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earth2hope · 1 year

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Personal Narrative

Hope Coardes

Sean Pears

Writing, Literacy, and Discourse

Personal Narrative

Christianity is a broad religion that people from many backgrounds participate in. One community it is prominent in is the black community. This can be seen as a result of slavery and the forcing of Christianity and the beliefs that come with it onto slaves and missionaries going to Africa to spread the “word”, but nevertheless, it has seemed to stick with the community greatly. This particular is sewn into the community and is almost an expectation of the people in it. From birth, many of us are christened and immediately put into the religion. It then progresses to the small black child going to church every Sunday with her nana; Waking up at 7 to get ready, the sounds of Gospel music playing in the background as her ear is burnt with the hot comb for the 3rd time this month. Struggling to stay awake during the service but feeling a pinch if anyone around had realized that she was nodding off. That same child grows up and is then a pre-teen, struggling with her faith, but still attending to please her family and uphold the expectations thrown on her. This soon turns into going to church maybe going once a month and on holidays, turned into just holidays as a full-fledged teenager. This child is me, Hope Jasmine Coardes.

I never really questioned my religion as a child, as it seemed normal for me. All my friends were Christian, and most of my family was too. It was what I saw on T.V. and around me in my community. It felt like that was the only religion I could participate in because it was what “my people” did. The community embraced me and everything seemed to be perfect in my eyes. That was until I came out in 8th grade. I was expecting a warm welcome and immediate support but was instead met with disgust and disappointment. My immediate family and friends supported me but the overall black community and religion did not. From social media to real-life encounters, it became apparent to me that the black community participated in toxic Christianity and was full of homophobia. Pastors would preach about the effect homosexuals had on the black community and how they were bringing us down. People said if I would just believe harder in God then I would be able to “pray the gay away”. This is the reaction many black LGBTQ+ members are met with. Our community sees us as sinners and uses the bible to back up their hatred. The same religion I was told would embrace me at any stage in my life and would love me regardless of who I was would cast me out for something I cannot control myself. This is when I began to struggle with my faith. I stopped saying grace at the table and my nightly prayers became a thing of the past. I felt like my prayers would no longer be heard because of my sexuality, as if God has a filter for whose prayers he heard and helped in life. I had the mentality that anything that happened to me that was negative would be due to my sexuality and it was God punishing me for my lifestyle. This was backed up by social media, going onto TheShadeRoom's Instagram page allowed me to read and take in all the hatred and homophobia from people in my own community. Saying that it would be the downfall of the black community and that they would be praying for these lost souls to seek God and stop dancing with the devil. All because they love someone that happens to be the same gender, something no one can control.

I guess I’ll start from the beginning, middle school; That awkward time when everyone is trying to figure themselves out, believing that everyone knows themself when in reality we were all clueless. Around the age of 12, the topic of boys and crushes was brought up more frequently, sleepovers and the hot scoop would be who we thought the cutest person was in our grade. I watched as my friends said various different guys and agreed on some while I had the name of a girl in our grade. I wouldn’t dare admit it, as I didn’t want to be an outcast and have everyone think I was weird, or that I was a predator since that’s the only representation of gay women on television that I had seen. So I lied, I picked a random guy’s name I knew they would agree on so I could continue to fit in and fly under the radar. This continued for a long time until I figured I had one friend I could tell, she had a great reaction; she hugged me and thanked me for trusting her to tell her such private information about myself. We had become so much closer than that, we’re still best friends to this day and she’s like a sister to me. This gave me the confidence to eventually tell more people in my life, one being my sister whom I’m very close to. She’s one of the biggest female role models in my life and basically a mother figure to me. I knew I could tell her everything as she had told me multiple times before throughout my life. It also helped that I knew she had some friends who were in the lgbtq+ community, it made me feel safer in telling her. Her reaction was that she had already guessed it, and it was not only funny to me because she knows me better than I know myself, but also relieving. Even though I know she was raised in a progressive generation and was very loving and open to everyone regardless of their sexuality, race, and religion, there is always that lurking feeling that I may be rejected as a person and the reaction would be terrible. After middle school, I had become more confident in my sexuality and joined the GSA club in my high school (my high school was majority black but had many other POC, it reminds me of Howard’s demographics), this is when I became more aware that other people hadn’t had the same welcoming experience that I had. Many felt unsafe coming out to their families, getting disowned, kicked out, and beaten were their fears if they were to relinquish such information. They didn’t have the choice to be vulnerable like I did, I was one of the lucky ones, one of the few POCs who had a family that would love and accept them for whoever they are and whoever they loved. Unfortunately in the community, specifically, the black community homophobia is a large issue. They find it unappealing and say it goes against God’s plan of a woman being with a man and continuing the building of the community to be “stronger”.

One of my worst encounters with this was with my sister’s now ex-boyfriend. Imagine, 4 days little getaway to Charlotte to go to my cousin’s wedding. It was supposed to be nothing but good vibes as we were celebrating love and overall joy. We were on our way back from a barbeque we had thrown for the groom and bride the night before the wedding. It was great vibes the whole night and we were on the way back to our Airbnb to get ready for the night as the wedding was the next day. On the ride back I was talking to my sister about my relationship at the time and how I was questioning if I was going to stay in it. Of course, my sister’s boyfriend was sitting there listening as he drove, and when we arrived at the Airbnb he asked me why I was going to break up with him; Probably expecting something childish such as missing calls or not receiving enough attention his curiosity got the best of him, but my answer caught him off guard. I replied, “ I think I may be a lesbian and don’t believe it’s fair to stay in a relationship with a boy when I may not even like boys.”. His mouth had dropped and the silence in the room was extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t know what I was expecting as a response but it definitely wasn’t “You’re going to hell”. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, my immediate thought was to start crying, but like my family says I have a “sharp tongue” and we started arguing. He said how I was too young to know what I liked and that it was wrong, that God had intended woman to be with man, plus some other homophobic rhetoric that I had seen online but never experienced in person. My sister came to talk to him and calm me down and that is when I responded: “You had not only one, not two, but three kids out of wedlock so if I’m going to hell so are you”. My sister broke up with him immediately after this, but it changed me and made me more aware of the experiences other people were going through. It also brought up my biggest issue with my community; They pick and chose what they want to follow from the bible and preach. I wondered how they could choose homosexuality as something that is the worst thing someone could ever do but was having children with people they never married, and were having cheating scandal after cheating scandal, but somehow who I love was the thing that would doom me to infinite punishment in the afterlife. I couldn’t and still can’t understand how they can use the bible to back up such hatred but forget everything else in it that they don’t follow.

Online it was just as bad, when Lil Nas X came out as gay, suddenly the whole community thought he was inappropriate and that kids shouldn’t be listening to it, but before they knew his sexuality it was perfectly fine. Seeing it makes me not want to disclose my sexuality to anyone because they can change their outlook on me for something that doesn’t even affect them in the slightest way. I can come from this bright young girl who is going to do such great things in life, to a degenerate who can’t be around their daughters because I may tempt them and pull them to the “dark side”. The same people who have lied or stolen (which are sins), or had kids as a teenager when they weren’t married will look down on you and act as if you are the antichrist because you just so happen to like the same gender. They demonize everyone in the community and turn sexuality into something that is just about sex. They only saw Lil Nas X as inappropriate because they immediately think of what he could be doing in private in his own time as if gay people are just sexual deviants who make everything about physical pleasure and don’t have any romantic or regular feelings like everyone else does.

Overall it can get hard at times and I struggle with participating in the religion due to the people that are in it and it’s a battle I deal with every day, but I don’t let people get away with it as much as I used to. Now if anyone says anything borderline homophobic I immediately call them out on it because I had seen my peers need someone like that in their life, and as someone with younger family members who look up to me, I don’t want them to think that it’s okay to treat people a certain way because of who they love, and they also may one day be apart of the LGBTQ+ community. I wouldn’t want any negative experiences I have dealt with or that they may see to prevent them from living in their full truth and being who they are inside.

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swinterr · 3 years

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fic rec vii ♡

hi!

this is a another new set of fic rec and i’ll probably do a compilation of genre (?) just like the first ones.

read and support the fic and authors here: the fic rec ♡

made some changes like tidying up a bit and adding summary, for those that doesn’t have any summary i’ll try my best to add my own summary (it will probably be shit tho, i ain’t making a smut summary guys, i’m not confident in my describing a fic ability but i’ll try my best. if its in italic it means i made the summary hehez ) if the summary is shit, i made it okay.

a for angst

f for fluff

s for smut

// for series or list

kpop oc/s

1. jane by @baejiyeonz

2. bee by @purpleyellow

3. lian by @nct-lian

4. taehui by @jeontaehui

nct

sungchan

1. [10:47 pm] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

haechan

1. [5:21] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

2. you’re warm by @dreamystuffers | f

- a drunk hyuck can only mean a clingy hyuck.

3. you’re short too by @pastelsicheng | f

- 5 times hyuck teases u for ur height.

4. no title by @heychan | s

- dirty thought cockwarming haechan and johnny comes in to the room while you are trying to hide it but haechan doesn’t care.

5. wishes by @lucaswithnoshirt | a f

- standing on stage is everything you’ve dreamed of. except in the time it’s taken you to get there, you’ve been dreaming about other things, too.

jaehyun

1. moving in: the series by @jaehyun-ified | f

- after agreeing to move-in with jaehyun, you decided to curate a little series on your channel to both give in to your viewer’s request to have jaehyun frequently on your contents and to document your moving in process with the love of you life.

2. [8:14 pm] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

3. boyfriend by @simpsiren | a

- a relationship with jaehyun wasn’t always perfect. there wasn’t a definite label on it, which only sent the relationship down a complicated pathway as we tried to find the meaning of our love once again.

4. best part by @okayoongii | f

- don’t know how to describe this tho, just read it. also 10/10

5. can i help you? by @sugarjaee | f s

- when working an extra long shift at work, your boyfriend surprises you with a visit.

6. stages of love by @biletdoux | a f s

- a playlist for the trials and tribulations of a beating heart.

7. [9:04 am] by @jeongvision | // f

- domestic fluffy blurb. 10/10!!

8. suds by @kim-taehung | s

- first person to move does the dishes for a week. nothing is off-limits.

9. promise by @bvbyxuxi | f a

- jaehyun has loved you since you were both kids, things were going well until he messed everything up; meeting again as young adults, he refuses to let you go again but would you give him another chance?

mark

1. one minus on plus one by @wonjaekook | f a

- in all of the years you’ve known jungwoo, you should have figured out to not take his words at face value because, though you haven’t even met, mark lee seems to hate your guts.

2. [12:03] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

3. pretty boy by @epinebleue | f a

- fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, the reader is two years older than mark, jaehyun makes an appearance as the reader’s fuck buddy, use of alcohol and drugs (marijuana), mentions of violence (mark punches someone), smut (protected sex, inexperienced!mark, dry humping).

4. camera flash by @morkleemelon | f

- mark taking a picture but forgot to remove flash waking up oc, pretty fluffy and cute! 10/10!!!

5. retrouvailles by @kireimarkeu | f

- counting down the days until you finally see your long-distance boyfriend.

jungwoo

1. [1:14 pm] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

johnny

1. man-icure by @haejunehui | f

- based on jcc ep. 26

taeyong

1. reverb by @lovingonrepeat | s

- taeyong + studio sex.

2. unspoken by @bvbyxuxi | f s

- you had never thought to see taeyong again after your one night stand with him until this year where he takes you by surprise; turns out he wasn’t the guy you sought him out to be after all.

ten

1. [2:32 pm] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

lucas

1. [4:31 pm] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

2. king of hearts by @raibebe | f s a

- a little bit of everything, a chef’s kiss.

yuta

1. [5:51 pm ] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

doyoung

1. redamancy by @heavenlyhaechan | f

- this is just so fluffy! i wished to be doyong gf please.

2. fools together by @yongiefilms | f

- two fools in love with each other?

3. acedia by @jaeminscoffee | f

- a day in the life of yours and doyoung's love life.

4. our little secret by @haejunehui | f

- read to know their little secret. hehe.

5. caught red handed by @hannie-dul-set | f

- all you wanted to do was take a picture of the handsome law student during your train ride home. you did not expect things to end up like this.

jeno

1. i see red by @0097linersb | s

- pure filth 🥵10/10 tho.

2. addiction by @love-mi | s f

- you and jeno keep your relationship a secret to avoid backlash from your companies and fans; but keeping himself away only makes him want you more.

3. surprise visit by @nakamotonudes | f s

- you hadn’t seen your boyfriend for over a month because of his hectic schedule so when he suddenly shows up at your place one night for a surprise visit, you both have to make every second worth it.

bts

jungkook

1. the pitter-patter of the heart by @koorara | f s a //

- pieces of newlywed domestic moments with jungkook, your husband. the young film and literature lecturer and his wife, you, who works as a journalist of a web magazine. both of you managing the career, the time for each other and the new house. not to forget, chip, the cat that has been with you for years.

2. please love me by @ahundredtimesover | // f s a

- as the only unmarried jeon and kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. but despite developing an affection for jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. you’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

3. first love, last love by @floralseokjin | f s //

- a collection of drabbles following the longterm relationship between jungkook and you...

4. second chances by @parkhabits | a s

- work. one of the most important things to him. It kept him company at night, it was all he thought about, all he put his attention to. his work had become the mistress within your marriage. years after you left him you’re back with only one goal in mind. get him to sign the damn divorce papers. yet you should’ve known that your husband wouldn’t let you go that easily.

5. crush by @jungxk | f s

- jungkook woke up with amnesia (?) he totally forgets that he has a wife and child. and he totally has a huge crush on his wife.

6. bare necessities by @gguksgalaxy | f s a

- when you ask your boyfriend for a relaxing vacation you don’t exactly expect him to take you to disneyland out of all places. luckily, jungkook knows just how to get you to relax — being needy is definitely not the way. or is it…

7. krampus for christmas by @ddaenysus | f

- when your daughter overhears your nightly activities close to christmas, jungkook takes it upon himself to convince her it was the sounds of the legendary demon goat.

8. a date with destiny by @imjustfanfictrash | f s

- you are a boss lady in the tech industry traveling to world for work. he is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

9. stranded by @gguksgalaxy | f s a

- jungkook’s offer to help you study for your exam is unwelcome. his entire presence is unwelcome. you don’t want help from the guy who passes all his classes without even trying. it’s annoying — he is annoying. from the way he grins whenever he catches you staring at him, to the way his eyes shine whenever he smiles at you. oh, and let’s not forget the way his tattoos shift when he stretches or the way his jawline sharpens when he’s focused. nope, you definitely can’t stand him.

10. sprout by @v-hope | f

- after a nice evening out with your friends, you find yourself coming home to your sleeping toddler and the new hairstyle she had tried on your husband.

11. friday nights and take-out by @ahundredtimesover | // f s a

- you meet pop star/idol jeon jungkook at the café, you get close, and as hyejin says, you’re like friends with benefits without the sex. but you’re bad at feelings and so is he.

12. jealousy by @ephemeralkookie | f s a

- jungkook’s closest friend, namjoon is getting married and he invited you three to his wedding. the only unexpected thing was jisoo, his ex, and we’ll just say that you were not too happy to see her flirting with your boyfriend right under your nose

13. a quarter past us by @jjiimin | f a

- when you break up with him out of fear of losing your freedom in university, he finds himself showing you why leaving him isn’t the answer.

14. pretty boy by @angelguk | // f s a

- alternatively known as the jock!jk universe drabbles in vague chronological order.

15. summer solstice by @boulevardk | s

- down on your luck and desperate for a successful harvest, you pray to the gods. you figure no one in heaven was listening to your prayers when nothing happens immediately. but one fateful night, your prayers are answered. are you willing to pay the price? the sacrifice might not be what you were expecting….

16. lilac wisteria by @blushoseoks | f a

- over the years, things change - but the one constant is your love for lilac wisterias.…okay, maybe jungkook’s been there too.or, alternatively:the first time jeon jungkook says that he is going to marry you, you are five years old sitting underneath a large wisteria tree.

17. obsessed with your ass by @kooklovesu | f s

- jungkook has an obsession with your body he cant get enough of praising you. he wasn’t comfy showing the world his affection towards you in public because he’s a private guy, but when he finally did, good luck.

18. from home by @gyukult | // f s a

- jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class?

19. black card by @minsprings | // f s

- black card fic and drabbles, also a chef’s kiss.

20. oh my god, they were (quarantined) roommates by @ot7always | f s

- what do you do when you’re quarantined for months on end with jeon jungkook - s tier cuddler, workout robot, and thirst trap extraordinaire? fuck him, you guess.

21. let the games begin by @venusiangguk | s

- just another fic where oc rides jk in his gaming chair pls still read it tho lmao its hot i promise

22. the probability of us by @jiminrings | f s

- jungkook’s the son of the university’s president, y/n’s cardigan is everyone’s favorite, and adjacent walls mean shared victories.

23. open when by @iluv-hobi | f

- jungkook likes to write letters to you, especially ones with purposes, like “open when ___”. one day, on a particularly bad day, you open, “open when you’ve had a shitty day”.

24. good day by @ilikemesometaetaes | f s

- his motive was made quite clear once he called you out of work. he just wanted to spend a nice day with his girlfriend. is that too much to ask for?

25. calculated by @whatifyoulivelikethat | // s

- some people would call you far too serious. some would call you stuck-up. and some would call you a bitch. but to freshman jeon jungkook, you’re the head calculus I TA noona – and he’s determined to fuck you.

26. brat taming by @sugasbabiie | s a f

- jungkook has been your roommate for almost a year. since the day he moved in he has acted like nothing but a spoiled little brat who is used to getting anything and anyone he wants. he eats your food, he doesn’t clean, he’s loud, oh and now he has colored his hair the exact shade of blonde as you. He’ll do anything to get under your skin. you’ve had enough of his filthy mouth and his fuckboy ways. it’s time to tame that bratty little roommate of yours. think you can handle it?

27. sugarplum energy by @bymoonchild | f s a

- you know no bounds nor depth with jungkook. while your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on soundcloud. all’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while. or, jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.

28. ancient history by @moononthejoon | a s f

- there is no way to deny that you and jungkook have chemistry. the two of you used to be a couple, after all. what happens when after a not-so-amicable breakup the two of you are cast as opposite leads of a movie?

29. that’s not daddy by @nochuobsessed | f

- jungkook comes home with a new hair color and his sons can’t tell if he’s appa or not. pretty cute! 10/10

30. no title by @himbojk | s

- jk got a blowie from his oc while on a zoom class meeting, like cam on with a whole set up but his oc under the table sucking the life out of him while he sits and tries to take notes .

31. dilf jk by @himbojk | // s f

- dilf jk drabbles.

32. no title by @himbojk | s

- blond jk with full tattoo sleeve who looks like the baddest boy but is actually baby and just wants a handie in the library while studying with his oc because she aspires to have those high grades.

33. no title by @noteguk | s

- bf!jungkook going down on the reader while they watch anime.

34. silent treatment by @blu-joons | f

- baby kook asking daddy kook to say sorry to mommy. 10/10 too!

35. getting railed by @dearlytea | s

- getting dicked by your boyfriend during a train ride.

36. the view by @koyamuses | s

- jungkook knows exactly what turns you on; every kink, every dirty fantasy that’s buried deep within your mind. he knows exactly how to make you beg for it.

37. let’s play: dirty by @jungkxook | f s

- on today’s stream, watch as the king of gaming jeon jungkook gets totally pwned by some newbie player on overwatch (he swears he was stream sniped)! to make matters worse, he can’t seem to focus anymore when you’re in the room but he promises that’s not because he’s in love with you or anything. use code ‘jungkook’ on any game purchase through steam at checkout for 25% off so that jungkook has something to feel better about! iloveyou btw!

38. more dilf!jk by @cutechim | s

- oc thirsting over jk, talk about finances, jungwoo is an innocent cock-block as infants are, disrespect towards a major film franchise.

39. you are inherently beautiful by @ggukachuwu | f a

- when y/n and jungkook accidentally reveal their relationship to the public because she walked in on him doing a vlive and now netizens and kmedia are tearing apart her appearance because y/n is chubby from struggling with pcos. jungkook takes it upon himself to cheer her up because he absolutely adores her.

40. morning with jk by @min-arya | f

- jungkook drabble of him catching his s/o admiring him in the morning with soft sleepy cuddles.

41. even a forest fire dies out by @9uk | a s

- it became from “grab a coffee with me?” to “why should I grab a coffee with you?” too fast for your liking. you had thought the both of you were so in love with each other—only to realise it was only you who had fallen into this trap of feelings. and as for jungkook, he might have just been as confused as you are.

42. all that we had by @starlightauroras-writes | a s

- four years, two months and five days ago, you lost the love of your life with no explanation. living with a failed marriage at such a young age without knowing why was impossibly hard, and when you’re invited to your high school reunion, knowing he would be there, you really don’t want to go. what happens when you do leaves you questioning fate.

43. aquarium by @whatifyoulivelikethat | // a

- life after jeon jungkook was grey. you had to find your own color, grow your own rainbow. but what would surprise you the most is the appearance of white cosmos, seven of them clutched tightly in kim taehyung’s hand.

44. contentment by @btsqualityy | f s

- oc’s using jk’s card to buy rug and the rest is history. 10/10!!

45. heartbreaker with a heart of gold by @filmflowersbangtan | a s

- love this!!! you know i love me some angst! 10/10!!!!!

46. the ikea test by @mercurygguk | f

- you and jeongguk face the IKEA test. successfully? sure!

47. before you universe by @ephemeralkookie | // a f s

- jungkook has taken a huge place in your life after he tattooed you, and you can’t even picture how life was before him. he has always been there for you since day one. but how will things change after you find out you’re pregnant?

48. christmas cream(pie) by @smoochkooks | s f

- a day before christmas dinner with your boyfriend’s parents, you discover another alternative way to use the chocolate cream you’re making. jungkook is more than willing to indulge in your little fantasy.

49. last minute by @moononthejoon | f s

- christmas day had gone by, and now you were back home after holidays with your family. your friends had agreed to have a late christmas party, but as always, you and jungkook procrastinated gift buying.

50. you go in knowing bros together by @blu-joons | f

- a cute fluffy knowing at knowing bros moment.

51. no title by @v-hope | f

- the way y/n would react when someone else flirts with jk and how he’d handle the situation.

52. hair dye by @mercurygguk | f s

- jungkook got his hair dyed while at work. you lose your mind the moment he steps through the door.

53. stay gold by @yeojaa | s

- blond!jk being a good boy?

54. crystal snow by @honeyj00ns | f

- when you join Jungkook and the rest of the guys for some fun in the snow, he can’t help but feel jealous.

55. 6:21 am by @sincerelyourfangirl | f

- in which he makes your morning extra special.

56. plan b by @btsracket | s

- dressing room quickie, unprotected sex request, use of Plan b pill

57. possession by @bngtanah | s

- jungkook is your boyfriend, sometimes you have to remind him what that means.

58. puffs and touches by @mintseesaw | f s

- “Stop doing that with your face, someone else is going to snatch you up”

59. the quiet things by @btsracket | s

- sleeping bag sex.

60. good boy by @ephemeralkookie | s

- secret, read to find out AHAHAHHA.

61. make it right by @jungkxook | a s

- you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because it’s been almost a year since you broke up with him. worst part of it all is that you know he’s still in love with you too

62. it takes two by @junghelioseok | s

- struggling with the idea of your ex-boyfriend moving on, you enlist the help of your quiet roommate in a scheme that quickly spirals out of control.

jimin

1. picking petals by @cutechim | s

- you asked for a baby, so a baby is what you’re going to get.

taehyung

1. daddy by @btsracket | f s

- there’s only one choice when this happens on a date out.

2. love me or we both go down by @gukyi | f s a

- after going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.

3. saudade by @jiminssthetic | a s f

- a demanding idol lifestyle was something taehyung and yourself were all too familiar with. it wasn’t so hard when considering your unconditional love for one another, but lately, taehyung wasn’t the same anymore; and you decide it’s time to find out why.

4. ineffable by @99liners | f

- boyfriend taehyung takes care of his sick s/o.

5. tease by @caiuscassiuss | s

- you knew you were hot. you saw how the guys looked at you, how their eyes were drawn to a tight t-shirt or short skirt. and maybe this would fail epically—crash and burn like a failed experiment—but you wanted to get under kim taehyung’s skin the only way you knew how.

6. aquarium by @whatifyoulivelikethat | // a

got7

yugyeom

1. yugyeom as you boyfriend by @sunshinekookie | f

- i need more yugyeom fics in my life.

astro

eunwoo

1. rainy say saviour by @imsarahbum | f a

- upon seeing you getting bullied after school for being short, dongmin can’t help but step in and defend you - despite both of you not really knowing anything about each other.

anyway, thank you again for the writers please take care and be safe!

please free to recommend your favorite fic that i haven’t feature yet.

if the links won’t work and i labelled some fics wrong please let me know and i’ll try to fix it as soon as possible!

support the fic and the writers!

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ace-of-spaders · 3 years

Text

@my-robot-heart once upon a time sent me a prompt "I'm here. I never left." for Lizzington.

It was the kind of prompt I fell in love with from first glance but couldn't decide which direction to take right away, so I left it for a while.

I must admit, I'm rather glad that I did, because the idea I eventually went with came to me only after the season finale (because, like everyone else, I had to fix it somehow), but I'm also sorry, Robot, that it took me so long and can only hope that the end product is worth the waiting)

That is, considering your attitude towards the 8x22, I feel it's fair to warn you that this ficlet is set post-8x22 and is angsty - because Red is suffering and Liz is suffering because Red is suffering - but also hopeful because, guess what, Liz lives, so I really hope you'll like it!

(Also, it was supposed to be just a tiny ficlet but my fingers slipped... a lot, so it's now 2,000 words long))

Last but not the least, I think I need to tag @thetwistedargent, too, because her ghost!Lizzie stories low-key inspired this one. Even though I'm not brave nor strong enough to write dead!Lizzy.

Well, now enough with my rambling and on with the ficlet itself, I guess?)

---

She comes to him every night. Wearing loose sweaters that don’t constrict her chest, Liz slips past Dembe and into Red’s bedroom and invariably scrunches her nose up from the suffocating smell of cigar smoke that hangs heavily in the air.

Red hasn’t left his room in days – ever since Dembe brought him home on that fateful night he lost ( or thought he lost ) the meaning of his life in the form of his beloved Lizzy – wallowing in his grief, choking on his own guilt more than the smoke of cigars he smokes more than ever these days and drowning ( or, at least, trying to drown ) his sorrow in immeasurable quantities of alcohol. Liz is acutely aware of this newly established routine of his and what it does to his health and wishes with all her heart she could do something more about it other than visit him nightly while he sleeps, wishes she could reassure him that she’s alive and well and he doesn’t have to mourn her. But she can’t, not yet. So she crosses the room to the window and opens it wide in ultimately vain attempts to chase the choking odor of cigar smoke away. Taking a deep breath of fresh air to try and quell the storm of emotions raging inside of her, Liz turns her gaze to the loaded gun lying discarded on the desk ( she knows that Dembe tried to take that gun away from Red out of fear he might do something… unreasonable in his grief but Red didn’t let him, speaking up for the first time in quite a while just to reassure his old friend that he doesn’t have any intention of ending his own life… it will end soon enough anyway, even without such act of cowardice ) and runs her hand over the cool metal, feeling her heart clench at the thought of how apathetic, how utterly hopeless Red has become in – because of – her absence. Then, her gaze usually shifts towards the always empty decanter of whiskey, which – she knows – is refilled a couple of times a day by Reddington, the equally empty glass discarded on his nightstand, and only then she finally turns to look at the man himself. He looks awful, to put it mildly, worse with each passing day. The clothes he sleeps in don’t quite fit him in the same snug way they used to, reminding Liz of the fact that it takes a lot of convincing on Dembe’s part ( that man must truly be a saint ) to make him eat every single day and that he does so without any enthusiasm or appetite and continues to waste away despite his old friend’s best efforts. Tears brim in her eyes as Liz moves towards the bed and carefully sits down on its very edge, her eyes roaming over Red’s slack face and taking note of the ever-growing stubble, the deepening dark circles under his eyes, the gauntness of his cheeks, and the sickly pallor of his skin. “Oh, Red,” she whispers hoarsely, unable to keep all the despair and helplessness she feels when she realizes that he’s dying without her and yet she can’t do much about it inside, and reaches out to cup his cheek with her warm palm, to trace the sharpened outline of his cheekbone with her thumb or stroke his head, the smile that stretches her lips at the feeling of his hair – now longer than usual – tickling her palm too wobbly and weak. Sometimes, he sleeps peacefully… or, rather, dreamlessly in his drunken beyond measure state, never once waking or even stirring, and on those rare occasions Liz just sits by his side, holding his hand or stroking his shoulder or head, till the first rays of sunlight come streaming through the window. Most of the nights, though, he suffers, thrashing around, tangling the sheets and throwing off blankets, panting and whimpering and crying, his mind tormenting him with vivid reconstructions of some of the worst moments of his life, and Liz hesitates, unsure of whether she should try to wake him or not, unsure of what he’s dreaming about… until her name – her seemingly long-forgotten nickname – spills from his lips and she knows exactly what he’s dreaming about. She doesn’t hesitate any longer. “Shh, Red, it’s alright,” she hushes him gently, leaning in close and settling her hands on his shoulders firmly but gently or cupping his cheeks with her warm, very much alive hands, “I’m here. I’m here, I never left.” Tears finally spill from her own eyes as Liz whispers quiet reassurances and sweet nothings to the suffering man, willing him to feel her

presence and wishing she could take the memories of that awful night away from him ( even though initially, she thought that it would be a good lesson for him, putting him in what could be her place if she pulled the trigger… but she didn’t think it would affect him that much, to the point where he isn’t really living anymore, just struggling to exist ), until she gets too choked up to speak… until Red jerks one more time under her hands and either finally settles into deep, exhausted, dreamless slumber with a heavy sigh ( in which case Liz picks the blankets he’s thrown off up from the floor, covers him with them again, tucking him in and making sure he’s warm and comfortable, and goes back to keeping her silent vigil, wiping her tears away and fighting the desire to climb into bed with him, wrap him up in her arms and never let go ) or wakes up. She always freezes when he does, when his eyes slowly open and he squints up at her in the dark, because she’s not sure how he’s going to react, even though his reaction is the same each and every time. He frowns up at her at first, his heavy with sleep and hazy from alcohol mind struggling to comprehend what is happening in front of him, but even though he doesn’t recognize her, even though in his eyes she might look like an intruder, he doesn’t even try to protect himself from any possible danger – as if he doesn’t care about what happens to him, if he lives to see another day or not – and Liz’s heart breaks at the thought. ( How did she manage to break him – the strongest man she’s ever known – so hard, so possibly irreparably? ) But then recognition dawns on his face and his lips part softly and he stares up at her with utter disbelief and very tentative hope, slowly reaching his hand up, as if in trance, to touch her cheek. She lets him, leaning slightly into his touch. “Lizzy,” Red breathes, so pained and intensely relieved at the same time that Liz hates herself for doing this to him in the first place and for not being able to go out of hiding ( but it’s not only her life that’s on the line, it’s also her daughter’s and, to a degree, his, so she has to wait out until her fame in the upper and under worlds quiets down ), to console him, to make him understand that she’s not just a figment of his imagination ( she learned pretty quickly that he doesn’t let himself even consider the possibility that she might be real and not just his hallucination or a surprisingly pleasant dream ) just yet, “Lizzy.” And every night when he wakes up to such a vivid, realistic image of his lost love, he begs her for forgiveness – for absolution – and kisses her hands, the scar on her wrist with such tangible, blatant devotion it makes her heart ache. And every night when he apologizes to her, she tells him that she’s already forgiven him for everything but never takes advantage of his fragile, weak, unguarded state to get the long overdue answers out of him ( after all, she had enough time on her hands while she recovered to understand that, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter who they were in the past… what matters is who they are now – Red and Lizzy – and that he loves her with as much ardor as she loves him ). They always end up in each other's arms, with Red pressing messy, fervent, desperate kisses to her cheeks and forehead and the soft cascade of her shiny mahogany hair and Liz rubbing his back in what she hopes is a soothing manner, their tears mixing and staining his shirt and her sweater. “Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy,” Red repeats in between kisses in his low, cracking from the lack of use voice, again and again and again, like a mantra, a prayer that sounds to her ears too much like Don't go, don't go, don't go... She knows she can't promise him that now. But she can promise to stay until the morning, which is why when he whispers softly, brokenly "Stay?" in her hair, his weight settling heavier against her after the emotional turmoil of the past few minutes? hours? – Liz doesn't know how much time they spend sitting there on his bed in the mess of tangled limbs,

the mix of apologies and reassurances and each other's names that sound for all the world like declarations of love, like I'm sorry and I miss you and I don't want to ever let you go spilling from their lips – leaves him even more exhausted than the pain and the grief of the day do, she simply nods and gently pushes him away and onto his back. Red doesn't take his eyes off her as she picks the blankets up and settles beside him and tucks the blankets around them both ( Liz is acutely aware of his gaze, burning with adoration and desperation in equal measure, on her back and the side of her face ). Even as she opens her arms for him in a silent invitation to move closer and he does just that, snuggling up to her side, resting his head on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist tightly but not enough to hurt, he doesn't close his eyes. Liz can tell by the way he's breathing and his body goes practically rigid with tension that he's fighting the undeniably strong pull of sleep long after they've settled in for the night. That confused her on the first day but then she understood. He knows that in the morning she won't be there, that this illusion, hallucination, dream he's having will shatter once he closes his eyes and succumbs to exhaustion. And he doesn't want to lose her again. Not for the third, fourth, fifth, umpteenth time ( when she thinks about it, Liz is not even sure if her visits help him or hurt him more... but she can't stop, she can't go about her days without knowing first-hand how Red is doing ). So Liz does the only thing she can do to soothe him: she cups the back of his head, presses a light kiss to his forehead and lies. "Sleep, Red. I will be here when you wake up." "No, you won't," he whispers back flatly – just pointing out the obvious – with an undertone of finality that haunts her long after he obediently closes his eyes and his body finally relaxes in her arms. Because he's right: she always leaves long before he wakes up, giving Dembe a hug goodbye and asking him – rather unnecessarily but she can't help herself – to take care of Red, with only one thought keeping her going through the day: That one day – and hopefully, not in such a distant future – she will be there in the morning when Red wakes up.

#the blacklist #the blacklist fic #lizzington #lizzington fic #post-8x22 fix-it #my-robot-heart #thetwistedargent #I wrote this yesterday but wanted to edit a bit through mobile app so I saved your ask a draft #and Tumblr ate it (😤)#so I had to make a new post #but I fell asleep before I did it so I'm posting this today)

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huilian · 3 years

Link

Summary: Five times the ruby earrings changed hands, featuring: the Queen Thief thieving, Gen wrecking havoc with his siblings, a raging at the gods™ episode, an obligatory palace sneaking scene, and finally, Gen’s kids wrecking havoc (with Gen).

The woman her father was courting was wearing ruby earrings, and she hated it. She always knew which items her father had stolen, even if she sometimes didn’t understand why, and these earrings bear the mark of her father’s hands.

This time, however, she could guess the reason her father had gifted that earring to this woman. In the year since her mother had died, her father had courted three different women. To give his children a mother, he had said, but she knew better.

None of the Thief’s current children were named after him and his god. None of the Thief’s current children fated to become the next Thief of Eddis.

Not even her.

She knew she had the god’s favour. Cleverness and skill she had in spades, more than any of her siblings, and when she jumped from roof to roof, she could feel the god’s hands guiding her. But she was not named after him, and so she would not be the next Thief.

She used to hate it, as a child. She would steal as many things as she dared, and she would place every single one of them on Eugenides’s altar, praying that the god would choose her to be the next Thief, if she showed him her skill and persistence. She gained a reputation that way, of being a thief as prolific, if not yet as formidable, as her father.

Her name still remained Vassilissa. The Thief of Eddis was chosen by the gods, and no one could change their decision.

She had learned to accept it, even if sometimes, when she placed her offerings on Eugenides’s altar, she wanted to scream and rage at the god. It’s not unheard of that the blessing from the God of Thieves skipped a generation.

She knew. She had checked every single record.

But her father would not stop trying. Since her birth, her mother had had two still-births, several miscarriages, and then finally, last year, had lost her life on the birthing bed, delivering yet another still-birth. Before the pyre had even cooled, her father had searched for a new wife.

Vassi had driven off the first two women easily. They were a regular at the court of Eddis, and when they realized that their belongings had disappeared and reappeared on the altar of Eugenides, they knew what it meant.

This one, however, was not a regular at the court, and no matter how many of her jewelry went missing, she did not catch the hint. She had stayed long enough for her father to give her the ruby earrings, and that brought Vassi back to this situation.

She had to steal it. The earrings. But no doubt her father had known about her part in driving off the last woman he had courted--He thought it was simple jealousy. For all the bragged about his mind being his best asset, sometimes her father could be exceedingly foolish--, and would do everything in his power to keep her from driving this one too.

Vassi didn’t mind. She loved the challenge.

In the end, it wasn’t even that hard. Whenever the earrings weren’t being worn, it would be under the guard of her father. The simple solution, then, was to steal them when they were being worn. A shy smile to the woman her father courted, a framing of her request to speak alone as a child who would like to know her future step-mother better, and a span of twenty seconds were all she needed. She showed up to the next court session with the ruby earrings on her own ears, carrying herself with all the grace of a queen.

They called her Queen Thief, then. A thief as formidable as her own father.

Her father courted no more women after that.

***

Temenus ran with all the speed he had in his body, cursing his siblings all the way, from Xenia to Euphemia to Iris and Penelope, to Alexis and all the way to Stenides.

Xenia had stolen their mother’s ruby earrings last week. Why, Temenus didn’t know, but that started the chaos. Mother had stolen the earrings back, of course, but chaos, like the waters of the Arachtus, cannot be stopped when it has started its journey.

Like clockwork, the day after Mother had gotten them back, Euphemia stole them from her. And then Iris had taken them from Euphemia. Which was then followed by Penelope stealing them from Iris. By that time, it had become the nightly entertainment for the court, to see which one of the women from the Minister of War’s family would show up wearing the ruby earrings.

And then Mother had stolen them back, again, and Stenides, sweet, sweet Stenides, had decided that it’s not fair that only the women could play, and told Temenus his intent to steal the earrings himself. Before Temenus could tell him what a horrible idea that was, his brother had dared him to steal the earrings too.

He had to accept. He should have known that it was futile to resist the call of chaos, especially when his mother was at the very center of it.

He cursed again, this time focusing the worst of it on Stenides. Why had his brother dared him to do it? And whose idea was it to measure a man’s courage by the insane bets he took?

The ruby earrings, rattling together in his pocket as Temenus ran, weighed down his leg with every step he took. The image of his mother, grinning delightedly as she caught him taking her earrings, weighed down the other one.

She had come into the room as he had closed the jewelry box. He expected her to take the earrings back immediately, but instead, she had smiled and lifted up her hand, all five fingers splayed out. Temenus had felt his body relax at the sight, but then, she bent one finger, leaving only four splayed out.

Temenus knew exactly what that meant. He pocketed the earrings and ran as fast as he could, leaving the false key he had used to open the jewelry box in the first place.

“Why are you running?”

The voice caused Temenus to jump. He looked around, searching for the source of the voice, but found no one. Then, his mind connected the voice to a face, and he looked up.

“Because I have Mother’s earrings in my pockets,” he told his youngest brother.

Eugenides gave him a shrug. “Then why run? She’d find you anyway.”

That was true, but Temenus was not going to say that.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m your brother, that’s why.”

“So should I go help Stenides?” Gen asked, voice full of the same mischief that decorated their mother’s face when she saw Temenus holding her earrings. Truly, Gen was their mother’s child, more than anyone else, though Xenia certainly tried.

“If you don’t want to help me, then don’t,” Temenus spitted out. He has no time to argue with his youngest brother. Either Gen would help him or not, nothing he said would sway the boy from his decision. Temenus took one more deep breath, preparing himself to run again. Gen was right, he wouldn’t be able to run from Mother forever, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

Before he could run, however, Gen dropped down from the tree he was sitting on and smiled up at him. “I’ll help,” he said, the picture of innocence.

Temenus knew better than to trust the innocent face, but he had no choice. He took Gen’s hand and let his brother lead him through the courtyard and to the hidden passageways of the palace of Eddis.

When they were already so deep into the passageways that Temenus had no idea where they were, he turned around and saw that Eugenides was gone. Cursing, he put his hand into his pockets.

They were empty.

***

Eugenides looked up to the altar of his namesake, and clenched the ruby earrings tighter in his hands. He had stolen the earrings from his mother’s jewelry box just three days earlier, intending to present them to her with a smile and a glib comment about losing her touch.

She didn’t lose her touch, but she did lose her step, and the earrings stayed in his pocket throughout the funeral ritual and pyre.

The altar of Eugenides sparkled with the offerings from generations of Thieves. Near the front, Gen could see the fibula pins that were his grandfather’s offering, and scattered between them, the earrings that were his mother’s.

The ruby earrings burned in his hand.

A thief would only fall if her god drops her. So either Eugenides had dropped his mother, or…

“Or you don’t exist,” Gen said to the silent altar. He knew the sentence is heresy, especially said inside Hephestia’s temple, in front of her half-brother’s altar. But the other option was that Eugenides had dropped her. Eugenides had dropped his mother.

Gen clenched down even tighter on the ruby earrings, their points leaving indentations into his palm. Then, with a last look on the altar, he pocketed the earrings and turned around.

His grandfather’s words rang in his ears. Send a prayer as you start your work, send a prayer after you finish it, and leave a gift once a month on the altar of Eugenides. Gen had placed a gift on the altar this month, and he would do so again next month. The gods did not exist, or even if they did, they do not have any interest in lowly mortals such as themselves. But it would not do to abandon the tradition. He would leave a gift on the altar of Eugenides next month, just not these earrings.

Let the god of thieves have other earrings as gifts. This one, Gen would keep for himself.

***

With one hand outstretched, Gen carefully moved the velvet case containing the headband of the Queen of Attolia. She was beautiful, as she always was whenever Gen climbed into her chambers to look at her. Her face was expressionless, as it also always was, but in sleep, the lack of expression gave her a peaceful look, instead of the uncaring mask she wore whenever she wakes.

She suited the ruby inlaid in her headband marvelously. She would suit the earrings marvellously as well.

He had had the earrings remodelled, the design on the gold surrounding the ruby made to match the design on her headband. No one had asked what became of his mother’s ruby earrings after she died, and when he brought it to the goldsmith to be remodelled, the goldsmith did not recognize the earrings.

That was just as well.

The points on the earrings still left indentations on his hand. Gently, he opened his fist and placed the earrings, positioning them so that they are exactly next to the case.

Moonlight entered the windows of the queen’s chambers, dousing her features and softening them, making her look less like the stone statues of Hephestia and more like the girl who had danced under the orange trees, years and years ago. Eugenides wished that he could make her look like this all the time, and not just when she’s sleeping.

He stepped closer to the bed, drinking in the sight of her. A voice inside him urged him to reach out, to tangle his hand on her hair, but the more sensible voice inside him, one trained by years and years of practicing his trade, told him that to do so would be the most foolish thing he had ever done in a life full of doing foolish things.

He did not reach out. He stayed where he was, looking to the Queen of Attolia, watching as she drew in breath after breath. When the moonlight had dimmed, signalling that dawn was fast approaching, he nudged the earrings one last time, arranging them so that they looked as pleasing next to the case as he could, and climbed out of the queen’s chambers.

It would be foolish to think that the queen would wear his earrings, but then again, he made a living out of doing foolish things.

***

“My King,” Attolia said, not moving from where she was seated as her attendants did her hair. By now her attendants knew well enough the antics of her husband, and did not think if out of the ordinary that the queen was speaking to what seemed to be empty air. “Do you know where my ruby earrings are?”

Materializing out of nowhere, Attolis replied, “I thought they’re in your jewelry box?”

“They were,” his wife answered. “They are not anymore.”

Waving the attendants out of his way, Attolis made his way to the queen and placed the last of the pins in her hair. He took one look at the box, which was currently laid out on the queen’s dressing table for her to choose which jewels she would like to wear today. The ruby earrings were not the grandest of the jewelry inside the box, but they were very conspicuous in their absence.

“Oh,” the king breathed out. “She does grow bold.”

“Your Highness,” Costis called out to the seemingly empty tree in the courtyard of the palace of Attolia. “Please come down.”

No response.

“Your Highness,” he tried again.

This time, a small face appeared from between the leaves. “Shh, Costis!” the princess of Attolia said. “You’re going to get us caught!”

“Your Highness,” Costis said again, flashing back to all the times he had done this for the king. “I’m sure there is no one who would want to catch you.”

Just as he said that, however, another small figure appeared out of nowhere. “Nia!” the prince of Attolia cried out as he ran towards his sister. How he managed to evade the squad of guards assigned to guard him, Costis would never know. The same way his sister escaped hers, he supposed. “You have it!”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do! Why else are you in a tree?”

The princess changed her tactics immediately, the same way Costis had once seen Attolis do. “So what if I do?”

“You said we would get them together!” Hector protested.

“You’re too slow!” his sister retorted back.

“I’m not! You just keep leaving me!”

“If you can’t keep up, then you’re too slow, Hector,” Attolis said from somewhere behind Costis. Costis did not relax though. Not yet. It was always a toss on whether Attolis would curb his children’s behaviour or give them pointers on how to escape their flustered guards and caretakers running behind them.

Well, not really. Mostly the king would give pointers.

“And you don’t leave anyone behind, Eugenia,” the king continued, walking past Costis to the base of the tree. “A good companion is rare for a thief. You must take care of them.” He tilted his head up, and Eugenia, without even looking, jumped down to her father’s waiting arms.

“He’s too slow,” the princess said again. Hector, who had placed himself next to his father, complained. Loudly.

The king let out a snort of amusement. Ignoring the complaints from his son, he extended his hand towards the princess raised an eyebrow.

Scowling, the princess reached into her pockets and took out a pair of ruby earrings. Costis felt his eyes grow wide. Those are the queen’s ruby earrings, the pair that she wore more than any other earrings. There were many rumours surrounding that pair of earrings, and Costis was privileged enough to know that some of them did have a basis in truth.

Costis expected the king to pocket the earrings himself, but, as always, Attolis’s actions could not be predicted. He pulled the princess close and put the earrings on her ears, navigating them easily even with one hand.

Costis would never tire of watching his king doing things that never should have been possible with one hand.

After the earrings were in place, Eugenides brushed a hair out of her daughter’s face and pressed a kiss on her forehead. Then, after a shriek of protest, smiled and did the same for his son. The children then talk over each other, both of them eager to tell their father about the adventures they had today.

From his place behind his king and the princess and prince, Costis stood watch.

#queen's thief #eugenides #attolia irene #the forbidden sisters #(this is going to be a tag)#temenus #queen thief #costis ormentiedes #eugenia #hector #lian writes #rott #rott spoilers #return of the thief spoilers

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years

Text

Guiding Stars

Ezra x Reader

Words: 3653

Summary: After nearly three years of surviving on that shithole planet, Ezra escapes with Cee and the two journey to the planet he once called home in hopes of starting a new life. You have been living in hope that one day, the man you love will come home despite everyone telling you to move on. When Ezra shows up at your door with a teenage girl and one arm, both of you wonder just how much has changed.

Notes: Again, I’m writing for a bunch of Pedro characters, so please please please leave a review or send in a message to let me know what you all think of them! Also, I just really love the idea of mixing Ezra with Wicked Game by Chris Isaak, so there’s one in here.

“Do you want to lock up, or should I?” Your coworker, Ella, drew you out of your thoughts. Your eyes were trained up at the sky, studying the glittering stars above. It was a critical part of your nightly routine. Every night, before you closed down the shop, you looked up at the sky. Your apartment didn’t have any windows, so it was your only chance to just take in the vastness of space above you.

“I’ll get it, thanks El.” You came away from the window just as a ship passed overhead. The robotic repair store that you worked at had had a busy day and you were relieved to be heading home. You punched in the lock code and waited for that familiar click before you hoped on your ratty old hover-bike and rode home.

The city was dirty and the air was filled with smog, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, even now that you had made a little more money. You had every opportunity to get on a shuttle and fly off to some new and exciting planet, but you remained in your tiny apartment on that sad little lump of rock just as you had for nearly a decade. Many of your friends had moved off, started families, continued their lives. They all asked you the same question whenever they visited.

“Why don’t you get out of that place? You have so much potential.”

You gave them all the same answer. If you left, he wouldn’t be able to find you.

You slid your key-card through the slot and your apartment door squeaked open. It was dark and barely big enough for one person even though it once housed two. You cleaned off the grease from your hands and arms and broke off a piece of stale bread for dinner. It didn’t matter whether or not the shop was bringing in more money; real food was a luxury anywhere on the planet.

You sat in the dark, the obnoxious glow of artificial lighting giving you a headache.You said your prayers, though you could hardly remember who or what you prayed to anymore. Whoever could bring him home.

You would hold out for one more day, you told yourself. Tomorrow, you would pack up and get off this shitty excuse of a planet and make a name for yourself. Somewhere sunny. Somewhere with real, living trees, not the plastic imposters that lined the city streets. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d promised yourself that. Every night, probably. You knew you would never leave. You couldn’t.

They had told you he was dead. That he got sick on that godforsaken green planet and that they had to leave his body behind because it was ‘contaminated’. They told you to move on. Everyone else that had known him did. All of his friends mourned him for a few weeks and then went on with their lives, most of them moving away. But his crew all had a look of guilt. Even without their lying eyes, you felt in your soul that he was out there, somewhere, trying to get back to you by the hands of the guiding stars.

You hadn’t seen him in four years, but sometimes, when you were stuck in that place between awake and dreaming, you could feel his arms slip around you. You could feel the bed shift with his weight. And you could feel his lips graze yours just before you finally fell asleep.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Cee huffed, looking up at the shabby sign. Ezra blew out a breath.

“This is the one.” He recognized the chipped paint and the smell of burning metal from the smelting works down the street. Mel’s Robotics. He’d been back here many times in his dreams while he was stuck on that planet. Cee wrinkled her nose and he chuckled. “If you wish for better accommodations, Little Bird, you are free to search for it yourself.” His sweet drawl in his voice had annoyed her when they first met, but she had grown used to it, finding it almost comforting. “That apartment building should be just around the corner.”

While the air was polluted and smelled of smoke, he couldn’t help but revel in the sensation of walking outside without a cumbersome suit inhibiting his every move. He felt free for the first time in three years.

“You seem cheery.” Cee noted with feigned annoyance. She was just as happy to be off that planet as he was. “Who is this woman anyway? How do you know she’s even still here?” Ezra sighed.

“I don’t.”

The two entered the apartment complex wearily, Cee checking around every corner they turned. She shook her head at her own paranoia. This was a residential planet. Disgusting and over populated, but residential. There were no monsters or toxic particles in the air here, unless you counted the smog. But hey, at least she wouldn’t have to cut off any more arms.

He led her up a flight of stairs, searching for door number 416. As soon as he found it, he pulled on the chain around his neck, revealing a small metal key. Cee pointed at the card reader next to the door.

“I think you’ve got the wrong kind of key.” Ezra chuckled.

“It would appear so, little bird, but you see, when I lived here, I used this,” He held up the old-fashioned key, it’s teeth glistening in the light. He’d kept it in pristine conditioning, hoping that he would have a home to return to one day. “I never was very skilled with technology, so my lovely partner had this put in for me.” He pressed a notch on the knob of the door and a piece of metal slid away, revealing a lock.

Ezra put the key in, but stopped before he turned it, the impact of the situation suddenly hitting him. What if you weren’t here? What if you were here and you didn’t want to see him? What if you had forgotten about him?

“What are you waiting for?” Cee asked, a slight trace of fear in her voice. Was something wrong? Ezra closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath and turned the key.

It was as if he was stepping into one of his dreams. Everything looked the same. The same beat-up leather sofa. The same smell of ink from your blueprints and the earthy aroma of your favorite tea. For a moment, he thought he would cry, falling to the floor of the home he’d been desperately trying to get back to for four years. Cee could see his emotional state and didn’t say anything for a while, letting him drink in the memory. She was almost jealous. She never really had a home to miss.

“It doesn’t look like she’s here.” Cee noted after he started to roam around. He stopped in front of a shelf, picking up an old photo. It was taken the night that they had moved in together. A group of friends had surprised the two of you with a party and snapped the photo as he carried you in, bridal style.

“She stayed.” He whispered to himself almost in disbelief. He didn’t notice that Cee was next to him.

“You look happy.” Cee gave him a half smile, examining the photo over his shoulder. He quickly put the frame back on the shelf.

“She should be back soon. If I remember correctly, and I believe I do, the shop isn’t open on weekends.” He motioned for her to sit on the worn-out sofa. He should have felt awkward, waiting around on the couch for her to come home. But it was his home too. Besides, he’s the one that bought the damn thing. He didn’t think his heart would ever stop beating so fast until he heard the door open and it stopped all together.

You had seen him so many times in your dreams that you didn’t even stop when you saw him out of the corner of your eye. You went straight to the small kitchen to put away a few groceries. It wasn’t until you turned around, seeing him standing there looking at you with those big brown eyes that you could have sworn were filled with tears.

“Hello my Dove,” He greeted, his voice catching in his throat. He never thought he would get to call you that again. You never thought you’d hear it. You slowly stepped towards him, worried that if you moved too fast he would vanish.

“E-Ezra?” You felt like all of the air had left your body and only he could give it back. “T-this is…. Am I dreaming?” You weren’t sure if you could handle waking up to an empty room again. Ezra chuckled, a single tear spilling over as he shook his head.

“No, sweetheart,” He stepped towards you and placed his hand on your cheek. Just feeling his rough, warm skin made your heart leap. “I’m here.”

You weren’t sure which happened first; throwing your arms around his neck and nearly tackling him in a hug or the endless amount of tears that poured down your face as you cried into his chest. His hand cradled the back of your head and he wished that he could hold you properly. But you didn't even notice.

“I knew it.” You sobbed. “I knew you weren’t dead. They all told me to leave, but I knew that you would come back to me.” When you pulled away so you could look at that face you’d longed to see for four years, you noticed his injury. His right arm was gone, the empty sleeve of his shirt hanging loosely by his side. Ezra knew what you were looking at and was suddenly uncomfortable.

“It’s a long story.” He muttered. You collected your thoughts, thousands of questions swimming around in your head, and you took his face in your hands.

“It doesn’t matter.” You beamed. “The only thing that matters is that you're here.” You pulled his face down to yours, colliding your lips together. Your body ignited. It felt like this was the first breath you’d taken in the last four years. Ezra was sure that he had been dead up until this moment and you brought him back to life with the soft touch of your lips. It wasn’t until he felt the annoyed tap on his shoulder that he pulled away.

“Oh, one more thing.” He stepped aside to reveal a young girl standing behind him. “This is Cee.”

“Hi.” She greeted awkwardly, her arms crossed over her chest as she tried to read your expression. “I guess I’m part of the long story.”

“Don’t be modest now.” He smirked. “I wouldn’t have made it off of the Green without her.” If it wasn’t for her, he would still have an arm, Cee thought. You smiled at her brighter than anyone had ever smiled at her before.

“Thank you.”

Cee felt an odd, warm feeling in her chest and Ezra could have sworn he saw a small smile grace her lips. He cleared his throat and turned back to you.

“Now, I know it’s quite a lot to ask, but I was hoping that I may take residence here again. And Cee would be with us too, if that’s alright.” They had talked about her staying with him on the journey here. Seeing as she didn’t really have many options, she said if they could make it without killing each other that she would give it a chance. You shook your head with a laugh, running your hands through his hair, curling that blonde streak around your finger.

“This is your home, Ezra. Always and forever.” You pressed a gentler kiss to his lips before looking at Cee. “And please stay. This apartment is small, but I’d be more than willing to make room for you.”

“That would be very nice.” Cee said as politely as she knew how. She wasn’t used to people being so kind to her. Hell, she wasn’t sure how someone like you could put up with Ezra, but she was glad that you did. You put a hand on her shoulder and ushered them both into the kitchen.

“Come on, I’ll fix us some dinner.”

For the next few days, the sun shined a little brighter every morning and the stars glittered more each night. It was as if Ezra was all the light you ever needed. And Cee was wonderful. She became interested in the shop after a few visits and asked if she could help out. You were more than happy to have her join you and Ella loved her too. You started a special project while Ella showed her the ropes of the robotics business. Everything was perfect… until it wasn’t.

It wasn’t until you came home late with Cee from the shop that you realized that Ezra wasn’t the same. Sure, he was your sweet and loving Ezra with that sexy southern drawl. But he was also the Ezra that was stuck in the Green for four years, alone except for the mute creature he kept for company.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to be late.” He whispered, sitting on the couch and staring at the wall.

“Yeah, sorry, we just got caught up in some work.” You laughed, draping an arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. You put down the large case containing your work. “Cee’s got real talent.”

“I don’t like not being informed of your extended absence.” Usually his well-though wording turned you on, but when he finally turned his head to look at you, his eyes were dark. “I’ve been sitting here, worrying about you for a long while now.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” You walked towards him, a confused and nervous smile tugging at your lips, hoping to calm him down. His whole body was tense, like stuck gears about to break. “Ezra, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” He scoffed. “I have been pacing here for hours not knowing when the two of you would be coming back.” He stood up and loomed over you, his eyes glaring and his mouth in a snarl. “I’m not a patient man, Y/N. You know this. Waitin leads to worryin and you know how I get when I worry!” His voice was a booming growl now and his face was inches from yours.

It only took him a moment to come back. When the green faded in his mind, he saw only the frightened look in your eyes. He hadn’t realized that his hand was gripping your arm. You tried not to show how much his tight hold hurt. Ezra’s face immediately softened and he dropped his hand to his side.

“You can put that down little bird.” He sighed, not taking his eyes off of you. Cee put down the screwdriver she had been holding, ready to attack if he did something to you.

“Ezra…” You stepped away from him, backing towards your room.

“Sweetheart, I-”

“Maybe you should sleep out here tonight.” You said, more of a demand than a suggestion. You knew that he would never hurt you. Of course he would never hurt you. But Ezra was different.

His shoulders slumped a little and he looked at the floor.

“No, of course.” His defeated expression nearly broke your heart. He mustered a small smile. “My apologies, ladies. I hope you both sleep well.” As calm as he tried to appear, his heart was pounding in his ears.

Cee went into her room while you lingered in the doorway of your own, watching Ezra grab an old quilt and lie down on the couch. You just needed some time to think. You could feel his sad gaze upon you as you closed the door.

You had grown so used to the silence of an empty home that almost any noise in the night woke you up. The sound of quiet, painful groans and mutterings stirred you from your sleep. You opened your door as silently as possible, peaking out into the living room. Ezra was still asleep, but he was thrashing back and forth, his face contorted with fear.

“I have to get back…” He whispered, his voice filled with suffering. “I have to get back to her…”

“Ezra?” You said softly, walking towards him.

“No.” He winced. Whatever was haunting him was getting worse. “I have to get out. I have to get out!” His whispers had turned to terrified screams and you couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Ezra, baby, wake up.” You put a hand on his cheek, hoping that your gentle touch could soothe him, but he kept fighting. His hand clutched his chest and you saw the angry red scar.

“I’m going to die here.” He cried, his voice cracking. “I’m going to die.”

“Ezra, you aren’t there anymore. You’re safe. You’re with me.” You shook him and he shot up, breathing heavily as his eyes adjusted to the dark living room. You ran your hand up and down his back.

“I’m not there.” He said in between pants, his eyes frantically scanning the room for whatever villain plagued his dream. “I’m not there.”

“You’re home, Ezra.” You couldn’t help the tears that fell. Seeing him so afraid tore at your heart.

“Home,” He slowly turned his body around so that he was facing you. A small, crooked smile formed on his lips. “That’s right. Home.” You pulled him to you, resting his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“What happened to you out there?” You whispered, more of a sad statement than a question. You wished that you could soothe every bad memory from his mind, but you knew that you couldn’t erase the past four years. He held onto you as tightly as he could and you were reminded of what you and Cee had been working on for the past few days.

You stood up slowly, grabbing his hand.

“I have something for you.” You guided him to the case that you had set on the kitchen counter and you unlocked the mechanisms. Inside, was a long, robotic arm. “I don’t know if it’s something that you want. I don’t want to pressure you or anything, I just thought it would be nice to give you something. It was actually Cee’s idea.”

Ezra examined the device with a look of awe. You lifted it out of the case and showed him how it worked.

“You wouldn’t even need an operation. You just strap it on and this,” You held up a small neurotransmitter that would adhere to the back of his neck, “Would be able to transmit your brainwaves to the device, making it function like a regular limb.”

He didn’t know what to say. He knew that you were brilliant at what you did, but this was beyond what he could have imagined. All he could do was smile and you bit your lip nervously.

“Do you want to try it?”

He nodded and sat down, allowing you to work. You fastened the straps so that it rested comfortably against his side. Then you put on the transmitter. Looking to him for permission and receiving it, you finished prepping the device.

“Is it… working?” He asked, raising a brow. You sucked in a breath.

“You tell me.” You started to walk, but your foot caught on the leg of the chair. Before you could fall, you felt his hand grab your arm. His right hand.

“Incredible.” He gasped, tears springing to his eyes. He didn’t fight them. Instead, he let you kiss them off of his cheeks, leading him back into the living room.

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” He lifted you up into the air, twirling you around and looking at you like you were the sun. He set you down again and crossed the room to the small music-device in the corner. “Well, my dove, it’ll make it a whole lot easier to do this.” He pressed a few buttons and that familiar guitar intro. As the song began to play, he walked back towards you, his movements steady and invited.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you

“Our song.” You grinned. It was the song that had played when you met. He had played it when you moved in together. And now it played when you found each other again. He took you into his arms, the cool metal of the robotic arm pressing against your skin. You didn’t mind. It felt nice in contrast to the hot air around you.

The two of you began to sway, dancing slowly in the warmth of each other’s embrace. You were sure that you had died and this is what your heaven was. Ezra forever, his lips never leaving your own.

“What a wicked thing to do.” He whispered in your ear along with the lyrics. His lips grazed your ear. “To make me dream of you.” You brought his face to yours for a deep and passionate kiss, stilling dancing in the middle of the living room.

Cee smiled slightly as she peaked from her room. She had forgotten what it was like to see two people love each other, if she even knew to begin with. She quietly closed her door again and went back to bed, leaving the two of you to enjoy your moment.

In the following weeks, the three of you decided to move off of that lump of rock and search for a better place. But you knew that it didn’t really matter. Wherever you ended up, as long as you were with Ezra, and now Cee, you knew that you would be home.

@rae-gar-targaryen; @jnniferjreau; @ladamari68; @libellule2001; @c-ly-g; @themandjalorian; @pascalisthepunkest

#ezra is my love #ezra #prospect #ezra x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagines #i love his man so much guys

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babyspiderling · 4 years

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Jack Kelly X Reader-Marry You

Alright, this was requested by Anon, ”Jack Kelly x Reader where he proposes on the spot without any of them being prepared on it happening? Probably after some event where Jack realized that “damn I really want to spend my life with her”... Like an emotional fight or dreams come true! Ya know? Real fluffy!!”. I did take inspiration from this scene, but switched it up for our bb Jack “Cowboy” Kelly.

I wake up before the sun and dress quickly, racing to the butcher as he receives his shipment for the morning. “Good Morning, Mr. Johnson. How’s today's shipment coming along?” He smiles at me and finishes bringing it all inside. “Alright Rose, come on in and get your meat. I’ve got a box of chicken for you, plus the extra wings.” Nodding, I follow him inside, careful to keep the blood off the one nice skirt I own. He ducks behind the counter and pesents the white box tied together with twine. “Thank you so much Mr. Johnson. Take care of yourself, and tell Mary I said hello!” With a wave I make my way back to the house, avoiding the cops and hurrying to make breakfast in time. As I near the house, I hear Jack and Crutchie up in their “Penthouse” I gently open and shut the door and enter the kitchen. I start up the furnace and change into my newsies outfit while it heats up. Rolling my sleeves I pull out the wings that Mr. Johnsons had thrown in. Sprinkling salt and pepper on the skin, I place them all in a buttered pan and place it in the oven. I tidy up and put the rest of the kitchen in the small ice box the house had. As the wings finish cooking, I wake up the boys, waking up Romeo and Racetrack, asking them to wake up the other boys while I grab Jack and Crutchie. Climbing up the fire escape, I hear their muffled conversation. Knocking on the ladder, I peek over the top of the roof. “Boys, breakfast is ready. You’d best get down here quick if you want something in your belly before the bell rings.” Nodding, I help Jack lower Crutchie down to the window. The boys are all awake by the time I get down, as well as dressed. “Alright boys, wash-up so you can get breakfast before heading out.” I pull the pan out of the oven to cool as the boys line up for their breakfast. One by one I pass out the wings as they race out the door. Noticing two left once it is Crutchie and Jack’s turn, I quickly give Jack a peck on the cheek and wink at Crutchie to distract them. The boys leave, breakfast in hand, I drop the pan in the sink and race after them, wanting to get to the newsstand in time for the bell. I get into line for my papes, and the boys compliment me on my cooking. Winking at Jack, I flirt up Morris to get a couple extra papes for my trouble, and two new boys show up for papes. We sell papes until 5, when I head home to prepare dinner for my boys. We make a fine dinner out of a chicken and potatoes. We joke and play around with each other until it’s time to head to bed to do the same thing tomorrow morning.

I wake up and shred the leftover chicken for sandwiches, and follow the boys to the gate to get the headline. Les and Davey apologize for being late, mentioning their mother. Race snaps back, but one of the younger ones step in. “Y/N is like our mother. She cooks for us, she tucks us in and wakes us up, she loves us. She’s the closest thing to a Mother I’ve ever had.” Grinning, Romeo throws his arm around my defender. “Yeah? And who’s the Father then, huh? Can’t have no mother if you don’t have no father.” Pipsqueak simply says “Jack!” and walks up the gate. I’m standing in shock, warm and cold at the same time. I’m flattered that Pipsqueak sees me as a mother figure, I do my best for these boys left without a nickel to their name. But Jack as the father… I love Jack, he looks out for the boys like I do, but what would he say about this? As the Headline is unveiled, a murmur of shock ripples through our group. “60 cents per 100?” “This can’t be right!” As the murmurs turn to talk and talk to shouts, it all fades away. How am I going to feed my boys? I already am blessed that Mr. Johnson gives me extra bits and pieces when I buy the chickens, I can’t ask him to go any lower. And the boys, they won’t be able to spend their money on clothes or put anything in the pot for heat and rent. Lost in my panic and racing thoughts, I don’t notice Jack put up a fight, rallying us around him. “They can’t do this to us, we’re a union now boys! And Y/N!” I head home to think things through and plan for what just happened. As I retreat back to the house, I hear Jack and the other boys convince the scabbers to drop their papes and join the fight. I cook and clean the rooms, thinking all the while. I mend pants and shirts while pondering if we’ll even survive a month.

I finish pulling dinner out of the oven, and the boys file in one by one. We sit around the table, the energy a weird limbo of elation and sobriety. The boys were excited for the strike, but knew the cost if the strike didn’t go our way. Clearing my throat, I ask if we could say the Lord's Prayer. A couple boys nod, but most look at me in curiosity. I swallow and start, “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.” We all prepare for bed, bidding each other a good night, and I sit in my bunk and pray. “Our Lord in heaven, please look after my boys. Protect us from the threat of poverty and destitution.” Pipsqueak climbs into bed with me, asking to pray again. Another one of the younger boys climbs in as well. “Please Y/N? You pray so well.” More and more boys climb in, and when there is no more room, they sit around my bed. “Ok, how about we do a nightly prayer. Repeat after me. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep; If I should die before I wake, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to take.” As we say amen, I give each of the boys a goodnight kiss. As the lines dwindle, Jack and Crutchie are the last to receive a goodnight kiss. I kiss Crutchies head and nudge him towards his bed. When I turn to Jack to give him a kiss, he grabs my face instead, kissing my forehead and telling me goodnight. I bury myself in the blankets and try to rest for the new day.

New day, same headline. Newsies still need to pay 60 cents per hundred. Finally, we have enough of the treatment and chaos is everywhere. I watch in slow motion as Romeo gets backhanded by a cop. People are fighting everywhere. Oscar corners me and goes to throw a punch, and is ripped away by Jack. “Thanks hon!” We fight in tandem, working and throwing punches at everyone in sight. He shouts for me to duck, knocking out someone behind me. He helps me up and smirks. “Hey, what do you think about marrying me?” I turn with a punch to face him, “Seriously? Right now?” Rolling his eyes he responds, “No, just someday soon though. I mean the boys see me as their dad, and you as their Mother.” “We will talk about this later Jack Kelly.” I hear Crutchie screaming for help, being dragged off by his bum leg. I run and pry the bull off Crutch, and shove the boy at Jack. “Take him and go, I’ll get the rest of the boys.” I turn and shout to the rest. “Boys, back home! Meet Jack back at the house, I’m right behind you.” As they run off, I make sure everyone made it out. As I turn to take the alleyways back to Jack and back to my family, two bulls block my path. They grab me and haul me to the refuge kicking and screaming.

During my time there, I became a mother to those kids as well. We said our prayers and I tucked them in at night. Every night I pray for Jack and my boys, that they’re safe and they’re fed. I’m not there for even a few days when I’m taken out of the overcrowded room I was shoved into. We walk to the courtyard from the day of the strike, and I see my boys, I see Crutchie alive and well, and most importantly, I see Jack.

Once I am officially released, I run towards him, jumping into his arms. After setting me back down on solid ground he kneels down and pulls out a simple band. “Y/N, I love you, and I meant what I said earlier. You have been so good to these kids, to me. What I’m trying to say is… Y/N, will you marry me?” Crying I nod. “Yes. Yes!” He slips the ring on my finger, and our lips meet as the boys, and even governor cheer for us. We did end up getting married a couple years later, but that is a different story.

#jack kelly x reader #jeremy jordan x reader #theatre x reader #newsies x reader #jack kelly imagine #newsies imagines #broadway imagine

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sweetestrequiems · 4 years

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You Are Not Alone

Request by: @boombiotch! Thank you for the request! <3 Prompt: 45) "You may technically be an adult, but you’re still my child."

Character(s): Jane Seymour / Katherine Howard (Other Queens are mentioned, but are not the focus. They come in at the end of this.)

Summary: Katherine has not been having an easy time the last few nights. A lot of her memories of her past life tend to surface as night terrors and other bouts of depression. On one certain night, Katherine sneaks on outside of the house and heads to a park to sit alone. A worried Jane calls her after seeing her door’s been left open, and heads over to the park to comfort the young queen.

TW: Mentions of Nightmares/Night Terrors. Mentions of Howard’s beheading. Mentions of Seymour’s death, and the loss of her son. There’s like... a few instances of strong/mature language.

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! This was very fun from my brain to the keyboard of my laptop. I love the mother/daughter dynamic that the Queendom has created between Howard and Seymour, and I’m very happy I was finally given the opportunity to write it. The German in this was checked by my German friend, and he made sure it was accurate. I double-checked the one Spanish phrase myself, since I speak Spanish. Everything should be accurate in terms of other languages.

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Most nights, the Tudor house was extremely quiet, with the exception of the occasional grunt of frustration from Catherine Parr’s nightly habit of staying up and writing until she got angry that she couldn’t deal with it anymore, or Katherine Howard knocking at one of the doors of the queens due to a nightmare.

This was not one of those nights.

Katherine Howard had found herself sliding into the hoodie she stole from her cousin, before pocketing her phone and silently trying to step through the house. It was a good thing she was both small and quiet. Grabbing one of the sets of keys that probably belonged to Catherine of Aragon (due to the cross keychain.), the brunette opened up and closed the front door after having paced to it, making sure to not leave evidence that she had gone outside for a nightly stroll.

Yes, a nightly stroll at 2:30 am. That totally wasn’t weird to begin with.

Pocketing the keys, Katherine let out a heavy exhale. “I don’t get it. What have I been doing wrong? I’ve been journaling, going to therapy as recommended... I really don’t understand.” The youngest queen shook her head as she walked on down the sidewalk. It was a quiet night outside, not much bustle in the street. As weird as it was, she did enjoy the city sounds. The quiet was a little odd, but she wasn’t going to complain. There were very few nights where she needed quiet, and this was one of those said nights. “I guess this is better than waking up from seeing that scaffold...”

478 years since she last stood at the Tower of London’s grounds. 478 years since she shook from the horrid anxiety and waiting of the ax. 478 years since she had lived such a morbid pain. But every subsequent night after she had woken up in the new body was nothing but a nightmare about her beheading.

The scar on her neck, which was covered by the hoodie, started to burn a little.

Clutching onto her chest for a moment, the young queen paused her walk to look around. Very few people seemed to be up this late. Even better for her. It was a luxury to Howard that she had a small, local park so close to her. Taking a deep breath, she started up her walk again, just to find herself sitting down ten minutes later. A bit of a walk for fifteen minutes, but she was not going to complain when she could have just her own alone time. Although, alone time–– with her thoughts going back constantly to her childhood and untimely death in the mid 1500′s–– was not going to help her at all.

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Jane Seymour had gotten out of bed by the time Katherine was maybe ten minutes into her walk. Originally, she was going to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and then return to bed. But the silence of the house was really bothering her, until she heard an angry Catherine Parr groan in utter frustration, “God damn it, Cathy!” towards herself. Raising her eyebrows, she figured that nothing was to be worried about. But a blink of the eye later, and a certain glimmer caught the woman’s eye.

“Kitty?”

The door to Howard’s room was ajar, which was out of character for the queen in pink. Instead of going to the kitchen, the blonde queen approached the door, and knocked on it, for the door to only open up into the room. The fairy lights were still on and everything, but the bed was empty, and the choker with a K was on the nightstand. This was probably the only time Jane Seymour had ever audibly cursed and heard herself in the silence.

“Fuck.” And that word coming from Jane was odd to begin with.

The third queen gently closed the door, and briskly paced to her room. She had to pick up her phone and call Howard. She needed answers.

“Please pick up, please pick up...” The muttering from Jane was heard on the other end as Katherine had taken the buzzing phone out of her pockets and brought it up to her ear after answering. “Jane?” The voice on the other end brought her comfort. “Kitty! Kitty, where are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just left to take a walk. I’m in the park, just sitting on a ben––”

“Don’t move your little tail, Katherine Howard. I am on my way.”

“Jane, I’m––” The conversation was cut short. Katherine just stared at her lockscreen. A picture of her and Anne. “––okay.”

Did Jane Seymour care that she was in pajamas? Absolutely not. She just grabbed a coat from her closet and slid her shoes on. She was going to find Katherine Howard, and she was going to bring her back home. Exiting the room and grabbing her set of keys, the front door to the house opened and closed a little louder than she expected it to. The sudden noise got Catherine Parr’s attention, and forced the woman to get up from her desk.

––––––––––

“Kitty? Kitty!” The blonde woman started to call out after having driven to the park, and parked nearby on the side of the street. “Kitty!” Worry was mixed into Jane’s calls for Katherine. She always walked with a purpose, but there was shaking with Jane’s steps tonight. That’s when out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bright green hoodie, and the bright pink hair to contrast it. There she was. Almost running over, and stumbling a bit when she was in front of the young queen, Seymour pulled Howard up into a tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Melting into the embrace, Howard just tightly returned the hug. She was glad that she could call Jane “Mum”.

Wrapping an arm around the girl, Jane held her close as the two slowly began their paces to the car. “What’s going on, Kitty? Why are you out so late?” The feeling of Katherine’s shoulders tensing up made Jane pause right in her tracks. “Katherine? Love, it’s okay. You can talk to me.”

“It’s just––” Her voice cuts off. A sniffle. “I’m tired of it, mum. I’m tired of the nightmares! I’m tired of the pain. I’m tired of seeing my beheading every other night. I’m tired of feeling my neck burn like crazy sometimes, even when we do shows! It hurts, Jane. It hurts...” Katherine turned to face Jane and bury her face into the woman’s shoulder with a tight hug. There was some shaking. The poor girl was crying.

The queen in grey couldn’t really relate, but she knew how she could. “It’s okay, love. It's okay,” she held on to Katherine as tight as possible, her own blue eyes watering up just a little. “I know the nightmares hurt. I know... they’re difficult. I have them too. I wake up sick every morning from them. Like you, I see what happened to me. I get the constant reminder I could never hold Edward in my arms.” A slight crack. Although she was a steadfast queen that sung about having a heart of stone... she cracked sometimes. Sometimes, she couldn’t have the heart of stone she so graciously sung about.

“You’re not alone, Kitty. You won’t be. I’ll take care of you.”

A sniffle, and a nod.

“Do you want to know why?”

Another nod. Katherine Howard made herself look up, with tear-filled eyes and a quivering lip.

“Because even though you’re an adult, you’re always going to be my child. You’ll always be my daughter. I will keep you safe. I will do whatever I can to make sure––” a sniffle from Jane. Katherine finally got to see the reddening cheeks, nose, and eyes of the older queen. “––you’re happy. We’re family, Katherine. You are not alone.” With a hitched breath, Jane moved a few stray hairs out of Katherine’s face and gave her a soft and tender kiss to the center of her forehead.

Safe to say, Jane Seymour just tightly held on to Katherine Howard in a very protective embrace, with silent tears flowing from her eyes.

––––––––––

3:25 am.

The remaining four queens in the house were all congregated in the living room. Anne Boleyn was hugging a pillow, evident that she was definitely still sleepy. Catherine Parr was wide awake, staring at the door with her hands interlocked in front of her face. Catherine of Aragon was quietly muttering a prayer, just hoping the two would come back. Anna of Cleves, like Parr, was staring at the door and waiting for the other two to come back.

“Do you think they’re okay?” A sleepy Boleyn yawns out.

“I hope so,” both Cleves and Parr had simultaneously spoken without even planning it. The two looked at each other, grinned, nodded, and then went back to looking at the door.

“Oye! Ya, por favor. Dejen de hablar, me tienen nerviosa con sus voces,” Aragon shot them a sharp look. She was tired. “You’re going to drive me insane with the talking. I would like to hear––”

The door opens. Howard and Seymour both freeze in their places when they see the other queens waiting for them.

“Hi...” “I’m surprised most of you are awake. I say most, because of Cathy.”

Parr furrowed her eyebrows, but then shrugged it off. “Hey, let a woman write in peace.”

“Wir haben uns schon Sorgen gemacht, meine Damen! You two just upped and disappeared,” the German queen stood up, and opened up her arms. Katherine was quick to go and accept the hug. “Where did you two go, anyways? It’s unlike either of you to disappear so... quickly and suddenly. Especially you, Jane. “

“Kitty left to go to the park. I went to follow her and make sure she was okay. She just needed reassurance, is all.”

“Meine liebe, is this true? Es ist fast 4 Uhr morgens,” Cleves furrowed her eyebrows, the concern in her facial expression. The young queen just nodded.

“Jane, are you okay? You look pretty rough,” Aragon nudged Boleyn to get up, and slide over a little so the third queen could sit down. Seymour just sighed, not really sure of what to say. “It’s been a long night. One long night and––” “You don’t have to tell us twice. Like damn, Cathy went into an uproar when she saw Kitty’s room empty, and even more of an uproar when your room was empty. She would’ve raised hell had Aragon not told her to calm down,” Boleyn just held on to the pillow, yawning a few moments after the last word of that sentence.

––––––––––

4:00 am.

The other queens had managed to help Jane calm Katherine down enough to go back to bed. And in fact, they were all in bed at this point, except Katherine and Jane. A knock at Jane’s door made the woman stand up and open the door.

“Can I sleep in here?”

“Come on, dearie.”

There was a good ending to that night. As Jane began to fall asleep while holding on to Katherine, she could hear the young queen’s voice mutter something out. And considering Katherine was asleep, it almost made Jane cry from the amount of love she was feeling from the girl. “I love you, mum.” Leaving one last kiss on her forehead, Jane just smiled and let her eyes close. She responded with just a few words.

“I love you too, poppet.”

#Kano Drabbles #boombiotch #six the musical fanfic #six the musical #katherine howard #jane seymour

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theroseofdiane · 3 years

Text

A Story of La Lechuza: A Demon in the Night

The clock strikes two. Two in the morning, that is. I lay nuzzled up against the glowing screen accompanying me in my bed. Oh, the love I feel! Not for the electronic, but the voice that emits from it. Some 900 miles away, a man who I adore yet have never met speaks to me through the speakers of my cellular device. This is another one of our nightly chats before falling into slumber, comforted by the connection revolution has provided us through our phones. Tonight our discussion took a turn from our routine teasing towards eeriness. Somehow, it evades me now, we began talking of mythical nonsense that instilled fear in me that evening. He told me the Texan tale of the La Lechuza, an owl with the face of a witch. I won’t enlighten you on its contents. Needless to say, after a quick Google search, I was quite frightened. The superstitious soul that I am, it took me a bit to calm down. I kept feverishly glancing out the window as the night progressed, and my Texan lover and I continued to converse. Then, I heard a loud noise.

“Elario!” I cried, “The driveway alarm went off.” Laughter from the other end.

“Calm down.” He tells me, without any soothing words to back up his instruction. Agitated, I decide to stand watch at the window to see if any vehicle traversed up the hill into my line of sight.

Reader, let me explain. I live on the border of Indiana and Ohio, where the valleys rise the highest. The hill I am situated on entails poor cell service, lack of neighbors, and much wilderness on all sides. A loud “Beep!” typically announces the sound of a vehicle beginning the trek up our long, windy driveway. After talk of demons at nearly three in the morning, and a stranger encroaching on my sleeping family; I was panicked. As I stood at the window still, no headlights shone through the wood. No sound of engine broke the silence--just Elario’s faint voice asking of my whereabouts. “Hold on!” I would say to him, lingering at the window. With a sigh and shake of the head towards my ludicrousness, I crept back into my now cold blankets and curled around the warmth of my phone. After ridding my thoughts of demons and murderers, I listened to the calming tones of Elario’s breath and soon fell into slumber.

The next night, I was again on the phone with Elario, the boy I love yet have never met. Call me naive, reader, I don’t mind. But tell me, what is the harm of enjoying the virtual company of this stranger? I see none, besides the implications of sharing personal information, which I say in that case, beware! Well, tonight as we chatted, the La Lechuza was brought up once more. Yet, this time I wasn’t nearly as afraid. I mentioned that I am superstitious, but I forgot to add that I am also of the faith. Some prayers entailed last evenings terrors, and I called on the help of God to get me through the night. This evening Elario and I are discussing the trials of our day, and suddenly it has gotten very late in the evening once again. I lay there, musing over my love, when suddenly an unfamiliar noise pierces the air. I listen, just to be sure I heard right.

“Hoot, hoot.”

I furrowed my brows, straining my neck to lift an ear.

“Hoot, hoot.”

I could hardly believe what I heard! Was this she, the evil Lechuza, right outside my window? I had never heard the hoot of an owl in the flesh before this moment!

“Elario!” I exclaimed, “I hear the hoot of an owl just outside.” Yet again, he laughs.

“No way,” he responds, and listens for himself. Sure enough, the hooting continues.

Yet this time, it seemed as if God prevailed. I felt no fear, simply wonder. I had experienced spiritual warfare in my life, but never now had it presented itself so plainly. Here, now, the devil was preying on me and my child-like fears. So blatantly was he seen, so clearly could I discern the cause, and now he became a laughing stock between the two of us.

“I cannot believe this!” I laughed, and fell asleep soon after, untroubled.

The next night, Elario and I were, of course, conversing on the phone. I prepared for bed, and told Eli to quiet himself as to not wake my sleeping family while I made my way upstairs towards my room. I settled into bed, getting into a comfortable position to spend the next few hours being kept awake by Elario and his teasing. Yet the moment I looked towards the screen, a big black box appeared. It was embossed, “CALL FAILED”. Confused, I attempted to call him once more. And again. Then one more time... but to no avail. I checked my internet, and my connection was stagnant. How odd was this! As soon as I nestled into my bed, the call gave out and my cellular connection dissipated. Oh, the tribulations of relying on electronics! However, the allegoric personage that I am, I knew this could be of no coincidence. I assumed such could only be the interference of God, and accepted it as such. That night Elario and I did not stay on the phone, and I communicated via text that things should continue on that way. Crestfallen and agitated, he sent me a series of conflicting texts voicing his emotions, which I soon silenced in order to fall asleep. Yet sleep did not come. I tossed and turned restlessly in my bed, seeking every angle I could lay to invoke sleep--but to no avail. Soon, the inklings of paranoia began seeping in. The feeling of being watched--I felt as if spirits were traversing outside my house, trying to find a spiritual door that could grant them access. But there was one spirit I felt who had already infiltrated. I felt as if something paced outside my very door, a creature waiting to be granted entry by a barrier that anxiety would soon destroy. I imagined a lion waiting to come and feed on my carcass, which, mind you--is often how the devil is depicted. Rallying my wits, I crept out of bed to use the restroom. And there, sitting on the toilet, I looked up to the heavens and began to pray.

“Heavenly Father,” I said, in a mere whisper, “please be with me tonight...” And from there I began forming every kind of defense I could think. Giant warring angels, a wall of thorns surrounding my property (which, had been soaked with the blood of the lamb), and none other but the Holy Spirit’s protection in my room. As I said all of this, I shook violently. As to why I trembled so, I knew not. But once I finished my prayer, the shaking ceased. Peace overcame me. Suddenly, all was still. I sensed no lion traversing my halls. I felt no lingering eyes peering through the window, no demonic whisper startling the air. I crept back into bed, and was soon able to sleep with ease.

The next morning I awoke to a series of texts from Elario. First anger, then want. Then, he informed me that the broken connection was not because it was God’s will, but because it was the plot of the devil to separate two God-loving individuals. I pondered the thought, and believed it must be true. Why would God bring us into each others lives, two people some 900 miles away, only to separate us by severing a phone call? We continued our nightly calls since, and still do.

Reader, this experience I endured may seem silly, and perhaps it is. I must admit, my fears are often irrational. But this is a mere example of the plots of the devil. I recently established my faith with God, and prior to this monumental change in my life, he would terrify me daily, and without mercy. He used to plague my life, and now he tries to scare me with owls and mythical tales since he knows no other way to attack me. He preys now on any moment of weakness he can use to his advantage. But this is simply to remind you, reader, that he is always watching and looking for a moment of infirmity. Do not be like I, and become unreasonably fearful. Spiritual warfare exists; trust in God.

#christian #religion #spiritualwarfare #prayer #power #lesson #tale #wisdom #short story #spiritual warfare #shortstory #prayer warrior

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roraruu · 4 years

Text

wip: six years

The wind howls against the stone church. It’s freezing cold outside, and Python himself still used to the bitter winds and chill of Rigel. Or what used to be Rigel.

He can’t seem to get used to that difference. The continent has been united for what, A little over a decade now? He still finds the words Rigel and Zofia slipping through his teeth every now and then when he and his group take jobs.

But even then, that’s become an on-again-off-again thing. He’ll still give orders and jobs to the group, maybe route where they go and what they do. Village elders know him by name and aren’t shy to drop him a line for protection or odd jobs. That’s the extent of the frontier militia that he handles now. He calls himself too old to handle the bullshit of green and baby-faced villagers wanting to prove themselves.

(37 years old is much too young call himself old. Forsyth is a commander and still gets up at the ass crack of dawn every morning to train. Still, Python is Python and Forsyth is Forsyth.) More often than not, Python will take mercenary work. Deliver some important items or documents, stake out a war lord’s manor and report back to the King’s army, deal with a coven running amok. But tonight’s he’s put down his bow and quiver for a hammer. He still hates it more than swords, however this is a special request: the reparation of an antique table. One of the legs broke off in some tussle or another. If this church wasn’t on the borderlands, he would be surprised.

The entire thing needed a new leg, the old one rotted through. When he asked Silque if she would care about such a change, she had told him to do whatever he needed to. At least she wasn’t prudish about using what they had; the old leg was wormed and eaten alive.

He breaks his gaze from the overturned table and glances over to her. He’s working off one of the pews while Silque stands at the altar and prays. She doesn’t mind his hammering—if she does, she hasn’t said anything—and continues with her nightly thoughts and prayers. The hammer dangles from his grasp, the handle warm between his fingers.

“What are you prayin’ for this time?” He asks. His voice echoes through the church.

He knows that she will never ask for herself; always others, always those less fortunate than her, always the sick and wounded. Never her.

Silque doesn’t move from her prayer. Her back remains turned to him, her head downcast. Her hair falls down her back, her white cowl done away with; she never wears it in his presence, at least, not anymore.

“It’s not what I’m praying for, it’s who.” She responds.

Python turns the table over, making sure it’s stable. It doesn’t wobble or shake. He rests a hand on the top, his palm meeting stripped and scratched wood. “Elias?” He asks.

“No.”

“One of the girls ‘round here?”

“Again, no.” She says.

He lifts the repaired table back up and sets it by the altar, where she prays. Her lips are curved into a smile, one that’s hard to fight. Python rests a hand against it. “Table’s fixed, your holiness.”

Her eyes flutter open and flicker to him. “Thank you.” She says. “I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.”

“It’s not even yours.”

“It does not mean that I cannot be thankful.” She says, using the sleeve of her dress to wipe away the dust. “Besides, it’s important to someone.”

Python helps her move it back to the spot before the Mila Idol and replaces the bottle of wine laid before it. The Idol has stopped accepting offerings to the Goddess but still alleviates fatigue. No one knows why, but few question it.

“So you gonna tell me who you were prayin’ for?”

“Does it matter that much to you?” She says coyly. Silque’s fingers run over the surface of the table.

Python leans a little closer. “Not particularly. But curiosity can kill.”

Her eyes flicker back down to the table. “It will need to be refinished.” She says.

“You sure that someone here won’t get angry about that?”

“Why would they?”

“Some people get pissy when their stuff gets touched.”

“I would rather have it usable then broken.” Silque says. “And it’s not in the best condition right now. A new finishing would make it better for future generations.”

“You always think so far ahead?”

She smiles. “Sometimes.” Silque moves a little closer, her fingers turning white against the wood. If she moves much closer, they’ll knock over the bottle and chalice. And they would meet.

“Tell me who you were prayin’ for. Please.”

Her eyes flicker from his eyes, to his lips, then back. “You.” She whispers.

“Me?” He asks. She nods, the edge of her hair slips from underneath her cowl. “Why me?”

“Because it’s a rarity that I can see you.” Silque says.

She’s right. The last time they saw each other was in Flostym, and it wasn’t even that long, barely day and a half. She and Eliashad to continue their journey towards Zeke and Tatiana’s village; Python was back south.

Python doesn’t have anything sharp or witty to say back to her. He tries tenderness, something he’s trying to get used to in elder age. Through, he’s never been a mature one. “You scared for me?”

“I would be lying if I didn’t say I was.” She says softly.

“So what do you propose?”

“Something to ease my nerves.”

“Like?”

“Like a promise.”

“What kind?”

Silque glances away for a second. “I actually had a question for you.” She says.

“And that is?” His brow curves. Usually she’s not this coy.

“I had given it some thought. Quite a bit actually. And I came to the conclusion that I only ever want to be with you.”

Python’s gaze narrows. His heart stutters. “Why me?”

“Because I love you.”

His mind jumps to conclusions, some six years’ past. Of an amorous entwine, of him leaving to lead the military and then radio silence for six years until a letter came. And then that reunion at a church in the heat of Avistym, her hands on Elias’s shoulders and tears in her eyes. “Is this because of the rugrat?” He asks. He’s not used to a kid being in the mix.

She shakes her head. “No. Elias has little sway. Though I suppose having a father in his life would benefit his development.” Her voice is soft. Her fingers move closer to his, slipping over top of his palm. “This is because of me. It’s quite selfish really.”

Python stares at her for a second before glancing down to their hands. Her hand is over top his, holding it tight. Her touch is feather soft and gentle as the wind outside. His voice comes back to him. “I didn’t think you could be selfish.”

“Make no mistake, I can be just as selfish as you, Python.”

“Somehow I doubt that. You ain’t selfish, just as I ain’t holy.”

“Then tell me yes.” She whispers, her fingers intertwined between his. “And I won’t be self-serving.”

“What’s the question.” He asks, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes.

“Will you be my husband?” Silque asks.

Python stares at her for a second. Without hesitation he nods, his slipping to clasping hers tight. “I will.”

Silque wakes the local sage, who is all too happy to wed them (he even remarks that this is the happiest occasion to be woken at such an hour). There’s no bridal procession or fine dress. No music, or song or even a hymn spoken. No cake or big meal. and certainly no rings. There’s only an old sage who asks if they truly want to be together; a cup of wine that they share, poured from the offering on the table that he just fixed. Sharing the cup is an old Valentian custom, a good omen that the bride and groom will live a long and fulfilling life together. Silque hands him the cup to take a sip and when the sweet wine touches his lips and it drags him back to the first time he really paid attention to her—when she fainted from exhaustion and he carried her back to camp.

The sage asks him if he will hold and care for her until the day she leaves the earth and returns to Mila. If he will defend and praise her, if he will support her. For the first time in his life, Python doesn’t hesitate. “I do.” He responds, without falter or second thought.

And on that cold night in Wyrmstym, with the wind howling loud and low, Python and Silque are married.

#fe echoes #sov #fe15 #ru writes #forbidden ship #silque #python #-looks away-#six years

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iseultdeservedbetter · 4 years

Text

Everytime A Bell Rings An Angel Gets His Wings:

Eadith+Angel+Candles/Light+Alluring

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

This is my enter for the ‘TLK-October’ by @tsukkinami!

(I am very excited for also the November challenge and I am already browsing my ideas for the new fic I’ll have to come up with!).

Thank you for creating this and I hope you’ll enjoy this, although it is a very ‘different’ fic, set up in a modern AU, with what I am sure is a very OOC! Eadith, but I do hope you’ll like it!

Also a few thoughts.

Atropos and Moira, goddesses of Destiny or better said as the ones that hold and take care of the thread of life (and Atropos is the one that cuts the thread).

Matelda, character of Dante’s “Inferno” who has the precise purpose of helping purifying and cleaning souls that will later get into Paradise.

Lethe, infernal river that will make you forget everything that you have lived.

SUMMARY: Waking up with no knowledge of whatever happened to you never means anything good, even more if you end up waking with a new and important duty to fulfill.

And no memory.

WORDS: 4,9 K

WARNINGS: Mention of Death, Mention of Poop, Imprecise Talk of Afterlife Mixing Various Set Ups, Other Various Incorrect Things, Modern AU

When she woke up the light in her eyes, her last memory, was lightly dimmed by the solemn atmosphere she found herself in and as her eyes lightly came to adapt to the whole world surrounding her, she understood that she wasn’t in the complete darkness, anymore.

She was in a church.

And as she searched through her mind, she found the definition of a church.

But strangely she couldn’t remember her name, no matter how deep she dug in her head trying to discover something more than the awful atmosphere around her.

Her throat was still choked and spasmed agonizingly as she pushed herself to try to utter the name out of her lips.

But there was no use and eventually all she could do was walk in the path right in front of her, thinking that if she couldn’t remember what she was doing there, she might have as well tried to find some information about herself from the place she had woken up into.

Or where she had been pushed in, by the fact that she was standing on her own two feet, almost as if she had been just created on the front door of the spectral place,

Which was spooky.

But not knowing anything about herself because of what looked like a temporary black out in her mind, this could as well have been her house.

Although it looked like it came out from a horror movie.

Perfect: she knew two things since she had opened her eyes.

Churches and horror movies.

And she wondered for a moment what that strange match meant.

Had she been in a cult before?

The idea definitely rendered all her surroundings a bit more justifiable, since if she had just woken up in some kind of cult crisis induced horror story, she would have probably woken up same utter confusion of that moment.

But the place looked strangely… empty.

And she knew that if there was one thing that horror movies had taught her was that cults wouldn’t leave you alone.

Even if you put a few good countries between yourself and them.

But then something caught onto her attention and she realized that the place wasn’t empty anymore, but instead on the first row of the thick and blackish bench she saw an old veiled lady shrunk in herself, in a way that made her seem like some kind of harmless ghost.

But she might have been also a vengeful spirit.

And she wondered for a moment if she hadn’t just lost her mind completely.

Or if she was on the set of a horror movie, too deep in her role of the poor and desperate victim of the horrific ghost…

… and yet her feet moved forward towards the old lady, but as she walked further up, she found out that there were two others in the row behind the initial figure, with their heads put down on the back of the bench in front of them, completely cloaked in what looked like a thick veil of pure night.

And hadn’t she been so sure that this was either a manic dream or a well-written movie, she would have thought that she had seen the threads in their cloaks scrunch up and move on its own.

As if they wanted to escape the fabric.

The ladies didn’t meet her gaze as she shamelessly looked at them, but they obviously felt her presence, suddenly starting a devilish lullaby that must have been some kind of awful prayer, tight-lipped and in some dark language.

And yet it only enhanced the atmosphere around her.

And the rhythm of it grew alongside her steps, till she was in front of the veiled woman on the front row, unlike her ‘friends’ with her back held up high to allow herself to stare deeply and longingly onto the stand of the eucharist.

But there wasn’t any admiration in her eyes, just a tight-lipped glare.

But it wasn’t the open blasphemy in them that made her jump back of a scared surprise.

It was the pure absence of eyes that shook her to the very core.

Well the FX must have been very very proud of themselves, because she almost shitted in her pants at that sight…

But it seemed too real to be a simple make-up.

Some green screen shit probably…

“… you took your sweet time, little one” muttered the woman and the breath was stuck in her lungs since she didn’t know how the hell the woman had seen or perceived her presence.

She just knew that she was scared and suddenly cold, glad that the sightless gaze wasn’t set up on her, but yet somehow annoyed by the haughty tone of the woman.

She lightly stuck her tongue out to the woman, almost childlike but all the main characters in horror movies did such idiotic things at the climax of the movie.

And if some kind of monster just wanted to take her out why should she wait patiently her turn?

Being on his nerves would have saved her the anxiety that was starting to burn up her stomach and that confusion that was building in her mind.

“… don’t stick your tongue out to me, sweetheart”.

She stopped her gesture midway, risking of biting down on her tongue.

Painfully.

And the woman smirked at her clumsiness and quickly patted down the spot of the harsh rock where she sat, in an offer that she wasn’t sure that she could refuse, but she willed her body to slow down as the rhythm of the women’s mantra became more relaxed and lower in its tone, becoming a whisper.

Swallowed by the night.

“You are a newbie” muttered the woman, as she tore he eyes away from the woman, just as she slipped in next to her, careful to even come near to that woman, something hissing in her clothes and the same nightmarish moving thread working its magic through the elegant features of an eternal outfit.

Hadn’t she been…

… eyeless…

… the old woman would have been quite the elegant lady.

And with a quick gaze shot to her, as the lady shifted her whole body to take in the young woman in front of her, she knew that the nightmarish creature knew exactly what she was feeling.

How she was feeling.

“… oh… I mean… I don’t have much… experience as an actress” she didn’t know why she uttered that, but she was glad to defeat the sound that was thrumming in her ears, a mixture of the complete nightly silence and the enchanted lullaby that the two women behind her emitted “… not that I can… remember much of what I was before …”.

“Oh, that’s a side effect of the Lethe” muttered the woman as she threw her arms to the air, again that annoyed look like a secretary that had just been handled a pile of paperwork a few minutes after she had clocked out “… I always tell Matelda that she shouldn’t hold the souls down for so long… but Gosh… ‘she doesn’t tell me how to do my work so I don’t have any saying in what she does…’ and you’d think it’d be demons the bitches of the Passing…”.

“… Matelda?” she uttered out, the name sounding as strange on her tongue as the mention of the ‘Passing’, but she knew one thing for sure.

Lethe was an infernal river.

And if she wasn’t wrong (confirmed by the words of the woman in front of her) it was meant to delete the memories of the souls, before they went over to Paradise, after their staying in Purgatory.

And had she… been called a soul?

“Oh yes, my dear! An awful woman truly… no manner… just a quick service and not even a smile” and to reinforce that she was utterly different from that she smiled.

Showing her a teethless smirk.

Well, hadn’t she shitted her pants at the sight of her eyes, she had now.

Was it even possible for a soul to shit her pants?

“… and who are you?” the voice choked on her throat.

And again, the woman did notice it.

And the smile that she was gifted with wasn’t in any way comforting.

“Oh what a rude woman I must have seemed to you, little rose” muttered softly the woman, as she promptly put one leg over the other and she swore that she had seen the thread starting to push itself to move onto her leg as she did this gesture “… I am Atropos, inflexible ruler of the thread of life, alongside my sisters”.

And as if it was natural, she turned around to look around to shoot a quick look at the women, who didn’t raise their head from their prayers, but the sensation of two other pairs of eyes made her feel at even more unease.

And as she made to raise up from her sat position, she found herself stuck there.

“… aren’t you familiar with me?” her voice was now an hushed growl and for a moment underneath the pretense of a gentle old grandma with a style that brought a designer best nightmares, she could see a decaying figure.

Genderless and utterly primordial.

And she remembered who she was.

Apparently, her ample vocabulary also knew the Moira, the goddesses that spun the thread of life, eventually cutting it when one’s life ended.

And if she had met one of them, the last one, she must have been pretty much dead.

That explained much.

She would have still preferred the horror movie solution.

But hey… you couldn’t have everything.

“… I’ll take that as a yes” hissed the woman “… I always make a certain impression on the ones that come here for the first time, but don’t worry, sweetie, I don’t eat humans, unlike many of my Mother’s other children…”.

That was comforting.

And if she was dead there wasn’t much that could have physically pained.

Except trying to remember what was going on.

That gave her quite the headache.

“… but we have to speed this up, because I have an appointment in a few centuries, although for you it is something like… five minutes…” the blabber created more confusion in her mind that the childish sound that the woman’s sisters produced intensified in a way that made this all seem like a bad joke.

Except it was the truth.

“… you have been chosen to become a guardian angel, congratulations”.

A guardian angel?

She hadn’t even known that she was dead till a few minutes ago!

“… like the ones… with wings?”.

“Oh, not immediately! You gotta earn them, first!” commented the woman cheerily, almost happy that she was slowly getting the entire story without her having to speak about anything.

And honestly, she would have actually felt better if the frightening creature had kept her mouth closed.

Would she have become also like that?

No, no angels were pretty!

“… what does… what does this mean?” Gosh, if she wasn’t dead, she would have been because whatever had prompted this psychological trip must have been quite… heavy on her whole body and was already fucking up her mind.

“That you are assigned to a human! You keep them safe and if you manage to do that… you get your wings and eventually a few discounts for Paradise…”.

“… I thought… that was what Purgatory was for…” she mumbled underneath her breath more for herself than anyone else, but the woman still caught onto what she had said and with a conspiratorial glint in her absent eyes.

And she leaned painfully closer to her.

She swore that she smelt like something between a bad perfume gone rotten and the warmness of burnt fire.

“… well you see… the big boss… God, Allah and whatever you like calling them… just thought that the whole process with the Purgatory was slow… annoyingly slow. You pray a bit… you talk with other spirits and you hope those that the people you left behind will pray for you and then what?! You get automatically admitted in the Paradise club!”.

That seemed like a bad thing from the woman’s mouth.

“… so the big boss came up with this, his own Charlie’s angels… less latex suits and more chastity till marriage and all that bullshit” with a soft look the woman shot a small smirk of penance to the upper floor and she couldn’t help but hold herself almost protectively about what would have come next “… you complete tasks, you get stars and in the end… puff… club Paradise is waiting for you”.

“That seems very…” ‘downright out of a reality TV series’ “… tiring”.

“And you haven’t heard the best part” the twisted smirk on the woman’s rotten mouth definitely didn’t talk about anything ‘good’ “… you can’t refuse, so smile and let me get a small photo for our badge”.

And before she could even protest or say anything a flash of light completely swamped her and no matter the fact that she protectively covered her eyes with an arm, she was still blinded by the powerful shot, similar to the one that had brought you there.

Should she have expected any kind of tunnel after the light?

But after the light came screams, which made her think that whatever that conversation had been, she was back to planet Earth.

A place that smelt bad and was half as noisy as the stank that surrounded her sensible body.

Fresh shit.

Perfect.

She just hoped it wasn’t hers.

But as she was able to finally see again, she was relieved to discover that she hadn’t actually shitted her pants, although she had to cut herself a bit of slack since she had basically discovered that she was dead and she had met what looked like an ancient monster.

It didn’t take her long to realize where she was.

She was in a child’s nursery, so she wasn’t too surprised to discover that there was a crib in the center of it, where a pinkish babe was wiggling around softly and comfortably in what looked like a diaper full of shit.

Was… was her purpose as an angel to change diapers?

She approached the crib carefully, almost as if she was expecting the Earth beneath her to open and swallow her wholly in an image that would have pleased her more than the prospect of changing diapers.

If she knew one thing about herself, after that sudden memory loss was that she didn’t exactly like changing diapers or caring for children.

But the child was strangely cute.

Button nose and light eyes, and a smile that would have opened the doors of the most desperate of hearts.

Although the smell was quite… an obstacle to her wanting to put her arms around the child and hug it tight to her chest.

The other sudden intrusion was the fact that suddenly a voice was heard, matched by the cries of the babe that had suddenly lost any interest for her and now was calling out desperately for its mother, answering with a series of ‘cuttie patootie’ names that made her puke a bit in her mouth.

She hadn’t definitely been a mother before the whole death and ‘angel thing’.

She wondered whether she should have hidden herself.

She was sure that whether the whole ‘you are an angel’ was true or it wasn’t, it definitely would have been quite curious to find a fully-grown woman in your child’s room.

Even more when she had no idea to why she was there.

The child seemed able to perceive her, as its clear gaze shifted onto her and like the cutest sack of potatoes she had ever witnessed it started to roll up closer to her, just for her to back off and flee underneath a curtain as the door’s handle lowered itself, announcing the mother’s presence.

“… I am coming, my dearie!”.

She held her tongue, putting an hand over her mouth as a good measure to stop herself from saying anything that would have revealed her presence, although she was pretty sure that the thin light blue-colored curtains didn’t help her much.

And as she was halfway through shifting under the desk of what looked like an half-built vanity, she found that she hadn’t managed to run out the horrible monster who had shifted onto a more human appearance, complete of one eye that was burying itself deep in her soul.

But she was sure that with or without it the woman could see her perfectly.

She wanted to scream, but with a quick look to the domestic scene of the doting mother changing the crying babe, she again bit down her tongue, making the woman let out a powerful laugh, the kind that was probably buried under a lot of layers of self-control.

And probably that hadn’t been uttered since 1967.

‘They can’t hear us…’ and she moved closer to the woman, gently passing a hand through her stomach, with no kind of reaction from the human that just kept her work ‘… and they can’t touch us’.

Was that some kind of superpower you gained through birthing a child?

Because she wasn’t wholly convinced about the fact that she was an angel.

“… this little one, instead…” and the child hid immediately her face away from the woman, scared and intensifying her cries, that sounded like a delightful song to the monstrous woman “… can… and she’ll always be able to see you, as she grows up, to let you do your own duties as a guardian angel”.

“I am not sure…”.

“You have been chosen because during your life you acted as a protector to somebody close to you, till the last minutes of your death”.

Wasn’t that consoling.

“Now you’ll cover the position of the guardian angel to the same creature that breathed her first breath once you breathed out your last” now the monster tone had left out any ironic comment “… if you manage to make her have an happy life you’ll get your wings, understood?”.

Not that it was a true question, but she found herself nodding her head.

“… now that everything is clear, I’ll leave you two to get to know each other” and turning another time to the child that had just calmed herself down, making her scream right in the ear of her mother, she vanished in thin air with a small ‘… works every time’.

And then the newly-angelled angel realized that she was in big trouble.

She hadn’t a name

And Any basic knowledge about her life.

But she had a duty.

And that was a good starting point.

In her internship period as a ‘guardian angel’ she discovered that babies didn’t do much, except being cute little shits that pooped too much and cried, when you were least expecting.

And the child she was supposed to babysit, who she had horridly named ‘Experiment 1’, wasn’t an exception to any of those activities, and instead she had had to add to the list of ‘things baby did’ the ‘sleeping for entire hours and waking up angry’, which prompted her many times to run around the house worried.

She had discovered that she wasn’t visible and neither able to come in contact with any human that wasn’t ‘Experiment 1’, but she could move a few things a bit around, not the in atrociously painfully way Patrick Swayze did in ‘Ghost’, but she had still limited movements.

Her body denying her as soon as she forced herself to do anything more than make something fall like an annoyed cat to shift the mother’s attention on ‘Experiment 1’ ‘s labored breathing, when she had caught a small minor sickness.

Prompting her to reach out to a doctor.

She had then discovered that she could travel in cars, and although it was like being completely invisible, once she had been hit in the face by an heavy travel bag, which had gone through her as if she had never been there, it had also hurt the place on her face that it had first come in contact with.

At the doctor’s office it had been revealed to her and the mother that, hadn’t it been for her bringing it to the mother’s attention, the baby would have probably developed a lung sickness further along, where it might have been dangerous.

Well… she had managed to get the child through the first month just fine.

She considered that an utter success.

And they actually celebrated the first month of the baby’s life.

People, related to the child, came to visit the mother.

They crowded the room and although the angel knew that she should have felt just a tiny bit surrounded by a crowd, she felt like she was just more alone.

The fact that she was dead, although an angel, hadn’t settled till then.

And another thing settled in her.

Where was the child’s father?

At the birthday party, as she managed to stole away a small piece of cake (she did seem to still enjoy the sweetest pleasures of life, although she didn’t need them to survive) she had found a very interesting piece of conversation to follow like a telenovela, hidden under the thick table of the kitchen.

“Do you think… he feels better?” a tempting voice of the old lady she had framed as the Experiment 1’s grandma spoke to another younger lady and with the confidence they were touching each other to comfort each other, they were evidently related.

Mother and daughter.

Did her own mother mourn her?

Had she had any siblings?

“… he feels better…” the words seemed painful to get out and then the woman pushed everything out as if she had just managed to break the lock that kept her thought in the jail of her mind “… physically, but…”.

“He has a child, he should worry about that!” the older woman retorted and also in her something had been utterly broken to make such an anger be released on the younger woman who shifted away in an evident show to hid herself from such a rage.

And for a moment she was happy to be completely invisible to others.

“… mom, it isn’t easy” the voice that came from the door of the kitchen spoke of tired nights and a pain that just flourished with each step and it belonged to Experiment 1’s mother.

The elegant dress she had chosen hung heavily onto her full frame, making her same like a scarecrow.

“… he lost… so much in the incident, you need to give him time”.

And she had just sneaked away slowly as the three women looked at each other in an intense fight to who would have lowered firstly their gaze, speaking of pain, rage and protectiveness.

And the question just remained in her mind.

But the tried to focus her mind on easier tasks.

By day she would be found by the child’s side and during the night she would sometimes go through the door of that small house, like a ghost, to explore the small apartment complex, hoping to find something about herself, but she just discovered that the girl of the fourth apartment had a scandalous affair with her boyfriend’s sister.

And that the old man who lived on the first floor hadn’t been able to see his grandchildren for a year now and would sometimes call out their name whenever she would stumble into a small object, making the smallest of noises.

And the Karen on the sixth floor had a collection of MAGA hat that had found its way in the trash bin, ‘accidentally’.

Then two months into her newest ‘work’ the child’s father came back home.

And she had almost flung herself to take a curious look at him him, spying him from the threshold of the kitchen that was the first room he’d appear in after passing the entrance and where Experiment 1’s mother was waiting gently trying to usher the crying babe, startled awake by the sound of the doorbell.

She, herself, had been trying to make silly faces to calm her.

But the child just hid her face in her mother’s neck and cried louder, probably breaking her mother’s eardrum.

It was quite a picture to come back for the father.

Who looked like he had been through a tornado, that had left just his clothes intact.

But his aspect wasn’t the first thing she focused onto.

But on the fact that for a moment, for a split moment, he seemed to almost see her.

And he saw her as if he recognized her.

And then he went back to staring at the mother of his child, offering gently the child in her arms, but he kept his own to his side as if to say that he wasn’t interested, making her huff in pure annoyance as the angel just burned a hole through him.

For the first time she felt like she was recognizing him.

And that feeling of being stared upon intensified.

As did the mother’s annoyance at the father’s refusal of holding the newborn child, suddenly more and more terrorized by the new figure and crying in a way that didn’t go away even when her angel cooed softly at her.

“… we can’t continue this way” the mother muttered tightly, as she pushed the child away from him and, although he had been colder than ice some kind of pain for the refusal filled his eyes, highlighting some kind of pained reaction to that denial “… it isn’t healthy for both of us and for… her…”.

“You haven’t even named her yet” the man’s eyes shifted on the ground and the angel in the side stayed silently behind, but her ears were pricked with interest “… it’s been what… a month… already…”.

The words meant something else, but he denied anything else as he left the words unsaid.

And the angel wanted to desperately know what he had meant with them.

“… I couldn’t…” confessed the mother “… and it wouldn’t have been fair”.

‘And you are changing the subject’ wanted to mutter the invisible angel, feeling like the man was shifting far and farther away from the truth.

And she needed to desperately know it.

“… you can choose whatever you want” the man muttered tired and the woman had a sudden spirit of rebellion, her eyes shining of pure lighting as she answered him, meanwhile the child had finally quieted herself.

“Then what about her name?”.

She knew they didn’t mean the grandmother’s name or anybody else.

And from the hurt look on the man’s face, he just had remembered something painful.

As the piercing pain that pinched the angel between her lungs.

“… no” it was a refusal that was so deep that it almost sounded like a growl.

“Eardwulf” it was the first time she heard the name and again that silver lining of remembrance rang true in her ears.

Intense as an annoying ringing of bells.

At 5 a.m. in the morning.

“… no we can’t” now the voice was choked and she could see the tears he wanted to desperately shed and the ones the woman had already started at seeing the love of her life completely destroyed “… she is gone and she isn’t…”.

“It isn’t meant to go this way!” protested thrillingly the woman as she moved to gently push an hand comfortingly onto his shoulder, obtaining no other response than a slight push that made her almost stumble backwards, exactly as she almost lost her grip onto the child.

And before the angel could properly think it through, she grabbed the child through the mother’s arm, strangely entering her body for a single moment.

But she didn’t exactly think through the whole dynamic she was just happy to have the child in her arm.

And the father looked at his gesture shook.

And he again, looked at her again.

Through the mother’s mouth she heard her saying:

“She doesn’t have to be gone for ever” the man now looked slightly a bit more convinced, something in him being so tired of fighting against an invisible enemy and he just shrugged his whole body in a relaxed pose.

“It is just… I lost her… it is all my fault”.

And for a moment a flash of light invested the guardian angel completely.

The scream of a hysterical man next to her and the feeling of something underneath her rolling through the floor as a constant beeping heightened its strength right when her lids became too heavy for her...

… and she fell.

She fell asleep.

Was this all linked.

“It isn’t your fault” muttered the woman tiredly, but with a gentleness that just petrified him on the spot and gently she tried again to lay the child in his arms and although rigidly he accepted the small creature, just as the guardian angel backed off, standing between the mother and father..

The father was just a natural at holding the baby, quickly learning to hold her hand and when he met her eyes, he fell in love.

And for a moment the guardian angel felt like she was in her rightful place.

And again, in that moment when the man turned his head suddenly to her she knew that he could see her.

And she knew.

“… you are right… she is gone, but not… forgotten” he muttered softly and then he gave her name back “… yeah… Eadith seems like a good name”.

#Eadith #Eadith Fic #Eadith Imagine #TLK-October #TLKoctober #TLK October #The Last Kingdom #The Last Kingdom Fic #TLK #TLK Fic

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yeniayofnymeria · 4 years

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Arya Stark and Valkyrie

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

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

What are Valkyries in mythology?

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

Original Valkyries

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

Norns

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

Later Valkyries

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

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

Summary of Valkyrie aspects

They are "choosers of the slain"

serve as cupbearers on their time "off"

beautiful young women

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

serve a person or order with Odin hints

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

Valkyrie aspects featured in Arya's FM arc

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

...

"Fuck, we need bowls, cups, spoons—

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

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

...

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

...

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

"And here—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

...

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

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

...

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good boots are hard to find."

...

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

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

Summary of Valkyrie elements in Arya's FM

"chooser of the slain"

cupbearer

the battle for Harrenhal gets dedicated to her

female

she is not supposed to participate in fights

FM and Valkyries

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

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

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

The gift of mercy

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Targets of assassination

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

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

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

Let us being by examining the story of the First:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marked for death

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

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

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

a slave master

Chyswick: a gang rapist

Weese: an abuser and liar

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

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

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

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

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

possibly the Ugly Girl's father: a child beater

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

Him of Many Faces and many names

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

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

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

Volunteer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arya grew hesitant. "Where?"

"Far and away, across the narrow sea."

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

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

"What is it?"

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

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

"Then what good is it?"

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

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

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

...

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

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

"Just so."

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

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

...

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

...

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

She offers no sacrifice in her prayer list

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

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

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

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

Fighting

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

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

cupbearer

intuitive chooser of the slain

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

the battle of Harrenhal is dedicated to her

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

female

volunteers like the First

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

#AryaStark #valkyrie #asoiaf #JonryaWeek2020

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pagesandmagic · 6 years

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Survivors

The aftermath of bringing Hook back from the Underworld. Emma’s inner battle with wanting so desperately to be the same girl before, but her knowing that it wasn’t going to happen. They were both broken humans.

It definitely wasn’t shown on OUAT how they felt after coming back because let’s be honest, it seemed pretty traumatizing for the both of them, so this is just a little something something. I may do Killian’s point of view as well, but we’ll see. With finals coming up I have a feeling I’ll be stretched pretty thin. As always, enjoy and let me know what you think you lovely peeps.

Emma awoke in a cold sweat. Her heart was beating fast and her breathing was quick and unsteady.

Not again.

She looked at the alarm clock next to her bed. 3:30

It was like clock work every night for the past two weeks. It had been barely a week since Killian had returned from the Underworld, two since she had returned and her mind still had yet to process the miracle that he was back in Storybrooke safe and sound.

The first few days returning without Killian were hell. She didn’t leave the house at all, she barely got out of bed, the love of her life was gone forever. How was she just supposed to move on with life normally knowing that? Mary Margaret insisted she see Archie, but leaving the house had seemed like too daunting of a task. So instead she had called Archie a few days after Mary Margaret pleaded with her. PTSD was what he had said. A mild, possibly temporary form, but nevertheless she showed all the symptoms. He requested to see her, but she made up an excuse, said she would come by next week and hung up the phone.

Of course she had PTSD, she just lost the love of her life in the Underworld. She would constantly replay the images of him kissing her hand as she rode the elevator up were burned in her mind all the time. It was the first time he had cried in front of her, it wasn’t something she was going to forget. She wondered if she could have done something differently, if she somehow could have saved him before he even had to experience what life in the Underworld was like. She saw him at his worst, completely battered and bruised physically and emotionally. Her heart broke the moment she tried to talk to him at the grave site. Watching him suffer, but knowing there was nothing she could do but aimlessly search was such a helpless feeling. The nights spent in the Underworld were filled with silent sobs and hopeless prayers. It was by far one of the darkest times in her life.

She turned on her other side, hoping to feel Killian’s warm skin as a reminder that he was still here but she only found empty space. Her body jolted up in a panic. Was Killian returning only a dream? Was he still trapped?

She grabbed her robe hanging from a hook next to her bed and made her way downstairs. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for or where she’d find him, but she knew she had to search every part of the house.

He had spent the last seven days sleeping at her house. She didn’t want him to leave again and knowing that he was next to her all night kept her mind at ease. Emma knew it would take a long time for her to feel okay again. But keeping him close was something that kept the bad thoughts away.

She made a mental list in her head, thinking of all the places Killian could be at three in the morning. She checked the kitchen, hoping to find him sitting at the island, sipping rum and flipping through a book, but nothing. She checked both bathrooms. Nothing. She checked the three spare bedrooms, thinking that he had sleepwalked again. Nothing. The living room came up as empty as ever, only a small nightlight was lit in the corner to light up the room the nights that Emma came down to sip on warm milk when she couldn’t sleep.

There was only one other place she could think of that he would be. She walked back upstairs to the room across from hers. She peeked in Henry’s room since Killian had a knack for checking on Henry during the middle of the night to make sure he was safe, something that Emma had appreciated more than he knew.

And there she found him.

The shirtless pirate stood over Henry’s bed, his hand covering his eyes. She could tell his mind was filled with sleepiness and burdens and images of the beatings from Hades. She knew the thoughts of Emma or Henry in danger became too much for him sometimes that he could stand here for a half an hour before coming back to bed. She wondered how long he had been there.

She was thankful that Henry was a heavy sleeper, but knew that Killian could spot her at any moment watching him and she didn’t want him to know that she knew about his nightly visit to Henry’s room. She began to back out of the doorway to head back into bed but a soft voice stopped her, “I know you’re there, love,” His eyes still covered his face, but somehow he knew she was there. If telling when someone is lying was her superpower, seeing with his eyes closed must be his.

She walked into Henry’s room, making her footsteps light, careful not to wake him. She wrapped her arms around Killian’s midsection and she could feel his heartbeat against her ear. It was a calming and reassuring sound. He was there. He was alive. Her family was whole.

She could hear the preteen’s soft snores and watched his chest move up and down with each breath. How thankful she was to him for bringing her to the life she never believed she would have. Her little boy was turning into a wonderful young man and she had Killian to thank for parts of that.

“I come in here to think,” he whispered, his hand rubbing her back as he rested his cheek against her head. “I’m not sure what it is about the lad’s room that makes it easier to think..” he paused, taking in a breath, “Or even to breathe.”

She hummed against his chest, knowing that if she could choose to stay in this position forever she would. “Maybe because Henry brings hope.”

Killian looked down at her, and she up at him, “His entire life he’s brought hope to people, to me when I believed I was alone, to Regina when she adopted him, to all of Storybrooke at one point,” she chuckled, “You can’t deny the kid has moved mountains in his life.”

He kissed her forehead in agreeance, “I’ve come to love the lad like my own,” he paused, “I hope you know that.”

She nodded, squeezing him tighter, hoping to hold on forever. Her heart was broken the day she had to say goodbye. In fact, her heart was broken until this very moment. But with his words he had made it whole again. His words helped mend the scars that were left in her heart from the Underworld. He was her family. And he had chosen to become a part of theirs.

“Come back to bed,” she whispered. He nodded and followed her back into their bedroom. They sleepily stumbled back into bed together.

She was so thankful to be crawling into bed next to this man. She went to literal hell to bring him back, and when she came up short she believed it was the end of their story. But by the grace of Zeus he was there next to her. She ran her fingers through his hair, her other hand intertwined with his. The smell of the days rum still lingered on his skin. His drinking had heightened since his return to Storybrooke, but as much as she wanted to worry about it she could see it in herself too. There were nights they would get lost in the rum together. They were broken. They had lost each other more than once and believed this time would have been the final one. But they had found a way back to each other.

Emma knew this was just going to be a season. A season of anxiety and nights of worry and empty bottles of rum, but after all they had been through it was worth it to fall asleep next to him. She wrapped her leg around his and the warmth from his body enveloped her. So much of her life was spent falling asleep alone. Always wondering if there was someone else out there who could fill the void that Neal had left in her heart. Her fingers were still running through his hair when she noticed his eyelids fluttering shut.

He is here.

Killian was alive and well. Emma was alive and well. They may have been broken, but their broken pieces beautifully fit in each others to create one whole piece. It wasn’t a perfect situation. They had endured more pain than one person should ever have to go through and it would take a lot of time before they felt okay again. But they survived. And they found each other in the end.

#captain swan fanfic #captain hook #Captain Swan #captain swan fic #ouat #ouat fic #captain swan fanfiction #fanfiction #ouat fanfiction #cs fic #cs ff #cs #my fic

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toukenra · 7 years

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@lithiel Oh my gosh thank you so much for sending this in I just got reminded of all the reasons why I love Tsurumaru he’s so precious I just want to suck up all the sadness he’s been hiding like a sponge and wrap my arms around him like he did for this Saniwa (yes I’m low-key jealous rn) thank you thank you thank you I really enjoyed worked on this one! (灬♥ω♥灬) (although this took me more than 6 hours of racking my brains but i’m very thankful for this request) And for the edgy dragon/wolf… Kuri-chan, just resign to your fate because as long as I live you will be loved by me there’s no running away from my love.

I’m just gonna assume there isn’t any established relationship between them YET (ehehe) so that’s why they weren’t allowed anywhere near her room although the swords more or less have a crush on their Saniwa and vice versa if that’s okay with you! And yessss~ gimme all the cheesy and cutesy fluff in the world~, I’m highly allergic against any kind of angst anyway so I hope you’re going to like this one!! (♡ >ω< ♡) sorry if Kuri-chans scenario turned out so much longer than the rest i wanted to write something longer for him and just ran out of ideas after writing this ._. *gets tomatoes thrown at me*

This could get quite lengthy so under the cut just to be safe

Ookurikara/ Kuri-chan

Why did he have to share a room with Mitsutada and Kuninaga who in the world could sleep besides these nosy swords? he openly grumbles as he walks to the bathroom to escape their loud snoring

suddenly his foot makes contact with something soft

an irritated look makes its way onto his face when he realizes it’s his current master sleeping right in his way

hasn’t she heard of a bedroom before??

woah slow down there Grinch

ponders whether he should just let her sleep over there or if he should call for Mitsutada to fetch her away when he hears stifled sobs coming from her

crouches down and is ready to wake her so he can go back to sleep

‘O-okurikara..please..’

shoots right up at hearing his name and bangs his head on the wooden beam with a loud thump startling the both of you

your face flushes a deep shade of red once she realizes that the man you’ve been longing for in your dream is standing right in front of you although he was angrily rubbing his temple by now

shoots you the death glare but upon seeing the fresh tears on your face his expression softens just the slightest

‘What? Don’t you even know what a bedroom is anymore or why were you sleeping out here in the cold? And what about crying like that you sure are bothersome.’

‘I-I’m sorry.. I guess I was sleepwalking and just landed out here. I-it’s fine you can leave me now.’

he really thinks about just going back to his room but in the end he just can’t find it in himself to leave you laying there like that

curses himself and the whole world and grabs you by your arms, basically dragging you back to you room

after laying you down you expect him to leave when he suddenly drapes himself right next to you, his arms pulling you flush against his hard chest so you couldn’t turn around and look at him

you were surely getting a heart attack by now

‘Ookurikara??!’

‘Tsk you sure are annoying, stop moving around so much.’

you knew all too well that he didn’t like physical contact at all so being held in his arms like this touched your soul deeply and you were about to start crying again

‘Y-you don’t have to stay here with me..’ you mumble apologetically but he only pulls you tighter against his chest

‘Tsk, just be quiet already. I’m only here because Kuninaga is snoring so loud’ he grumbles, making you smile a little at realizing how kind he really is

‘Thank you then, I will not forget your kindness’

‘I’m not doing this for you. Now just close your eyes’ he grumbles against your hair, making you giggle in delight

‘You know how people say that animals and children can sense the true nature of a person. I knew you were kind the moment Gokotai’s tiger cubs started climbing on you. Good night, Ookurikara.’

stay silent but is secretly blushing heavily into your hair

he hates it.

he hates it all: the warm feeling spreading inside his chest at listening to the soothing sound of your even breathing, the wavering scent of your shampoo that is tickling his nose and the sensation of holding a warm and lively woman like you ins arms, god he hates it why does the world have to punish him like that

(translation: he loves it so much and doesn’t want to let you go ever but Jesus he’d rather get skinned alive than admit to it)

both of you fall asleep just like that, legs tangled and intertwined both of you basically melt into one

would probably want you to sign a confidentality agreement next morning lol

if you ever tell anyone about this you’re dead

Tsurumaru

‘Oya oya what kind of surprise is this?’

his eyebrows start wiggling when he finds you sleeping in front of your room

ponders whether he should jump out on you or draw on your face but you were always so firm with keeping him and the others away from your room at night

which only made him more curious on what you were trying to hide from him

on a closer look he suddenly remarks that your body is shaking and tears are spilling from your closed eyes

that was definitely another surprise, but surely not the kind he wished for

he didn’t even know that humans could cry during sleep and it honestly breaks his heart a little at seeing you in this pitiful state

‘..rumaru..’

??? was that his name coming from your sleeping form ???

‘Tsurumaru.. please..don’t let me go’

yep, ok that was definitely his name spilling from your heavenly lips

and you’re wanting to be held by him? sure both of you had been playfully flirting for some time now but never would he have thought that there was any deeper meaning to it

at least not from your side

he tries to keep his cool, he really does, but his heart rate just skyrockets to unhealthy altitudes

carefully sweeps you up in his arms without waking you and carries you back to your room

lays down next to you and peppers your face with little butterfly kisses, even licking up the salty tears off your cheeks until you scrunch up and open your eyes, only to be greeted with the sight of Tsurumaru licking your nose

your first instinct is to yell bloody murder but a quick peck to your forehead silences you immediately

‘Geez, surprising me like that wasn’t funny, Master. If you wanted me to hold you that badly you could have told me from the start.’ he graces you with a kind smile before he presses a soft kiss against your nose

silly crane why u so cute ilysm :’))

not being able to form any coherent sentence you just bury your head in his neck and mumble a teary-eyed ‘thank you’ against his heated skin but he understands it anyway

holds you tightly and strokes your hair until you fall asleep

probably teases you next morning because you were drooling on him

makes it his life mission to never let you sleep alone again

good luck with trying to escape his nightly cuddles (not that you mind i know it)

great excuse to be close to you hehe

can you feel my love for him?? because my heart sure is overflowing with love for this precious crane

Ichigo

he loved his little brothers, he really did but sometimes at night he just wished to have some moments just for himself so he carefully removed Hirano’s arm from his chest and slipped out of the stuffy bedroom

admiring the full moon and fresh night air he just wanders around the Citadel until he suddenly finds himself in front of your door

somehow he always landed here, partly because of how connected he felt towards you whenever you flashed him that kind smile of yours and mostly because of his heartfelt desire to be closer to you

as if his prayers had been heard a soft whimper made its way to his ears

startled, his eyes darted to the origin of the sound only to be met by your sleeping frame draped on the porch

his heart breaks in two at seeing your closed eyes filled with tears and how vulnerable you looked in the dim moonlight

were your nightmares the reason you never let anyone near your room during nighttime?

heavily torn between wanting to kiss your tears away and being afraid of your reaction when he hears his name being whispered in between your little whimpers

404 ERROR ERROR Ichigo.exe has stopped working

after calming his racing heart it only took him 7 minutes he realizes that you were crying because you must have felt lonely and his heart just breaks again

musters all his courage and carefully nudges you until you sleepily open your eyes and pulls you into a tender embrace

‘I’m sorry for not realizing my desire to hold you like this any sooner but please allow me to embrace you like this for tonight.’

pure angel is bright red and dying inside but keeps his promise and doesn’t let you go for the rest of the night or ever again

he’s the epitome of cuteness 527457% would kiss him

Izuminokami

absolutely flabbergasted when he finds you sleeping in the cold

how did you even land there?

doesn’t give it a second thought and carries you back to your room bridal style because he’s sure he looks very cool doing so when he realizes there are tears streaming down your beautiful sleeping face

and you’re even mumbling his name with that cute angelic voice of yours?

oh lord please give him strength because he has to gather all his strength to not wake and devour you right on the spot

why does my sinful mind want to make this naughty bad girl Anni

decides its better to let you sleep and ask for an explanation next morning

gently wipes your tears away and presses feathery kisses against your temple

tries to be very cool and composed about holding you like this but when you sigh against his neck cool sword warrior just melts into a big puddle

let’s be honest: you’ve never slept any better than in his arms because damn that guy probably smells so good

probably teases you a little next morning for clinging to him during your sleep

shut up Kane-san, you were enjoying this as well

Kashuu

poor bab is lost when he finds you weeping in your sleep right in front of your room

he just wanted to use the rest room and now this

wonders if he should call for Yasusada because he has no idea what to do right now when he overhears you whispering his name

excuse me what?

you’re calling out for him right?

or were you crying because of him?

13637 questions and no one to answer them for him

it takes him about 20 attempts but in the end he wakes you and worriedly asks you why you were sleeping outside and dear god were you upset with him or why did you cry during sleep?

after you shyly admit that you just wanted to be hugged by him and ask him to stay the night with you poor angel just faints

reluctantly agrees to stay with you although he is screaming and dying inside

very stiff at first but eases into it fairly quickly and falls asleep with you since he realizes this is the ultimate proof of still being loved by you

- Mod Pancake 🥞

#ask #lithiel #my brain is mush right now #i need sleep my head is hurting so much from writing this i really hope you'll like this one #Ookurikara #tsurumaru kuninaga #Ichigo Hitofuri #Izuminokami Kanesada #Kashuu Kiyomitsu #Touken Ranbu #Mod Pancake

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