presence landed on the roof next to her. Glancing to her side, she examined a girl dressed in black. There were obvious stitch marks in her batgirl outfit, making her look like a ragged doll. “Are you all raised in barns?” Looking over her shoulder, she added, “No Nightwing or Robin this time?”

“No.” Batgirl, or at least someone that looked like a Batgirl, shook her head, her accent thick and heavy. She paused before adding, “No to both questions.”

Gah. Another serious one. At least Nightwing would play along sometimes. She leaned back on the rooftop, staring up at the night sky. “Say, do you have to be sneaky when you apply?”

“Apply?” Batgirl asked, confused.

“Apply to be a night terror.” When all she got was another blank look, she sighed and spoke plainly. “A ‘Batgirl’.”

“No, but it helps.” Batgirl’s fingers automatically moved as she spoke, signing each word. Deaf? Mute? For someone else? “Why are you dressed like that?”

“It makes great PJs.” Harley tugged at the edges of her villain costume, rubbing the sleeve against her cheek. “Do you know how much it cost to make this? I can’t just let it go to waste!”

“I see,” she answered in a tone that clearly saw nothing.

“I just like wearing it sometimes.” Harley shrugged. “Don’t you just do things cause you like ‘em?”

Batgirl seemed to consider this for a few minutes before slowly nodding. “Recently, yes. Training.”

“Training? Blech!” Harley grimaced. Boring, utterly boring. How was Batman raising them? Maybe Nightwing was a fluke? The rest of this batfamily seemed more serious by the generation. Still, they made the perfect straight man, if only she could get them into a comedy club with her.

After a few minutes, Batgirl slowly said, “You can do this.”

“Huh?” Harley pointed at herself. “You talking to me?”

“There’s no one else here.” Batgirl cocked her head, double checking her surroundings. With a shrug, she turned back to Harley. “I was bad too, once.”

“Oh?” Maybe the JLA really did have a reform trust fund. Though, if they expected her to join without some pay, they had another thing coming.

“Yes.” Batgirl nodded again. “I was evil too. You can change.”

It was strangely comforting.

vi. Another attempt

“Alright.” Harley counted the coins in her bowl. $43.85 bucks. Not enough for rent, perhaps, but if she combined it with her waitress job, it could cover food at least. As nice as it was to have the goody two-shoes cover her bills, she need the independence. And less surveillance.

“You’re funny!” A little girl shouted as she dropped another quarter into the bowl. $44.10 now. The girl skipped back to her mother, waving as she left.

Honestly, busking wasn’t a bad gig at all. Maybe it didn’t pay as much as crime but it was almost as fun. Dressed as a clown, she performed acrobatic tricks in front of schools and train stations. Instead of screams, she got applause and cheers. And people said that you couldn’t transfer criminal skills.

“Take that, Orange,” Harley muttered as she packed up. “‘Our company thinks your skills are not applicable to this position.’, my foot.”

“It’s good to see you’re productive.”

Harley stilled at the deep voice behind her. Peeking over her shoulders, she rubbed her eyes as she spotted the Batman. “Wait, are you even allowed to come out at day? Do you even exist in the day?”

He didn’t dignify her questions with a response, instead holding out a letter. “For you?”

“You a mailman now? And I thought I was down on my luck.” Taking it, she looked at the front and almost dropped it. “Bruce Wayne? What does he—”

When she looked up, he was already gone. Puffing her cheeks, she shouted, “Why do you have worse manners than a villain!”

vii. A job

“Why’re you’re still visiting me?” Harley asked when she opened her door only to find Batman once again perched on her couch. Maybe she should call him Birdman. “Bored?”

“Think of it as post-care.” Another dry joke. He really did have a sense of humour, it was just hard to find.

She dropped her bag on the floor and removed her coat. Despite the commute from the small town to her office, she’d kept the temporary apartment. Few tech, nice place, and best of all, empty roofs for her to leap around without worrying about some do-gooder or villain noticing. “So?”

“Like the job?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” When he stared at her, she relented. “Fiinnee. It’s good enough. I mean, no one really wants to be a psychiatrist to make ads, but whatever.” Rubbing her chin, she added, “Though, maybe I should have just kidnapped Bruce Wayne when he interviewed me. He’s rich, a single ransom and I’m living the high life.”

“High life in jail, perhaps,” Batman added dryly.

She wasn’t sure if he meant it as a joke or a threat. Probably the latter. It was hard to tell with this guy. Brushing it off, she slowly stalked forward to him. “So, I was wondering…”

“No.” Point blank, without room for argument.

Harley bristled. “Hey! I didn’t even ask yet!”

Batman gave her a blank stare. “Hyenas are not pets.”

“They were my pets,” Harley mumbled, glowering at him. “My babies. I bet they miss me.” When he didn’t answer, she crowed, “I knew it! They do miss mama!”

“…I’ll consider visitation rights,” he muttered.

A start, perhaps. But Batman didn’t know exactly how persistent she was. Within the week, she’d have her babies.

#dc comics #batman #harley quinn #btas #cassandra cain #selina #secret santa #fanfic

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