#status on The Person i am melancholic over them but ill get over it

[elytrafemme]

sometimes i really do sit and think like. wow this truly is a universal experience. you know ?

[bookspined]

❝ that’s all history is after all: scar tissue. ❞

{ cis-man, he/him }  huh, who’s FROY GUTIERREZ? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually SCORPIUS MALFOY. he is a TWENTY-TWO year old PUREBLOOD wizard who is A HEALING APPRENTICE. he is known for being CAPTIOUS, RETICENT, FACETIOUS, DISMISSIVE, and DRAMATIC but also RESOURCEFUL, CONSCIENTIOUS, FERVENT, INNOVATIVE, and OBSERVANT, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song IN DREAMS BY BEN HOWARD. i hear he is aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on him. { merry, 24, gmt, she/they }

CHARACTER PARALLELS: Amy Santiago (B99), Claire Temple (Daredevil), Chidi Anagonye (The Good Place), Giles (Buffy TVS), Michelle Jones (MCU), Simon Tam (Firefly), Elizabeth Swan (PoTC), Spock (Star Trek), Clarke Griffin (The 100), Harley Keener (MCU), Gregory House (House) suggested honorable mention Gizmo (Gremlins) 

pinterest [blood, medical imagery tw]

wanted connection ideas

Full Name: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy Gender/Pronouns: Cis man | he/him Age: Twenty-three Birthdate: January 20th Parents: Draco Lucius Malfoy & Astoria Céline Malfoy (née Greengrass) [Not biologically Astoria’s due to her health, if you ever point this out he’ll flay your eyeballs] Siblings: N/A. Birth place: St. Mungo’s Hospital, England Height: 5’11” Weight: 56 kg Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic Bisexual Nationality: British Body Alterations/Marks: A ragged diamond shape scar at the base of his throat.

Blood Status: Pureblood Hogwarts House: Slytherin Wand Arm: Right Pet: His pet toad, Jarvis, recently passed away. Patronus: Arctic Fox Wand: 11 2/3 inches, Willow, Supple, Dragon Heartstring.

Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It has always been a proverb in my family that he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.

Personality Traits: Brilliance, innovative, empathetic, individuality, openness, social consciousness, inventive, logical, practical skills and self assertion; lack of attachment to people outside his circle and the “real world,” over-intellectualizing of the emotions, dismissive, anxious, crotchety tempered, facetious, rigid, prone to self-isolation, intellectual arrogance, and stubborn. Zodiac Sign: Aquarius/Capricorn Cusp Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Core values: Loyalty, Knowledge, Hope Four temperaments: Melancholic  

HOGWARTS HOUSE ANALYSIS

Slytherin Primary and a Burned Ravenclaw Secondary.

Slytherin Primaries prioritize their own selves and loved ones first. Slytherins don’t feel guilty or selfish about this– they feel righteous and moral. The most important thing is to look after your own. Abandoning or hurting one of your own is the worst thing you can do.

A Burned Ravenclaw Secondary might want to be skilled, curious, and prepared, but they feel like they are (or like people think they are) limited, clumsy, or inconstant. Gathering knowledge, hobbies, skills, or tools is the right way to achieve their goals, but Burned Ravenclaws know that’s not going to work within their capabilities. So they take other paths and use other tools– maybe a Gryffindor’s bluntness, a Slytherin’s flexibility, or a Hufflepuff’s slow and steady dedication.

You may have a Hufflepuff Secondary Model.

Hufflepuff is the House of grit, reliability, and determination, and Hufflepuffs use those values to help live, act, and succeed. If you model Hufflepuff Secondary, you also value these things and like to live by them. You like to be hardworking, dedicated, and consistent– but you wouldn’t feel guilty for abandoning those values in the service of other, higher priorities. If there’s another, easier way to get what you want– you’d take it. You think hard work provides valuable rewards– and those rewards are why you work. The work doesn’t have persuasive value in itself.

Despite his very best resistance he’s always been pretty empathetic in nature, he tries to rule his emotions as well as he can but fails more often than not. He was always one of those toddlers that if another kid started crying he’d be right along with them, not because he wanted attention but because he just couldn’t not. A bit of a crybaby, has researched how to magically seal up his tear ducts. Obviously managed to keep the family’s flair for the dramatic there as well. After a few years he leant into the sarcastic vague-snobbishness to hide the core of overwhelming anxiety.

Just managed to scrape through his schooling with nearly all top grades, this isn’t really due to him being a model student. He has always accrued information with a voracious appetite. Any knowledge he could find, even if most people would consider it entirely useless. His mind clicks into that place? You can’t keep him away. However, when there is not an immediate stir of interest on his approach to a topic he has to fight with himself tooth and nail to carry on. 

Predictably found exam season highly stressful, was never open about it but was quietly competitive and silently smug over his good grades. Could comprehend well above his reading level from an early age and would often look into experimental research and complicated magic but found himself lost in OWL level History of Magic when chapter upon chapter lay ahead of him about something that didn’t catch his interest. Some people he beat just to spite cause he hates them. It worked, whatever.

Tends toward introversion and finds himself tired sometimes quite easily by a large amount of social interaction. Witty and big-mouthed when he feels comfortable or is in the presence of those that embolden him and very likely to get flustered and snap at people when things are becoming a bit too much. Especially if he feels however unjustly that someone is blocking his escape. Has matured slightly in this since leaving school but it happens still, he’s just anxious. Quite fickle and can at the drop of a hat decide that he’s done with you for the day once his Give Me Attention Meter is maxed. Could be an absolute bloody brat when he felt like it but feels he has grown out of it, which he mostly has.

Always been very, very aware of many people’s distrust of him and his family, he used to sneer and play it up if anyone tried to bring up his dad and go on the offensive but was genuinely affected quite deeply by it all. In his early school years, despite his weakness to the cold, he constantly had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow so that his blank forearm was bared as a statement to just about everyone. I am not marked, I never will be. Now he’s older he has more of a handle on things and can be diplomatic in situations where people are clearly discomforted by his presence and his family history.

Even though the war culminated far earlier in this verse I imagine Scor would have had to have been relatively sheltered as a child if not for how emotionally sensitive and prone to periods of ill-health he was, it was definitely for his own safety. He is still the grandson of a known high-ranking Death Eater and that made him a media target and put one on his back for anyone else that might happen to be watching. 

Never produced much of a talent for offensive magic and wouldn’t resort to those methods unless he had literally no other choice, not a front line fighter by any means. His talents with strategy, potion-making, healing and his perseverance with defensive magic are what define him to the Order. While everyone kind of knows who he hung out with at school and who his friends are he is deliberately very mischievous with releasing rumours and misleading people. He deliberately keeps his cards very close to his chest so most people don’t know that he is aligned with anyone, he usually uses glamours or a scarf to conceal his identity if he has to. 

While he is knowledgeable about healing and anatomy, he is the WORST at taking care of himself. The literal embodiment of Healers make the worst patients, tends to forgo sleep and basic bodily needs if he’s locked into what he’s focusing on. Sometimes needs reminders to sleep and eat, like a child. 

Healing is the most satisfying part of his life and he would never give it up, he likes to experiment as he has a fascination with magic and muggle science and where they might intersect. A fucking nerd honestly. While he thinks he’s being fairly subtle about it a large part of his academic life has been doused in research into blood maledictions, for obvious reasons. He does his best not to flutter too obviously around his Mum. She is capable and ten times stronger than he is. 

Lives in a small studio flat in Diagon Alley that is mostly stacks of books and makeshift shelves.

the stillness of the world the moment you take the first step into fresh snow, cashmere and fine wool, the pearlescence of dreamless sleep draught, the scratch of a quill on parchment, faintly tremoring fingers, a shiver up your spine in a warm room, the exhilaration of a problem solved, a thunderous grey overcast sky, the bite of a stitching charm, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, petrichor, the burn in your eyes before a well of tears.

Always had somewhat fragile health tending toward sickly. Hands are never warm, his existence is an endless heat seeking mission. 

Went to one Slug Club meeting and used his time to verbally berate and or challenge most of the contacts in attendance, he was not asked to return. 

Potions Club, Charms Club, used to sometimes be willing to be dragged to Dueling Club but didn’t enjoy himself. 

Plays quite a bit of chess.

Bruises like a fucking peach and scars so easily.

Views quidditch as a good fly spoiled. 

Is a very skilled pianist almost entirely due to his Grandmother’s tutelage. 

Surprisingly great with children/toddlers/babies, no one including himself expected this, he mostly feared them beforehand. 

Bit of a mummy’s boy in that he practically GLOWS when people talk of Astoria’s achievements. 

When he has time off from healing he will have chipped black nail varnish on. 

Highly intelligent but rarely manages to match a pair of socks, chews his quills but no one else’s. 

While very eloquent and well spoken, he is markedly less posh than when he first arrived at Hogwarts.

When he isn’t prone to bouts of insomnia he can take a nap pretty much anywhere. He was once found in a tree after several frantic hours search.

[ CREDIT : CHARACTER PSD template by @karmahelper (defunct url) I tried to find a current social this week by messaging around but couldn’t find anything unfortunately. Forgot to copy this over from the google doc! ]

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 25- Trust Issues

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 3498

Warnings: Ivar being an ass.

24- Let Them Come

...

It was eerily quiet, not at all like the yelling from earlier.

As soon as they entered the hall, Ivar stomped over to his council chambers without a second glance at anyone, Bjorn following behind him. Hvitserk remained with his two brothers as a sort of peacemaker.

The rest stayed out in the main hall, keeping warm by the large fire pit in the center. There was an awkwardness that lingered about, and Artemis wanted to defuse it immediately.

"You may sit by the fire if you'd like. Get yourself and the children warm." She says to Torvi. The older woman nods, guiding her babbling children to sit upon the floor. Artemis sighs, turning to see Ubbe hesitating to say something, his lips parting and closing like a hungry fish.

"Artemis," He says finally, "It is good to see you."

"Likewise." She replies with a small smile, and he nods, the corner of his lips curving upward. Even after all this time he seems to have retained his gentle heart. Before she could say anything more he heads down the corridor and into the council chambers.

Heahmund remains out in the hall, leaving the brothers to themselves. He calls for the thralls to attend them, bringing out food and drink for the children and their mother.

"Ubbe is kindhearted." Torvi speaks against the silence, though she made no movements to indicate a start to a conversation. She keeps her hands up towards the fire to eliminate the chill, "I sometimes think it'll kill him."

"Ubbe is the kindest of all the Ragnarssons," Comments Artemis, "I hope that does not change." Torvi stays quiet for a few moments before deciding to speak again.

"Lagertha used to express her regret giving you to Ivar," Her voice was soft, almost melancholic, talking of her former queen, 'What were the odds that the girl would be a blacksmith?’ is what she would say," Artemis thought she heard amusement in her tone. "She thought you'd hinder a weakness in him." Artemis scoffs, shaking her head at such a ridiculous notion. Ivar was never weak.

"But you weren't Ivar's weakness. You only fueled him. It was indeed Lagertha's weakness." Torvi continued, rubbing her hands together to rid the chill. Artemis casts a glance at Heahmund and then Tordis before stepping close to Torvi and her children. She gently sits beside the older woman, keeping her eyes on the flames.

"I will not deny you nor your children the hearth," She says quietly, "But why are you here?" From the corner of her vision she sees Torvi turn towards her. The blonde clenches her jaw and swallows thickly before answering.

"Help."

"Help?" The children began to play with the growing kittens and the large mastiff, emitting giggles and little shouts of glee. So innocent.

"Our plan was to take Hedeby, but we had very few supporters and not enough men to take it."

"Did you know a shieldmaiden named Dabria?" Artemis asks suddenly, turning sharply to look at Torvi. The fair haired woman wrinkles her brow in confusion, eyebrows almost touching together as she searched her mind for any memory of the name.

"Dabria..." She repeats, before her eyes widen in sudden realization, "Yes, I knew her. She was a shieldmaiden serving Lagertha back when she was the Jarl in Hedeby. She fought against your husband in the war. I assumed she was killed. Why?" Artemis shrugs, noticing how both Heahmund and Tordis watched them carefully. Geirdis saunters to Heahmund with a horn of mead, and they both smile at each other. She'd inquire about that later.

"Ivar thinks perhaps Bjorn had sent her."

"So what, you're saying is that she's not dead?"

"She is now," Artemis shrugs, "She attacked me. Wanted to kill Ivar's Queen in return for killing hers." Torvi frowns.

"She had no allegiance to us." Artemis only hums in response. This was perhaps the first conversation she's had with Torvi as their other encounters were wordless, mostly due to their different stations and status. Torvi seemed calm, despite their reasons for being in Kattegat.

"And what did you hope to gain by coming here?" Torvi accepts mead from Aria, who then places a gentle touch on Artemis's shoulder before standing with Geirdis.

"As Bjorn says. An alliance."

"Ivar would never give it you."

"We know," Torvi says with a sigh, "But you are his Queen, and if anyone could get through to him, it would be you."

"You want me to convince Ivar into forming an alliance with you?" Artemis could have laughed, and she almost did, cracking an amused smile, one that Torvi did not appreciate.

"Look," The shieldmaiden says, "Ragnar was avenged. Lagertha had gotten her revenge on Aslaug and Ivar on Lagertha. This game is over. What we need is an alliance and an army to help us gain control of Hedeby. Ivar has the means, and you have his ear."

"And is that what they speak of in there?"

"I imagine."

"And what does Kattegat gain in return?" Artemis asks. She was not one for political negotiations, but it was a start.

"Protection against attack, men for war and raid if need be. Trade, of course. And," Torvi looks intently at her," A marriage between my children and your future heirs to strengthen the alliance." Artemis felt her cheeks burn at the word heirs. It seemed that the gods were postponing any heirs, no matter how heated their chambers had gotten with activity. The thought made her cheeks redden more, and she had to place a cold hand on her skin in order to focus on Torvi.

"How are we to trust you? How am I to trust you?"

"I can see why you wouldn't, but I take you for a smart woman," Torvi grabs hold of her youngest daughter who had been running round in circles with Heracles stomping behind her. The girl screeches in delight, falling into her mother's lap as she fought against her mother's kisses.

"My children need a home, Queen Artemis," The blonde says after a moment of coddling her child, "And although you wouldn't believe it, Ubbe has spoken fondly of you. Even Bjorn. They believe you have the power to sway Ivar's fickleness."

"Ivar wouldn't forgive any of you so easily. He wears his hurt like armor." Artemis says with a sigh.

"Your Christian ways give you a soft heart. Help him to forgive whatever transgressions he feels we have commited. Is it not the Christian way to forgive?"

"There are no Christians here besides Heahmund," Artemis mutters, jerking her head towards the bishop now in deep conversation with Geirdis.

"Oh?" Torvi blinks, "You are no longer Christian?"

"You sound surprised."

"Should I not be?" Torvi answered, "Last I saw you, you wore a cross on your neck. Everyone was surprised Ivar let you keep such a thing." Her blue eyes shift down to Artemis's collarbone, finding not a cross, but Mjölnir, hanging from black cord, "But...his fondness for you was no secret. You follow our ways for him."

"I have my own reasons why," Artemis says, "And I am still learning your ways." Torvi smiles at this.

"I made you out to be something useless in my head," She admits, and laughs when Artemis scoffed, "I always thought ill of you, though I had no real reason other than you being a Christian."

"You sound like Floki." Artemis mutters.

"Will you help us take Hedeby?" Torvi had expectant eyes twinkling like little sapphires. Artemis stares at her, not fully trusting her, but the plan sounded decent. Bjorn could rule over Hedeby in Denmark, while Ivar ruled in Norway, far enough away from each other to avoid personal conflict, but close enough to help each other as allies.

"I need to know I can trust you." She says firmly, "I do not wish to be betrayed or made a fool." Torvi nods in understanding, letting go of her daughter and reaching to pull off a silver ring from her finger. Taking it gently in her hands she holds it out to Artemis, the silver shinning brightly.

"This ring has been in my family for over 3 generations. It was my mother's, and her mother's before her," She motions for Artemis to hold out her hand, and when she does, Torvi places it firmly in the middle of her palm. "A symbol of trust and loyalty. I shall like to be friends one day, if the gods see fit. You are an extraordinary woman."

It was Torvi who Artemis regarded as an extraordinary woman. She was a fierce shieldmaiden and a mother. There was nothing extraordinary about a foreign blacksmith. Artemis stares down at the ring in her palm, admiring its beauty. She bites her lip, closing her hand into a tight fist.

"I swear upon the gods," Torvi finishes, putting her hands over Artemis's fist.

"I accept your oath, Shieldmaiden," She says firmly, "I will bring it to the King's attention."

Torvi smiles brightly, and that alone made Artemis's mood lift.

...

"No."

"But-"

"No, I do not wish to discuss it any further." Ivar grunts out, already annoyed at the stubborn look Artemis was producing.

"Ivar, I have the right to speak."

"Yes, my love, you do, but not on this matter." He rolls over onto his stomach, one eye peeping at his wife putting on her nightgown, quite angrily if possible.

"You're stubborn." She mumbles loud enough for him to hear.

"You think this is the type of talk to be had after sex?" His voice is muffled from shoving his face into a pillow. Artemis's eyes lingered on his bare back, noting how his skin glistened in the candle light. His muscles were lean and tight, and not what she should be thinking about at the moment.

"I think it's a good start, yes." There was a smile in her voice, Ivar could detect it.

"No."

"Ivar." She whined, moving away from the window and jumping upon the bed, her fingers already gravitating to touch the tight lines of his back.

"Artemis, do you intend to torment me as much as my brothers? Come, lay beside me." He lifts an arm up, still laying on his stomach, but turns his head slightly to pop open an eye, using it to convince her. It was enough. She sighs, snuggling in under his arm. She turned her head to gaze at his tired features, the one eye already drooping in the tell tale sign that sleep would soon evade him.

"My love," She says softly to him. He frowns, though his eyes still remained shut, "Will you not at least negotiate?"

"Stop. You sound like Hvitserk," He whines, "He is the last thing I want to think about in these moments."

"Your brother is smart."

"He is a fool. Nostalgia eats away at him."

"He misses his family," Artemis frowns, "I can relate."

"I'm sure you are not related to any traitors as I am."

"Well, what if it was your mother who had killed Lagertha, and Bjorn were to take revenge on her? Would you not have defended your mother?"

"That is not what happened." Was his simple reply. Artemis rolls her eyes.

"But what if?" Ivar remains quiet, feigning sleep, and doing a very bad job of it. His lashes flutter slightly until finally he peeks up at her. She was frowning and he sighs.

"What would you have me do, hmm? This isn't a simple matter. This is about power, Artemis. I will not risk being made a fool nor betrayed over a failing town."

"A failing town that could rise into prominence with our help! Hedeby has some advantages, does it not?"

"Mmm, I don't care," He groans out, frustrated, "How do you know so much about Hedeby all of a sudden?"

"I talk to the people, and the people talk to me."

"Well, don’t ." Ivar says stubbornly now rolling on his back, as if his missing touch would keep her quiet. He stares up at the slanted roof of their chambers in silent thought before speaking.

"I did not marry you for any political reasons, nor did I marry you for the supposed strategies of politics you think you possess. I married you because you have a pretty face and look lovely as a Queen. You are just a blacksmith, not a dignitary." It was quiet for a few moments, and Ivar knew the wheels were turning in her head, but he did not bother to turn towards her.

She says nothing still, quietly getting up and wrapping herself in her furs before leaving their chambers in silence.

...

"Where's your shieldmaiden? You shouldn't be out here on your own, it's dangerous." Artemis scoffs, turning to look over her shoulder. Bjorn put his hood over his head to block the cold, though he made no movement to approach until she allowed him too. She jerks her head so that he may come closer.

"Dangerous? You are already here, that is the only danger I need to be worried about." He chuckles, smiling as he leaned against an ancient tree and crossed his arms. They were near the entrance of the Great Hall, which is probably why Artemis decided it was fine to be alone. He takes note of a hammer hanging on her side from a belt around her waist. Ahh. That was why.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Artemis."

"I would hope not, I'm trying to help you despite our history." She replies. She doesn't turn round to look at him, her focus taken up entirely by the full moon that shone over Kattegat.

"So you'll help us?" She could hear the snow crunching under Bjorn's boots as he goes to face her, "You've spoken to Ivar then?"

"I've tried..." Artemis sighs, tightening her cloak, "But he won't have it. He'd rather insult me." She could taste the bitterness of the words on her tongue.

"My little brother has a way with words. That should not have escaped you." Bjorn says just as bitterly. She sighs again, placing a cold hand on her brow at the oncoming headache. She sniffled, and a few tears escaped her eyes but she quickly wiped them away, not daring to cry in front of Bjorn. If he noticed then he did well not to mention it.

"I am well aware of Ivar's attitude," She says before clearing her throat, changing the topic, "How is the cabin I had prepared for you all? I hope you are comfortable." Bjorn smiles. She was acting every bit a queen.

"It is quite comfortable despite all the guards. We thank you. I came hoping to speak with Ivar again, but-"

"Try your luck tomorrow, he will not hear you now."

"Or ever," Bjorn mutters, and Artemis cracks a smile.

"I...am sorry about your mother," She says to him, "I seemed to have been involved in her death." The words came out awkwardly as she realized how horrible the situation was. He makes a noise before replying.

"I saw you shoot the arrow," He says, and he almost smiled at the look of horror on her face, "I heard you are quite impressive with a bow," His eyes shifts to the weapon on her waist, "And skilled with a hammer, of course,"

"Bjorn..."

"It was fated by the gods," He interrupts, though he swallows thickly, "Let us speak of it no more." Artemis eyes him wearily, but nods.

"Why don't you come and visit the cabin? I'm sure you're tired of the bishops company." He offers.

"I don't think that's wise, Ivar-"

"Hvitserk is already there. You can bring the shieldmaiden if you'd like." Artemis ponders for a moment. Perhaps it wasn't that bad of a suggestion, and she really didn't want to be under the same roof as Ivar anyway.

Let him sleep alone for the while.

...

"Ivar sent scouts searching out for weeks," Artemis says. She sat close to the fire, Heracles laying beside her. In her hands was a warm cup of mulled wine she had brought for them, "Where did you go?"

"Perhaps it isn't wise to reveal such information, in case we need it again.” Mutters Torvi beside her, gently petting Heracles's wrinkly head.

"Does he follow you everywhere?" Ubbe asks, eyes glued to the giant beast. He's never seen a dog of such build before.

"Basically," Hvitserk answers for her, "He killed Dabria."

"Dabria?" Bjorn perks up at the name, stepping over to him, "My mother's shieldmaiden? I thought her dead."

"And we thought you might have sent her. She attacked me." Artemis replies, turning her gaze to him, "There are those who still support your mother even in death. That is why Ivar doesn't trust you."

"Because he thinks we rally supporters." Ubbe finishes with a sigh, sitting beside Torvi and placing an arm about her shoulders. Both Hvitserk and Artemis notice this but say nothing of it.

"It is a rational thought, I suppose, even for Ivar." Bjorn says, rubbing the stubble of his shaved yellow hair.

"Too much has happened between all of you for Ivar to willingly offer assistance," Artemis says, "He would need something to prove your loyalty. All of you."

"Like what?" Asks Torvi.

"I've been studying with Headmund." Artemis begins, the tone in her voice has everyone on edge.

"And what has the bishop been teaching you?" Hvitserk asks with narrowed eyes. He was civil with Heahmund, but did not trust him as fully as Ivar did.

"The laws of governing in Wessex."

"You don't mean to rule Kattegat like those foolish kings of England?" Bjorn snorts with a shake of his head, "Ivar would never allow it."

"No, no, nothing of the sort," She says quickly, watching everyone grow weary, "It is only to understand their ways for any plans in the future. Ivar still controls York, meaning we will encounter the King at one point."

"You clever girl," Hvitserk grins, moving from the table to ruffle her hair like a child, "You have the makings of a queen." She slaps his hands away, producing a smile, but it falters, remembering Ivar's words.

"At least you think so." She says quietly.

"So what do their politics teach you?" Ubbe asks.

"You won't like it," She answers, turning to look at both Torvi and Bjorn before continuing, "When kings and noblemen demand loyalty to be proven from an enemy, a ward is issued...like a hostage."

"What are you proposing?" Torvi demands, losing interest immediately in the mastiff. Artemis stays quiet for a moment, her eyes shifting between Bjorn and Torvi again before landing on their youngest daughter, sleeping soundly beside her brother. Everyone's eyes follow hers.

"No, no, I forbid it!" Torvi yells, though low enough to not wake the children.

"You mean to make Asa a hostage?" Bjorn demands, crossing his arms. He too was angry, though he did better to control his anger.

"How can you propose such a thing?" Hvitserk shakes his head, "To take a child from their mother?"

"You had no problem taking me from my father," Artemis snaps, her eyes flickering over all of them as they fell silent at her word. "Just listen to my reasoning." She commands, her voice more stern than ever before. Ubbe reaches over to place a hand on her shoulder in comfort. Even after all this he wished to show her kindness.

"We're listening," He says, sighing when Torvi shrugs his arm off her shoulders.

"If Ivar were to take Asa as a ward, she would be under my care. She will be safe with me. Unfortunately, it is the only other way I can think of, and I believe there is a chance Ivar would agree to it."

"Holding her hostage would be holding us hostage. He'd have us by the throats." Comments Bjorn, turning to walk to the farthest corner of the cabin.

"Any word of disloyalty and betrayal, any wrong move, and you risk her life." Artemis says, lowering her eyes in shame. It was not something she wished to propose, but it was the only option she could see succeeding.

Suddenly there was a pounding on the door, and Torvi rushed to the children in case they woke in fear.

"My Queen, it is the King and his men." Tordis says hastily.

"It was a matter of time before he came for you," Bjorn says, "Go, we will discuss this further in the morning." Artemis stands with a sigh, Heracles already jumping to his feet, his eyes glued to the door. He recognized the sounds of Ivar's crutch and braces, and it made his tail wag in excitement.

"Will you come, Hvitserk?" She asks him, and he nods, downing his wine before making any movements. He goes to hug his brothers and Torvi, and Artemis nods her farewell.

"Have a goodnight, Queen Artemis." She hears Bjorn say before opening the door.

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @leilabeaux @jzr201 @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @rastakami23 @ostra814 @zumzum96

[wiltdflowers]

(sophie skelton, cis female, sheher, twenty-five) ** ♔ announcing GENEVIEVE WINDSOR,  the PRINCESS OF ENGLAND ! in a recent portrait they seem to resemble SOPHIE SKELTON. it is a miracle that SHE survived the last five years, considering they are AFFABLE, CYNICAL, and PHILOPHOBIC. i hope the plague has not changed them. they are FOR working together with the other kingdoms 

hello all ! i’m taylor or tay whichever works, your resident coffee addict and lover of high fantasy. below you’ll find genevieve’s intro who is a character i played briefly before and i love her dearly. if you’d like to plot with her feel free to hit me up on discord at emotional support cowboy#2758 ! there’s definitely more to come i’m just lazy !

full stats page here !

trigger warnings : a lot of talk about religion , illness , grief and self doubt / hints of mental illness . fair warning that i am personally not religious so i cannot vouch for a ton of accuracy to catholicism but am doing my best given the information i have from childhood sunday school and the time period in question .

genevieve is the second youngest windsor but often she feels like the situation is far different . their family is complicated and now missing two members which was a hard hit for gen . she likes to think she was close with her sisters and loved them dearly but their deaths had a significant negative impact on her .

the plague was a tragedy and part of gen believes that her family specifically had ensited something terrible and were being punished by god . she never became sick herself but watched her family deteriorate before her eyes and that is not something she can simply unsee . 

gen was always unrealistic to the standards put upon her as a child . she lived with her head in the clouds and dreamed of independence . most of her youth was based around education and it was always something she had been fond of . she knows it is not needed for a person of her status but it is something she has always sought out and found comfort in . 

she has never been much of an optimist but in no way in gen any less friendly or sweet in nature , she has just become groomed by society to be something that she ( and probably the rest of her family know she is not ) from a young age she understood that growing up meant marriage to a man she would more than likely not know and ruling a kingdom or serving an alliance . like many before her , and many after , she’d be another pawn in a complicated game of chess but she always wanted more .

she has a slight denial that love actually exists , never having experienced it herself . it’s not that she believes it could never happen because if it did , it would and a part of her wants it but she understands how rare that was . 

her distaste for marriage stems in a loss of freedom and independence , one that she does not really have to begin with and is grasping onto whatever would remain left of it before being shipped off without a second thought . 

she is a capricorn without a doubt . ambitious , realistic , persistent . she is also closed off and while not dishonest does withhold information if needed . she also has a difficult time processing vulnerable or negative emotions around many people because she understands in her position as a royal she is not supposed to be less than perfect . it was a harsh expectation growing up and she’d give anything to feel like a kid again . 

gen is also well known for boring suitors to sleep , often making herself seem terribly dull to get them to leave her the fuck alone . she has been avoiding getting married for quite some time but she knows that clock is running out and it really is not in her favor . 

she is for the kingdoms remaining peaceful as she is not one to particularly agree in war , however she is aware that she cannot hold those opinions and watch many suffer / die . it is a difficult position to be in because occasionally gen does think with her own self interest before a sense of selflessness shoves over and takes main priority . 

gen is far from naive but she does not know everything and there is no way for her too . realistically she is aware despite her love and desire for independence she is not in a time for it so she is more likely to choose to conform not bull headed enough to put up a big enough fight against it . she also fears being alone forever , she could never admit it but it scares her that she’ll die alone and unloved . 

she is a social butterfly due to status but would rather keep to herself really . 

personality wise she is everything a family like hers would probably not want but physically she is . she’s tall and beautiful and most of all healthy . the only damage the plague had upon her was a mental one . 

character inspirations : jo march ( little women ) amy march ( little women : from this specific scene for the most part ) eleanor crain ( haunting of hill house ) donna troy ( titans / dc ) persephone ( greek mythos ) hermione granger ( harry potter ) keyleth ( critical role )

tropes : bookworm , fatal flaw , born lucky , defrosted ice queen , head turning beauty , trauma conga line , letting her hair down , raised catholic .

hogwarts house : hufflepuff .

temperament : melancholic . 

alignment : neutral good .

mbti : infj - t ( advocate ) .

[floralbrain]

Notes from a Transgender Man

My birth name is Vicky, but I am most proud of myself that I had had the boldness to step up against my fears, and forge my path to the Leo I had always been, but I have to admit to you that it had been a very difficult and winding road. All my life I had been told that I have to wear dresses, pinky bow ribbons. I had been told that I have to lengthen my hair, that I have to sit with my legs folded, that I have to soften my tone of voice, that I have to work on presenting myself femininely. All my life I had felt like there was something tremendously wrong with the way I am. One day, I was at the amusement park with my parents, and there was a sandy playground where a group of boys were working together on building a gigantic castle. I heard something inside of me telling me to join them, but I was highly reluctant, afraid, and anxious. Of course, I fixed a long gaze at them and was on the verge of tears. What frightened me was the reaction of my parents when they would find out I was playing with the boys. Hours at the park had passed, people were coming in and out, and I was the only isolated, miserable kid there with nothing to do but staring and longing to fit in. Yes, I had an intense feeling and longing to fit in, but I just couldn’t. When I hit 6 years old, I knew there was something utterly different about me, but I just didn’t know what. I remember a very atrocious incident I had to experiment with suicidal thoughts at that age. On a gloomy Sunday evening, I was in my room, the lights were off, and the curtains were shut, so the room was very dark. I was listening to some depressing classical music until a thought hit my mind. Suddenly, I turned off the music, went to the kitchen, and bought a cutting knife to my mother from there and commanded her to kill me. Yes! I was that much depressed that I wanted to end my life for good. My mother stood still like a motionless electrical pole in awe and didn’t say a word. Unfortunately, that is how most of my childhood was spent – in depression, anxiety, and feeling so alienated that sometimes I had a strong desire within me to take my life. My schooling life was far worse than anything else in the world. I was the source of fun to many, and it was all due to my appearance. I was constantly being targeted merely for looking different. People at school would often ask me if I am a boy or a girl, and every time they would ask me this question, a shiver of terror would run down my spine, my heart would start pounding, I’d start trembling and sweating. I had never known at the time how much gender dysphoria could generate severe symptoms of mental illness. My parents, of course, were still not so understanding of what ailed me, and I was the victim of an ignorant, and coarse-minded environment where middle-eastern tradition and a barbarous common mindset were the most prevalent and dominant amongst us. My dear readers, do you know how much I am suffering? I know you are not dysphoric. I know that life has given you the most substantial privileges that I was never, and never will be endowed with. In my eyes, and as self-absorbed as it sounds, I think that the pain, self-loathing that I bear within me is immeasurable. I don’t think that you have ever been afraid to look at yourselves in the mirror, and you never will be. I don’t think you have ever been frightened by the thought that someday you will grow a chest. I also don’t think that you have any problems. You all are a bunch of comfortable people, and I yearn for the day to avenge myself on you all. Whenever I am taking my daily stroll in the neighborhood, and I look at the pedestrians, the feeling of spitefulness arises inside of me. I just feel sorry for you all. On the other hand, I feel sorry for myself. Why am I like this? Why have I come into this world as a transgender man? What am I here for? Why do I exist? Yes, a large amount of questions visits my tenebrous mind. The problem with me is that I am an overthinker added to the fact that I am transgender, which makes me even more of an overthinker. I overthink what is happening, what had happened in my past life, and what would happen in the future. You see, my dear readers, I had endured so much that I have a countless number of stories to tell you. I had gone through a lot of hardships, a lot of suffering, which compelled me to be strong. I believe that the fact that I am transgender had played a great role into my eagerness toward over philosophizing life in general, and so much indulged into analysis and critical thinking. I am the kind of individual who rejects to conform, to abide and obey, to follow the flock of sheep. Although I am 21 years of age, still young, and pre-assumed that I am naïve, but trust me, I use my free time to educate myself, to widen my life perspectives, to broaden my knowledge. I am still in the stage of building for myself a foundation, so I can hopefully pluck the fruit from the tree. I am sorry for babbling this much. I know all I do is speak nonsense. I over-speak, but I am just in love with my pen. I love speaking of myself to myself. I know I have bombarded you with my pessimistic spirit, but just imagine being in my shoes. I have been deceived by puberty. Do you know how ugly that is? I was not expecting this. I was never planning for this. I had always been a man, had always been Leo, but the thing is that my body does not match with Leo. It’s as simple as that. My body is my greatest imprisonment, and it’s killing me. I want to move on to something personal, something very personal, which is my chest. I want to tell you all of a little story that occurred to me when I was very little. So, when I was 5 years old, my uncle was at our place. Shower time had arrived, and Mother told my uncle to assist me with my bath. While he was rinsing me, he told me that one day my chest is going to grow bigger. I was in complete shock, and the moment after he had told me this I had erupted into hysterical cries. I remember very well that my anxiety had intensified to the point where I started to sham sickness in order to prevent going to school. I had pretended to be ill for three months, and stayed home because I didn’t want to be seen by anybody. When I would wait for the school bus, anxiety attacks would hit me hard, and I’d just fold my hands across my chest because I didn’t like the thought that one day it would never be flat as it used to be. I am sorry I know I nag too much, but that is the consequence of living almost my entire life with gender dysphoria. One day, it was recess time at school, and I had overheard from a group of pupils that a girl named Liza had joined the school as a freshman. They were all gossiping about her, and speaking hurtful things about her, so because of that I had taken the decision to speak to her and get to know her. She seemed very miserable, and unable to interact with others. She was a very timid girl, with blonde, silky hair. She was thin and her hips were beautifully curved that I had been astounded by her beauty. I have to admit she was a natural beauty. She had shinning green-colored eyes with extremely soft, pale skin. Her face was very well-formed that I wasn’t startled at the rivalry and hostility other people exhibited towards her. They were just envious of her looks, even of her status. I also heard of her parents’ high-social status and of her extravagant wealth. In the course of getting to know her, she seemed very melancholic, and in a bad state. “Hi,” I said in an almost low-pitched voice. To be truthful, I was intimidated by her charisma. “Hello,” she replied back in a very courteous, and respectful tone. “What is your name?” “Liza,” she responded. By the moment she said “Liza”, I felt some pain in my stomach. I was anxious, and my dysphoria overcame me. I preferred not to share my name, so silence took over for a couple of minutes. “You see, my dear Liza, I have overheard a lot of gossiping about you.” She flushed crimson and turned her face aside. “I didn’t mean to,” “It’s all right,” she said innocently. She fixed a steady gaze at me afterwards, and my heart started racing. I thought to myself, “What if she is staring because of her uncertainty of my gender?”

After a short and common discourse, we had together, she had consented to see me at a nearby public park at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. My day at school had finally passed, and I was readying myself to go out. I was in such a haste, but I did not forget to wear my binder. I took the nearest, most discreet road because I did not wish to be seen.

When I had finally arrived, the park was deserted. A fountain was located in the middle where its water was sprouting all over. There were approximately ten flower beds of poppies in the entire garden, a lot of cedar trees implanted, plus the ground was grassy. It was nearly getting dusk, the atmosphere was getting darker, and the sky was heavily clouded. I looked into the distance, and I saw a figure. I knew for sure that it was Liza, and I was right. We seated ourselves on a wooden bench with complete silence at first, then a thought popped into my mind, “I mean, you have everything. You’re a cisgender woman of a distinctive social class with astounding beauty, what could be troubling you? What are you so depressed looking?” I found Liza to be staring at me, which infuriated me on the one hand, because I thought she was inspecting me, inspecting my sex, but she wasn’t. When I asked her of the reason of her long stares, she responded that there is something mysteriously ambiguous about me. “Do you I know you from somewhere? You look pretty familiar,” she said to me as I was startled at her words. “I feel like I have known you for a very long time, but in the mean time I have never met you before,” said she with a confident air, seeming so sure of her statement. “Do you believe in past lives?” she asked. “No, I am a very skeptical individual,” I said in wonder. “I have a strong feeling within that I have known you and met you before.” “Are you trying to tell me that you have known me in a past life, for example?” “Yes.” “That’s odd. I don’t believe in these things anyway.” “Tell me,” said she, “what is your name?” When she asked, I felt like jumping off a clip or the top of a building. “Leo.” “What an elegant name you have.” “Y-Yes…”

“Tell me something about you, my dear Leo,” she said to me. Suddenly, I had thought to myself that I should open up my heart to her, and tell her everything. She seemed highly intelligent, well mannered, polite, and in comfort with my company. What usually worried me was if I had ever wanted to speak to people that they would find my company to be very dull, and uninteresting, but she seemed to take a great interest with that and at ease with me. “How can I trust her?” In order to distract her, I reached my hands to my pockets and took out a box of cigarettes and a red lighter. “Would you like to join me and smoke?” “Sure, if it suits you, of course.” The both of us shared a cigarette together, and I was not feeling very well. I wanted simply to just leave, as my gender dysphoria was taking the best of me. Finally, I had the courage to stand up and make a speech to her. Yes, I had been wanting to elucidate to her what lies behind Leo, so as I stood up, she looked at me with curiosity, but didn’t say a word. “You see, my Liza, I am a man. I don’t really care what you might be thinking to yourself about me, or about my appearance, but I am not the one to blame. It is all because of this deceiving puberty that I have went through, and because of my stupid parents. I have to avow, that the life of a man like me is not very easy. I have come a long way. I know and I can see that you are looking at me in perplexity, confused, but that doesn’t surprise me. I declare to you that I am a man, and whether you assent or dissent that does not make me any less of a man. Have you never heard of a man with a grown chest? Yes, dear Liza, they are existent, and they have been existent amongst us ever since the beginning of mankind. These men, which I am speaking of just now, are deemed deluded and mentally ill, but, let me tell you that it’s all a misunderstanding. You all misunderstand what men like us are all about. You see, a penis does not make you a man or its lack doesn’t make you any less of a man. Penises are not a determinant factor of my masculinity, and never will be. You may have heard many popular opinions about men like me, that I am a prostitute, or a sex worker. The bottom line is that – yes – I am a transgender man, and no, I am not a prostitute. Trans people of color, trans people of social class, trans people belonging to a barbaric culture have recourse to sex as work, and it is because they are left off without any life resources, and it’s all mainly because their gender identity does not match their physical sex. You see, my dear Liza, there are two kinds of hermaphroditism, which are psychical and physical. I happen to be psychically a hermaphrodite. My brain structure resembles exactly the structure of a cisgender, biological man. And these are facts proven scientifically. When science tells you that twice two makes four, you have to take it as it is and not to bang your head against the wall as most pious people do just for the sake of religious morality. Transgenderism is existent amongst the lower animals, not just the higher. It is prevalent in nature, just like homosexuals and bisexuals. The differentiation between the lower animal and the rational animal is that the lower animal is privileged because he is deprived of his rational faculty, therefore, he leads his life plainly, simply, and purely. Whereas the rational animal has hardened life on himself, he has repressed his instincts just for the sake of declaring himself as the highest of all species, that he has surpassed the lower animals through religion and language. He thinks just because he is a biped, and utters from his mouth hole nonsense that he has to be the work of something grandiose, and that something he calls it God. I apologise for rambling this much, but I needed to address these things to you.” During my speech, Liza was listening attentively to my words, but she was trembling heavily. “What is wrong?” I asked. “It’s n-nothing. I just…I don’t know what to say,” she put her head in her lap, and started sobbing. Silence broke in afterwards. Obviously, Liza wanted to say something. I could tell from her lips. “What is it?” I asked morosely. “My father…I mean, my mother…She…She’s transgender herself. I also think that she’s a trans lesbian woman.” The minute she said this I stood there in amazement, unable to utter a single word in addition. “I loved your speech. I love everything about you already,” said she, “but now it is time for me to give a small speech,” she turned to my side and finally made eye contact with me. “My dear Leo, I understood everything you have just told me about yourself. I respect you and I respect your gender identity. My mother, she was assigned biologically male at birth, but she identifies as a woman…I don’t want to talk about this,” she said in a morose manner.

“What is wrong? You can tell me anything you want, I am here,” said I, still stunned by what she had just told me about her mother. I had always thought that I was the only transgendered person in this community. I was honored to get to know somebody from the older generation as transgender.

“My mother – to our knowledge – she was my father, but she turned out to be a transgender woman. I knew it. I knew it all along! It’s not that I have a problem with it, it’s because my parents are divorced, and it hurts. That doesn’t need an explanation for you, as you are already aware of the reason of their divorce.” “I’m sorry to hear,” I said. In truth, I didn’t know what to say. I was speechless. She had begun with her sobs again. I started to console her, telling her that it’s all going to be all right, and even if it doesn’t, it’ ok because suffering is part of the human condition. I had sent out to her my most sincere apologies and gave her a hug, which was odd, because she was still a complete stranger to me. After long hours of conversating, Liza had notified me that it was getting late in the evening. “I need to go,” she whispered coldly. I could really tell that after my last speech on transgenderism, Liza was irritated. It was obvious why. She didn’t want to be reminded of her parents’ divorce. It seemed that she admired her trans mother, respected and loved her so much that she could not that she was taken away from her. Yes, she told me that her biological mother had separated her from her beloved mother, how much she missed her, how much she felt incomplete without her. “Will I see you tomorrow?” “My dear Leo, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for making my day brighter, even if, at the same time, you made it kind of dark. I loved her. I loved my mother so much, regardless of her gender identity and her sex. Look, I don’t want to vex you, but I prefer some time alone. I won’t be attending the school for the upcoming days.” I nodded my head in assent, and didn’t say a word. She finally had risen up and left. After this day had passed, I hadn’t seen Liza since. It is true that I only got to know Liza for a day, but she had played a big role into my path to heal. Everything about her enchanted me, she was a magical being to me. She was indirectly my source of courage to rise up against societal norms, my parents, my stupid environment and to finally affirm my gender identity through sex reassignment surgery, top surgery, and hormone replacement therapy. Although I hadn’t seen her since, but her story pushed me forward. After graduating high school – Please note that graduation was very hard on me because of my dysphoria – I had gotten a scholarship to pursue my studies abroad. I decided that I should get into gender studies, now that I am finally able to be myself, and advocate for people like me. Today, I am strong man, a proud man, the happier I have ever been in my life. I want to reach out to the transgender men and women out there throughout my writings, and tell them not to let their gender/body dysphoria make them feel less of a man or woman. You all have the right to heal. I am here for you. You aren’t alone in this world. My heart and thoughts are with you.