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mutfruit-salad · 15 days

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Long post ahead. My full thoughts on the fallout series. TW for references to Sexual Assault, racism, antisemitism. It's not particularly in depth here- but I do reference specific acts of violence done in the show.

I've had people insinuate I'm only mad because I'm a New Vegas fan, because I think they retconned the lore. I'm not upset at the fallout show for its dubious lore additions and reworks. I think they're quite bad in places, but they're by far the least of the show's problems.

This isn't a case of a New Vegas fan mad they messed with my game in a way I didn't like.

Please refer to literally any of my posts pointing out the racism and antisemitism in the show. They brand a black man in episode 1. They named the enclave scientist after a real life holocaust survivor and then spent most of the show lobbing around his decapitated head like a volleyball.

But I'd like to consider other elements of the show. View it as a whole.

Consider the inherent misogyny of having a female main character whose entire character arc is just her getting abused for 8 episodes. How the trajectory of her character revolves around not giving up on the humanity of the man who waterboarded her and sold her to organ harvesters. A female main character who is raped in the first episode and watches her entire community get brutalized and who comes out of it completely unphased- still as plucky as ever- just worried about her dad.

Consider the horror of having a black woman be the one to drop the bombs. Consider the horror of her leading a council of elites who have infiltrated and taken over the US government. Consider the ways this group is presented and shown, the ways every fault of the US government in the series is offloaded onto a shadowy group of elites.

Consider how the capitalist critique of the show only goes so far as saying there's a secret organization of bad people who must be purged. The antisemitism and conspiratorial nonsense inherent to that premise.

Consider the rampant classism with the show's depiction of Wastelanders as either animalistic monsters or too stupid to live.

Consider the ways the show punishes nearly every act of kindness- the ways the world rewards might-makes-right authoritarians.

Consider the way the NCR collapsed offscreen because a disgruntled husband was mad his wife left him, and how after it collapsed the army immediately became raiders and the survivors became blood drinking cultists. Don't give me "it's just shady sands that collapsed" because the NCR was a developed nation. If one of their cities blew up, they would send aid. They would assist.

Consider the way the show constantly uses sex crimes as comedy and horror- the incest jokes and the "chicken fucker" bit, and the Vault 4 monster impregnation and the main character's rape in the first episode.

Consider the ableism of the treatment of ghouls, how every ghoul is now a ticking time bomb, how Lucy helps free a small dementia-riddled old ghoul woman from a medical torture facility and then is immediately punished with the woman trying to inexplicably murder her. Thaddeus openly talks about ghoul exterminationism and it's never a joke or a bit- he just says it and nobody reacts or says anything.

Consider the way the Vault 33 town councillors use real world progressive talking points about restorative justice and prison abolition and multiculturalism- meanwhile Norm advocates for the death penalty and a closed society. How Norm is shown as good and righteous and the vault dwellers range from deluded to damningly stupid- how the mere concept of restorative justice is made a farce because the NCR raiders are screaming about eating organs and murdering people 24/7.

Consider the way they removed the Boneyard, and the Followers of the Apocalypse by extension. In New Vegas we heard about the Followers operating a university in LA. It's gone now. Not destroyed by bombs- but written out of existence because the Boneyard never existed, and Shady Sands is in its place. Consider what that says about this world- that the group most dedicated to peace and rebuilding has been surgically excised from the narrative- destroyed more wholly than even the NCR- written out of existence entirely.

This is the single most reactionary fallout story that has been produced. By a fucking country mile.

Whatever lore critiques there are should be secondary. The storytelling is reactionary in ways I straight up have not seen from other Bethesda entries in the series. It is cruel to a fault, and depicts a world that is incapable of healing or growing- where the best you can do is hold onto that small spark of goodness while every bit of the society around you tries to murder it out of you. This isn't a story about rebuilding, or about postwar politics, or about society- it's about dueling warlords and might makes right attitudes and grimdark views of the nature of humanity. It's fallout in aesthetics alone- and it's perhaps the most hateful thing I've seen come out of this series outside of the actual neonazis in the fanbase.

Whatever hope there is in Moldaver's final moments looking out over the glittering ruins of LA is undercut by the knowledge of what came before. What was destroyed. And it's undercut by the Brotherhood's totalitarian control. It's not hopeful, it's the bare minimum of survival. It's all the progress of the postwar world, 200 years of humanity and history, reduced to just barely getting the lights back on.

In the intro to fallout 1, "War Never Changes" is used as thematic glue. It ties together two concepts- past wars- and present capitalism and militarism.

Ron Perlman describes the Roman Empire, the Spanish conquests of the Americas, and the Nazi regime- and then he says "war never changes" and uses it to connect those past atrocities to the modern world of the setting- to the war that ended everything. The phrase existed to link the resource wars and their ensuing fallout to all the crimes of empire prior. War never changes wasn't a hard and fast rule of human nature- it was a specific condemnation of America.

Lonesome Road even ends with the phrase refuted. War Never Changes. But men do, through the roads they walk. There is hope. That's what this series has always been about. The Master died at the end of fallout 1 and said "leave while you still have hope."

In this show, the black woman Vault Tec exec who ends the world says the phrase. It's stripped of all meaning. Just a generic throwback because it's a famous phrase in the series' history. It's not a condemnation of America, it's a celebratory thing. Vault Tec toasting to the end of the world.

What a thing to see this series become. What a thing to see celebrated.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fallout show #this has gotten more feedback then I was expecting #and i'm glad this is resonating with some folks #turned off reblogs cuz i cant actually deal with the response this has been getting at this point 👍

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quotidian-oblivion · 9 days

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For the Merlin asks

8, 11, 13!

Heyoo!!!

8. One off character you wish had a bigger part.

11. Random Knights Headcanon.

13. Random Servant Headcanon.

Freya. She's not exactly one-off but I so so desperately wish she played a bigger part.

Because, c'mon. SHE'S THE DAMN LADY OF THE LAKE.

Magic beautiful water cat woman who guards the gates to death.

She deserves more than just being a mysterious hand who held and caught a sword. And Merlin deserved to have a secret water wife (i also love Freylin <33). Just think of the many possibilities and plots that could have happened. Just- just imagine. This is why i'm depressed.

11:

I told this to @tireddruid in conversation once and put it in one of my fics too, but I believe that after the Lamia incident, Gwaine woke up in the middle of the night after being recovered from what the Lamia did to him and then realized what he had done to Merlin. So he immediately went to Merlin's hut in the village they were staying in and just. starting crying. Silently and hard, beside Merlin's bed, full of remorse because damn it Gwaine's whole concept was that nobility came from the heart, not by blood. And what he did under the Lamia's spell wasn't noble at all.

Besides that, Merlin was his friend. The first person who took him to his home - gave up his own bed - to look after him while he was heavily drunk and barely capable of standing without support and didn't resent or rob him after that. Merlin was kind, caring, loyal and never - never - deserving of that kind of treatment or close to it. He was his first friend. He was why he became a knight. He was why Gwaine risked his neck to protect a noble and a royal. He was why Gwaine enteres the lands of hell. He was why Gwaine jumped into a battle against an undead army. Simply because Merlin asked. Simply because Merlin cared for him without cost when no one else did and wanted him to stay.

Who would want to lose a treasure of a friend like that?

Merlin then woke up 30 minutes later to find the crying mess of a knight and immediately knew that whatever doubts he had been having about the knights since the Lamia was untrue and Gwaine (and later the others too) would never willingly hold him in that regard. They fortunately didn't harm him too much, and it would take a while for Merlin to not flinch every time any of the knights made sudden movements towards him, but he would recover. And he would remember, just why he decided to befriend them.

13:

Agh. I thought about this one. And I don't particularly think much about characters beyond the main ones unless they relate to a plot of mine.

But one thing I assumed (but the show never confirmed) is that Merlin is quite popular among the servants.

I mean, does anyone remember Tyr Stewart? The guy evil!Gwen killed? He was outright threatened with death and his mother too, the poor man was traumatized and scared and anxious. Yet, he opened up to Merlin after some coaxing.

I don't think just anyone would open up to a random stranger, even in a higher power with the potential to end your life (cuz Merlin is tge manservant to the king), and trust them with information regarding yours and your loved one's lives. But he did with Merlin.

And this just proves to me that Merlin is in fact quite popular and friendly with the servants and patients and other commoners. The cook hates him, hey, but none of the other servants snitched on him when he snagged a pastry or dumpling or two. Especially not after Merlin sneaked them a piece ;)

Thank you so much for the asksssssss! I had loads of fun thinking them up :D

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 3 months

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From the Ashes Pt. 34

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, injuries, amputation of leg, Rhaegar POV

Words: 5480

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 35

Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)

“Open the gate!!!�� Shouted the men atop of the fortress. Rain pelted their helmets and the wild wind threatened to knock them off the battlements.

Nearly painfully slow, the portcullis that groaned in reply was pulled up so the men waiting on the ground could hurry in. Tired, battered, and many suffering from illness brought on by the cold, the men huddled inside.

Tattered banners featuring stags and other sigils of the houses that made up Rhaegar’s army are dropped to the floor in relief.

Rhaegar gazed up at the dark gray sky above his head that washed them with it’s despotic rain. He welcomed it and closed his eyes in a sense of relief. Not considering themselves safe by any means, at least they had respite from their most recent failure. Spirits dampened, everyone needed time to mend and breathe.

Storm’s End lived up to its name, as did the Stormlands. When escaping from near the Kingswoods, they were met by scouts lurking in the trees in an attempt to pick off any survivors. The Silver Prince’s army, though lowered in number, were still plenty to eliminate the rest of Aerys’ men that were there. It was a disheartening battle though, and it was clear to Rhaegar they needed to hoof it to Storm’s End. His men couldn’t afford another attack. If another were to arise, it would most likely end him; something Rhaegar did not want to see come true.

Having been waiting for their lord’s arrival, the occupants of Storm’s End great house of Baratheon, leapt into action; taking the wounded to be cared for, feeding the hungry and directing men to where they can sleep.

Rhaegar was helped off of his horse and he watched the stable hands take his mare away to the stalls where the other horses were being tended to.

Even behind the fortress, the tall trees of the Stormlands towered over the walls and pierced the sky. Branches thick with plush pine needles sway and creak but do not bend to the will of the storm. They are of this land and are made of sturdier material. As far as the eye could see, a field of rich trees that offered protection.

In the distance, Rhaegar could hear Lord Robert Baratheon handing out orders to those who were just standing around.

When Rhaegar turns to look at his comrade instead he comes face to face with eyes like the storm above and the glossiest black hair he had ever seen.

Lyanna Stark.

Well, she was Lady Lyanna Baratheon now. Had been for quite some time.

The sight of her was still unnerving and nearly threw Rhaegar off of his weary feet.

She stood in front of him at a distance, her hands folded neatly in front of her as she acted the part of Lady of Storm’s End. Her northern cloak of warm furs enveloped her as they were suitable for this weather as well. Face pale with cheeks pink from the whipping winds, it’s like time hadn’t touched her. His Winter Rose. Yet the immediate love he had felt for her when they had first met did not flicker back to life. That wick was already spent and extinguished.

Her proud face is tilted up. “Your Grace. Welcome to Storm’s End.”

An uncanny feeling arose in him, unable to recall how he used to be around her. Parting his lips and unsure of what to say, Rhaegar is saved by Robert who sprints to his wife the moment he spots her.

“There’s my wife!” Face that had once been lined with exhaustion blooms and brightens when he scoops her up in his arms. Alarmed, Lyanna remains stiff in his arms; glancing at Rhaegar. Robert sets down Lyanna and cups her face, forcing her to return his loving gaze. “How I have missed you, dear Lyanna.”

“I’m glad you’re home safely.” A forced smile urges her mouth to turn up. It didn’t reach those gray pools of her eyes though, that was clear to Rhaegar. When Lyanna was truly happy, her eyes would scrunch up as she smiled until they were the shape of half moons. He had dreamed of her smiling moon eyes, branded into his mind. Hadn’t it been so long ago that he had been in love with this woman? Now he could hardly bring back the memory of that warm feeling she gave him.

“Your Grace. . .” A young man apprehensively approaches Rhaegar, his brown eyes quickly glancing at the scar on his face before moving to the dirt covered ground. He pursed his lips before starting again “You must be awfully tired. Please, allow me to show you to your chambers. There is a hot bath being prepared for you.”

Robert gently moves Lyanna to his side. “Yes, go and rest now. We’ll have time to strategize later. For now, catch your breath.”

He didn’t wish to rest. That was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to keep fighting. Aerys had dealt him a hard blow that he had to recover from quickly. Wars may not be won in a day, but there was still much he could do.

The closeness of Storm’s End to the Kingswood was another concerning factor in which Rhaegar couldn’t ignore. Even though he had been admiring the tall trees that surrounded them, a voice in his head also whispered how there could be enemies hiding and waiting like they had been on their journey.

Half tempted to burn it all down, Rhaegar knew that that was something Aerys would think of. He hated the moments when he found himself thinking the exact same way his father did.

Following his gaze, Robert walks over to him. Rain had made his mane of black hair smooth down close to his scalp with his dark beard catching beads of raindrops. Atop of the battlements, figures of men could be made out with bows at the ready and waiting.

“What are the defense protocols you have for invaders?” Rhaegar asks him. He couldn’t rest without being assured that there were proper defenses set in place.

Robert chuckles a little. “You forget that Storm’s End was able to destroy the Vulture King’s army not once, but twice.”

There was little Robert’s words could do to soothe Rhaegar. The young boy who had been waiting on the prince seemed unsure of what to do as Rhaegar sighed. “I will rest. Once I see Oberyn and Arthur.”

Seeing Arthur lifted a weight from Rhaegar’s chest. There next to Arthur’s bed was a dozing Oberyn, his shirt off to reveal the massive wrap stuck to his left side from where the wildfire had eaten away his skin and nearly making it to his core. His complexion was pale, black hair tied back into a low ponytail and out of his face. The castle’s maester was checking on Arthur’s stump of a leg for any signs of infection.

A squire announces Rhaegar’s presence quietly but it was enough to stir Oberyn, eyes fluttering open lazily. Grunting when repositioning himself, the maester scolds him for disturbing his wound. Oberyn waves off the graying man to sit up. “Your Grace.”

“How are you feeling?” Rhaegar pulls his eyes away from the maester wrapping Arthur’s stump. His prodding made Arthur grumble in his sleep. A feverish sleep that caused a light sheen of sweat that made his dark hair look limp.

“Better off than Ser Arthur.” Oberyn’s personal squire immediately rushes to his side with a flagon of what Rhaegar presumed was filled to the brim with rich wine that the Dornishman loved so much. “I was worried he wouldn’t survive the journey.”

He took the container from his squire and tossed his head back. It made Rhaegar’s own dry mouth parched but he didn’t care to remedy it. Instead guilt swelled in him at the sight of Arthur’s sick body.

The maester informed him quietly that while there was no infection, Arthur had developed a fever from traveling in such torrential weather. It weakened his body and the maester warned if his stump was not cleaned regularly, he would succumb to even more disease.

Outside the rain pelted the glass of the sickroom, offering a soothing sound that accompanied Arthur’s labored breathing.

“He will live though?”

Nodding, the maester moved aside for Rhaegar to inspect his comrade. “He will live. Although he may never be able to fight again. Not with his misshapen leg.”

Oberyn glared at the older man. “We’ll see about that. If I know Arthur, then he won’t let one missing leg slow him down. What do you maesters know. I will send a letter to my brother to request our own physician.”

Taking offense, the maester appeared to want to say something in retaliation until Rhaegar shot him a look. Oberyn was only saying such things out of frustration and weariness although Rhaegar didn’t doubt that come the morning he would send out his missive to Dorne. More than likely, the physician of Sunspear wouldn’t arrive before the week’s end. The journey from Dorne to the Stormlands had always proved to be a troublesome one.

Backing down with a grimace, the maester bows and leaves the room; having done all he could for the Sword of the Morning. Oberyn tells his squire to leave him be for the time being so that now only Oberyn and the Silver Prince were left.

“I’m surprised Ser Connington isn’t lingering behind you.” Oberyn scoffs and takes another sip from his flagon. He winces, slightly holding onto his side. “He’s like your red shadow.”

“Even Griff needs rest.” Rhaegar pulls over a chair and sits down. Even though he had been riding his horse day and night, this type of comfort was enough to send him to sleep. The most simple of comforts that Rhaegar didn’t know he missed. There was pressure building behind his eyes and unconsciously he grabs at his belt where his vial of milk of the poppy used to reside. He had forgotten that he had given the last of it to Arthur. A bit frustrated, he sighs and closes his eyes. “More than half of our men were decimated by the wildfire. I don’t know how we’re going to regroup.”

“Damn those spineless lords for betraying you. They deserved to have their heads severed.” grumbles Oberyn who glances again at Arthur. His face softens a bit. “He will fight again. I’ve known him since he was a young man. Arthur won’t let this stop him.”

“That is if the Mad King doesn’t blast Storm’s End with wildfire.”

“It was the closest fortress. We couldn’t afford to run back to Dorne. I don’t think our wounded men would have survived. Besides, Aerys couldn’t possibly have more wildfire ready.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not an easy task making wildfire. Procuring it can take weeks, if not months. Not to mention it’s incredibly dangerous too. Even making it proves to be volatile. The spells used for making wildfire are presently not as effectual as they once were, due to the extinction of the dragons and the effect this has on the strength of magic” He muses, eyes glazed and far off. “And there’s only so much you can store safely.”

Arthur’s groan distracts the men from their conversation. His brows furrow like he was in pain.

Rhaegar stands to grab a cool cloth and places it on Arthur’s burning forehead. It offered him relief and he relaxes back into his dreams. “The both of you are lucky that you’re alive.”

Oberyn chuckled, wincing once again due to the motion upsetting his side. Rhaegar noticed a small circle of blood blossoming against the white bandage. The color grew deeper as more blood spread. “It would take a lot more than wildfire to kill a Dornishman.”

A tired smile is slow on Rhaegar’s face. “How silly of me to think otherwise.”

Stretching out his arm, Oberyn hands him his flagon of wine; it felt like it was half empty. “Take this and get some rest. I will watch over Ser Arthur. Besides, I have much to write. I need to inform Doran of what has happened and our needs for ships. Even though wildfire can spread across water, like I said, it will take the Alchemist Guild some time to acquire more. We need to strike in that waiting period.”

“You’re already thinking ahead.”

“Of course. Dorne promised you the Iron Throne. Our word is better than any Lannister’s.” His dark eyes burn intensely. “Do not owe that man anymore than you need to.”

The domineering face of his former father-in-law surfaced in Rhaegar’s mind. Cold Tywin Lannister who didn’t shed a tear at the demise of his daughter. While he needed all the funds he could get, Oberyn was right. He would be no better than Aerys who nearly drained Casterly Rock’s funds when the two were on speaking terms. The crown was still in debt to Tywin Lannister. Rhaegar didn’t want to be in the same position when he became king. He didn’t want to rely on Casterly Rock like Aerys did. That was part of the downfall between Aerys and Tywin.

His fingers held the metal handle of the flagon, it was warm from Oberyn’s own fingers. He should sleep. The haunting sounds of war just kept replaying.

Instead of asking for the squire to lead him to his own chambers, Rhaegar asks the young man to show him where the rest of his wounded men were.

Lyanna’s gloved hand ghosts over the area of her abdomen. Covered heavily in her layers of clothes and her fur coat, she could still sense the life that was growing inside her. Her lips press tightly together recalling seeing Rhaegar after more than a year of no contact. His last letter to her had been right before the war had started. Right before her life had turned upside down. A small part of her had hoped that Rhaegar would save her from her fate. That above all odds that they would live the rest of their lives together. Hopes and dreams were fickle things. His last letter to her had broken her heart. He loved his wife, the late (y/n) Lannister and lamented on hurting her. She had found out about the affections he once held for Lyanna which were no more. Rhaegar officially broke ties with her the moment she opened the letter.

She never resented (y/n), a girl she had never met. By law, Rhaegar was her husband, even before they met Rhaegar had promised his hand to (y/n) at such a young age. He was never meant to be her’s. He had always been (y/n)’s. When the news of the girl’s passing reached Lyanna, she felt no triumph, only regret and sadness for Rhaegar. There was no way she could possibly imagine what he was going through; the grief and pain that plagued him was still evident even now. The glow that had once been around him was gone. Also gone was his long silver hair, chopped short due to when he saved Robert from an attack. Since then Robert had only praise to sing about Rhaegar. It was odd seeing the two get along so well. Not too long ago, Rhaegar had claimed his affection for her and a resentment toward Robert Baratheon. Situations certainly have changed. Especially for her family.

Poor Ned. Alone in Winterfell considering that their younger brother Benjen had volunteered to go to the Wall to join the Black Brothers. A noble venture, but that meant Ned didn’t have any of his original family there to mourn with him. Barely a month had passed since the cruel murder of Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark. Their bodies had yet to be returned; or what was left of their remains.

Lyanna felt another wave of nausea hit her. Placing her back against the stone wall of the corridor she had been passing through, she takes a deep breath in an attempt to push down the sick feeling that was quickly rising up. Robert’s child had caused her to throw up several times already.

No one knew yet of the heir of Storm’s End that had now hijacked her body. There was so much going on already, a baby was the last thing she wanted. Lyanna was physically and emotionally tired. Seeing Rhaegar being chummy with her philandering husband had made everything worse.

The swirling sensation in her stomach subsided enough to where she could hold herself up once more.

She wandered over to a narrow window that viewed the courtyard below. Men were still scattered across the yard, milling about and preparing for upcoming battles. There was never any rest during a war. Even if they were here for respite, they had to prepare and gather more forces.

Ned had found time to write her a few weeks ago. He wanted more than anything to return to battle to support Rhaegar. The northern army could possibly save the campaign. Odds seemed bleak for Rhaegar at the moment unless he did manage to gather a sizable fleet. With Tywin Lannister as a benefactor it wouldn’t be too hard. The only issue was time. No one ever had enough time and putting together a naval power to siege Blackwater Bay would take a while. Ships had to be built and due to the wild storms that often destroyed nearby vessels, they couldn’t be built in the Stormlands. Ned didn’t have time for battle. He had to work on inserting himself as the new Lord of Winterfell. Plans had been made for Ned to wed Catelyn Tully, Brandon’s former betrothed. Before he even dared to go out and fight, he had to have an heir in case anything were to happen.

A familiar red head bobbed into view, stopping every so often to give orders. Jon Connington. The man never seemed to rest. He was considered Rhaegar’s right hand man and Jon took the role very seriously. Dedicating every waking hour to the Silver Prince.

Even feeling alone herself, she was happy that Rhaegar had good men around him who he could trust.

Scuffing of boots alerted Lyanna to someone approaching. She turns and there’s Rhaegar. The scar that ran like a river across his face darkened his already fraught expression.

“I thought you would be resting after your journey.” Lyanna says, hoping to at least get a few words out of him. Though his love for her was gone, she at least wanted to maintain some kind of relationship.

He looked exhausted, on the verge of falling over. “I’ll rest when I make sure my men are taken care of.” The angles of his cheeks were even more pronounced due to a drop in his weight. His black scaled armor nearly made him blend into the shadows of the hall.

His demeanor made her heart ache. So broken down with soot and blood caked to him.

Lyanna was prepared to insist that their maesters were working hard to ensure the health of those who had come in need of it, but her nausea seized her. One hand on the windowsill kept her stable as she leaned over and vomited. Clanking of armor followed as Rhaegar moved to hold back her long hair.

“Perhaps it is you who should be resting, my lady. Are you alright?”

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she shakes her head. “No. I’m not alright. I’m pregnant.”

She felt his hand halt in it’s soothing ministrations on her back. “That’s wonderful news, Lyanna. Congratulations. Have you told Robert yet?”

“I haven’t told anyone. You’re the first and I don’t want you sharing this.” Fixing her gaze on him, she holds down his lilac eyes with sternness.

Obviously confused, Rhaegar releases her cascading hair. “Why haven’t you told anyone? You're pregnant with Robert’s heir.”

Quite unladylike, Lyanna lets out a derisive snort. “Probably not his first. Oh don’t look so surprised. Even you know of Robert’s predilections. I knew marrying him would not prevent Robert from taking on lovers. No matter how much he claims he loves me, he loves women more. I can’t be happy about this. Not with my father and brother dead and Ned struggling in his new role. If anyone else finds out about my pregnancy, they will refuse to let me go to the north to be with Ned.”

Tears were in her eyes and blinding her, bottom lip shivering as Lyanna suppressed a sob. Her life was in ruin.

Compassion had not died in Rhaegar as he gently held one of her hands. “I’m so sorry, Lyanna. About your father and brother. About everything that has transpired. Keeping this child a secret is not the answer though.”

“I know.” Her voice wavered. “I know but I just can’t bring myself to tell anyone. There was so much I wanted to do. I wanted to support Ned and fight in your army. Now there will be even more reason to keep me cooped up here.”

Even in her ears, her woes sounded pathetic but Lyanna couldn’t help the way she felt. Rhaegar had lost both his wife and child and was in the middle of fighting his father for the Iron Throne. He had a lot more on his plate than she.

Still, Rhaegar soothed her by running his finger along her knuckles. For a moment there is a lull of silence before Rhaegar sighs. “If you inform Robert of your pregnancy, I promise to try and convince him to let you go to the north. It’ll be safer for you there anyway. The Stormlands are too close to King’s Landing, I’m sure he’ll let you go.”

She clung to Rhaegar’s promise and with a small nod, she dropped his hand. “Alright. Alright.”

Making sure she was truly okay to continue her walk, Rhaegar begins on his path once more before Lyanna calls out to him.

“I’m really sorry. . . About (y/n). . . a-and her baby. . .”

Such a sad smile Rhaegar had. “We were going to name him Jaehaerys. (y/n) loved that name.”

It was hard for Varys to rid his mind of the image of Brandon’s wide, fearful eyes. Neck veins bulged as he was being strangled while watching his father’s own demise. The reddening of his face as he lost air, clawing of his fingers around the rope that gripped his neck so tightly. Gods, he couldn’t get the smell of burning flesh out of his system either. The day of Brandon and Rickard’s murder stuck with Varys as a reminder of the danger he was in when playing the game of thrones. One wrong move and that could easily be him. With Aerys’ patience and sanity running thin, he walked on a razor’s edge. He was unpredictable and an unpredictable king was a terrifying thing. Through his birds, Varys knew that the people of King’s Landing were talking in hushed tones; worried about the extreme use of wildfire against Rhaegar’s army. Such a reckless and fickle element, the wildfire could have easily spread to the capital and killed everyone. It was thanks to Rhaegar’s actions that the spread of the green flames had stopped in it’s tracks. That wouldn’t do for Aerys. If he found out about the positive talk on his turncloak son, no doubt the king would gather those individuals and kill them. Well, his people were already dying by the dozens. Many were starving, he had been witness to it whenever he dared to go outside. The gates to the Red Keep were now lined with the poor and starving, screaming at anyone who got near them. The use of wildfire had damaged the roads and lands that led to King’s Landing. Supplies could not be delivered to them nor any goods that the capital depended on. Food from the bountiful Reach dwindled in a blink of an eye. Even those of a higher pedigree were experiencing difficulties and often went to the king’s small council to plead for more food.

Aerys turned a deaf ear to the cries of his people, instead becoming obsessed with striking down his first born son; the son which Rhaella had struggled to conceive after so many miscarriages and stillborns.

The wildfire assault had not been approved by the small council. Actually, Aerys worked behind their backs to make sure that his plans would be successful. An outraged Grand Maester Pycelle had accosted Aerys on such a terrible act and it nearly cost him his head. He considered wildfire a damning element concocted by those who were close to the Stranger as arts such as those could only be obtained in a dark manner.

There was nothing that could be said to the king that would make him think otherwise. He believed the wildfire would help cleanse the land. An even more morbid plot that Aerys had told them about was the plan to set all of King’s Landing aflame if Rhaegar ever got to the gates. All of the members of the small council were growing more concerned by the second. There was no reasoning with King Aerys. Even looking into his eyes one would learn that his mind wasn’t all there. Many days, Aerys refused to come down from the Iron Throne, even if he was receiving many cuts from the old blades it was composed of. He would not surrender the throne to anyone. Not even for a second.

He was employing Varys’ skill more and more these days. Especially in regards to the missing knight Ser Barristan Selmy who had up and vanished. Whispers around the castle laid claim that it was Selmy who may have kidnapped the king’s youngest children.

Of course Varys knew better. In fact it was he who had orchestrated the kidnapping of the Targaryen siblings. Varys knew that many people thought him cold and conniving, but it was far from the truth. For a long time, he had worried about the young Viserys and infant Daenerys. Even before Rhaella’s passing, Varys worried about what Aerys had planned for his family on Dragonstone. Not wanting to underestimate the king’s madness, Varys thought it best to send the children away. He took it upon himself to go to Dragonstone and enlist the help of Ser Willem Darry who was all too ready to take the task. The older knight had voiced his own worries as well and had made a promise to the dying Rhaella that he would protect her children even if it meant going against Aerys. That task had been an easy one.

However, he hadn’t heard anything of Ser Selmy. The last news he received from his many little birds around the world was that Selmy had indeed left Volantis and was on a ship back to Westeros. That had been two weeks ago and no one had any clue where he was now. No mice or birds had seen Selmy in a while.

And how would he get into contact with Rhaegar now that their go-between had been murdered. Brandon Stark had been overly brave in making himself the messenger between the Spider and the Silver Prince. He didn’t know the status of Rhaegar’s army and if it still held numbers. Scouts that had been placed in the Kingswoods had reported that his men were seen fleeing in the direction of the Stormlands. Other than that, the information was mum.

He had been speaking with one of his little birds when a knight approached him, causing the young child to flee immediately.

“The king wants to see you.”

Varys never liked hearing that. It meant having to sit through the king’s ramblings and attempt to make sense of it. Continuing to pretend to serve him was wearing down on him. He must see his plans through, to the very end. Much like another foreigner he had encountered.

Young Thalina had known what her duty was to the realm and even knowing her fate was death, she did what she had to do with a gentle smile on her face. Varys never knew how much he would look up to the girl.

She had more courage than Varys could ever have. For he still feared his own death. Every time he came face to face with Aerys, he worried that that would be the last breath he took.

Even making his way to the Great Hall, beads of sweat began to collect on the back of his neck, staining the satin collar around his neck. Aerys had already killed a handful of his most loyal vassals. His fears weren’t irrational. The other members of the small council also worried when their time would come.

Despite the Great Hall having large windows that allowed the sun’s rays to illuminate the hall, the vicinity around the Iron Throne was suspended in a dark gloom that threatened to reach out to the rest of the hall. Atop of the mountain of melded swords was Aerys. His body leaned forward in an attempt to keep the sharp tips of the swords from biting into his skin. From where he stood, Varys could see the slight twitching of the king’s bony hands. His golden crown was loose on his head, the dragons sculpted into it were like a sad reminder of the glory that the Targaryens once possessed.

What alarmed Varys was the absence of the Kingsguard. All who stood sentry was Gerold Hightower.

Currently one of the pyromancers held an audience with the king. The situation was already fraught when Varys arrived. “Y-Your Grace. . . Please, we can make the amount of wildfire you ask for but it will take us time.”

“We don’t have time!” Aerys spat nearly rising from his seat. “I want it done by the week’s end!”

Trembling slightly, the pyromancer shook his head knowing that if he did not please the king’s temper that his head could be on the chopping block. “Y-Yes Your Grace. . .”

“Get him out of here. He’s got work to do along with the other mages in the Alchemist Guild.” With stern, milky eyes, Aerys instructs Ser Gerold to escort the poor pyromancer out of the Great Hall while Varys takes his place in front of the Iron Throne. Not wasting time on pleasantries, Aerys asks “What news do you have on Barristan Selmy?”

Varys wished he had that knowledge just for himself. Alas, there was nothing to report on; not something Aerys wanted to hear. His tempers were already short. Varys had to make sure to spend as little time as he could there. “I regret to inform Your Grace that there has been no sign of Barristan Selmy. We can only hope that he shows up soon or we hear news of his death.”

The Mad King snarls. “It seems even my Spider is incompetent. A knight of the Kingsguard does not just up and vanish overnight! Especially not one like Selmy. And my children?”

Luckily Varys had come up with a lie that would be good enough to satisfy Aerys at least for the time being. “One of my informants in Pentos has sighted two young children with silver hair. They match the description of Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys.”

“Anything on who took them? Don’t think I haven’t heard what people are saying. Some speculate that Selmy took them. Is there any merit to the rumor?”

Varys doubted if Selmy did return to King’s Landing that he would receive a warm welcome. True that he lied to Aerys about the reason for him being gone, nothing mattered now. Not with the king’s sanity spiraling at a dangerous level.

“It could not be determined, Your Grace. But we have a location and I have my mice keeping tabs until they have a culprit.”

“I want to send someone out to Pentos to have a look themselves.” seethes Aerys, drilling his glare at the eunuch. “And I want you to find a competent assassin to get rid of Rhaegar.”

Chancing eye contact with the Mad King, Varys pressed his lips together. “I will talk it over with the small council-”

“No. I don’t want you telling any of those fools. I want a finish to this damn war. That brat. . . I don’t want to waste anymore effort on him. I want this ended. Do you hear me, Varys?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He leans forward a few more inches. "Don't fail me Varys. Otherwise you will meet the same fate as Rickard Stark and his boy."

“Yes, Your Grace.” He felt like a damn parrot but what else could he do if he wanted to keep his head for a little bit longer?

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#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #game of thrones #asoiaf fandom #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fanfic #game of thrones reader insert #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf fic #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire x you #a song of ice and fire x reader

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

Text

The Silver Dragon (33/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2845

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Aemond and Arianwyn awake with grand plans of spending another day together. But they are met with the news that the King has died in the night, leaving not only their plans unsure, but the fate of the realm.

Warnings: Adult content, Minors DNI.

Author's Note: Again, sorry this took an extra day. That book series I was telling y'all about? It had the absolute WORST ending I have ever read. I was so mad I couldn't write. And by the time I had calmed down, I had gotten out of the Aemond state of mind and had to reread the whole fic up to this point to get myself back into it.

Oh well, those books are already in the recycle, I'm back to writing, and I promise I will deliver y'all a much, much better ending (eventually)!

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

The First Death

The King was dead.

Viserys was dead.

His father was dead.

Aemond felt cold hands closing around his throat, yet he could breathe freely for the first time in his life.

The world was spinning around him, yet he had never felt so steady.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest even as he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

He was relieved.

He was distraught.

He was happy.

He was heartbroken.

He was finally free.

He had never been more trapped.

They were supposed to go to Runestone.

Once Arianwyn had her trousseau and his mother had her feast, they were supposed to leave this all behind. Make their own home – together.

Not as a Targaryen Prince and Princess, the second son and his wife. But as the Lady of Runestone and her Lord Consort.

They were supposed to be alone together, as husband and wife.

For one year, they would spend every moment they could in each other’s arms. They would wake each morning together. Fly across the realm together. Spend each night – or really, any and every moment they could – entwined together.

After a year of marital bliss, they were supposed to start their family.

They had agreed: a whole army of children with Arianwyn’s hair and Aemond’s eyes. Each one with a dragon egg to warm their cradle, as Aemond had been denied.

Aemond already had a list of names in the back of his mind.

Their firstborn – their heir – would need a name befitting a Royce. A name of the First Men.

Yorwyck, perhaps. After the first Bronze King. Yorbert or Robar would also be fitting. Or something less traditional. Throughout his studies, Aemond had found several names that caught his eye. Aneurin. Caradoc. Tarian. Edan. Cadogan. Rhisiart, even. If they were feeling adventurous.

But their heir could be a daughter, according to the laws of the Vale. A son was preferred, but a girl could inherit, just as Arianwyn had.

Rhea was an obvious choice. Though Aemond was still unsure how he felt about Rhea having her daughter as an act of revenge, he knew Arianwyn would love to honor her late mother.

Still, there were other options. Though there were fewer historical names for women, at least as far as Aemond knew. But there were so many beautiful names for women in the Old Tongue. Isolde. Guinevere. Rhiannon. Ceridwen. Nimue. Eluned. Nerys. Briallen.

They would have to have so many daughters.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he did not want to give his children a Valyrian name.

A Valyrian name was a burden. A reminder of the legacy that preceded them. A legacy of conquest and glory. Of dragonriding heroes and silver-haired kings. Of cruel fathers and forgotten second sons.

He would not pass that burden on to his children.

“Aemond?” Arianwyn whispered as she stepped in front of him, bringing him back to reality.

The morning came crashing back.

Waking with her in his arms, kissing every inch of her until she had awoken as well. Her sweet, sleepy smile when she finally kissed him back.

Taking his time with her, as he had not had the chance to last night when she climbed on top of him. Worshipping her with his mouth until she screamed with unbridled pleasure. Finally burying himself inside her as he held her close. She had muffled her cries in his neck as she came, driving him to release only a breath later.

Their slowness to emerge from the bedchamber had given Elsie the time she needed to relace all of Arianwyn’s armor. Again, Aemond dressed her himself. But this time, he teased her, punctuating every movement of his fingers with a kiss.

He had lost his composure faster than she had, however. His hands were still tangled in the laces of her cuirass as he fell to his knees and devoured her again, lapping up every drop of her release with his tongue so as not to stain her riding trousers.

They had walked toward the courtyard hand-in-hand when they were intercepted by Orwyle, who nervously redirected them to find the Queen without telling them why.

That had led them to the corridor outside Helaena’s chambers, where they had encountered the Hand with a look of fearsome determination on his gaunt face.

Otto Hightower, perhaps the only man in the Red Keep who could look down upon Aemond, seized his grandson’s arm to bring them to a halt. He looked briefly at Arianwyn before turning back to the Prince.

“Your mother will need you now, Aemond,” he said, his voice that of a commander, not a grandsire. “Do not fail her.”

Aemond did not reply, only held Arianwyn’s hand tighter and nodded before continuing to Helaena’s rooms, faster than he had before. On her little legs, she had to jog to keep up with him.

He had a sinking feeling that he knew what Otto had meant. He didn’t want to believe it to be true.

But then he saw his mother. She sat next on the couch, reaching out to comfort her daughter – she had never gotten used to Helaena’s dislike of being touched. His hurried steps drew her attention, and the moment she looked at him, he knew it to be true.

The everlasting exhaustion in her eyes was sharpened by fear. Fear of what would happen to her, her children, and her grandchildren. That fear now encompassed Arianwyn too.

Her gaze softened at the sight of him, and she whispered an apology. For as soon as he saw her face, he knew that Runestone would have to wait. Arianwyn would have to wait. Their family, their entire life together, would have to wait.

King Viserys was dead. Whether it be to install Aegon on the Iron Throne or defend her from Rhaenyra, Alicent would need Aemond’s sword.

Even as Aemond looked down at her, Arianwyn knew he was not truly seeing her. Darkness danced in his eye and the shadows of his face. It was almost as though she could see his anxious thoughts swirling around him.

“Aemond?” she asked again. But he still did not respond. Her only indication that he had heard her was a subtle twitch of the left corner of his lips and the nearly imperceptible reddening of his scar.

Something was very, very wrong.

She turned to Alicent, desperate for an explanation. “What has happened? What is wrong?”

The Queen stood and came to stand by their side, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Tears shone in her eyes as she spoke. “The King is dead. The Stranger came for him in the night.”

“No,” Arianwyn whispered. Her knees buckled, but Aemond instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her steady and standing. She was not sure whether that had been his purpose, or whether he needed to hold her as much as she needed to be held.

“I saw him last night,” she murmured, laying her head against Aemond’s chest. “I talked to him.”

“I know, darling,” Alicent said, lacing her fingers with Aemond’s with one hand while she petted Arianwyn’s hair with the other. “You brought him comfort in his final hours.”

But she had not. She had said many things, but none of them were comforting.

Still, she did not cry. She had already shed enough tears for that man. So instead, she simply pressed further into her husband’s chest, wrapping her arms around his waist to try and return to the comfort she had felt when she woke in his arms.

The Queen looked up at her son as he lowered his chin to rest on Arianwyn’s head. His eye was still distant, and no matter how hard she squeezed his hand, he would not look at her.

“I spoke to him as well,” she said, giving up and releasing his hand. “He changed his mind, Aemond. He wanted Aegon to be King.”

At last, Aemond flicked his good eye, wide with apprehension, to his mother. “He did?”

It took great strength to push back, again, against the doubt that Viserys would trust his eldest son with the throne. “He did,” Alicent insisted. “He told me so, in no uncertain terms.”

Arianwyn could feel his jaw clenching as he pressed his chin further into her hair and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders. Whether he was pleased with the King’s change of heart, she could not tell.

“Where is Aegon?” he asked.

Alicent grimaced. “I do not know. Ser Criston is searching for him now. We are to wait for him here.”

“I can have my men search, as well, my Queen,” Ser Warren Crayne said as he stepped cautiously into the room.

Arianwyn had almost forgotten he was there, that he had followed them from their apartments. She had made a promise last night to never take her guards for granted again, and she meant to keep it. It had been her plan to ask him to sit with her in her carriage on the way to the Dragonpit, to ask him for help in finding a way to show her appreciation for the whole regiment.

She would not be going to the Dragonpit today. She did not know when she would get the chance to thank her guards.

“That is a kind offer, Ser Warren,” the Queen said, moving toward the old knight. “How many of your men are familiar with the Keep?”

Their conversation faded as Arianwyn looked up at Aemond. “Are you alright?”

The haze in his eye finally faded as he looked back down at her, though his face remained stoic. “I don’t know.”

“Is there anything I can say? Anything I can do?”

He shook his head, pushing his forehead against hers. “I wanted to go to Runestone with you.”

Her chest tightened, and she had to blink back tears. “We will go. We will fly there on dragonback and make it our home. I do not know when, but I promise we will.”

She had made so many promises lately. She was starting to wonder if she would be able to keep them all.

They stayed in the solar for more than an hour as they waited for the guards to return with Aegon.

Alicent paced throughout the room, picking at her nailbeds or fingering her necklace. Every so often, she would stand by the door, hoping her presence there would somehow summon Aegon.

Aemond had quickly claimed one of the chairs by the empty hearth, staring silently forward and stretching his fingers as his mind raced. Arianwyn sat, at first, on the arm of the chair, playing with his hair and stroking his cheek to try and ease his mind.

Eventually, her position began to make her rear sore, as though she’d been astride a horse for hours. So, she lowered herself to the rug beside the chair, resting her head on Aemond’s crossed legs while he played with her hair. He always needed something to occupy his fingers when he was anxious. Arianwyn was more than happy to be that something.

Helaena did not stay long. After only a few minutes of waiting, she excused herself to go sit with her children, muttering about a “beast beneath the boards” as she left.

The room had fallen into a tense, uncomfortable silence by the time Ser Criston and Ser Warren finally returned.

“Prince Aegon’s not to be found within the castle walls, Your Grace,” Criston said, ensuring the door was shut firmly behind him. “Your father has sent Ser Erryk into the city to find him.”

But Alicent only sighed and dropped her head, looking decidedly downcast.

“Surely, that is a good thing,” Arianwyn said as she stood from the floor. “Ser Erryk is Aegon’s sword shield. He knows him well, and will be able to find him quickly.”

Aemond frowned, letting his hand fall back to the arm of the chair as they both looked at the knights.

“Yes, but he will bring Aegon to my father,” Alicent countered. “We must avoid that at all costs. But Ser Erryk has the advantage.”

Arianwyn was about to ask why when Aemond tugged on her hand in a silent signal to remain quiet. He did not explain further; he was presently trying to avoid Ser Criston’s gaze and the suggestion he knew the Kingsguard would propose. He did not want to leave Arianwyn, not when everything was so unsure. She must be kept safe.

But so must the new King.

The Queen approached the knights at the door. “I trust again to you, Ser Criston, and to your loyalty. Aegon must be found, and he must be brought to me. The very fate of the Seven Kingdoms depends on it…” Her voice faded as she leaned closer to Cole.

But Arianwyn would not have listened to her, anyways. Aemond pulled on her hand, drawing her attention back to him. He looked up at her, his face again wreathed in shadow as he confronted the conflict inside him.

To protect her, or Aegon?

When he took her as his wife, he had sworn before the gods, both old and new, to protect her.

For more than six years, he had honed himself into a deadly weapon for the sole purpose of keeping her safe. So that when the time was right, he could rid her, and the entire world, of the monster that was Daemon Targaryen.

But his duty to Aegon went back to his birth. From his very first breath, he was a second son. The younger Prince. It was his fate to fight for his elder brother.

That was what was written in the history books.

The younger brother went to war to die in the elder’s place.

The younger brother died to defend the elder’s crown.

The young brother always stood behind, putting aside his own desires, ambitions, and happiness to ensure the elder would be remembered in the history books.

Arianwyn was his soulmate. Aegon was his brother – now his King.

Duty had always been everything for Aemond. It had guided every moment of his life. Every action he took. Now that it was pulling him in two directions, how could he ever choose?

But then Ser Warren Crayne spoke, his deep voice carrying across the room. “I am not as familiar with the city as Ser Criston, but it is my duty to protect Princess Arianwyn and all those she loves. So, I will do all I can to return your son to you, my Queen. The remainder of my men from Runestone will stay here, to protect the three of you.”

Aemond’s heart lightened at the old man’s words.

Yes, it was his duty to protect his wife. But happily, he shared that duty with the twelve finest knights of the Vale. Knights who had protected Arianwyn all her life, even when he was half an ocean away.

It was thanks to them that he did not have to choose.

“You will stay here, Ser Warren,” Aemond commanded, squeezing Arianwyn’s hand once more. “With my mother and Arianwyn. I will go with Ser Criston.”

Arianwyn’s brow furrowed with concern. Knowing Aegon, she was all too aware of what part of the city – which street in particular – they would be required to go to search for him. She did not want Aemond to have to return there. Not due to jealousy or mistrust, but because she knew how much his last visit to the pillow houses had wounded him.

But before she could protest, he stood from his chair and embraced her. When he pulled back, he cupped her face in his large hand and kissed her. Gently. Slowly. Saying everything he needed to without making a sound.

Trust me.

I will be fine.

I will return.

It will all be alright.

When he finally pulled away, he looked down at her again with a question in his eye. He would not do this without her approval.

Arianwyn nodded, running her hand from his shoulder to his heart. She listened to it beat once, twice, imagining the Runes she had once traced there shining through his skin.

“Go,” she whispered.

“No,” the Queen called, hurrying across the room to grab his arms. “That would not be my desire, Aemond.”

He held her back, and spoke with quiet confidence. “Cole needs me, mother. I know the city better than Ser Warren. And Ser Erryk isn’t the only one who knows Aegon’s doings.”

Alicent looked to Ser Criston, then to Arianwyn, hoping one of them would support her. But they both remained silent. They knew he could do this – knew he had to do this.

He was the second son. It was his duty.

With one last glance and a hint of a smile to his wife, Aemond left the room with Criston Cole by his side. They walked out of the castle and into the city with a singular mission: to find the new King.

Next Chapter

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captain-hen · 10 months

Note

neethu! as a the rookie fan who is on the edge about watching 911 (mainly bc i am a scorned fan of old ryan murphy shows and have trust issues), i pledge for you to sell me on 911/buddie because i truly need a new summer binge watch that won’t suck my energy dry 🥲

omg becca i can promise you that i'll make it my personal mission to get you into 911 asfdkdld 😌 so, here's why you should absolutely binge 911, coming from a completely unbiased, objective perspective, of course 😌😌

an amazing ensemble cast with really, really talented actors

a group of characters who slowly come together to find their family in each other and they love each other so so much. also the very first episode starts off with the hilariously ironic line—"this is not a family." to really hammer in the famous last words of it all :) now let's get into the characters.

howard "chimney" han — amazing paramedic, manages to be the funniest character on the show while having deep-rooted abandonment issues and trauma, is probably immortal because he has survived things that should have killed any other person

bobby nash — Dad™. the daddest of all dads. best redemption arc ever; has a beautiful journey of realizing that he wants to live. he was born to be a husband and a father :) amateur detective. looks like the sensible one, but he can be just as dumb as the rest. he loves his wife <33

hen wilson — probably the smartest character on the show, and knows everything about everything. she's married to a rocket scientist :)) she is an incredible firefigher paramedic, best friends with chimney (they're platonic soulmates fr) and she looks like she holds the braincell but she will join in on the shenanigans with the rest of the characters in a heartbeat (see: season 6 where she went dumpster diving with chimney to look for a lost ring).

evan buckley — the little brother of the group. he's an ass in the beginning but he gets better i promise. himbo with a heart of gold, he loves kids. he uses recklessness as a means of coping with his deep-rooted childhood trauma. nearly dies every single season. he looks at bobby as a surrogate father. he loves his sister so much. he's in love with his best friend but shhh he's still figuring that out. he loves his best friend's child like his own :)

maddie buckley — give her a break™ she's been through SO much, but came out kind and compassionate and stronger than ever. she's a 911 dispatcher and she's amazing at it. she loves her little brother and basically raised him when they were kids. she's an amazing mom, even if it takes her a while to accept that, and she loves chimney han with all her heart.

athena grant — angela basset does an amazing job with her character; she has some of the best emotional and action moments on the show. she's a cop, unfortunately :( she's best friends with hen, she's a great mom to her two kids and has a really compelling friendship with her ex-husband. she is definitely the one who holds the braincell while everyone else gets up to their dumb shenanigans.

eddie diaz — the love of my life he's an ex-army medic, now a firefighter and above all, a father. he loves his son, christopher, so much. he has also nearly died on multiple occasions, and in season 5, has one of the most beautiful arcs i've ever seen working through his trauma. he had an extremely complex relationship with his wife, shannon. he's come so far in terms of character development. and he's deeply in love with his best friend but by god he will not admit it :)

and as for the other reasons why you should binge the show? the emergencies are absolutely insane and entertainingly unrealistic (there was a tsunami in los angeles). the show knows how to intermix comedy and tragedy in a way that will give you whiplash and have you sobbing. it deals with some very adult, realistic conflicts. it loves to emphasize on the innate goodness of human nature. none of the characters are perfect and have all fucked up badly at some point, but they keep trying. it's a show about second chances :)

OH and since you asked about buddie, well. if you like: a) co-workers who started off disliking each other falling into a deep friendship b) two characters who are partners in every sense of the word, who practically share the same mind c) a ship that has multiple break-up scenes without even getting together d) two characters who are practically co-parenting a child but can't see it e) two characters who go absolutely berserk when the other is in danger f) two characters who act more married than most married couples — then buddie is the ship for you! and honestly, if you like chenford, then you will definitely like buddie sjdkdkd there's a reason i've done at least 4-5 gifsets paralleling them

anyway, this is my official pitch! if you ever actually decide to watch the show, my humble request is that you let me know what you think afterwards 😌

come talk to me!

#this got a little out of hand ajsjjd #neethu answers #timlucys

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ofmythsandfablesaa · 1 year

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Vlad D.racula

VERSES

VLAD MUSAT (Main/Modern Verse, Aged 32 ; FC: Luke Evans)

Vlad is currently just under 600 years old, and a CEO of his own restoration company, ReVamp Restorations, INC. The company restores old landmarks, buildings and homes, and is expanded globally. He lives in London, England, and has a house in his homeland of Romania which he visits on holiday. Vlad changed his last name to his mother’s maiden name so he would not be recognized. He isn’t usually around others outside of his job, and his quiet time consists of more work due to his need to constantly be occupied.

FROM PRINCE TO BEAST (After the war with Mehmed II)

No longer the voivode for Wallachia, Vlad has hidden away high in the Carpathian Mountains, dwelling in an abandoned and long forgotten castle. Weary travelers or people who have gotten lost on their journeys sought shelter in the castle and Vlad happily took them in, but for a price: that they would serve him forever. They’ve agreed, and happily serve him regardless of knowing what he is and who he once was. His servants are his only real company and Vlad has looked to them as an almost family to him.

HE WHO STILL REIGNS (After the war with Mehmed II, Alternate Ending)

Vlad has returned after fighting and defeating Mehmed, taking his place on the throne once more. Only this time, he is a vampire. He now rules over the lands Mehmed once did, except he is not known as Sultan, he remains Prince. His dwellings are still within Wallachia which is newly rebuilt, his army becomes vast and stronger than any other army around, and though weary of others, he still rules as he once did. His heart is heavy with the loss of his wife, and the duty of raising their son on his own. But he does everything and anything for Ingeras so he doesn’t have to suffer anymore than he already has.

THE COUNT (1880 - early 1900s ; very loosely based on Bram Stoker’s version)

London’s new resident is a centuries old vampire, having just bought into real estate. Vlad D.racula leads a quiet life, not bothering anyone as he tries to make his life somewhat normal. He prays upon people, though not savagely, and drinks only enough for him to be satisfied. Afterwards, he heals them with his own blood and wipes away their memory of anything that had transpired between them.

PRINCE OF WALLACHIA (Pre war with Mehmed II)

Vlad is Voivode to Wallachia, and is reigning peacefully. His rulings are fair and his people adore him. He is not married, and not with any children. Vlad’s adviser pushes him to marry someone already to give him an heir, but it is not something Vlad is in a rush for even though he wishes to have a family of his own someday. Vlad is always holding Council with his noblemen or working on kingly duties, but one can find him constantly with his nose in a book, learning something new and enticing.

*Alternate Version*

Vlad is Prince, and ruling with Mirena. This takes place a year before the war with Mehmed.

HUMAN (Modern day, Aged 33)

Vlad Dragan was raised in Romania along with his three brothers on a vast farm. Having ambitions far bigger than the life he was meant to have, Vlad made sure he excelled in school before getting a scholarship for Oxford in London. There, he studied History and Archaeology, and became an archaeologist. His job has taken him all over the world, but his home base remains London, and he works as both an Archaeology professor in Oxford as well as studying artifacts in England’s Natural History Museum.

WIZARDING WORLD (Taking place throughout the HP series, Timeline varies)

A vampire as a professor? Vlad is! Vlad works at Hogwarts as a History of Magic professor. He doesn’t socialize too much with others outside of when classes are in session, but he does attend every school event and never misses a meeting. He is also a Hufflepuff (I personally think he’s a hybrid of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor…so Gryffinpuff. But to be technical, Hufflepuff).

VAMPIRE KING (Tolkien semi-loosely based, takes place during ‘The Hobbit’ and on; also, using Welsh as the language for Men in my verse since there are hardly any translations in Adunaic, and Welsh is a pretty awesome language so try not to correct me on this for all you super Tolkien canon fanatics)

Vlad Alastor is Edain, from the House of Marach during the First Age. He lived in Dor-lomin, part of Hithlum, and ruled as King for many prosperous yet tough years. But Morgoth struck war upon the lands, and Vlad knew his army wouldn’t be enough to win the war. He sought help from a dark, magical being living in the mountains that turned him into a fampyr (my own derivation from the Welsh spelling for vampire) for a hefty price of his soul once the time came. As Nírnaeth Arnoediad occurred, most of Vlad’s army was defeated but he himself was able to defeat the enemy, driving away the evil forces. But due to Dor-lomin crumbling away from the war, and more evil forces eventually ascending upon the country, Vlad was overthrown as king and banished from the lands he grew up on and ruled. Having an idea, he faked his death, and Vlad ran as far away as he could. Many, many years had passed, and by the time of the Third Age, Vlad is king in Rhun, his residence lay beyond the Sea of Rhun.

ABILITIES AND WEAKNESSES

IMPORTANT

Vlad is part of a bloodline he solely shares with his superior, Caligula: the vampire who turned him, due to having no choice but to dwell in a cave for eons until he was able to pass on his powers to Vlad and set himself free. Therefore, his abilities and weaknesses are different from any other bloodline. His transformation is different, as well as the way he turns others, which never happens unless it happens in a thread.

ABILITIES

Shapeshifts into bats / Manipulates bats at his will / Super strength and speed / Heightened sight, smell and hearing / Weather manipulation (to an extent) / Mind manipulation (to an extent) / Healing - Very small increments of his blood, when taken via mouth, can heal a person. There is no guarentee that it can revive a person if they are dying.

WEAKNESSES

Silver / Wooden and silver stakes (both fatal if directly piercing his heart) / Direct sunlight

OTHER INFORMATION

Vlad sleeps, but only for a few hours. He needs to be in a completely dark room in order to sleep soundly, or else he’ll be quite irritable.

Vlad is able to walk during the day while using his weather manipulation powers to cover up the sun’s harmful rays with clouds. Holy objects do not harm Vlad. It isn’t specified why in the film, but for RP purposes, it’s due to him being so in-tuned with his religion even when he was turned that his God saw the good in him regardless of the fact he was a now a monster (his religion during the time was and remains to be Orthodox).

Vlad can eat food but chooses not to usually. The taste of food has not faded for him even though he is a vampire. He does not crave food, nor does he need to live off it, therefore he doesn’t really eat anything unless it’s to keep up appearences. Vlad lives off of animal blood mainly, but knows a guy that slips him blood bags from a blood bank to keep in the house.

#&. * vlad — verses

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ofmythsandfables · 10 months

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V.lad D.racula

starter call | open starters | aesthetics | headcanons | photos

VERSES

VLAD MUSAT (Main/Modern Verse, Aged 32 ; FC: Luke Evans)

FROM PRINCE TO BEAST (After the war with Mehmed II)

HE WHO STILL REIGNS (After the war with Mehmed II, Alternate Ending)

PRINCE OF WALLACHIA (Pre war with Mehmed II)

*Alternate Version* ; Vlad is Prince, and ruling with Mirena. This takes place a year before the war with Mehmed.

THE COUNT (1880 - early 1900s ; very loosely based on Bram Stoker’s version)

HUMAN (Modern day, Aged 33)

WIZARDING WORLD (Taking place throughout the HP series, Timeline varies)

ABILITIES AND WEAKNESSES

IMPORTANT

ABILITIES

WEAKNESSES

Silver / Wooden and silver stakes (both fatal if directly piercing his heart) / Direct sunlight

OTHER INFORMATION

Vlad sleeps, but only for a few hours. He needs to be in a completely dark room in order to sleep soundly, or else he’ll be quite irritable. Vlad is able to walk during the day while using his weather manipulation powers to cover up the sun’s harmful rays with clouds. Holy objects do not harm Vlad. It isn’t specified why in the film, but for RP purposes, it’s due to him being so in-tuned with his religion even when he was turned that his God saw the good in him regardless of the fact he was a now a monster (his religion during the time was and remains to be Orthodox). Vlad can eat food but chooses not to usually. The taste of food has not faded for him even though he is a vampire. He does not crave food, nor does he need to live off it, therefore he doesn’t really eat anything unless it’s to keep up appearences. Vlad lives off of animal blood mainly, but knows a guy that slips him blood bags from a blood bank to keep in the house.

#{ vlad / verses }

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 2 years

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The Kingdom is established in the hand of Solomon

13 Then Adonijah the son of Haggith came to Bathsheba the mother of Solomon. And she said, “Do you come peacefully?” He said, “Peacefully.” 14 Then he said, “I have something to say to you.” She said, “Speak.” 15 He said, “You know that the kingdom was mine, and that all Israel fully expected me to reign. However, the kingdom has turned about and become my brother's, for it was his from the Lord. 16 And now I have one request to make of you; do not refuse me.” She said to him, “Speak.” 17 And he said, “Please ask King Solomon—he will not refuse you—to give me Abishag the Shunammite as my wife.” 18 Bathsheba said, “Very well; I will speak for you to the king.”

19 So Bathsheba went to King Solomon to speak to him on behalf of Adonijah. And the king rose to meet her and bowed down to her. Then he sat on his throne and had a seat brought for the king's mother, and she sat on his right. 20 Then she said, “I have one small request to make of you; do not refuse me.” And the king said to her, “Make your request, my mother, for I will not refuse you.” 21 She said, “Let Abishag the Shunammite be given to Adonijah your brother as his wife.” 22 King Solomon answered his mother, “And why do you ask Abishag the Shunammite for Adonijah? Ask for him the kingdom also, for he is my older brother, and on his side are Abiathar the priest and Joab the son of Zeruiah.” 23 Then King Solomon swore by the Lord, saying, “God do so to me and more also if this word does not cost Adonijah his life! 24 Now therefore as the Lord lives, who has established me and placed me on the throne of David my father, and who has made me a house, as he promised, Adonijah shall be put to death today.” 25 So King Solomon sent Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, and he struck him down, and he died.

26 And to Abiathar the priest the king said, “Go to Anathoth, to your estate, for you deserve death. But I will not at this time put you to death, because you carried the ark of the Lord God before David my father, and because you shared in all my father's affliction.” 27 So Solomon expelled Abiathar from being priest to the Lord, thus fulfilling the word of the Lord that he had spoken concerning the house of Eli in Shiloh.

28 When the news came to Joab—for Joab had supported Adonijah although he had not supported Absalom—Joab fled to the tent of the Lord and caught hold of the horns of the altar. 29 And when it was told King Solomon, “Joab has fled to the tent of the Lord, and behold, he is beside the altar,” Solomon sent Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, saying, “Go, strike him down.” 30 So Benaiah came to the tent of the Lord and said to him, “The king commands, ‘Come out.’” But he said, “No, I will die here.” Then Benaiah brought the king word again, saying, “Thus said Joab, and thus he answered me.” 31 The king replied to him, “Do as he has said, strike him down and bury him, and thus take away from me and from my father's house the guilt for the blood that Joab shed without cause. 32 The Lord will bring back his bloody deeds on his own head, because, without the knowledge of my father David, he attacked and killed with the sword two men more righteous and better than himself, Abner the son of Ner, commander of the army of Israel, and Amasa the son of Jether, commander of the army of Judah. 33 So shall their blood come back on the head of Joab and on the head of his descendants forever. But for David and for his descendants and for his house and for his throne there shall be peace from the Lord forevermore.” 34 Then Benaiah the son of Jehoiada went up and struck him down and put him to death. And he was buried in his own house in the wilderness. 35 The king put Benaiah the son of Jehoiada over the army in place of Joab, and the king put Zadok the priest in the place of Abiathar.

36 Then the king sent and summoned Shimei and said to him, “Build yourself a house in Jerusalem and dwell there, and do not go out from there to any place whatever. 37 For on the day you go out and cross the brook Kidron, know for certain that you shall die. Your blood shall be on your own head.” 38 And Shimei said to the king, “What you say is good; as my lord the king has said, so will your servant do.” So Shimei lived in Jerusalem many days.

39 But it happened at the end of three years that two of Shimei's servants ran away to Achish, son of Maacah, king of Gath. And when it was told Shimei, “Behold, your servants are in Gath,” 40 Shimei arose and saddled a donkey and went to Gath to Achish to seek his servants. Shimei went and brought his servants from Gath. 41 And when Solomon was told that Shimei had gone from Jerusalem to Gath and returned, 42 the king sent and summoned Shimei and said to him, “Did I not make you swear by the Lord and solemnly warn you, saying, ‘Know for certain that on the day you go out and go to any place whatever, you shall die’? And you said to me, ‘What you say is good; I will obey.’ 43 Why then have you not kept your oath to the Lord and the commandment with which I commanded you?” 44 The king also said to Shimei, “You know in your own heart all the harm that you did to David my father. So the Lord will bring back your harm on your own head. 45 But King Solomon shall be blessed, and the throne of David shall be established before the Lord forever.” 46 Then the king commanded Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, and he went out and struck him down, and he died.

So the kingdom was established in the hand of Solomon. — 1 Kings 2:13-46 | English Standard Version (ESV) The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. ESV® Text Edition: 2016. Copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Cross References: Genesis 9:6; Genesis 22:3; Exodus 1:21; Exodus 21:14; Numbers 35:33; Joshua 11:22; Joshua 21:18; 1 Samuel 16:4; 1 Samuel 25:39; 2 Samuel 3:3; 2 Samuel 8:18; 2 Samuel 12:8; 2 Samuel 16:5; 1 Samuel 22:20; 1 Kings 1:3-4; 1 Kings 1:6-7; 1 Kings 1:50; 1 Kings 4:4; 2 Kings 11:1; 2 Chronicles 1:1; Proverbs 20:2; Proverbs 25:5; Matthew 3:1; Matthew 15:13; John 18:1; Acts 18:6

#the execution of Adonijah #the execution of Shimei #the execution of Joab #Solomon's reign established #the throne of David established before the Lord forever #1 Kings 2:13-46 #Book of Second Kings #Old Testament #ESV #English Standard Version #Holy Bible #Good News Publishers #Crossway Bibles

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walkonandtwo · 1 year

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St. Marie, Montana: Past, Present, Future

By: Ryan Gamboa

Posted at 5:59 PM, Jan 30, 2023

and last updated 8:27 AM, Jan 31, 2023

Spectral, uncanny, abandoned. Only those who reside or visited St. Marie, Montana would know the feeling.

For those that occupy the dilapidated Glasgow Air Force Base, home would be a better description. “I had a friend come visit and she said that it was so quiet here that you could hear the worms pass gas… we’ve always enjoyed our life here.”

When the snow flies, an estimated 250 people reside in St. Marie. Around the Ides of March, 500 flock and there is no “Beware” sign.

Elinor Lindsay, a resident of 33 years lives on the base year-round.

“Your friend’s, kind of, become your family, because you're usually not going to be stationed where your family is.” The wife of a retired United States airman, originates from Long Island, New York. Spending time stationed throughout the south and southern Great Plains, moving to St. Marie was perfect, for the pair.

“It was marketed to military veterans.” she explained.

A once thriving and prominent military base – sits as a curiosity to those who hear the stories.

It’s tough to know what an important role the base played in the Soviet Cold War. Much of the history, vanished, along with the service members who were stationed there. Historian for the 341st Missile Wing at Malmstrom Air Force Base, Troy Hallsell, has a brief understanding of its placement during World War II.

“The Army Corps of Engineers came in to build Malmstrom Air Force Base. It also built smaller bases in Cut Bank, Lewistown, and Glasgow.”

The United States Air Force was founded in 1947, almost exactly two years after the end of the second world war. The Glasgow site was an Army Air Base, a bomber training site along with other bases in Cut Bank and Lewistown. “The bombers would take off from their respective locations… if their destination was Cleveland that day, they would take off, form up and fly to their destination and turn around… and land back at their bases,” Hallsell said. The combination of Cutbank, Lewistown, Great Falls, and Glasgow helped support the B-17 bomber training mission that lasted in Montana for under a year time period. Between the heyday of the Glasgow Base, the United States was going through a transitional period of enemies; between the Korean War and the Vietnam Conflict. Command Historian, Brian Laslie from the United States Air Force Academy explains, “The Western powers versus the Soviet Union. The United States, Britain, France, and Canada versus the Soviet Union. We end up with that that bipolar world, with the United States and the Soviet Union.”

MTN NewsSt. Marie, Montana

A new threat was ahead for the allies, especially from the north. From the bases inception in 1957 to is decommission in the late 1960’s, St. Marie was imperative to fending off a Soviet Attack. “The alarm goes out. They would launch from Glasgow across the border, heading into Canada, and they would intercept Soviet bombers as they came across the poles.” Laslie said. As the Cold War clash progressed the 476 Fighter Group and 13th Fighter Interceptor Squadron was disbanded from Glasgow Air Force Base. The 13th Fighter Interceptor Squadron flew F101 and F101B Voodoo aircraft, single or double seater planes. The Air Force then commissioned a bombardment wing, which equipped B-52 bombers and KC-135 refuelers. What the Air Force would call “detach and disperse” which places bombing fleets at numerous bases rather than at one.

“If there was a World War three scenario in Fairchild (Washington state) was destroyed. Not all of its bombers would be destroyed, right? There would still be 15 at Glasgow. 15 at another base or 15 at another base.” Glasgow Air Force base had a short tenure in its commission. Leta Godwin, Historian at the Valley County Museum gave a tour of the dilapidated homes on the west side of the base. “This is one of the old houses for the military people. Some live in fourplexes and duplexes around. Some of them have sold and people live in them, and others are just, abandoned.” The base was built to last, even in its disarray. Laslie explained that many of the airmen station at Glasgow were high ranking officers. The homes and amenities were top of the line. If an attack from the Soviets over the poles were to carry out, it would surely be a one-way mission. The Air Force wanted to ensure that those risking their life for the betterment of their country, had a comfortable set up.

Residents of St. Marie and surrounding areas have speculated the current use of the airfield. Some say its home to “nukes,” others say, “aliens,” and the more plausible reason, testing and training for aircraft unreleased to the public.

What we do know, is that Boeing purchased the airfield and is operated 24/7 by MARCO, Montana Aviation Research Company. Guarding restricted areas throughout the property and keeping trespassers from advancing past posted markers. “There was a couple times they allowed people to come, and they were practicing parachuting and stuff.” Elinor Lindsay said.

For those that reside on the property, the term, “ghost town” doesn’t take away from the fact that St. Marie is home.

“You know someone who can remember Glasgow Air Force Base as a child, to them, you know, ‘Hey, I lived on Glasgow Air Force Base. This was something for me. It's always been home.’” Laslie said

Lindsay adding laughing, “As long as my house lasts as long as I do, that’s all I can ask for.”

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alsjeblieft-zeg · 1 year

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401 of 2022

Just The Basics 1. How old are you? I'm 32. 2. Are you male, female, or ....? Male. 3. What's your sexual orientation? Gay, but asexual. 4. Where do you live? West Flanders, Belgium. 5. Who do you live with? My husband and two cats. Family and Friends 6. Are you currently in a relationship? I'm married. 7. Do you have any children or want any in the future? No and no. My husband has a son with his ex wife, though. 8. How's your social life? Pretty decent. I have friends to hang out with and people who care. 9. How's your relationship with your immediate family? Great with my dad and sister, could be better with my mum. 10. How has your eating disorder affected your social life/other relationships? I find it hard to hide it at times, when I'm among other people. Interests and Hobbies 11. What are your hobbies? Photography, travelling, books, and radio. But non-commercial radio, so any kind of signal identification, number stations, ham radio etc. 12. What's your favorite TV show? Favorite movie? I don't watch movies, and I just out TV on as a background noise. I rarely follow any TV show actively. 13. Do you like reading? If so, what's your favorite book? I love reading books. I'd read just anything, maybe except romanve novels. 14. What's your favorite number? 16. I don't even know why. 15. What's your favorite color? Black and green. Any shade of green, particularly neon green. 16. What's your favorite animal? Cat. Nothing beats cats. 17. Do you have any pets? Yes, two cats. 18. How has your eating disorder affected the aforementioned areas of your life? It has made me more focused on them. Right Now 19. What's your mood right now? Mixed. Hard to say. 20. What's the last thing you did? I went to the toilet. 21. What's the last thing you touched? I think my phone. 22. Who's the last person you talked to? My dad, if texting counts. My husband in person. 23. What's the last thing you said? Mo godverdomme toch. Don't ask please. 24. What's the last thing you ate? That koffiekoek from early afternoon. 25. What was the last thought that crossed your mind? Something about someone I like. 26. Turn to page 32 of the book nearest to you (if there is one within convenient distance) and type the first full sentence. I don't think there's a free book in this room :( 27. If you're watching TV/something on your computer, what? Some TV series as a background. 28. Is there anyone else in the room with you? Who? No, my husband is in the shower and cats are probably sleeping upstairs. 29. Do you want them to go the fuck away? No, why? Such a question. 30. What's in your purse right now? I don't have a purse. But I have a feeling that all these questions are directed to women. 31. What are you going to do later today? Going to bed. Life 32. What does an average day look like for you? At the moment getting up, taking my meds, going to the hospital for rehabilitation, coming back, doing things at home, going for walks, taking my evening meds, going to bed. No work nor uni at the moment, but I miss it. 33. How has your eating disorder affected your average day as compared to before you developed it? I've had more productive days before and it had nothing to do with ed. 34. Are you in school or working? If so, what's your major/in what field do you work? Not at the moment, I'm on a long term sick note for physical disability. But I do have a contract at work, I'm an electrician in a train-making company. At my typical day, I produce electrical components and then install them in train carriages. I've done projects in half of Europe, including French TGV, Swedish X60 /X61 and German Lint. I do have a degree, though. Bachelor of Applied Sciences in electrical engineering. 35. What's your dream job/what do you want to be when you grow up? I wanted to join the army, but it's not possible due to my health issues. 36. Has your eating disorder affected school/work? It made me work harder as I could distract myself from eating. 37. Eating disorder aside, what would your ideal life look like? Where would you like to live? Career? Family? I like where I live, but I wouldn't mind living in my hometown. I want to live happily with my husband and our two cats. Diagnosis 38. Which eating disorder do you struggle with? EDNOS. 39. Are you officially diagnosed with an ed or any other mental illnesses? If so, when were you diagnosed? YES? GAD and OCD at the age of 20, ASD at the age of 25. 40. Do you agree with your diagnoses? Seem legit to me. 41. Are you currently receiving treatment for your ed and/or related mental illness(es)? In the past? Not at the moment, but I used to take medication in the past. I can't do it anymore, though. 42. Are you on any medications? Keppra for epilepsy, and I can't come back to antidepressants because they would interact with my meds. 43. Do your friends/family know that you have an eating disorder? I don't think so. Getting Deep 44. Why do you think you have an eating disorder? I'm pretty sure it's a result of trauma from past sexual abuse. I wanted to disappear and I didn't want to be seen as potentially sexually attractive. 45. If you're receiving treatment, what does your therapist/psychiatrist etc. say the reason behind your eating disorder is? I don't receive treatment. 46. Do you like your eating disorder? I hate it. But it's like on autopilot now. 47. If you like some aspect(s) of your eating disorder, which one(s)? Losing weight. 48. What's the most inconvenient thing about having an eating disorder? I have epilepsy, so it puts me at the higher risk of seizures. 49. If you could switch the eating disorder you're currently struggling with, would you? I would get rid of it completely. Recovery 50. Are you in recovery? If not, do you want to recover? I'm not right now, but I want to recover. 51. If you're not currently in recovery or contemplating recovery, do you think you will in the future? If so, when? I don't know, honestly. Time will show. 52. If you're not in recovery, what's stopping you? I'm too busy with sorting out my physical and mental health. 53. If you could wake up tomorrow and be cured, would you want it to happen? 100% yes. Food 54. Do you actually like food? I both love and hate it. 55. Do you like food more than sex? I've never liked sex in the first place. 56. What's your favorite non-eating disorder food? Define non-eating disorder food please. Something rich in calories? If so, then pasta and rice and all. 57. What's your favorite eating disordered food? Oatmeal without sugar. 58. If you could only eat five foods for the rest of your life, which ones would you choose? Broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, bell peppers and green peas. 59. Do you like cooking/baking? Cooking yes, baking not really. My husband prefers baking, though. 60. Do you like going out to eat at restaurants? If so, do you have a favorite? I do, I think my favourite is Bavet. But I do it only at meetings with my friends, never alone. 61. Have you ever worked in a food-type setting (grocery store, restaurant etc.)? No, never, unless fruit picking as a teenager counts. I've always had technical jobs. Girls (or Boys) Gone Wild 62. Do you smoke cigarettes? No, and I never did. 63. Do you drink caffeine? If so, what's your beverage of choice? I drink one coffee a day, and it's with milk and sugar. It's the only thing I prefer sweet. 64. Do you drink alcoholic beverages? If so, what's your poison? I drink beer and wine, just typical from where I live. I limit myself, though. 65. Do you use drugs of any kind? If so, which one(s)? No, I don't. 66. Have you ever been arrested? If so, why? No, never. 67. Have you ever been to jail? Never, not even as a visitor. 68. Do you have any tattoos? Yes, one radiation warning symbol on my right forearm. But I'm going to have yet another tattoo on my left forearm. 69. Do you have any piercings? Yes, 8 in total. 2x each earlobe, cartillage in my left ear, left eyebrow and snakebites. 70. Has your eating disorder affected any of these aforementioned areas of your life, decisions to partake in substances, or decisions to alter your physical body? No. I've just always liked tattoos and piercings, I've always liked some alcohols for their taste, and I don't use the rest.

#survey #ed survey #categorised survey #q&a survey #tw: eating disorders

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bookwriting · 2 years

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Generating A Passive Income Using Real Estate with Brent Bowers

Jenn Foster and Melanie Johnson co-owners of Elite Online Publishing, interview Brent Bowers about how to make a passive income by investing in vacant land.

What You’ll Learn in this Episode:

How to do a simple elementary land deal.

How to find land deals in your area.

How to resell your land.

Quotes:

"I just knew that if I could find one man's trash or one woman's trash, and turn it into someone's treasure. I could get paid the difference." (7:30)

"The land deals have gotten bigger and bigger, but that's how I started. I made all these mistakes moving forward. I failed fast and I fell quick and I fell forward. None of this was painless, but it all worked one thing after another, by taking a lot of action." (12:50)

"I remember him saying that if you have a deal and you don't have the buyers ahead of time, go out there and put 33 bandit signs up, so that's what I did." (21:02)

About Brent Bowers:

As an Army Officer with over 8 years of service, Brent Bowers was spending a great deal of time away from his family, and he knew he needed to make some changes in order to be more present with his wife and children. His interest in real estate began in 2007 when he purchased his first home, so Brent began exploring real estate investing as a way to support his family while being able to enjoy more time with them as well.

In a short amount of time, Brent was able to expand his business, hire a team, and (most importantly) spend quality time with his family while still working hard and helping others. While Brent invests in many different types of real estate, his favorite investment strategy deals with buying and selling vacant land, and he enjoys sharing his expertise in this area with his coaching clients. Brent chooses to live his life based on Bob Burg’s quote, “Your influence is determined by how abundantly you place other people’s interests first.” He is passionate about helping other people find success in real estate investing, particularly in land investments.

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 10 months

Text

From the Ashes Pt.5

Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

Warnings: battle, canon character death, Rhaegar POV

Words: 2695

Summary: Rhaegar and Robert Baratheon fight side by side

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34

Book Two of Heir of Ash and Fire

Book One of Heir of Ash and Fire

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. . . Your mother has died. . .”

His ears had become numb. White noise was all he heard, sweeping him up just as it did when the news of (y/n) had been brought to him not too long ago. He was forced to lose another important person in his life.

A deep pain made its home in Rhaegar’s chest as he reached out for something to steady him. Jon Connington had been right beside him, catching him by the arm.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, trying to collect himself. It wouldn’t do for his men to see him in this state. “What of the baby?”

The messenger who was holding onto the note that had been delivered by raven, clutches it tightly. “She lives.”

Hope. A small mustard seed of hope, but hope nonetheless. “A girl? I have a sister?”

“Yes. Rhaella named her before she passed from this world. Your sister’s name is Daenerys.”

Letting out a shaky breath, Rhaegar smiled. “Daenerys.”

Jon took it upon himself to ask the next few questions. “Is she still on Dragonstone?”

The messenger nods. “Yes Ser.”

“Does Aerys yet know of the child’s birth?”

That made the young boy paused, looking from the silver haired Rhaegar to the fiery locks of Jon. He lowers his eyes, fearing both of the great men’s gazes. “Yes. . . He has instructed that no one be allowed to dock on Dragonstone and that the young Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys be kept there until further notice.”

Rhaegar clenches his jaw. “Glad to know my father hasn’t changed a bit. And I bet he didn’t grieve the loss of his wife?”

“That I do not know, Your Grace. It was risky enough sending along the message to you.”

He already knew that Aerys didn’t grieve the death of Rhaella. Neither of them had loved the other. It wouldn’t be such a devastating blow to Aerys as it had been to Rhaegar losing (y/n).

“It’s probably best for them to stay on Dragonstone. Safer. As long as Aerys doesn’t try and bring them to King’s Landing. They should be fine.” Rhaegar whispered more so to himself. No one could hurt his younger siblings there on the remote island. He just regretted that they were by themselves. No mother or father, not even their big brother, there to guide them. They were alone, far from any family.

Dismissing the messenger, Rhaegar sighs and sits down at his small table. Sprawled out across the wood surface was his battle plan. A map of all of Westeros with small pieces made of stone, those that were painted red were symbolic of his father’s army, the small stone dragon pieces that were white were for Rhaegar’s troops. They were scattered all throughout the map, many of the red pieces being clustered near King’s Landing and along the Kingsroad. One positive thing that Aerys actually had going for him was his paranoia. It made him act fast in setting up clusters of troops near King’s Landing and any other major road that led to it which in turn proved to make the march more difficult for Rhaegar and his men. Robert Baratheon wasn’t one to be discouraged as he boasted that he would tear down each and everyone of the men that were sent their way. Oberyn liked the storm lord’s enthusiasm as he was ready for the battles to come. Jon, Rhaegar and Arthur were of a more cautious constitution.

“I’m sorry to hear about Queen Rhaella.” Arthur whispered, taking the opposite seat. “She was a good woman.”

“Good women hardly make it in this world.” Commented Jon who was pouring himself a generous glass of wine.

“It seems like I never have time to mourn.” Rhaegar reclines, staring at the red and white that was on the table. “I’ll weep for her when the war is won. . . Are you sure these were all the troops that were planted along the Kingsroad?”

Swirling the dark liquid around, Jon nods. “According to the Spider. Who knows if we can truly trust him though.”

“We can’t. We just have to gamble that he’s an ally.” Arthur replied, playing with an extra white dragon. His fingers rolled around the tiny details, running along the spine that possessed small bumps and along the wings that were curled in.

Rhaegar heaves out a sigh, betraying how weary he was of this whole war. “We have many questionable people on our side. Oberyn believes that we must take everyone who offers us a hand.”

That made Jon chuckle snidely. “He shouldn’t talk. Accepting a marriage proposal to Cersei Lannister. . .” He shakes his head. “Beyond stupid.”

“He has a point though.” The Sword of the Morning admitted, albeit grudgingly. “The only reason Aerys still has the major lords in his hand is due to everyone fearing him and his madness. There are a great many that believe it was him that. . . that set fire to (y/n)’s room. . .” Even Jon winced at the mention of Rhaegar’s late wife. Even a year after her passing and the wound had not yet healed for their prince. It grew infected and worse by the day as he carried her death with him. They saw the damage it had done from his eyes.

Half lidded eyes look up at his friends, those he would trust with his life. They were frozen, waiting for what Rhaegar’s reaction would be. Truth be told he no longer possessed any energy to cry for her even though when he was alone at night, memories of her would dance in his mind. The feeling of how she felt pressed up against him as they slept together in the safety of his bed. . . He longed for those days.

Wetting his lips, Arthur sets down the map piece and looks away. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t mean to bring up something so painful. . .”

He shook his head. “Please don’t apologize. Not to me.” Wanting to change the subject, Rhaegar switches his attention back to the matter at hand. “Knowing my father, he probably has men waiting for our army in the Kingswood. As easy as it would be going through there we can’t risk it. The Kingswood is no place for a full on battle. The forces from King’s Landing will know that place like the back of their hand. We have no choice but to cross through the territories of the Reach.”

“That land is rich with those who are leal to Aerys.” Warned Arthur.

“We’ll have more open space if there’s a battle.” The prince counter argued. “We have a large battalion, thanks to the newly added men from Tywin Lannister and Dornishmen that are itching for the sight of blood. It would be an utter blood bath if we were to go through the Kingswood. The Reach offers a nice open battlefield. And who knows, maybe we could win over some of the smaller lords of the Reach.”

Jon finally settles into a seat. “We can only hope so.”

Shouts and screams from outside make the three men rise from their seats, alert and poised; ready for another battle. Rhaegar, closer to the tent’s exit, pulls back the flap and gazes outside to a multitude of knights hastily putting their armor on and climbing onto their horses. Chaos weaves between tents as Jon and Arthur gaze at their army, a frenzied mess.

One knight spots Rhaegar and immediately dashes toward him. The stag of Baratheon emblazoned on his chest. “Your Grace, it’s an ambush on one of our camps.”

“Has anyone caught sight of our enemies’ sigil?” Arthur is quick to ask before the knight runs off to join the battle. Already there is the clashing of swords in the distance that echoed in the once quiet clearing that they had made their camp in.

He shakes his head before hiking his leg over his horse’s back. The war horse gallops away to the source of battle.

Young Bors is already running toward Rhaegar, cheeks ablaze from running. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I’m sorry that I’m late.”

“Don’t waste your breath on unnecessary apologies.” Rhaegar retreats back into his tent to get ready for another battle.

The fighting was in his northernmost camp where most of the Dornish army resided. Not taking too long to join the fight, a knight wearing the sigil of House Ashford immediately swung his blade at the Silver Prince who had just dismounted his horse. Rhaegar quickly deflected the blow with his own sword, making it sing along the length of his foes’ steal and making a quick jab to the Ashford knight’s throat. He fell off to the side and in came another to claim the glory of killing the would-be king. This time it was by a knight of House Merryweather. Noble houses of the Reach, loyal to Aerys, must have already gotten word of Rhaegar’s victory at Summerhall and prepared for his move through their rich lands. Those loyal to the Mad King were scared of his army as they should be. Spread the word to his father that he was coming for the throne. Rhaegar posed an actual threat with his own troops and forces. Aerys should not take him lightly.

Amidst the battle, Rhaegar caught sight of Robert’s horned helm as he was slaughtering foes left to right with such force that Rhaegar would have mistaken him for the Warrior himself. The young Baratheon bull fought with such force and fury that it was almost terrifying. Rhaegar would not want to be the one fighting against him in combat. There was something off though in Robert’s movement. Despite him seemingly slaying the enemy with ease, he was staggering. Reach knights noticed this as well and took advantage as they swarmed in on him like a bunch of ravenous locusts. Even for Robert, it was too much for him as he was starting to drown among them. Ned was deep in his own fight as was his brother; leaving Robert completely to his own.

Gritting his teeth, Rhaegar made the journey over to the young Baratheon lord to help him. Many got in the way, each one cut down by Rhaegar’s sword. Suns, direwolves, dragons, and stags alike blurred with the banners of the opposition as the frenzied dance continued all around him. This wasn’t like Summerhall which had been an easy victory. It was complete madness. Troops of the Reach were dwindling though, unable to withstand the might of Rhaegar’s army.

Robert met Rhaegar’s gaze, blue against lavender, as Rhaegar hacked away at the throng that had clustered around Robert. The two men fought back to back, defending one another as they thinned out those of House Merryweather and Ashford. Someone knocked off Rhaegar’s helm; who, he could not say as he wasn’t paying attention to sigils anymore. Both men were focused on keeping the other alive.

Before Rhaegar could react, a knight came swinging at his face. As Rhaegar was engaged in another sword fight, he was unable to block the attack. . . * “Your hair is so pretty.” (y/n) chirps happily from behind him. Rhaegar could only chuckle as he sat patiently as the young Lannister girl braided his hair. He looked out across the water that surrounded Dragonstone. A lovely day as a nice breeze makes the grass sway gently against them. Rhaegar’s harp sat across his legs, forgotten as he continued to smile at (y/n) braiding his hair. Little fingers that were clumsy at the harp were working so diligently at braiding his hair.

“Aaaand done!” She proclaims proudly, scooching away from Rhaegar to let him assess her work.

He moves his hand behind his head to feel several thick braids meticulously weaved into his hair. “That’s incredible.” And he meant it. “Where did you learn to do that?”

(y/n) moves back so that she’s facing him. Her own pale blonde hair was pulled back into braids. A pinkish-red ribbon finished off the end of her hair. “Thalina taught me. I used to practice on her hair before Viserys stuck molasses into it. Honestly she looks better with short hair though.”

That made Rhaegar frown. So young and his little brother was already acting up. A few months ago, Rhaella had came for a visit and brought Viserys with her as he was still needing his mother. He wreaked havoc on Dragonstone, as Rhaegar read from letters that (y/n) had sent him. A ‘cute little terror’ as (y/n) had called him. Already becoming entitled, Viserys had not let any of the maesters or septas have any peace when he was there. Especially (y/n). Even though she was older and held authority, Viserys walked all over her and treated her like any other house servant. He pulled her hair, broke her belongings, threw her jewelry into the sea and even set fire to a beautiful doll that Rhaegar had gotten her for her name day. He was surprised that all (y/n) had to say about Viserys was that he was a ‘troublesome child’. Any other girl of her status would have been furious and thrown a tantrum. Not gentle hearted (y/n). She took everything in stride, reminding everyone that he was just a child and didn’t know any better. The truth was that Viserys was being spoiled by their father. Aerys was already putting ideas of entitlement into the little prince’s mind; that everything belonged to him and no one could say no to him. Rhaella could do nothing about it as Aerys always had the last word in how his children were raised.

Rhaegar watches (y/n) as she goes on to make a crown composed of the small white flowers that were strewn all over the hill. She hummed to herself happily as she did so. There was such an improvement in her demeanor that Rhaegar couldn’t help the warmth that permeated in his chest.

“Are you happy here, (y/n)?”

She turns up her soft, green eyes. “Very much! I like to play in the room where the big table is. You can see all the mountains and rivers. It helps me when the maester teaches me geography.”

“Good. I’m glad.” * Rhaegar held up the hand mirror to examine his face.

“Can you still see out of your right eye?” Jon fretted behind him.

“Truth be told, I can’t see anything. My vision is all foggy.”

Robert, mending from his own wounds, gives out a hearty chuckle. “That’s what milk of the poppy will do to you.”

Even though he couldn’t see much, Rhaegar could still make out the vicious red line that went diagonally across his face. Pieces of his silver hair had been slashed off, making the maester cut off his long hair. Apparently it wouldn’t do to have the future king with a shabby haircut. Rhaegar thought it the least of his worries as he tried to force his vision to clear.

In a more serious tone, Robert continues. “You saved my life. I’m in your debt now.”

Gingerly, Rhaegar prodes at his face. It stung only a little bit, the milk of the poppy doing it’s job in numbing the pain. A scar, it would leave a nasty scar. He remembered (y/n)’s scars that were on her back. Long and jagged, now they matched. Rhaegar could still remember running his lips and tongue over her scars, how she would twitch as his motions tickled her slightly. A giggle would escape her and he would do it again out of playfulness instead of lust. There was no sound sweeter in the world than that of (y/n)’s uncontrollable giggles.

He set down the mirror and turned his attention to Robert. “Consider the debt repaid once I have my throne.”

He wouldn’t play games with his father anymore. Aerys had done too much damage. Killing (y/n) and continuously harming the gentle Rhaella. . .

Gone was the boy who loved to play his harp to delight his little fiancee.

Rhaegar would go after him with fire and blood.

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #Game of Thrones fandom #A Song of Ice and Fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fanfic #A Song of Ice and Fire fandom #ASoIaF #asoiaf fandom #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic

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shelleysprometheus · 2 years

Text

I posted 4,986 times in 2021

22 posts created (0%)

4964 posts reblogged (100%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 225.6 posts.

I added 45 tags in 2021

#sherlock - 9 posts

#johnlock - 9 posts

#forethought and fire - 7 posts

#case fic - 6 posts

#mormor - 5 posts

#london - 2 posts

#instagram - 2 posts

#between the fall and the creation - 2 posts

#record love - 2 posts

#fanfic - 1 posts

Longest Tag: 33 characters

#sequels to few escape the gallows

My Top Posts in 2021

Soooo close to the end of Between the Fall and the Creation and In Madness Lies Sanity that I get to start having some sketching/designing fun.

The WIP that is the image for the back cover of Few Escape the Gallows:

And the cover mockups for the entire series (below), each one featuring a different wallpaper design from the set. A huge shout out to @notagarroter for the images and all the amazing wallpaper reconnaissance work.

See the full post

47 notes • Posted 2021-07-18 16:04:46 GMT

52 notes • Posted 2021-10-24 22:40:45 GMT

My beautiful London, how I miss your every breath.

55 notes • Posted 2021-09-04 02:01:42 GMT

Currently on my watchlist are these brilliant fics:

I Wish You Love by @shiplocks-of-love

Summary: "John Watson, professional bodyguard and ex-MI5 agent, reluctantly accepts a job as security adviser to Sherlock, pop superstar, when death threats start pouring in at an alarming rate. As the two men clash over the new security routines, a mutual attraction grows. But danger lurks around the corner…"

Over Fathoms Deep by Bittergreens (@holmesianpose)

Summary: "When the youngest son of the aristocratic Holmes family is shipped off to sea in an attempt to cure him of his poor temper and bad manners, he fully expects to spend a long tedious voyage as miserable as ever. What he does not count on is having his heart stolen by the strapping young crewman, John Watson."

The Killing Principle by @vulpesmellifera

Summary: "John Watson served twice in AmeriCorps, married his high school sweetheart, and then entered med school. A sudden arrest and accusation of multiple murders ends his promising career, irrevocably altering his life's trajectory. Acquitted of his wife’s crimes, John spends the next ten years as the maligned ex-husband of convicted serial killer Mercy Mary. A job offer draws him out of hiding and back to Connecticut - the very state where the crimes were committed. He needs the money, and the job is a dream. Then he meets the brilliant William Vernet, and it seems like he has a second chance at life and love.But the past has a way of catching up."

Kiss and Tell by Ellipsical (@ellipsical-elle)

Summary: "St. Bede's Library takes in those looking for a second chance. John Watson is looking for some peace and quiet in order to heal after he returns from war. Sherlock Holmes is just out of rehab and forced to live in the countryside to care for his brother at the end of his life. When they're thrown together after a one-night stand, Sherlock asks John to keep their relationship a secret. It's just a few months, John tells himself, as he makes a morally dubious decision, but as their electric physical attraction starts to turn into something more, it becomes harder for John to hide how he feels. Does Sherlock feel the same? What will happen when Sherlock's time at the library is up? And will John pay for the secret he kept?"

Bakers with Benefits by @raina-at

Summary: "Sherlock Holmes has a successful YouTube baking channel, but what he really wants is his own bakery. When an old friend sends him a call for the very first Great British Bake Off, he seizes the opportunity to finally win a sponsor for his bakery. Here's the plan: Win Bake Off, get the bakery, don't fall in love with the handsome Army doctor at the neighbouring station. Easy."

The Devil's Blaze by @dulcimergecko

Summary: "Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only Consulting Equestrian Expert, is the individual called when horse owners are out of their depth. At the behest of his elder brother, Sherlock travels to Amarillo, Texas, to investigate why a valuable bucking stallion has seemingly gone berserk for no reason and killed his trainer. The local authorities suspect the owner of fraud and possible animal abuse, but Mycroft sees parallels to an unsolved case from the 1980s wherein a racehorse killed a groom. Complicating the situation is John Watson: bronco rider, rodeo veterinarian, sexy flirt, and one of case’s primary suspects…"

Consumer warning: subscribing may result in addiction, of the best kind!

If you have any WIP's you are are currently addicted to, please do share!

139 notes • Posted 2021-08-03 22:57:56 GMT

Part four of the Forethought and Fire series is here!

This is the story of the return.

At the end of part three (Few Escape the Gallows), John is reunited with a resurrected Sherlock.

Between the Fall and the Creation considers the consequences for their relationship.

Tomorrow In Madness Lies Sanity (part five) also launches as a mirror story of what happens next with Sebastian Moran.

Each week a new chapter in both stories will be posted.

Read them together for double the impact!

**********

And we are done! 🍾

Thank you all so very veey much for joining us!

Given the story arc, it was always going to be an angsty journey, but now that we have made it though all the way through the five acts, we get to have some fun:

"Life is bliss. The scars of the last few months haven’t fully healed but they are no longer raw, sensitive to the touch. Since returning from Ireland, life has been a series of cases amidst the domesticity of their re-established relationship. Working their way back to each other had been difficult. Building their relationship back up had taken patience and sensitivity and kindness - more than they had afforded each other in the past - which felt a little strange, like they had been walking on eggshells - but recently they had started to get back into the rhythm of them. Sherlock keeps making tea for John while still being his normal inconsiderate arse of a self, leaving the remnants of experiment apparatus (and the perishable subjects of his experiments) around the flat. John had resumed grumbling about said remnants while happily making dinner for them in and around the debris. Mycroft has been staying away, "meddling in someone else's business", John says while being grateful for his absence. Together with Sherlock, he regularly sweeps the flat for bugs. So far, they've found none.

And the sex … the sex has been better, fantastic in fact. It has an air of rediscovery about it that gives newness to this next stage of their relationship. In fact, they are, at this very moment, in the process of one of those re-discoveries, sprawled on the sofa. Sherlock sitting astride John’s thighs, hands running up and down his chest, over his button-down shirt but under his jumper. The doorbell rings and they both ignore it.

Mrs Hudson calls up from the hallway. “Boys, you have a client.”

Sherlock shouts back, “Not taking any today.”

John giggles as Sherlock’s curious fingers explore his nipples but does not disagree with the agenda.

“I’m sorry,” they hear her say to the visitor. “They aren’t taking clients today. Maybe if you … well I never!” they hear Mrs Hudson huff and then a set of footsteps on the stairs.

John gives Sherlock a look. They go to stand and are in the process of straightening themselves out when ...

Want a sneak peak at happens in the next fic?

Check it out here and be sure to subscribe to the series so that you get updated as soon as we start posting.

'til we meet again, we wish you all the tidings of the season (whatever season it is for you) and a whole lot of love ❤ @shelleysprometheus and @7-percent .

314 notes • Posted 2021-05-14 12:36:52 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

Atfǫr (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Atfǫr: method, execution (law), attack (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Ivar’s perspective of what’s happening on Strepshire. Stretches over chapter 33 till 35-ish (chapter 35 picks up a lil bit after the end of this one)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Mentions and descriptions of death, war, and wounds.

A/N: Friendly reminder, so that you’re not caught off guard later, that in this universe Sigurd is alive, living in Bamburgh (Northumbria) married to Blaeja.

Long before Ragnar took him to England and Alfred taught Ivar to play chess, Ivar learned to play hnefa-tafl with Floki.

Ivar remembers, as if it were yesterday that he was spending time with him and not years since Floki had left them; how with the laugh that was uniquely his Floki would taunt him about his wrong moves, and when Ivar would get angry and refuse to play anymore, the boatbuilder would still set the pieces back on the board.

Sometimes it took days, sometimes it took hours, but Ivar always dragged himself back to that chair and called for Floki to join him for another match. Without fail, he was there, sitting across from him with that glint in his eye and taunting him to make his next move.

He remembers those days, and Helga’s quiet laugh as she passed by Floki, her hand over his back and her kohl-lined eyes on the board. And he remembers the first time he won was because of Helga.

It was some years before his father returned, and Ivar remembers the bubbling anger inside him at how Floki had managed to outsmart him for days on end when playing hnefa-tafl. He remembers Helga kneeling next to him so she could be on level with the table, and he remembers her hand over one of the pieces.

“Floki always gives up half of his defenders in the beginning,” She told him, a smile that, like all her smiles were, had a sadness to it. “Even he is predictable, Ivar. Everyone is.”

And she was right. Floki’s moves were predictable in hnefa-tafl, and Alfred’s moves were predictable in chess. And Stithulf’s moves are predictable in war.

And it is easy, at least for him, to see pieces on a board, even now.

It feels strangely reminiscent of the time they faced Aethelwulf, taunting the Saxons with only the presence of the army. It certainly feels the same to Ubbe, it seems, who by the third time they almost taunt Stithulf into attacking grunts a breath and tells him it is easy to do this all day when you’re sitting on a chariot, brother.

Still, they make enough time to let the few men they send inside settle and prepare the tunnels to wait for Stithulf, and when tomorrow comes they will make him face them while pretending not to know of the tunnels he will send his best through.

There’s familiarity in the way Ivar and Ubbe lay on the grass near the camp and overlook the city just like they did before York, only this time Hvitserk isn’t with them, only this time so many things have changed that it is almost as if they aren’t the same men.

“Hvitserk did good in finding about those tunnels.” Ubbe comments, and all Ivar offers in response is a grunt.

“They won’t be able to ambush us, but we still need to try to keep the Arabs inside that city,” He tells him, “Fighting them in open fields gives them a victory.”

“That is not something you’d have learned in Dublin.” His brother intones, and Ivar rolls his eyes, turning to lay on his back on the grass.

After a breath, Ubbe does the same, and they lay side by side looking up at the darkening skies.

“Of course I listen to her. Unlike you, I intend to keep my wife with me.”

He ignores the jab at him, only sighs.

After a few breaths of silence, his brother asks, “How is she, by the way? I haven’t seen her in…months?”

“Weeks.”

“Still.”

“She’s…” Ivar shrugs, and at the lack of words offers, “She threatened me to keep me from reaching Valhalla for as long as she has breath if I don’t return.”

Ubbe laughs, but still asks, “Do you think she can do that?”

“I don’t intend to find out.” He sentences, before sitting up and grabbing his bound legs to move them behind him and crawl back to camp.

At his back, Ubbe clears his throat.

“I am happy for you. Proud of you,” His brother tells him. Ivar stays silent, he doesn’t really know what to say to that. Ubbe chuckles, “You…you chose well, Ivar.”

“Better than you, certainly.” He taunts, but his smile is something less cutting than it should be, less mocking than he intended, as he returns to camp.

Late that night, when the few men they sent ahead have already set up within Strepshire, when the tunnels Hvitserk learned about are already theirs and await the Saxons’ ambush through them; Ivar lingers by the map of the city and its surroundings that his brother managed to find before he was to leave Kattegat.

He hears the steps he knows by memory now, and doesn’t turn to acknowledge Ubbe as he walks in. The older man takes a seat nearby, a horn of mead in his hand.

“There’s enough of an opening by now. We can send our men in during the night, wait within the walls.” Ubbe offers, but Ivar doesn’t hesitate to shake his head.

“You have to be careful, Ivar,” Floki tells him, holding the piece he took like a trophy between them. He narrows his eyes, but the man continues, “The fort will hurt you -and me- once the game starts. You can easily be trapped and cornered inside the walls.”

“No, we fight on open fields. The Arabs are going to be in those tunnels, we can take care of the Saxons outside the walls.” He orders, and for once Ubbe doesn’t argue.

“If those mercenaries join him outside the walls…”

“We will know. They stick out.” Ivar tells him, the conversation so similar to how they planned to defend Dublin from those foreigners of strange weapons and stranger tactics.

“I will take the flank. They will count on them to unbalance us, right? Well, I have fought them before, I can lead my men against them.”

Ivar doesn’t take his eyes off the map, but he does betray a mocking smile,

“Look at you, brother, taking advice from a Greek witch.”

Ubbe lets out a huff of laughter, and it is in that small moment of quiet, in that small and private moment past all the pride and the jealousy, that Ivar admits, only to himself of course, that he has missed his brother, missed what he thought lost when he almost killed Sigurd.

____

Ubbe pushed his men to cover the opening in the city’s walls, keeping the Arab mercenaries trapped inside and at the mercy of the long and thin streets, easily ambushed with each wave they send in.

And on the open fields outside Strepshire, the Saxon army takes heavy losses, and Ivar watches raptly as the armies clash. Pieces on a board, but so much more entertaining to watch.

He sees the commander call for retreat across half a battlefield.

Alfred’s eyes lift to meet his for barely a moment, and he retreats his hand from hovering over the knight and grabs his King, moving him away and closer to the Queen. And Ivar doesn’t know much of this game the Saxons play yet, but he knows when the most important piece retreats, he has won. It is only a matter of time now.

Ivar knows it is Stithulf. He would recognize the man anywhere. Both his death and his life haunt Ivar more than he would ever admit.

It is the man that threatened his kingdom, the man that tried killing him and his brothers, the man that his wife vowed revenge against. More than almost anything, he wants him dead.

Yet he is also the man that, just by breathing, keeps you with him.

The Saxon lives in a state between dead and alive as much as you do, as much as Ivar does, it seems.

“I want that one,” He tells his men, eyes on the Christian that at the sound of his voice turns to meet his eyes. Ivar smiles, his voice a hoarse yell when he orders, “And I want him alive!”

And something familiar shines in the Saxon’s eyes. Fear.

And Ivar wonders who it is Stithulf fears, truly. If it is him, or you.

And it fills Ivar with a strange sort of thrill, to imagine that his wife, the woman that looks at him -and only him- with softness and warmth and what he could fool himself into believing is love, is the woman that across a sea, with nothing but the implication of her wrath, manages to make a man like Stithulf fear.

You’re smiling down at him, a smile that reminds him of that first time he saw you, of blood dripping down your lips and the war cry of a Valkyrie, “What a pair we make, then. The Viking King and the Greek witch.”

They don’t need Stithulf to retreat, and he signals his men to let them go and cower. They will strike again soon, and even if they can get far enough, they will meet again.

Now settled comfortable inside the city, Ivar walks the narrow streets, still littered with injured or dead men, towards the dilapidated building where he was told they kept Stithulf, trying to ignore the building pain in his legs at forcing himself to wear the braces for too long now.

They keep Stithulf in a darkened room, hands and legs bound with rope and arms tied to a wooden pillar at his back. Ivar takes a seat in front of him, toying with the crutch as he observes the older man.

He hadn’t noticed, though he realizes now he should have guessed, that Stithulf was not only scarred by his last encounter with you, but blinded. His eye is white and unseeing, surrounded by still-pink scar tissue.

Ivar leans closer to the Saxon, who keeps a defiant eye on his.

“That plan of yours, how is it going?”

“I’m not Bishop Heahmund, I won’t entertain your ramblings, heathen.”

That does make him smile. The fool thinks he gives nothing away by offering resistance, when he actually shows his hand more than he ever could with an open stance.

Ivar leans back with a downward curve of his mouth, “I am willing to entertain yours. So, tell me, why do all this?” He motions with his free hand all around him, “You had to know you’d lose.”

“Why did you and your brothers gather your Great Army and marched on England? Why did your wife vow to take my soul with her to her Hell?”

“Revenge? Not very Christian of you.”

“The seat of power of my home is occupied by Vikings, the last of my King’s blood was abducted by a son of Ragnar,” Stithulf’s eyes hold a certainty, a fire, that almost surprises Ivar. “Revenge is all I have left.”

“Bamburgh is not occupied, it is legally my brother’s. And your princess’ marriage to Sigurd was the work of Ecbert, no…abduction.”

The Christian laughs bitterly, mocking, “Ah, and your wife is willingly staying by your side? Tell yourself all the lies you wish, heathen, we both know the tale is other.”

“And what is this tale?”

“That none of you beasts, you…sons of Ragnar, can hold on to anything. Not land, not love, not each other.”

But you do not care to be called a beast, a monster, do you? One such as you knows better than to expect love, I suppose.

The anger starts in his chest, an old blend of too many things that it is easier to name wrath, and Ivar feels his nose furrow in a snarl, his teeth gritting together.

With the anger comes the restlessness, the need to make the pain and the anger take form, the desire to hurt back.

And he gathers, out of all the things you’ve forgiven, you could certainly forgive him for killing Stithulf instead of bringing him to you alive, couldn’t you?

For a few moments he lingers on it, he lets himself be lulled by the siren song of silencing the iron-willed Saxon once and for all. To silence his voice and all the others that agree with him.

But your voice is clear in his head as if it were being spoken by you again, as if you were sitting across from him and looking into his eyes and whispering, while he still lives, I have reasons to stay here.

And he stays frozen, lingering on the realization that bound and helpless lies the man that he promised you as a gift, that the one thing keeping you in Kattegat could be dead soon, that the promise could be fulfilled and you could be gone before winter is over. And so Ivar stays there, frozen for too long trying to think of all the possible outcomes, as if this were but yet another battle, but finding himself unable to think of anything other than a life without you in it.

Gone is the woman that had an axe to her neck and still asked if she should be impressed, and pleading eyes search his, “You cannot do this, you cannot expect me to-…don’t put chains on me.”

The answer was always there, wasn’t it? Even if you say you can’t choose, the choice has already been made.

You turn to face him, steeled resolve shining in your gaze, arrogance in your posture, “You won’t be the first man to try to chain me. My very blood makes me belong to them. Athens, and Sparta, Greece; it’ll summon me to return sooner or later.”

It was never even a choice, was it? You were always going to belong to them, you were always going to love and need and choose them.

A deep breath, and you meet your gaze, a resigned sort of strength making you give him your answer, that is as unwavering as your voice, “I would leave.”

He stays frozen, for so long it seems, that even Stithulf grows bored of the silence.

“I assume you’ll be taking me with you to your home?”

“It won’t do you any good to assume anything.” Ivar tells him, curving his mouth downwards in a nonchalant grimace, trying to dispel the thoughts from his head, trying to focus on the present.

The older man only keeps his eyes on the nothingness ahead, as if he can see a ghost in his mind’s eye.

A ghost that with a knife in her hand and his neck within reach chose to scar him, a ghost that with a smile talked in a foreign tongue and promised him suffering and death.

“She made you promise her my head, didn’t she? And you agreed,” Stithulf chuckles, and he almost sounds proud, “Too smart for her own good, that witch. And too beautiful for ours.”

Ivar doesn’t bother hiding his disgust, toys with the idea of blinding Stithulf’s remaining eye. What was that story you told him? Walk the Underworld blind, deaf, and dumb, so that all the dead know…

Instead, he mocks, “Are you going to sit there and talk about my wife?”

“Well, I am sitting here with nowhere to go, and you aren’t talking about anything.”

“I thought you weren’t to entertain my ramblings.”

Stithulf only shrugs as well as he can with bound arms, keeping his one good eye on Ivar.

“Plans change.”

“Ah, like your plans involving your Bishop. You sent him to die to Kattegat’s border.” Ivar tells him, eyeing him from the corner of his eye as he pours himself a drink.

“Leofric? It was his choice, a choice he made once he was no longer needed. He is-…” Stithulf stops himself, considering his choice of words, and looks at Ivar inquisitively. All he offers in response is a small smile and the lift of his eyebrows over the rim of his cup. The Saxon amends, “…was a man of God, he lived by Christian teachings, he died for the Lord and so he shall be-…”

Ivar decides to ignore the rest of his words, rolling his eyes and letting his head follow the movement. For a man that claims to not be anything like Heahmund, Stithulf seems to love the sound of his own voice as much as the other man did.

But there were things Leofric said before dying that Ivar still needs answers to.

“Your Bishop, he said something about dead men breathing.” Ivar interrupts, eyeing Stithulf carefully, looking for any give in his expression.

The Saxon only stares at him, impassively, “Are you one to fear ghosts, heathen?”

He looks into his eyes, both blinded and piercing, and he doesn’t see a man. But he doesn’t see a piece on a board.

He sees a dying fire, he sees a choked flame, he sees an ending. He sees the last flickering light that’s keeping Ivar from the darkness.

And he cannot let it go out, not yet.

Even though Ivar will deny it until Valhalla calls to him, it is infuriatingly easy for you to get him to grant you whatever you wish.

You need only look at him and offer a soft and secret smile, or a touch of your hand on his arm, or a whisper of his name, and he is pathetically gone, ready to grant you whatever it will be that could keep you happy, safe.

You asked him without words to know where the place you were in was located on a map, long before he knew your name, in some old hut in Aneridge. And as if the Gods themselves moved his hand, he pointed to the location of the small town, growing a little warm at the sight of the softness in grateful eyes that looked up at him.

You ask silently for his attention with your chin resting on his shoulder, with your fingers skimming over his arm, with your hand on his. And, lovesick fool he is, he answers each of those summonses without thinking twice about it; turning to you and meeting your gaze.

And he likes to think -no, no, he knows, because he knows you, because…he knows- that in the last kiss you shared while it was still just the two of you, before the people set watchful eyes on you and the titles laid heavy on your heads; you asked him for the same thing he asks the Gods: for more time.

And so he leans forward, holding onto a knife, one of a set of five of which one still is kept safe by you.

Ivar’s eyes look into Stithulf’s grey one, and he watches the Christian squirm and groan as he retraces with the knife the scar you gave him, drawing blood and pain.

As he restarts the count, he breathes life to the dying embers.

“Run,” He tells him, the next movement of the bloodied knife cutting the rope that binds Stithulf’s legs, but not the one on his wrists. “We will meet again.”

And when the sun rises and the men wake up, they will hear him demand to know where the Christian has gone to, maybe they will even see him punish some undeserving fool.

And he will ignore Ubbe’s knowing stare, and he will set sail home and lie through his teeth, and live in this borrowed time a while longer.

Just this winter. Just one winter with you, and he’ll readily face spring and whatever it brings then.

____

Ivar never really saw love. Or experienced it. He doesn’t really know what it is like to love, or be loved, other than his mother, and Floki, maybe.

But he never witnessed it either, and that’s what he dwells on as the ships approach the docks. For a lifetime of watching, of being witness to how other men achieved the things he once believed he never could achieve himself; Ivar never really saw love.

His father was never there, and even when he was, it wasn’t love what kept him and Aslaug married. It was a quiet respect, a strange rivalry kept at bay by something other than themselves.

He hasn’t seen Sigurd in years, but even before it all fell apart, Ivar knew it wasn’t love what he and Blaeja had. It was companionship, a blend of resignation and relief at how out of all the possible outcomes, they happened to be bound to one another.

Floki did love Helga, he knows that, and he knows Helga loved him. But it was so drowned by the quiet sorrow, the way Helga would look at Floki, and it was so jarringly painful, the way Floki would look at his wife.

And Ivar still remembers the edge in that Greek’s voice as he called your name, he still remembers the look in your face as he died in your arms. But in quiet nights you’ve told him that was never love, that was illusion and guilt.

So, he doesn’t really know what love looks like, or what it is.

He doesn’t really know if the way your eyes have a strange shine to them and you smile despite yourself as you meet his gaze from the docks is love.

But he wants it to be.

And he understands the poor fool that believed every lie you told him, including that you loved him. Because you do not need speak a word other than his name, and Ivar is willing to close his eyes and pretend what you said were words of love.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, and grow angry at himself for still craving useless things, like softness, like love.

You are standing in front of him, wide smile and the faint shine of tears in your eyes, and he realizes in the quiet that you bring that he has had this small voice whispering that it would all turn out to be a mirage all this time.

Because this is real, because this is his; Ivar’s hand is certain on the back of your head, and he brings you to him and claims your mouth.

There’s a soft sound against his lips that sends a thrill of warmth down his spine, and your hands are warm against him as your mouth moves against his own, as you surrender to his kiss.

In the warmth you bring he realizes there truly was a part of him that believed that when he returned everything that had changed before he left would turn out to be nothing but a dream.

Your hands are on his chest, and your eyes focus on them for a few moments before you lift your gaze up to him.

“I missed you, Ivar.” You tell him, quietly, easily. You say it in a breath, as if it is simple. And it is simple, he gathers, though it doesn’t feel like simple in the way his chest pulls tight at the words.

He leans down and kisses you again, seals those words against his own lips, finds a way to make the promise they whisper more than words. And he kisses you -or you kiss him, he doesn’t think he minds the difference- until your lips are bearing the mark of him, and your breaths are labored.

You blink, dazedly, as if awakening from a dream, and it feels Ivar with pride to be able to disarm you, at least partly.

“How many…how many injured?” You ask, for the first time looking around you, “Your brother, is he…?”

“He’s well,” He tells you, and searches your eyes before adding, “Stithulf still lives.”

And Ivar may not know what love looks like, but he does know what relief looks like. And that surely shines in your eyes at his words.

____ ____ ____

Hope you liked it, thank you so much for reading!!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld @funmadnessandbadassvikings (won’t met me tag you bb)

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

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silvysartfulness · 3 years

Note

Omg I saw that you used to write for the assassin’s creed fandom and honestly what a throwback 😭 are they on livejournal?

Aahhh, this is the part where I have to admit, I don't think I ever put any of those drabbles online! It was more a fun thing me and wife used to do, writing very very short 5 minute one-shots based on single word-prompts.

Oh, wait! Apparently I actually still have them, in an old folder of mine! Will post under a cut. These are AC 1-3-brotherhood, primarily focused on the latter.

La Volpe/Cesare post the fall of the Borgia was my main rarepair ship in that fandom, so that's the main (if occasionally only implied) focus for a lot of these. (CW some dubcon/non-con under the cut, so be warned.) 😊

1 Unwillingness

It goes against everything he is, a greater challenge than any battlefield taken on. Snarling, eyes blazing his defiance, Cesare submits for now.

2 Memento

”Something to remember me by,” murmurs Volpe softly against the sensitive skin of his neck, and it's all Cesare can do not to yelp as those vicious teeth leave a bleeding gash in his ear.

3 Baseline

He still doesn't trust Machiavelli, Volpe muses, and it's equally clear Machiavelli doesn't trust him. Perhaps their shared love of secrecy is the one dependent thing about their relationship.

4 Sniper

He has shot guards from rooftops, towers, horseback, beams and the treacherous crumbling tops of ancient stone pillars. So why was it, muses Ezio afterward, that he hadn't even thought of pulling crossbow or gun out as his sworn enemies held their short council in the courtyard a few measly yards below his feet?

5 Birthplace

It is in Masyaf the order of Assassins was born into what it is now. Searching for answers Ezio sets out on the longest journey of his life, back to the beginning of all.

6 Denunciation

It is hard to remember what it was like to have faith, Cesare thinks, but easy to remember when it was lost. What God could ever work through the instrument that was Alexander VI, his father?

7 Distaste

”Volpe, you didn't!” Ezio exclaims, his face a mask of distaste. Volpe smirks.

”Oh, it was not at all bad. Cesare is well trained.”

Ezio shudders. ”That is exactly what bothers me!”

8 Elimination

Constantly, frustratingly one step behind, it is little Cesare can do as his allies are meticulously taken out by the Assassins one by one. And yet it is not until the last of those on his side willingly turn their backs on him that he realizes this battle is lost.

9 Bluntness

”You can do as I say,” says the master thief matter-of-factly, turning the vial of antidote over in his spindly fingers, ”or you can spend the night dying slowly while vomiting your innards all over the floor. The choice is yours.”

Pale with fury Cesare chooses to live.

10 Turf

The Assassins had been myth, legend, bed-time stories to frighten a young boy already afraid of the dark. But as they dealt an all but deadly blow to his father inside the Vatican itself, Cesare grimly declares war. Roma is his city, and all who oppose his rule must be swiftly and mercilessly dealt with.

11 Assassination

He burns for the ideals, fights the fight with passion and utter devotion. But when Shaun's shaking hands lower the suddenly impossibly heavy gun he knows something he'dnever even thought about (Innocence? Compassion? Humanity?) has perished as surely as that very first body at his feet.

12 Apprentice

He remembers a gangly youth skidding across slippery roof tiles, trying so hard to keep up and even harder to hide his inability to do so. La Volpe silently studies Il Mentore and considers he's no longer sure who would lead the way across the rooftops.

13 Debris

Ezio swears as the ceiling collapses over the bed he shared with Caterina until moments ago – his armor and weapons are buried in the rubble and will be hard to replace. He does not yet know they will be the least of his losses this day.

14 Scolding

Altaïr has never been one to accept blame or criticism for his actions, but something about the way Malik's not-there left arm twitches as to shake a not-there fist in his face as the man speaks makes him look away in hidden shame.

15 Torrent

The rain pours down over the city, making roofs and cobblestones alike wet and slippery. Volpe tugs his collar tighter around his shoulders against the biting cold and idly contemplates if a trip to the Castello would be worth the trouble.

16 Anchor

He cheats and steals and tells honeyed lies with the ease of a snake. But his eyes can be oceans and his touch velvet – sometimes Ezio wonders if his always restless, inspiration-ridden friend keeps Salai around just to remember what it's like to be human.

17 Truce

”It would be nice,” says Machiavelli evenly, ”if you would not so readily name yourself judge, jury and executioner the next time you fall victim to unfounded suspicion.”

”Fine,” mutters Volpe, frowning. ”It would be niceif you were not so secretive. And stop trying to steal my spies. Get your own.”

”Fine,” Machiavelli replies with a minute smirk.

Fellowship is knowing just when your brother-in-arms is lying.

18 Nook

There are many unknown and unseen hiding places among the rooftops of Florence. On his back, hair plastered against his face and hot breath against his ear, Giovanni concludes it's very handy that La Volpe always knows to find one when you need it.

19 Orgy

These parties are more to his father's tastes than his his, Cesare firmly tells himself, perhaps letting his eyes linger thoughtfully on the multitude of courtesans a moment longer than intended. Then a familiar slender hand grazes his thigh and he is reminded that the only person even close to matching his own schemes, cunning and skill is the woman on the throne next to his.

20 Scoff

”I spend all my time in the Animus,” Desmond frowns, ”Lucy's keeping an eye on Abstergo and Rebecca... hacks and stuff. What do youdo, really? Anyone could use, what, Google and Wikipedia?”

Shaun grins or at least bares his teeth.

”You mean Templar Central One and Two? No, it's called obtaining knowledge, Desmond - sifted like little gold nuggets of fact from the vast sands of ignorance you're so fond of burying your head in. Google can't help you there, I'm afraid.”

21 Scolding

At the time, Ezio always figured Giovanni's constant nagging and pleading with him to stay out of trouble was only the worrying of an overprotective father. Only later was he taught discretion was part of the ancient Assassin's creed. He never got very good at it, even so.

22 Bonfire

No-one is entirely sure why Julius II has tempered justice with mercy for now and opted for his enemy's imprisonment rather than death sentence. As far as la Volpe is concerned, the way Cesare goes pale whenever the topic is brought up is at least good for entertainment.

23 Nakedness

Being exposed holds no particular shame for him, but the walls and floor are freezing to the touch, draining precious warmth from his aching body. Now would be a prudent time for an accursed thief to show up with a blanket to bargain for.

24 Arbiter

It was funny, Machiavelli drily noted in his notebook, how God and Divine Justice so often were on the side of the biggest army with the sharpest swords.

25 Purgatory

The land burns, smoke choking the sky and tinting the sun a sickly shade of blood. It is with a cold and unfamiliar sense of foreboding Cesare hurries through the flames toward the towering walls of the fortress to escape this hell on earth – one way or another.

26 Fingernail

Ezio has more than his fair share of scars adorning his hardened body, some remembered more fondly than others. He would never dream to ask Caterina to trim her nails, or use them just a touch more carefully.

27 Slavery

The Creed dictates freedom of thought, and in his reckless youth Altaïr would use it as justification for any rash impulse. But the older he grows, the more he comes to realize freedom and all its crushing responsibility can be the harshest master of all.

28 Carnivore

When confronted on his nasty habit of biting, Volpe only grins and quips something about foxes and their nature. Cesare is tempted to snap he's often seen dirty foxes prowling the back streets for garbage, but can see where Volpe would go with that, and so holds his tongue.

29 Bluntness

Ezio is too flustered after his mother's blunt request he find other outlets than vaginas to realize the enthusiastic young artist at his side seems more than eager to offer a few suggestions on the particular subject.

30 Vow

He will live, Cesare vows. He will live, he will regain his freedom, his power and his army. At any cost. And then they will. All. Pay.

31 Blending

It was simply not fair, thought Machiavelli, that no matter how solid your acting, no matter how meticulousyour disguise, Volpe would immediately spot you in a crowd and grin at you. Clearly spying on the sly old fox called for more cunning means, he conceded as he made his way to the Rosa to shamelessly bribe Claudia for information.

32 Misconduct

“Not that we are in any particular hurry to the Castello,” Orsini says, the knuckles of his war-gauntlet quite pleasantly buried in Cesare's face, “but things would just be easier all around if you would stop squirming and came quietly.”

33 Ultimatum

“If you don't stop hogging my mp3-player,” Rebecca whispers softly in Shaun's ear, “I'll tell Lucy exactly whatyou and Desmond used her yoghurts for last night.”

34 Takeover

“Stop!” Lucrezia commands as the soldiers feed the paintings to the fire – already the image of a swan is crackling and fading to black amongst the flames. Such a waste of beauty. She hasn't even realized Cesare is standing behind her, fierce and bloodied after the battle, until he speaks.

“You like them?”

She nods, and he touches her cheek with a smile, careful not to stain her hair.

“Then they are yours. A memento of the day the Assassini fell.”

35 Afterlife

“I blame you for this,” says Cesare flatly as the imps re-heat the lake of boiling tar. Again. “There is no God, you said. No heaven and no hell, you said. Stupid old bastard.”

Rodrigo mutters something about Hell being other people, but will have to concede that in this trifling matter, yes, he was mistaken.

36 Distaste

He would rather be hated than forgotten, Cesare sullenly thinks, rubbing his stiff hands for warmth. Bony, filthy, with the matted long hair of a hermit falling into his face, he has to settle for the guards' contempt. At least it's better than pity.

37 Slavery

He isn't really paid, Leonardo thinks, merely kept alive, yes. Not really compensated as such. And so the construction of the intricate war-machines is really on the consciences of his masters, not his. Sting of guilt quenched he returns to the blueprints with renewed fevered enthusiasm.

38 Probation

“What's the catch”, asks Cesare with deepest suspicion.

“No catch,” Volpe assures, looking innocent. “Just a reward for your recent good behaviour. Keep it up and there may a meal and a hot bath in it for you, too.”

Cesare does not for a moment believe they are just going out 'to stretch their legs', but a meal does sound inviting. He follows.

39 Adversity

Ezio strongly disapproved of the idea of his little sister taking over the Rosa in Fiore, and he frankly can't say whether he is more disappointed or proud when it flourishes under her care.

40 Bluntness

“You are a thief,” Machiavelli growls, piqued into a rare display of anger. “A liar and a cheat and an honourless thief!”

Volpe grins.

“All those things. And I'm still better than you.”

41 Scheming

Ezio gave the Apple to Mario, who had it stolen by Cesare, who gave it to Leonardo, who found it plucked out of his helpless hands by the Pope and his daughter. He ponders life was easier when he was just a painter. The Apple is a thing of awe, but the intrigues in its wake make his head hurt.

42 Favorite

It wasn't that Cesare particularly hated his older brother. It was just that while he no longer childishly sought his father's approval, the position as the Pope's favorite son came with several practical perks. Unfortunately for Juan, that meant he simply had to go.

43 Truce

When things are civilized, they can be bearable, almost even pleasant. The food is good, the wine plentiful, and Volpe's skilled fingers all but gentle. An unspoken truce, no matter how temporary. But neither man ever forgets the truth, which is war.

44 Scour

They answer to no-one, self-proclaimed executioners beyond all law. Too much blood on their hands now. Just before sunrise Cesare gives the command to attack. The cleansing of Monteriggioni has begun.

45 Extrovert

To hold his own council and play his cards close to his heart has always been his way, and he knowshe is a master at his game. And yet, Machiavelli can grudgingly admit to himself, it isn't until the boisterous chaos in human guise that is Ezio bursts in on the Roman scene that he begins to see how they will win this war.

46 Protagonist

“I will avenge the cowardly, treacherous plot against my father,” he thinks. “I will root out all those involved, every single one, and I will kill them and all they stand for.”

No-one ever sets out to be a hero, only to do what is right.

For Cesare, the path ahead is clear.

47 Willpower

It is never easy. Every time Altaïr visits his (his!) bureau in Jerusalem, Malik has to struggle with himself not to slay the man in his sleep. On many a moonlit night, only a lifetime of discipline stays the blade in his white-knuckled hand.

But strangely, it does get easier over time.

48 Esacalation

At first it had been mere proof of his ability to go anywhere in Roma as well he pleased, the taunting and impotent rage in response a given bonus. After some time, forced still-furious intimacy gained through blackmail had appeared a logical step. Then force turned out redundant. As Cesare clings to him, nails biting into his arms and teeth bared with need, Volpe admits to himself he would never have suspected the caged Borgia would so willingly use him to sate his desires – nor the other way around.

49 Torrent

Raw grief fades over time, a broken heart healed into a dull ache. The thing that keeps Claudia from sleeping at night is not all she has lost, but her screaming frustration at not being able to take her fate, and that of those responsible, into her own hands.

50 Danger

The peaceful life he had envisioned just the evening before will have to wait, Ezio grimly decides, pressing a hand to his wounded shoulder and focusing on not falling off his horse. And despite the shock, grief and pain, it somehow feels right. He has lived this life so long, he isn't sure he remembers how not to.

51 Splattering

Leonardo likes to buy birds at the market and set them free, watching with dreaming eyes as they take to the endless sky. Once, Ezio surprises his friend with twenty white doves. Much belatedly he wishes he'd remembered that stressed pigeons prefer to lighten their load before taking off.

52 Ramification

“It is time you take responsibility for your actions,” Rodrigo snarls, and Cesare struggles with the impulse to scream, childishly, “But father, younever did!”

53 Concession

“I'm not sure we should...”

Lover and Thief, silhouettes in the dark, alone. A light touch.

“Come now. It will be good, I promise.”

“But, what if...”

“Ssh. Are we not both Assassins? Everything is permitted.”

His honed thief's nerves tingling with foreboding warnings, La Volpe allows Claudia to persuade him in the end, knowing Ezio will probably kill him, and that it will no doubt be worth it.

54 Leer

You can't even seehis face in the shadows beneath the cowl. And yet, Volpe just standing there outside the bars, nonchalantly leaning one hand against the wall, makes Cesare want to scream. Or punch him hard. Preferably both.

55 Whisper

Ezio reflects that there are few other voices he would instantly recognize by just a short, urgent uttering of his name. His hesitation to turn around stems not from uncertainty, but the childish wish to postpone the trial of his oldest friend's rumored treason just a few moments longer.

56 Absurdity

At first Ezio had felt confused, then worried and finally terrified. But as they've fled Florence and the man introducing himself as uncle Mario tells him that his family belongs to an ancient clan of legendary assassins, relief washes over him. Finally is clear it has all been an insane dream. He can't wait to wake up.

57 Experimentation

Leonardo da Vinci is a true genius, his brilliant mind always seeing the world through a lens of wonder. Nothing escapes his never-sated curiosity – but that a small poseable wooden mannequin could be used like that? Cesare is a man not easily impressed, but will have to admit the artist rarely fails to amaze.

58 Farewell

It is with uncharacteristic kindness Volpe kisses him, between shared gasps for air after their final tryst. A last goodbye before the approaching dawn will see Cesare on his way to exile in Spain.

”Growing sentimental, old fox?” the younger man scoffs at him. ”No need. I shall return soon enough, and repaint the walls of Roma with Assassin blood.”

Volpe just smiles. He has already helped Ezio prepare his own journey and knows with certainty that Cesare will never again return to Rome.

59 Turf

”Maybe Giovanni could get away with doing paperwork all day over in Florence,” Mario says, and his tone clearly states what he thinks about his brother's choice. ”But arround here we train Assassins, not accountants or delivery boys.”

Ezio's body has never ached as much in his life as it does after his first day of training with his uncle.

60 Smoothness

When she smiles her deep red lips are like tantalizing rose petals, framed by sun-ray golden hair. She is smooth, flawless, perfect. But every rose has its thorns, and Lucrezia's are laden with poison.

61 Kneeling

Every fiber of Ezio's body strains desperately to regain control as he jerks like a puppet on golden strings of light.

”You are lucky,” breathes Rodrigo in a low, husky growls, leaning hard on the staff after the battle, ”So verylucky, little Assassin, that I am in a hurry.”

As the dagger sinks into his guts, Ezio briefly thinks that indeed, it could have been so much worse.

62 Purgatory

The imps don't know whether to feel amused or put out that the screaming, flailing argument between father and son has by now escalated to the point they don't even seem to register the lake of boiling tar anymore. A bit of respect for good solid workmanship, is that too much to ask?

63 Lick

It has to be said in favour of Machiavelli's assassin reflexes that the unexpected lick at his ear out of the dark earns Volpe neither a jump or a shriek but a rapid fist to the nose.

Only half an hour later, safely home in his bedroom, does Niccolo allow himself to contemplate what might have otherwise transpired.

64 Bonfire

It is a sad thing, reflects Ezio in hindsight, older, wiser, that compared to all the priceless art and knowledge fed to fire during Savonarola's mad reign of Florence, the mere loss of a human life that ended it is remembered with little sense of loss or revulsion.

65 Last

After Mario's death, Ezio has felt the weight of being the last Auditore Assassin ever heavier on his shoulders. But as he watches Claudia fearlessly take her leap of faith, he wonders how he could ever have been blind enough to think himself alone.

66 Well

The guards in hot pursuit yell and stab at wells, haystacks and dark alleyways. From his perch on a rooftop Ezio smiles. He always did prefer to take to the sky.

67 Wrongdoer

As his support falters and the opposition grows ever bolder, Cesare becomes increasingly frustrated with their attacks and accusations. He would prefer to answer only for his own sins, not those of his dead father.

68 Deliberate

It really is getting unnerving, decides Machiavelli, the way Volpe has taken up the habit of commenting on his every observation with a frosty ”Indeed” or ”Yes, quitethe coincidence”. He wishes he could believe the man isn't doing it on purpose.

69 Counter

When he first arrives in Jerusalem, Altaïr can't quite shake the feeling that the only thing between him and certain death is a rather narrow, map-strewn desk.

70 Bribe

Cesare has always been good at striking a profitable bargain. Unfortunately Borgia as a currency is bitterly deflated, and these days he often have to sell himself too cheap for comfort. Even though it isa warm, snug blanket.

71 Chess

Cesare knows he is a brilliant strategist – not so much because of the expected praise from his subordinates as from the satisfactory number of pins currently adorning his map of Italy. He would like to believe himself modest in this, careful not allow hubris to cheat him of a victory. And yet he never knows whether to frown or laugh helplessly as the absent-minded artist all but appologetically check-mates his king time and time and time again.

72 Feel

Leonardo never knows how to feel when Cesare enters the room. At first he is apprehensive, but as weeks turn into months and he realizes he's not only allowed but encouraged to dream up grander designs than ever before he is thrilled.

In the end, seeing the Assassins' plans put into motion long before Cesare even knows the final battle has begun, he can only avert his eyes in regret.

73 Mister

”Outside the kingdom of God is the realm of men,” Salai says, leaning just an inch too close. ”You worship there, Messere?”

Only years of training his clueless look on Leonardo helps Ezio keep a straight face as he blankly waves for the boy to follow him.

74 Fine

There are simply too many guards around for a discreet kill, so Ezio grudlingly counts the florins and hands them over. How was heto know he wasn't allowed to park his horse there? Time to liberate another stable from its Borgia-tower shadow, he decides. Burning them all down is easier than keeping track of territories anyway.

75 Dog

If La Volpe is the fox and Ezio the bird of prey, Pantasilea ponders, then Bartolomeo reminds her of a large, lumbering dog. Faithful and loyal unto death, but with a booming bark and a vicious bite for those who threaten those dear to him.

76 Forgotten

When Volpe appears he is the first person Cesare has seen in days. He greets the thief with his usual brazen curses, careful not to let any trace of relief shine through. Of all things he is most afraid to be left alone to die; not slain out of hatred or need, but simply ignored and forgotten.

77 Changed

Had Ezio been the kind of man to think upon such things, he might have noticed the Cesare facing him atop the towering walls is not the self-assured young general he met a handful years previous in Roma. Tired-looking and hunched over he looks defeated even before the battle has begun. But Ezio is here for one single purpose alone, and has never been the kind of man to think of such things anyway.

78 Gondola

Antonio assures Leonardo that only from an extensive tour with his private gondola will the artist truly get to know his new home town. As it happens, a rocky two-hour boat ride later, Leonardo still hasn't really seen much of the city. But that's quite alright, as he happily agrees to repeat the endeavour soon again.

79 Casino

It never hurts to try to win Fortuna's favour when gambling is one of your favorite pastimes, Salai knows, but in this particular case divine intervention is quite a bit closer at hand. As long as you have La Volpe's favor, the dice at the Sleeping Fox will never let you down.

80 Soup

The first bowl of watery gruel ends up thrown in the guard's face with enough force to break his nose. The next morning the second splinters against the wall. Nearly a week passes before he forces himself to eat the fifth, to preserve his strength.

Cesare closes his eyes as he quickly raises the bowl to his face to wolf down the hundredth, before the reflection in the dull surface can show him what he has become.

81 Carrot

”Tell you what,” murmurs Volpe in the starving prisoner's ear, dangling the vegetable in front of his face, ”If you give me a good enough show I'll even let you keep it for supper when you're done.”

82 Madame

Volpe has to admit himself impressed – Claudia is shrewd, ruthless and horrifyingly practical, and stillmanages to be praised a good businesswoman rather than cursed a thief.

83 Kilt

Yes, Ezio decides as he flexes his body inside the unfamiliar weight of Romulus' armour, there is definitely a draft around his nether regions. Whatever the old Romans may have thought, a skirt of leather belts does notconstitute proper clothing.

After some swearing and creative arranging of his spare cloak he considers it may well look even moreof a skirt, but at least this cut preserves his manly dignity when he jumps.

84 Theft

He has stolen valuables, information, people and lives. La Volpe draws in a deep breath as he surveys Roma in the first light of morning, then exhales in satisfaction. She is the greatest city in the world, and she is all his for the taking.

#asksilvy #blast from the past

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