#who she could talk to. who in spite of all her escape attempts & all her attempts at trying to kill him kept her around - taught her how to
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im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );
can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.
but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.
you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,
that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.
that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.
and in that moment everything seems solidified.
you're never getting away.
there's no point in it.
there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.
you're dead.
not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.
what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?
who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?
the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.
#[ ♡ ] ── * maria f. / 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦.#[ 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦. ] ── * queue.#[ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦. ] ── * cold case.#[ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦. ] ── * no one saved you.#for cc maria its just. theres literally no one else. the only constant has been johnny. hes the one who was there with her when the#broadcasts sounded off her searches being called off. the only one who ensured she ate - was clothed - was looked after when she fell ill.#who she could talk to. who in spite of all her escape attempts & all her attempts at trying to kill him kept her around - taught her how to#do things properly - protected her from others that'd be brought down below shack. honestly. her isolation in cc - only having any sort of#connection being with johnny for *months* before he trusted her enough to let her join him for longer periods - like its. complicated.#SO fucking complicated. youre seen as dead to literally everyone else in existence - *except for him*. he who sees you. who hears you.#who talks to you. looks after you. its hard not to find yourself becoming attached/devoted. to the only person who knows you still exist#like i mentioned for nosy its. theres lee there too now so its. a little different. it doesnt hit right away - the almost blind devotion.#but it still happens - over time - with the both of them. the last two people who for a time at least know you were even still living.#and its by the time ch2 rolls in for either cc/nosy its just. its so confusing to her. why they all bother returning then?#for cc its just. you all buried me in an empty box twenty years ago...you all moved on then. you accepted that. so why are you here now.#why are you re-opening wounds that shouldve been long buried - with that empty casket. why suddenly care now?#in nosy she suppresses it w. her bitterness but cc i feel it comes out more like... grief & hurt. all over again. because if you came back#20 yrs after the fact? then why DIDNT you return back then? why *now* and not then? at any point in the last two decades?
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i did not sleep yay for me im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );
can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.
but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.
you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,
that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.
that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.
and in that moment everything seems solidified.
you're never getting away.
there's no point in it.
there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.
you're dead.
not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.
what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?
who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?
the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.
#for cc maria its just. theres literally no one else. the only constant has been johnny. hes the one who was there with her when the#broadcasts sounded off her searches being called off. the only one who ensured she ate - was clothed - was looked after when she fell ill.#who she could talk to. who in spite of all her escape attempts & all her attempts at trying to kill him kept her around - taught her how to#do things properly - protected her from others that'd be brought down below shack. honestly. her isolation in cc - only having any sort of#connection being with johnny for *months* before he trusted her enough to let her join him for longer periods - like its. complicated.#*so* fucking complicated. youre seen as dead to literally everyone else in existence - *except for him*. he who sees you. who hears you.#you speaks with you. looks after you. its hard not to find yourself becoming attached/devoted. to the only person who knows you still exist#like i mentioned for nosy its. theres lee there too now so its. a little different. it doesnt hit right away - the almost blind devotion.#but it still happens - over time - with the both of them. the last two people who for a time at least know you were even still living.#and its by the time ch2 rolls in for either cc/nosy its just. its so confusing to her. why they all bother returning then?#for cc its just. you all buried me in an empty box twenty years ago...you all moved on then. you accepted that. so why are you here now.#why are you re-opening wounds that shouldve been long buried - with that empty casket. why suddenly care now?#in nosy she suppresses it with her bitterness but cc i feel it comes out more like... grief & hurt. all over again. because if you came bac#20 yrs after the fact? then why DIDNT you return back then? why *now* and not then?#[ mf ] ── * 𝐇𝐂 / 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄. { maria. }#[ mf ] ── * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. { cold case. }#[ mf ] ── * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. { no one saved you. }#[ mf ] ── * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. { we saved us. }
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Memory in Stardew Valley is kinda fucked
So, memory in Stardew Valley is almost like a tangible thing, and I wanna talk about it. I mean technically speaking, you can sell it, trade it, swap it, bop it, twist it and so on and so forth. Why do I wanna talk about it? Because I have no social life and the only thing I can feel is the rage of my ancestors as I harvest yet another batch of ancient fruit wine.
Most people know about the Dark Shrine of Memory, the fun statue that wipes your ex's memories for a quick buck. Now that's pretty neat and all, but I think this leads to further interpretation I'm sure Concerned Ape wouldn't think is relevant but I'm gonna push it.
Someone had to put that statue there. I don't think it's the witch, because she has to shell up 30 big ones every time another thirsty wizard comes along. Also, Rasmodius still has his memories of them, and if I were her I wouldn't want a guy like Razzle-Dazzle thinking about her.
And it's probably vice-versa, as the witch still curses the town from time to time to spite the purple-haired goblin.
Mr Qi would be a reasonable guess, especially since you have to pay to use it, and he is known to have several marketing schemes around the place, but this one doesn't feel like him. I think there's another powerful creature out and about, they've stumbled across a way to erase memories and are using it for profit. The witch is just a tool behind the mastermind.
On top of the memory shrine, the Dark Shrine of Selfishness also contains a portion of memory magic. No one remembers the children that disappeared. No one except the farmer. Perhaps some immunity comes with being a fallen god, or perhaps it's simply because they're the ones that paid, so they are cursed to forever remember their sin. Either way, considering the fact that two of the statues directly erase memories, there's something interesting going on.
Another aspect of memories that people don't often think about is resetting days. Now this does reach a fair bit into undertale, but I think it applies pretty well here too. Days can loop over and over again, and no one will remember any of them, except for the Farmer. With the knowledge and foresight of what's happening, the Farmer can escape danger and the villagers know no better. There is perhaps only two other people in Stardew who might have an idea of what's going on. The Witch, and Mr Qi.
The witch is obvious, she has the shrines in her house, but from Mr Qi's dialogue, we can gleam an idea of what he may know.
I got to where I am through the force of pure willpower, kid. You see... The mind is a very powerful tool. In fact, it's the most powerful tool in all of reality... and beyond
“Some things transcend time and space, kid. It's a unique feeling in the heart... a whisper of things beyond.”
Now it could be pretty easy to interpret this a hundred different ways, but I want to link it to memory right now. The specific wording states that Mr Qi might be aware of resetting save files and that memories can be erased. I don't think he can alter other people's memories (though we don't know enough about him to be sure), but he may have found a way to keep his own memories safe.
Perhaps it's even how he found the Farmer. One day, he wakes up again, and he knows it's the same day. This happens sometimes, and he's forced to live the same day twice, three times or even more sometimes. He seeks out the source of the issue and stumbles across the farmer. On the surface, they seem like a regular person, until one day, the day resets again and the Farmer acts like they've done it a thousand times, taking every right move in the mines and getting everything they failed to do in the last attempt.
I think Mr Qi would want to keep an eye on someone like that.
From all of this, I have come to a conclusion. The statues present the idea of memory, but they also show that memory magic can be used to accomplish very specific tasks. We've only seen a few examples, but it wouldn't be much of a stretch to say that memory could be distorted a thousand different ways in Stardew. Perhaps none of the memories you have of your neighbour are real, and they never existed before yesterday. Or your parents actually died when you were three and you were raised by the spirits of hell. You actually have the memories of your best friend who died last week. Who knows?
Nothing is real, reality is an illusion.
#there is the possibility I'm overthinking this#but ive never listened to the rational part of my brain before#im not starting now#stardew valley#stardew#sdv#stardew farmer#sdv mr qi#mr qi#stardew theories#stardew theory
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Wild Sorcerer Merlin Au pt 1
Uther finds out about Merlin’s magic and he is to be executed
This is set around s2 or 3 so before evil Morgana
The gang ( Morgana, Gwen and Arthur) help Merlin escape but Merthur have a huge argument
“ I can’t believe you’ve lie to me all this time!” “I didn’t want to I just-!” “I don’t wanna hear it!”
In the end Merlin leaves with a bitter and sad relationship with Arthur
Arthur is inconsolable, his best friend and the man he loved trusted the most in the world lied to him! He is bitter and angry and so so sad.
The knights of the round table still come to be but Merlin’s role could never be replaced
Uther dies estranged from his children and Arthur takes the throne
Morgana’s dreams get so bad that she runs away to a Druid camp and is never seen from again
Years go by and not a single day has Arthur not thought of Merlin, even after his failed attempts at courting Gwen (she was always better off with Lancelot anyway)
One day while hunting they encounter a really bad and corrupted magic animal
They are losing the battle and as all hope is lost a magic burst comes in and saves them all
They’re injured and confused and scared but alive
A Druid finds them and after Arthur swears their safety, leads them to their camp where they are healed
Arthur watches the camp in wonder and is talked to by a Druid elder
She’s an ancient thing, skin so wrinkled with experience he can’t help but feel like a child in her presence
She is kind and patient
She talks to him of mundane things and he forgets for that moment that she is a Druid, someone raised with magic.
She hands him soup and warms it with magic. He wonders at that because never has he seen magic used for mundane and simple things
That prompts the knights to ask about that magic burst that saved their lives
“Was that magic you guys?”
The druids sit in a long silence before the old Druid lady comes up to them
“It must have been dear Emrys” “Emrys? Whose that?” “Oh my dears, who do you think has been protecting Camelot all these years?”
The druids then explain how Emrys has been protecting Camelot from several years now. They mention a few that they know of (the priestess Morgause being stopped several times) and talk of the many protection spells and wards that surround Camelot.
Arthur is confused and kinda terrified. Why would this Emrys protect Camelot, protect them, when they could be killed for even simple warming spells? What do they gain? Who are they?
The druids speak of Emrys’ power and how it keeps growing everyday.
“He visits sometimes, sometimes to set wards for us, sometimes to learn whatever spells we know, sometimes just for company. He’s a lonely boy, that one. The weight of the world on his shoulders and a horribly kind heart. You are fortunate to have him on your side.”
After dinner they rest and Arthur can’t help but think of Merlin and how he would react. He decides to finally lift the ban on magic.
They get back to Camelot and Arthur begins drafting the laws on magic use before lifting the ban
A few months go by and in that time Arthur notices the little sparks of magic protecting Camelot. He tries to make the laws as quick but as well as he could. He went to the Druids for help on what could be done to make more accurate laws on magic
He asks them on where to find Emrys, to thank him and ask for his help. And perhaps to add him to the court because someone whose been protecting Camelot so fiercely in spite of the dangers should be part of the council.
The Druids can only shake their heads sadly “He can only be found when he wants to be.” and leave it at that
Later Morgana comes back after about Arthur working to lift the band. Their reunion is bitter at first but when Morgana explains why she left they come an understanding with one another
She works together with him [and the roundtable] to lift the ban. When they ask her about Emrys she gives them a funny look.
“You don’t know?” “No, Morgan, we don’t. The Druids only say we’ll find him when he wants to be found”
She scoffs unbelievably “That blasted fool!” And storms out
No one sees her for almost a week before she comes barging back in the council room, dragging a cloaked figure by their cloth( who is clearly trying to remove her grip)
Arthur was angry with worry and demanded to know where she went.
“Where the bloody hell have you been!?” “First of all watch your tone when speaking to me. Second of all, i went ahead and got Emrys since you lot are too incompetent to do so” “…….THATS EMRYS!?”
They argue and bicker some more while Emrys struggles against Morgana’s grip, a misstep here leads to the cloak coming off
Arthur looks and practically swallows his tongue at who he sees.
It’s Merlin
#honestly not the best but I wanted to get the idea out my head#fanfiction#writing#ao3#Merlin#bbc Merlin#bbc Merlin Arthur pendragon#bbc Merlin Morgana pendragon#bbc Merlin morgana#bbc Merlin Arthur#merlin emrys#arthur pendragon#Morgana pendragon#bbc merlin Gwen#guinivere#bbc merlin Lancelot#lancelot du lac
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Alien Swap (ALNST Role Swap AU)
Sua (swapped with Mizi)
Nigeh has a very specific taste in pet-humans and is known to raise them with proper manners and dress them in most exquisite outfits. Tired of the doting, Sua decided to break out and participate in a singing competition. Nigeh was happy to provide her with all the resources she needed to sing on Alien Stage and loves to brag about their ‘daughter’s’ accomplishments.
Sua meets Mizi in the same way as canon. Unlike canon though, Sua is more open with the children in Anakt Garden. Many admired her and saw her as an older sister, but she paid particular attention to very few. She was very picky about her company (which mostly consisted of Mizi tbh, and Till when he’s not being a territorial jerk)
Loves singing from the bottom of her heart and has a magnetic stage presence.
At first, her dream was to sing in Alien Stage under the stars because it was a great honor (even if she knew what death was really like). Then it was to sing with Mizi under the stars.
She firmly believed that Mizi would win— she never expected her to lose on purpose.
After Mizi’s death, Sua became a living doll. She couldn’t bother expressing herself. It was only until Round 5, when Hyuna mimics Mizi’s singing style, that she snaps. She uses stage props to knock Hyuna over and beat her with her microphone.
She is saved from execution by Luka, and during his version of ‘All-in’ she gets a side cut.
Mizi (swapped with Sua)
Guardian Shine is a segyein too old to bother with bonds. They’ve been very emotionally distant to Mizi, who they adopted because they felt sorry for her. They had, quite literally, left her in the dark for so long Mizi’s eyesight suffered. In spite of Mizi’s constant attempts to reach out and impress her Guardian, with one of those attempts being her application for Alien Stage, she was ultimately sent off to die.
Despite her cheerfulness, Mizi’s self-confidence was very low. She believed she was worth nothing up until she met Sua, and decided to get stronger for her sake. She made her laugh and helped her with physically demanding tasks.
Although she seemed happier with Sua, Mizi easily got skittish around others. Most kids thought she was weird, albeit cute to some extent.
Mizi decided to lose to Sua on purpose. Till found out and harshly criticized her for it. He claimed she should at least give it her all, to which Mizi responded by punching someone for the first time in her life— and frantically apologized for it.
Mizi didn’t know how brutal death could be until she got shot.
Ivan (swapped with Till)
Ivan had always loved the stars. Even when he was violently abused by Guardian Unsha’s lackeys, he loved the stars.
In spite of his circumstances (dragged out of the slums by the galactic mafia, tortured and then forced to entertain terrible segyein) Ivan used his intellect and appearance to his advantage. He became self-sufficient very quickly and crafted a persona to appeal to his segyein overlord.
Due to his experiences, Ivan appeared very cold and stoic as a kid. He dismissed anybody that approached him because he didn’t how to react. It was easier to scare people away than risk backlash. But, otherwise, he could be a polite and chatty kid if you know what topics to approach him with.
One of his most prized possessions is a lighter that he stole from Unsha. He keeps flicking it when he’s nervous.
Sua was his idol, his inspiration, and his rare comfort was listening to her sing. He thought she was the human equivalent of a star. Unfortunately, he never got to properly talk to her because she always misunderstood what he said.
Both him and Mizi were too awkward to talk to each other.
At some point, Ivan tried to escape on his own, but was quickly found by Till, who bullied his way into joining him. They almost escaped until Ivan realized they wouldn’t survive out in the wilderness on their own.
Till remained in his periphery because Ivan automatically blanked out when he was mistreated. The only way for Till to get his attention was to pinch him or punch him. Ivan was too resistant to verbal provokations.
Ivan stole enough materials off of rich segyein to design and sew his own outfit for Round 2. He won because his stage presence was so intense it terrified his opponent into silence halfway through the song.
Till (swapped with Ivan)
Urak bought a problematic pet-human on discount and struck a deal with him: in return for success, the child will get whatever he wants. They started with food. Then sweets. Then heavy equipment. Then guitars. Till continued to provide Urak with his musical prowess and earned everything he could dream of.
Spoiled rotten thanks to his wild success as a musical protege, Till became a force to be reckoned with at Anakt Garden. He was openly arrogant and didn’t bother with kids or tasks that he deemed unnecessary. Though, somehow, he still managed to attract admirers who thought his confidence and talent was impressive.
Out of all the kids, Ivan had the misfortune (or fortune, in Till’s eyes) to be graced with his attention. This is because Till thought of Ivan as his rival, which is, honestly, just a synonym for him getting a massive crush on him. He is stupidly into him. He thinks his ‘raw intellect’ makes him a diamond in the rough. But because he doesn’t know how to get Ivan to look at him in any other way, he gets his attention by treating him like a punching bag. (Worse than Canon!Ivan, who verbally provokes Till into fights.)
He was intensely jealous of Sua because she got so much of Ivan’s focus. However, it didn’t stop him from respecting her. She was one of the rare people that had enough talent and skill to get him. The same could not be said for Mizi.
As a celebrity, he has asshole charisma and he knows it.
In Round 6, Till does something similar to what Sua did in Round 5: he uses the microphone as a weapon and hits Ivan in the legs until he drops to the ground. He simultaneously punched Ivan three times and kissed him until he was shot and bled out.
Hyuna (swapped with Luka)
Phan, Hyuna’s Guardian, was abusive for no specific reason. They cut off her leg when she was a kid simply because they were curious. But seeing that she wouldn’t be of use to them with one leg, they provided her with a prosthetic.
Imagine a movie star persona — big smiles, big personality, black, bedazzled suits and cool shades. That’s Hyuna, except she’s dressed to impress. Looks very cool and effortless, but shows off a more cold and ruthless side to her during matches.
Hyuna had an unhealthy fixation with Luka and considered herself his ‘protector’ or ‘knight.’ Her and Hyunwoo had a more…dicey sibling relationship. They fought a lot (more like Hyuna was picking fights under the guise of being ‘the good guy’) and eventually she would beat Hyunwoo to death so there would be no one between them. Think like…the black knight in shining armor.
Luka (swapped with Hyuna)
If there is a tale of a princess escaping her tower, it would pretty much sum up Luka’s life. As a kid, Luka was extremely shy and rarely played with other kids due to his health issues (his slightly aloof attitude didn’t help either though). This changed when Hyuna and Hyunwoo invite him to play, and he became attached to Hyuna, who always protected him from bullies (and Hyunwoo, allegedly).
Despite his know-it-all attitude, Luka was genuinely ambitious and eagerly awaited auditions for Alien Stage. He was very confident in his talent and, despite the abuse at the hands of his Guardian and his declining health, strongly believed that he would win.
It all came crashing down when Hyuna reveals her true colors. She was a warden more than a guardian— keeping Luka isolated by intimidating anyone who comes near, with Hyunwoo being a slight exception. However, she kills Hyunwoo the following day with her bare hands while Luka was experiencing cardiac arrest. (Her excuse was that Hyunwoo caused it by messing with Luka.)
Luka escapes his enclosure and survives with a group of human rebels.
As a leader of the human resistance, Luka is a tactical mastermind that moves troops around like chess pieces. However, he can only do it from the safety of his home base. The few times he goes out, he’s heavily guarded by Isaac and Dewey.
A/N: The brainrot is hard at work. This is just me laying the groundwork. May or may not doodle designs if I have the time.
#alien stage#alnst#alnst swap au#alnst till#alnst ivan#alnst mizi#alnst sua#ivantill#mizisua#hyuluka#whizz prompts
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Part 2 of my Dealer!Ellie filth x
Pairing: Dealer!Ellie x Fem!Reader/Sorority!Reader
Warnings: Smut, spanking, swearing, mentions of weed
Notes: This got long sheesh. Part two to this lil thingy here, probs should read that one first but I can’t tell you what to do.
Word count: 2763
The tapping of your pen against the ugly brown wooden desk sounded like a ticking time bomb echoing in your ears as you stared at the black screen of your phone, your textbooks splayed across the table now long forgotten. Your studying had proved to be only a temporary distraction from the risqué text message that has been left unanswered for three days now. Thousands of thoughts have been racing through your head from the moment you sent it.
She wouldn't have given a fake number would she?
No her phone's probably just off.
For three whole days though?
Maybe she was just drunk and regretted it.
She wasn't drinking that night though.
High? No you were staring into her eyes all night you would've noticed that.
Well except for when she was tongue deep in your-
Maybe she has a girlfriend?
Maybe she just didn't like it as much you thought?
It wasn’t the first time you had been ghosted - you'd even done it yourself a few times, but this one did do a bit of a number on your ego. After you and Ellie had found your bearings in the bathroom of the musty ass frat party she had quickly punched her number into your phone simply under 'E' before slipping out the door and leaving you on your own to fix your sex hair and smudged makeup. By the time you had made your way out the bathroom and back down-stairs she was long gone.
You huffed out a sigh and hastily began shoving your textbooks and pens into your bag, you didn’t often use the library to study, normally preferring your room back at the house but you had just finished your last class of the day and thought studying in a busy public setting would relax your thoughts for the first time in three days. You were wrong.
You shoved your bag over your shoulder grabbing your phone and made your way out the building, immediately unlocking your phone and opening your messages.
Still think you can convince me?
The little ‘read’ sitting under your not so subtle text was just taunting you at this point. You wanted to move on you really did but as embarrassing as it was to admit, she was right, she was the best you’d had and all she did was eat you out and you were determined to find out how much better it could get. Which is why when you saw the auburn haired girl engaging in conversation with some freshman boy under an old willow tree right outside the science building you stopped in your tracks.
The universe either hates you or loves you.
You couldn’t help the scoff escaped your lips as you watched on, not believing the timing.
You weren't surprised to see that she was dealing by the subtle exchange of a small paper bag and a wad of cash, one no one would notice unless they were closely watching. You quickly checked your appearance in your phones camera before you began making your way over to her, passing the freshman who scurried by, looking like he was going to pass out from the fear of being caught. You couldn’t talk though, you were willing your nerves down the closer you got but as you stopped in front of her your irritation quickly took over.
“Funny. Never expected you to be the kind that was all talk.”
Your tone was laced with spite, eyes narrowed as she looked up from her backpack where she had just been stuffing the cash. She then looked back down. To your chest that is, you had to fight to contain a proud smirk, you were still pissed, but you knew exactly what the low cut top did for your tits. Happy accident you wore it today.
Licking her lips and shrugging her bag back over her shoulder she didn’t attempt to hide her blatant ogling.
“And you never struck me as the type to grow some balls, you know, since I had you begging and screaming just from my tongue,” she said causally with a smirk as she walked past you and over to the sidewalk.
You stood frozen in a moment of shock before turning and storming over to where she was still walking with her back to you, you managed to step into pace and walk along side her, now even more pissed off then before.
“Excuse the fuck out of you? You don’t get to ghost me and act so casual about it.”
“Who said I ghosted you?” Ellie questioned dumbly as she responded to a message on her phone.
“The no response to my text does?” You responded incredulously.
“Wow, never put you down as the clingy type either,” Ellie laughed, “or are you just a typical u-haul lesbian?”
“I’m the easily pissed off type actually.”
“Really?” Ellie asked rhetorically, “I couldn’t tell.”
You bit your tongue, continuing to follow Ellie blindly as you crossed the street.
“All I’m trying to say is that if you weren’t interested in hooking up again maybe don’t give out your number.”
During your bickering you hadn’t noticed you and Ellie had stopped in front of a dingy looking apartment building not far at all from the college. Ellie pulled a set of keys from her pocket and had opened the door stepping inside and holding it open for you.
“You coming?”
“Haven’t in three days,” you mumbled as you slipped past her.
She snorted out a laugh as she pushed the door closed and led you up two flights of stairs before stopping to unlock another door and allowing you to walk in first.
You glanced around as you made your way inside, for some reason you were surprised to find it fairly tidy, not seeming to be one for decor Ellie’s apartment seemed to have mainly thrifted furniture judging by the lack of a theme. There were a couple of framed photos laying around and a playstation set up on the tv unit but other then that, not much of a personal touch.
“Surprised you don’t have a marijuana tree growing in here somewhere,” you wondered aloud.
Turning around to face Ellie you noticed she had shrugged off her grey hoodie and was now in a tight white wife beater, you adverted your eyes swallowing back a gulp right as she laughed at you.
“Cannabis isn't a tree it's a plant, and I don’t grow my own shit, I just sell it.”
“Oh,” you murmured feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.
“That’s not what you want to know though is it?” She questioned stepping closer to you.
Your lips parted slightly as you nodded your head slowly, staring into her eyes.
“I got busy.”
You let out a scoff and a roll of your eyes as you began to step away, that was until Ellie’s left arm hooked around your waist and pulled you flush against her, silencing whatever smart comment you were thinking up.
“Tell me the truth,” you said quietly, your voice betraying you as the nervousness from being this close to her once again took over.
She didn’t answer, instead she brought her hand to your cheek, gently tilting your head back as her lips attached themselves to your neck, your breath hitching in your throat as she began to suck and bite, her wet tongue soothing your skin as she moved on to the next spot.
Your eyes closed softly, Ellie’s hands torturously slow as they made their way down your body, stopping only when they reached your ass, shamelessly groping your cheeks from underneath your skirt. You silently gave yourself props for chance choosing a thong when getting ready for the day.
Ellie detached her lips from your neck, bringing her tattooed arm back up to cup the back of your head, meeting your lips in a passionate, frenzied kiss. Your arms immediately wrapped themselves around her neck as she began walking you backwards, to what you assumed was the bedroom, you both stumbled down the hall, knocking into furniture and walls as you both kicked shoes off, Ellie’s hands groping almost every inch of your body.
Your lips only parted when you made it to the room and Ellie pulled back from you pushing you by the shoulders onto her bed where you landed on your back with a soft bounce, you raised yourself up quickly onto your elbows and watched as Ellie turned away from you and went to her closet.
Your mouth practically watered at the site of the black harness and purple dildo attached to, she chucked it on the bed by your thighs and returned straight to you, climbing up your body before stopping above you and pulling your shirt off, she reached under your back to unclasp your bra and toss it over her shoulder. She all but buried her face in your breasts, her tongue making quick work, going between your two nipples causing your legs to clench and as your body writhed.
“Why didn’t you respond?” you breathed out as Ellie reached down to your throbbing pussy, hand immediately going to work rubbing slow soft circles on your clit. You were still adamant on an answer.
“Because pretty girls like you have gotten me into trouble before,” Ellie answered vaguely, pulling away from your chest to look into your eyes as she continued to rub you through your panties.
“The fuck does that mean?” You questioned gripping the arm that was bringing you sweet pleasure.
Ellie chuckled while shaking her head and pulling back, her hand leaving your clit to pull your panties and skirt off and throw them to join the rest of your clothes on the floor. You were completely bare before her leaving you feeling more vulnerable then ever under her intense gaze.
“It means,” Ellie began sternly as you started to work on the button of her jeans, “to stop asking so many fucking questions.” With that she had pulled her wife beater off and shrugged her jeans down and off her ankles leaving her in just a sports bra and boxers and god you may as well have been looking at an angel.
You were pulled from your trance by her voice once again.
“Go into that top draw and grab the lube,” she demanded gesturing to her side table as she began pulling the harness on.
You turned over onto your stomach and reached over to the draw, you gasped at the sharp sting of Ellie’s hand connecting with your ass, bringing you the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.
Hastily grabbing the bottle it took only a moment before Ellie yanked you back by your ankles, snatching it from you and using her other hand to help push your hips up so you were on hands and knees, you made sure to arch your back for her, feeling your wetness begin to drip down to your thighs.
With ease Ellie slipped two fingers into your cunt, you groaned as you leaned forward, your face against the soft sheets and ass in the air as she slowly moved them in and out while pouring lube onto the fake dick. After what felt like an eternity of Ellie’s slow strokes she eventually removed her fingers and slowly began to enter her cock.
You thanked your lucky stars you didn’t have to be quiet this time as you threw your head back and let a long drawn out moan as you clamped down on inch by glorious inch until she had bottomed out, her pelvis flush against you, her cock completely concealed by your heat. You had never felt so full, you needed her moving.
You whimpered as you slowly leaned forward and then back, now back on all fours, fucking yourself on the dildo ignoring Ellie’s laugh as she tightened her grip on your hips, allowing you to do so.
“Eager are we?” She asked not needing an answer.
“Please fuck me Ellie,” you groaned, not feeling nearly as good as you could be.
“Looks like you learned from last time,” she responded in a tone that you could easily assume was accompanied by the least humble smirk you could imagine.
Without warning Ellie pulled you back by the hips and slammed you down onto her cock. You let out a long drawn out moan as she began to thrust into you hard, guiding you back and forth on her dick that was soaked in lube and your arousal.
You felt fucking feral, you couldn't get enough, your moans loud, your words practically gibberish, your hands gripping the sheets as you struggled to keep yourself up. From behind you, you could hear Ellie begin to let out some soft groans, the friction of the strap doing wonders on her clit, making you proud that you were playing a small part in making her feel even a fraction of pleasure.
You whimpered as you reached a hand back grabbing one of Ellie's hands and placing it on your ass cheek, silently begging for her to spank you again.
Fully expecting her to demand words that you could barely conjure up, Ellie surprised you with a sharp smack, much harder then the last, enough to have you lurching forward with a squeal.
"Fuck you're such a whore," She groaned out, delivering another spank to the opposite cheek as you attempted to look over your shoulder at her only for the delicious sting and the harshness of her thrusts to send you forward, no longer being able to hold yourself up.
You're face was once again pressed in her sheets, your moans muffled as you reached under yourself to rub at your clit. Ellie noticed and used one hand to press down on the middle of your back, how you were still managing to keep your ass up in the air for her as she ravished your cunt was beyond you.
"Oh my fucking god!" You screamed into her sheets, the newly added pleasure already bringing you closer to your orgasm, you had no time or care to feel embarrassed over how quickly she was getting you there.
"You gonna fucking cum for me princess?"
"Mhm," you barely got out, your hand moving faster now.
"Let me hear it honey," she groaned delivering another smack. You were convinced your ass would be red raw by the end of this, a nice addition to the fresh hickeys on your neck and the ones still fading on your thighs from your last encounter.
"I'm so fucking close, shit Ellie!" You whined, barely being able to lift your head.
Everything was too much, her hands on your body now rubbing soft but commanding circles on your ass between the occasional spank, her cock hitting your spot with every thrust, the pressure on your clit, her groans, her breathing, her words. All enough to send you to your climax as you screamed out her name and clenched around her cock.
You could feel drool escape your lips as you repeated her name over and over, barely being able to think straight through the blinding pleasure.
She didn't stop though, you were practically shaking as she pulled you up by your arms, your back flush against her chest, her hands going straight to your tits to play with them as well as to keep you upright. You could hear her laboured breathing in your ear, the slight stutter in her hips as you ground down on her despite your sensitivity. Your hands went to hers, gripping her arms as she let out a groan of your name before burying her head in your neck as her hips faltered, reaching her peak.
You all but collapsed when she let go of you, straight down onto her plush bed, wincing as it caused the dildo to slip out of you, your thighs clenched together, twitching as you adjusted to the feeling of not being so full.
You turned to your side so you could watch Ellie, she took a few moments to contain herself before throwing herself onto her back next to you as she worked her way out of the strap, throwing it off to the side with a soft clatter.
"You better not fucking ghost me again."
Despite your words your voice was soft as you worked on catching your breath, now staring at the ceiling just as Ellie was.
"You won't have to worry about that sweetheart," she began confidently, turning her head to look at you, "I just about own you now."
#the last of us#tlou#ellie williams#ellie williams smut#ellie williams x reader#ellie x reader#ellie smut#ellie tlou#tlou2
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Disventure Camp headcanons because I can
Ellie is insecure about her singing voice and didn't want to sing at all in the musical ep. Gabby and Tess both knew this so they gave the boys way more lines in Piggyback. She used messing with Jake as an excuse in the confessional so her real insecurities wouldn't be put on display.
Ellie started working even more hours after the show and took up whatever extra odd jobs and paid interviews she could to afford a bigger living space for her, Gabby, and all of Gabby's animals
Gabby was the least popular contestant from season 1 in-universe, and got harassed online for 'wasting' her idol for a while. Ellie and Tom both defend her constantly
Gabby started a youtube channel where she talks about proper animal husbandry. It's done well enough that she could make it her full-time job, and despite the hate she gets for DC no one has ever been able to correct her on animal care
Grett attempted to reach out to Gabby to apologize not long after their first season ended, but Gabby blocked her on everything after the show and never saw the messages
Sofia doesn't fully understand that Aiden's life was actually in danger in the dc2 finale and thought it was part of the show. Rosa hasn't told her the truth yet
Rosa is hosting a watch party with Kai, Maggy, and their other out-of-game friends for the All Star season
Aiden, Maggy, and Rosa all got signed copies of Lake's book directly from her before its official release
Lake dedicated her book to Kristal for helping to free her from her parents. To this day, Kristal refuses to admit she cried upon seeing it
Kristal picked Aiden for DC2 specifically to spite the old hosts
Marcus, Emily, and Oliver made bets on who they think will win the all star season. Marcus bet on Hunter, Emily bet on Alec, and Oliver bet on Lake.
Derek knew Trevor liked him before Trevor knew Trevor liked him. He hasn't said anything bc he doesn't want to lose his best friend
Part of the reason Jake was so quick to distrust James and Aiden was because Jaiden ended up being more popular than Jam, and he took that personally
Despite never reaching out, Tom always kept up with Jake and Miriam's social medias. He bought tickets to see them when Miriam had a health scare, but was too afraid to follow through
Tom and Gabby met up a few times between seasons 1 and 3. He even helped her unpack after she moved
Before the interviews released, Ellie and Tom were on good terms for Gabby's sake. She tried to reach out afterwards to explain why she did the interviews, but he blocked her
When Fiore's parents found out she had an abnormally high IQ, they thought she was possessed and tried to exorcise her more than once
One of the nuns at Fiore's Catholic school helped her sign up for the show. If she got the money, she wanted to be legally emancipated from her family
Fiore was banned from watching DC2 because of the 'homosexuals' and thus, didn't know anything about any of the DC2 contestants going in
Fiore managed to get her hands on Lake's book and respects her for escaping
#disventure camp#disventure camp gabby#disventure camp ellie#disventure camp tom#disventure camp jake#disventure camp all stars#disventure camp fiore#disventure camp kristal#disventure camp lake#disventure camp rosa maria
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I want to talk about Naberius Tern.
We, The Locked Tomb community, talk a lot about how Babs (AKA Naberius Tern) is awful. Because he is. He is deeply unpleasant, and is viscerally off-putting to the majority of characters in the series- I'm not sure if there's anyone who actually has a positive opinion of him. He's an asshole, and we should treat him as such.
But... that's not his fault.
Something I've seen proposed in a post here on Tumblr (I can't find it and wouldn't know how to link it even if I could, I'm very sorry), which seems to be pretty widely accepted is the idea that, Naberius' proportions being. Basically perfect for the rigidly structured dueling that takes place, is a result of his body being altered by Third House flesh magic to *make* him that way (Likely by Ianthe). But what we don't seem to talk about or acknowledge as much, is...
That's not all that would have been *made* the way it was.
I have seen the theory be proposed that all of Naberius' unpleasant behavior in Gideon the Ninth is simply him attempting to draw attention away from Coronabeth so that she can conceal her lack of necromantic ability (Again, I can't find the post and wouldn't know how to link it if I could, and I am very sorry about that- both posts I've referenced are excellent ideas that make perfect sense and are extremely smart insights!). If this is true, which it very much seems like it is, then it would mean that Naberius has no choice but to be an unpleasant asshole- otherwise, the act he needs to put on to shield Corona wouldn't work. I'm not going to make the claim that Naberius was secretly a good person all along, because that's probably not true, but I think it's important for us to acknowledge the fact that, Naberius Tern has no choice. Naberius Tern has no power. Much has been said about the power imbalance between Necromancer and Cavalier, and about the added layers of nuance to that imbalance in the case of the Necromantic Heirs of Gideon the Ninth- but Naberius is, perhaps, the best possible example. And yes, I say that in spite of Gideon being an indentured servant, knowing full well what that means. While the relationship between Gideon and Harrow is never anywhere remotely close to healthy, Harrow will at least listen to Gideon, ever- though she doesn't do so very often. However, neither Ianthe nor Corona *ever* listen to Naberius. Due to the nature of the Necromancer and Cavalier relationship, the Cavalier has no power by default. There are examples of individual cases where a Necromancer gives power to their Cavalier, such as Camilla and Palamedes, or Abigail and Magnus, or even Judith and Marta, but Ianthe and Corona *do not do this*. In fact, if anything, they have taken away whatever power he may have had, in a very similar way to how Harrow did to Gideon when she kept Gideon trapped on the Ninth- due to Naberius knowing Corona's secret, he *cannot be allowed to have any escape*, in the exact same way as Gideon. He is privy to a secret that could destroy the heir of a house. As such, he is a threat to that house- and his leash cannot be given the slightest bit of slack.
We see at least one example of Naberius seeming to genuinely want something divorced entirely from the Tridentarii. This is when, at the Fifth House's anniversary dinner, he seems to genuinely want to befriend Colum Asht- albeit, in his distinct, asshole Naberius way. And, of course, Colum is visibly discomforted by this, because Naberius is quite unpleasant. However, personally, when I think about this interaction, who I feel the most bad for is Naberius. By all evidence, he seems to be genuinely interested in a friendship with Colum, but this idea is visibly distressing to Colum- and, given the fact that Naberius doesn't have the choice to not be an asshole- at least at Canaan House, due to its public nature- this is a prospect that simply is not available to him, and it isn't even his fault. He is denied the chance at a friendship he seems to genuinely want because of a persona he was *forced* to cultivate.
The final note I want to discuss is probably going to be the least well received, which is frankly understandable- but a sentiment expressed by some characters in the books (Most notably Gideon), and echoed by many fans, is that Naberius' attractiveness is unpleasant. He seems to want people to know that he's hot, and that *he* knows that he is, and he attempts to draw attention to that. He puts time into wearing his hair Pompadour every day, he stretches to show off his abs- and no one cares. He seems to be bothered by this, and it may genuinely be upsetting to him- especially given the fact that, in The Unwanted Guest, it's stated by Ianthe that every ex he's ever had has cheated on him, and that fucks up your self-esteem- but he doesn't actually make a big deal about it. But, the general consensus is that this aspect of Naberius' character makes him particularly unpleasant- and, largely, I think that sentiment comes from our perceptions as the reader being flavored by Gideon's own thoughts, as she is the lens through which we view the events of the book- and Gideon, of course, is a lesbian. She simply does not find men attractive, including Naberius, and she especially seems to find muscular men particularly unattractive, as she describes Protesilaus' muscularity as "Grotesque". Ultimately, her reasoning for this doesn't matter, and it's not a problem- she's perfectly allowed to have that opinion. However, what it has inadvertently lead to- which is further stoked by Naberius' failed efforts to draw attention to his attractiveness, and every character seeming to not find him attractive at all- is that Naberius' attractiveness is, itself, unpleasant; as though that mere fact of his character is a source of unpleasantness. And, to be clear, I can completely understand why someone would find that attitude unpleasant- especially a person who isn't attracted to men, given. You know. The way the world thinks about lesbians, what with patriarchy and all, but this, to me, seems like an example of an odd phenomenon in our modern culture, where men voicing attraction to someone, or attempting to be attractive themselves, is seen as inherently predatory, whereas a woman doing so is not. Now, maybe I'm just wrong- I'll fully admit that's a possibility. I'm a bi/pan cis man, so I definitely do not understand the full nuance of the situation. But, at least the way that I interpreted the book, Naberius *isn't* predatory, he's just kind of conceited? Or, at least, considers his attractiveness to be a major, relevant part of his identity. And, being hot, and trying to be hot, is not inherently predatory- it can make people uncomfortable, but that does not make it *bad*, nor is it *the fault* of the person who is trying to be attractive that the other person was made uncomfortable by them. That's the other person's problem to solve, and not the responsibility of the person who's trying to be attractive, since they're just living their life how they want to. That's true of Naberius, too- it's not a bad thing that Naberius is trying to be attractive, even if he is in a book primarily about lesbians. He has the right to do so- and frankly, given all the shit he's been through, I think he's earned the right to be a bit of a fuckboy.
Anyway, with all that said, my ultimate point is this: While, yes, Naberius Tern is awful and we hate him because he's an asshole, and that's deserved, we also have to be willing to acknowledge the fact that... he doesn't really have any choice BUT to be an asshole, and if he weren't trapped in the *situation* with the Tridentarii, it's entirely possible he wouldn't be an asshole at all. It really isn't his fault that he's deeply unpleasant in so many ways, and that only furthers the tragic nature of his character. And I think that we, as readers and fans of these books, haven't really acknowledged or accepted that. It's actually quite sad that Naberius is so awful, and it's tragic that he ended up that way, whether it was by his own choice or not, whether it was simply a product of his nature or not.
#the locked tomb#tlt#gideon the ninth#Ianthe Tridentarius#Coronabeth Tridentarius#Naberius Tern#Sorry for the mountain of text I have a lot of thoughts
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Live to Serve (You) | Part 4
It wasn’t Steve’s fault. He was only human, a healthy young man it was a wonder he hadn’t sampled the simple pleasures of life sooner, so Eddie probably wouldn’t have held it against him for very long... but it kept happening. So much so that duty no longer played any part in what he was doing.
More and more as the year went by, the women never stayed very long, sometimes he’d even snag one of the pretty servant girls, never by force, oh heavens no, but a smile from the Prince, a softly spoken compliment dripping in honeyed charm, a rapidly growing reputation for his giving nature, not to mention the promise of the comfiest bed known to man, well… what young lady would refuse such a proposition?
Nobody.
Not a single young lady, and Eddie knew this because he had the wonderful task of waking them up every morning. His irritation growing stronger and stronger every day, every new woman, every new little bruise that didn’t come from someone hurting the prince, he knew it was jealousy, he knew it was a vile thing building inside of him, jealousy directed at the women who so easily caught the princes’ attention, at how easily they could have him, even if just for one night.
Eddie couldn’t have that. Steve had never looked at him like that, they’d spent twelve years together and the only thing Eddie had managed to get was a compliment about his hair. He had half a mind to cut it all off in spite, but… no.
No, he’d never had short hair, he didn’t intend to have short hair, that’d be a little drastic.
So, distance was what he went with, even if the Prince didn’t exactly get the memo.
“Come riding with me!”
“No, I have chores.”
“You should read with me in the library, we never read together anymore.”
“We’ve never read together, you always just slept through my attempts to read to you.”
“Fine, read to me while I nap.”
“No, I have chores to do.”
“Can you teach me how to—”
“You have tutors to teach you things, your highness, perhaps you ought to listen in your lessons more.”
“Nggghhhh, Eddie! Don’t— where are you going?”
“I have work to do.”
Attempt after attempt after attempt, all shot down, but Steve was persistent. Eddie couldn’t even begin to justify it to anyone else, even Robin in the kitchens had cornered him to ask him what the hell he was playing at after she found Steve moping in the library, his behaviour wasn’t okay in the slightest, his feelings weren’t Steve’s fault, nor was Steve intentionally trying to hurt them, but… he was only human. He could only take so much, so he distanced himself, sought to protect himself.
He couldn’t escape his feelings, but he could build walls around his heart to protect himself from them and if that meant holding Steve at arms-length and hurting the both of them, well… so be it.
But as previously stated, as Eddie well knew. Steve wasn’t just persistent, he was resourceful too. He’d made friends while Eddie had been putting distance between them, he’d reached out more and more to the other servants, asking for information, bonding with them, with one in particular who regularly challenged Eddie’s nonsense because “what the fuck, Eddie he’s sad, it’s like someone’s kicked his puppy, what are you doing to him?”
Which, uhm. Servant solidarity Robin, why the fuck wasn’t she on his side? Ultimate betrayal that one, and Steve hadn’t even slept with her.
Unfortunately, this meant that Steve had friends who could help him. It meant he could request a little help with cornering Eddie where he couldn’t run off, claim he had chores or disappear through a sneaky servant door that no one else knew existed, it meant one evening, a few weeks after Steve’s nineteenth birthday, after a stellar streak of masterful avoidance on Eddie’s part, Eddie found himself face to face with a locked door.
A locked door, and the Prince of Hawkins at his back.
“Why is this locked?” Eddie did his very best to remain calm as he jiggled the doorhandle, no dice.
“Talk it out!” Came Robins familiar holler through the door along with the jingle of keys and the echoing sounds of footsteps leaving them behind.
“Oh, I’m going to kill her, I’m going to kill her, bury her body in an unmarked grave in the woods, then dance on it.”
“Uh-huh, and why are you so against being locked in a room with me? What have I done exactly?” Eddie finally turned to face the other man, not for the first time noting just how much he’d grown. How handsome he’d become in what felt like the blink of an eye. No wonder women fell over themselves to get a taste of him, to get just a night in his bed.
“I’d be against being locked in a room with anyone against my will” Eddie bit back “you’re not special, your highness.”
“That’s another thing, this your highness crap, where the hell has that come from?” Steve crossed his arms over his chest “and the morning thing, which by the way, what the hell? You don’t even help me with my clothes anymore! Just breakfast’s ready and you’re gone! You know I hate breakfast first thing! And my mother hates my fashion sense!”
“You’re nineteen years old, Steven, you should be able to dress yourself and manage your own breakfast schedule by now.”
“Steven? What the—okay. Okay, clearly I’ve done something wrong, so if you could just tell me, because I’ve wracked my brain and cannot for the life of me figure out what I could have done, I can fix it and get my stupid friend back.”
“I’m not stupid.” Okay, maybe he was being a bit stupid, but he could justify it to himself so—
“Oh my God, Eddie. Please. Please just tell me what I’ve done, I want my best friend back, and I don’t know how to get you back so can you please just tell me?”
“This isn’t something you can fix Steve. It’s… it’s just got to be this way, alright?”
“No, not alright, this isn’t alright, I did something, I know I did something, or I’m doing something cause you’d have forgiven me by now if I’d only done it once so… just tell me and I’ll stop.” Eddie just looked at him, a small frown pinched on his brow, not of frustration but… of something else, pain, distress, like he wanted to, but he couldn’t. “You’re not getting out of this room until you tell me so you might as well just tell me.”
“You’re such a brat, Steve.”
“I’m royalty, it comes with the territory. This all started after my birthday, after that stupid hunt, did someone say something? Did I drink too much and say something to you? Cause I dunno what I said but—”
“You didn’t say anything, Steve. You haven’t done anything wrong, don’t—don’t look at me like that, you haven’t. This… what I’m doing? I’m doing it for me. I’m doing it to protect myself.” Every time he had to wake the prince up and he found some woman in that bed with him, his morning spot beside the prince long since taken up by a random feminine form, it ached. It hurt more than he could explain, more than he thought hurt could. “And yes, it might suck for you that you now have to dress yourself but… it’s best if you just allow me to keep my distance.”
“This isn’t about dressing myself, Eddie, Lord almighty, I’m—I want my friend back, I want to go riding with you, and listen to you read, I want to take you on hunts with me cause it’s shit out there without you, I want to be able to tell you about life things, I want to watch you lace up my tunic cause I can’t do it myself, it’s always too tight… I just want you back and I don’t know how to do that so please tell me how.”
“I can’t…”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not fair! I can’t— I can’t justify it in any way that you’ll understand, in any way that’ll make what I’m doing sound fair to you because it’s not your fault, you haven’t done anything wrong, it’s me, it’s all me, I’m only human and it hurts so I’m protecting myself, please just let me protect myself, just… just call me selfish, or irrational, be mad at me for pushing you away for a bad reason, just… just let me go.”
“Not until I know what the reason is.”
“Ngghh, why? Why do you have to know?”
“Because you JUST said it’s hurting you…” he stepped closer, Eddie had nowhere to go, couldn’t back away, couldn’t side step, he just had to allow the prince to step into his space, to be too close “I don’t want to hurt you, Eddie… I don’t want to be the one causing you pain, I don’t know what it is, but… if you tell me, I can fix it… I can make it better again, I can have my best friend back…”
“You can’t fix it, I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say it to get it through your skull, but you can’t.”
“I can try!”
“I wouldn’t ask you to! That wouldn’t be fair!”
“You’re being difficult.”
“You locked me in a room against my will and interrogated me, difficult is the LEAST I can do!”
“Ugh, will you just tell me, please?!”
“No!”
“Why?!”
“Because—Because—!” In Eddie’s defence, Steve was not letting him out of that room, and he was also too close for Eddie to fight his impulsive thoughts, in one swift, somewhat clumsy move, Eddie had put his hands on Steve’s jaw and closed the gap between them in a mess of inexperienced teeth and spit and Eddie expected to be shoved back, expected to be pushed away and refused, he was no Lord and Steve was notorious for bedding only women, but that... didn’t happen.
Sure, Eddie was pushed backwards, but it was against the door, the clumsy kiss adjusted and bettered by experienced lips and tongue, bigger, warmer hands than his own cupping his cheeks, and soon enough Eddie was melting into it. The hands he’d placed on Steve’s jaw falling to wrap arms around his neck and chasing him in vain when he moved to break it. “Wh-what...?” Steve breathed, lips still brushing bruised, spit slicked, plump lips as he spoke “you...” Eddie didn’t know what to say, words stuck in his throat, trapped in Steve’s searching gaze, his own eyes wide, shimmering and swimming with a mixture of panic and want. “God, why didn’t you do this years ago?” Those eyes widened just a fraction more before they succumbed to the mind melting feel of lips against his, sliding shut as tongue slipped between his lips to coax his own into play, to teach him how to play.
The hands left his cheeks, pulling at the fabric of his tucked in shirt, tugging until those same hands could slide under and grip his slender waist and pull it tight, flush against Steve’s own, he had to tear himself from the kiss at that, head dropping back against the wooden door to groan his pleasure out into the rapidly warming air around them, Steve wasn’t deterred in the slightest, those talented lips of his sealing over Eddies pulse point and suckling the skin there until bruised and angry, moving on quickly to another spot to repeat the process. “S-Steve...” Eddie gasped, hands feebly gripping shoulders “Steve… I’ve never—w-we shou—”
“Shhh, I’ve got you, you’ve looked after me for so long, Eddie... let me—let me take care of you for once.”
Maybe… Eddie very briefly thought as Steve slowly dropped to his knees, just before all thought vanished from Eddie’s mind replaced by warm, wet bliss, that actually… maybe he wouldn’t kill Robin.
Part 6
#PirateWrites#Ficlet#Live to Serve (You)#Steddie#Steve Harrington#Eddie Munson#Stranger Things - AU#You can bet your ass that when this goes up on Ao3 (if i do put it up there)#there's gon be an extra bit on the end of this one ;D
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Wich are your favorite fairy tale couples/romances and why?
*cracks knuckles* I'm excited for this one!
It's important to note that not all of these are necessarily "canon" to the story, whatever that nebulous word means in the context of oral traditions. Still, the fun of fairy tales as a genre is the audience participation aspect, allowing you to fill in our own imaginative gaps.
Gold-Tree, her husband, and her wife from "Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree": in this Celtic variant of "Snow White", the handsome prince fills the role that the dwarfs occupy in Grimm. She marries him and temporarily escapes her mother, but the wicked Silver-Tree finds Gold-Tree and poisons her. Thinking her dead, the prince takes another wife, and in a total reversal of "Bluebeard", the second princess walks into the forbidden room where Gold-tree slumbers, finds the thorn, and breaks the spell. The second princess then kills Silver-Tree when she makes her third attempt on Gold-Tree's life, and " prince and his two wives were long alive after this, pleased and peaceful."
The Peasant and the Soldier from "The Grave Mound": A comical story about two poor men who win their fortune through conning the Devil, which ends with them co-habitating and "living in rest and peace...as long as God is pleased to permit". I fell in love with this story after reading the dedicated chapter for it in the terrific academic anthology "Transgressive Tales: Queering the Grimms".
Betushka and the Wood Maiden: Every day at noon, a mysterious and beautiful maiden appears to the farm girl Betushka. They dance together until the sun goes down, and I'm just so moved by how it's described: "Betushka's cheeks burned, her eyes shone. She forgot her spinning, she forgot her goats. All she could do was gaze at her partner who was moving with such grace and lightness that the grass didn't seem to bend under her slender feet." Ultimately, Betushka succumbs to an Orpheus-style moment of weakness that separates them forever. Tragic, but undeniably beautiful.
The Clever Farmgirl and the King: I love a battle of wits where the two parties challenge each other but clearly respect and love one another. You listed this as one of your favorite tale types, and in hindsight, I'm inclined to agree.
Tam Lin and Janet: these two need no introduction. A haunting ballad of love and the transformations that it always entails. (Just please, never the non-consensual variants.) I have to shout out Overly Sarcastic Productions on YouTube for introducing me to this story, and the "Which Fairytale Lady Are You?" quiz, which assigned me Janet. I hope to be as bold and confident as this heroine, in love and in life.
Prince Yousif and Louliyya, Daughter of Morgan: An Egyptian relative of Rapunzel, I love their fierce and undying commitment to each other, and their resilience in the face of the many challenges between them and their happy ending.
The Lady and the Lion from "The Singing, Springing Lark": A "Beauty and the Beast" variant where the heroine knows about the curse from the word go, and they actually live happily in spite of his back-and-forth between his human and lion forms for a while, even having a child together. Of course, circumstances force them apart, and she travels to the Sun, the Moon, the Four Winds, and the Red Sea to get him back. It's a relationship built on honesty, communication, and willingness to sacrifice for one another. When people talk about wanting a fairy tale Prince Charming, this is the guy I picture.
The One-Handed Girl and her Prince: A lovely (if at times gruesome) Swahili story of a woman deprived of everything by her wicked brother, she finds love in a charming prince and they start a family together. When her love is out warring, her wicked brother rears his head and persuades her in-laws to banish her to the wilderness, and tell the prince that she and her baby died. I'm always moved by the makeshift funeral her husband arranges when he hears the wicked brother-turned-royal-advisor's lie, and their reunion at the end.
The couple from "The Nixie of the Pond": When her husband succumbs to a mysterious nixie, the heroine conducts a series of moonlight rituals, offering a comb, a flute, and a spinning wheel to the water spirit in exchange for his safe return. Of course, the nixie doesn't play fair, but they eventually get their hard-earned happy ending, finding each other under the moonlight listening to the same song she used to bargain for his rescue.
Broadening the definition of "fairy tales", I have to include Dorothy and Ozma, Clara / Marie and her Nutcracker, and Ahmed and Pari Banu. There are also stories with pairings that, while I can't honestly say I support, I still find compelling: Shahrazad leading Shahryar through the most intense talk therapy session in world literature, whatever the heck is going on with Velina and Tayzanne, the quasi-erotic dynamic of this proto-Little Red Riding Hood. Plus there's some terrific villain couples I love to hate, like the witch and her lover in "The Tale of the Ensorcelled Prince" (sorry, Burton's translation is all I could find online; if you have the chance, read Yasmine Seale's version of the text).
As you can tell, I've thought about this stuff a lot and I'm eager to talk about it. What are some of the romances and relationships you love / find compelling in fairy tales?
#ask response#ariel seagull wings#fairy tales#1001 nights#nixie of the pond#gold tree and silver tree#the grave mound#the wood maiden#the one handed girl#jack the master and jack the servant#the singing springing lark#tam lin#louliyya daughter of morgan#the farmer's clever daughter
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Another snippet
For @laurikarauchscat. This is a snippet of pregnant Ciri, it was meant for a sequel to "Heirs of Nilfgaard" that never materialised. I totally agree that Ciri as a Mom is an idea that doesn't always work, and that not everyone believes possible. I respect your opinion absolutely. I still had fun with the idea of her being pregnant with little Prince Geralt.
The carriage rattled over another bridge, and Cirilla leaned back into the soft upholstery. The roads of the Empire were the best she had ever seen, and the carriage was made for comfort, still, she was exhausted. When her father had suggested they leave the City of Golden Towers and travel to Loc Grim, in spite of the time of the year, she had thought nothing of it. Her father loved to confuse his court and did so with great skill and more glee than one might think. Travelling to the Imperial Summer residence in February had certainly thrown the court into disarray.
Cirilla herself had agreed at once. She might be pregnant, but she was not an invalid. Even as the entire household, the guards, and everyone else conspired to fulfil her every wish and whim, she insisted on caring for herself and not being treated like a porcelain doll. She had little success with it. The servants were all set on making sure she had everything she might possibly need, had every comfort that one might imagine, and her guards were not much better. Captain Adair and his soldiers had made it their personal mission to ensure that she travelled as pampered as she had been at the main palace. Beginning with the best, most comfortable quarters and ending with whatever food she might take a fancy to. Had they all been scraping sycophants, Cirilla would have known how to handle them, but they were not. They were honestly happy and honestly worried for her. There was a type of care she could barely describe.
Ever since her pregnancy had become known, assassination attempts too had increased, and while assassins never could expect any mercy from Impera, there was a new quality to the assassin hunt now. She did not know all the details, and maybe she should be glad not to know what happened to those who had tried to kill her and who were taken alive. She had heard the Captain of her father’s personal guard talk to Captain Adair, saying that Vattier’s cells filled rapidly and that the old spy was as happy as a hog in a wallow and was working all the hours the Emperor sent.
The carriage slowed down behind the bridge; they must have reached a station to change the horses. Cirilla leaned back and listened to the voices outside: soldiers giving orders and servants running. She was not expected to do anything, sun forbid that she would have to bother with such mundane things. Still, she did not escape the polite question of whether she wished for anything, water. Tea? Some light food? And when she indicated she wished for nothing, the polite negotiations for maybe a little tea and platter of fruit continued. She gave in with a sigh, pointing out she wanted only a little.
She was more than relieved when Morvran joined her in the carriage. “You can help me eat up all that,” she pointed to the platter with fruit, delicate cheese and other small but enticing bits. “I swear everyone in this household conspires to feed me.”
Morvran smiled gently at her. “You don’t eat enough, my dear,” he said, taking her hand. “And they have worked out what will entice you. Captain Adair most certainly conspired with some officers native to the region to procure your favourite things.”
Ciri sighed. “I am not used to being pampered like that, Morvran. Even being pregnant with the heir to this Empire does not warrant that much fuss. I understand my maids, ladies in waiting and other household people, but the soldiers? Really?” It was what irritated her most. In Cintra, a pregnant princess wouldn’t have been made such a fuss about.
“They remember,” Morvran replied thoughtfully.
“Remember what?” Ciri asked, “I understand that my father’s refusal to marry certainly had people nervous.”
Morvran shifted, leaning his arms on his knees and looked at her. “Long before your father returned to Nilfgaard, there was a strong opposition to the Usurper, nobles, commoners, and soldiers, it went across all classes and estates. Nobles and escaped slaves conspired to take down the Usurper together. But one question remained wide open: the succession. Who should take the throne, once that man was dead? Some groups were fiercely loyal to your house; if they were not loyal to Emperor Fergus, who was dead, they were loyal to his father’s memory. Emperor Torres cast a long shadow over this land. Some of the nobles wanted to elect a new Emperor from their ranks, but they had to realise that the broad base of the resisters would not go with that. That’s why they expended so much effort to find your father and bring him back to Nilfgaard.” He gently took her hand in his. “The fear of those years, the fear of exchanging one tyrant with a worse one, is still there. Your father proved to be a magnificent ruler, a beloved ruler as far as the common man goes, but he had no children. The question…”
“The question what would happen when he died was still there,” Cirilla replied. She had learned that according to the common Nilfgaardians her father was a beloved ruler; in the eyes of the people, he had done everything right. It was something she was still struggling with.
“Exactly,” Morvran shrugged, “I was to be his heir, but the distrust was great. When you returned, it assuaged some of the fears. And now, knowing you are pregnant with the next in the line… it shows something is right again, dear heart. The sun is still shining on Nilfgaard. Many of the soldiers out there saw the civil war as young men, and to them, the thought that their sons and grandsons won’t be thrown into one again, that there is stability, is a great gift.”
Ciri squeezed his hand, smiling at him. She was delighted with their first child, she wanted it safe and healthy, but she still struggled with being pampered like that. “So everyone from here to Darn Rowan is conspiring to pamper me,” she said, with a hint of amusement in her voice. “I will have to accept that.”
Captain Adair knocked on the door of the carriage to report that both carriages were ready to go again, inquiring whether she needed some additional rest before proceeding. Cirilla shook her head, casting a glance at Morvran. “Stay for a while?” Most of the time, Morvran rode with the escort; he got restless when cooped up the entire day.
But he smiled and inclined his head. “Of course, my dear.”
The carriage was closed, and the escort mounted their fresh horses. Cirilla could see her father’s carriage move out first through the window, surrounded by a heavy cordon of mounted Impera before their own carriage began moving again. To her surprise, she spotted that her father’s carriage was not drawn by the typical White Albans that served as Imperial coach horses, instead, much heavier horses - Roweni military horses - had been used.
“Is something off at the station?” she asked Morvran. “Don’t tell me that anyone would have the Imperial carriage drawn by the same type of horse your armies use to move supplies and catapults.” Her husband was a cavalryman; he needed no further explanation.
Morvran shrugged. “Your father decided to leave the Alban road and take the shortcut to get us to Loc Grim faster. The white road shaves six days off our journey, but we need to cross the ridge from here. White Albans would have problems with that ascent. For Roweni, it is no problem at all. I heard your father liked taking the route right through the garden districts; rumours had it, that sometimes he went as far as riding that part of the route.”
Cirilla chuckled before suddenly putting a hand over her belly, as the little life inside her became known through a few strong kicks. “Someone agrees,” she said, not removing the hand. “But my father and riding? He hates travelling on horseback. The worst days on the entire journey from Vizima were when the carriage broke down, and he had to ride.”
She could see the amusement sparkling in her husband’s eyes. “One might say that even your father now and then has the youthful impetus to show he is not a machine of the state but a man. The garden districts bring that out in him, or so the word goes.”
It was an amusing thought. Cirilla knew her father was a great statesman, a machine of the state in some ways, always working on things, not wasting time on unnecessary distractions. And yet… the idea that even he might want to enjoy some things or be perceived as a man by someone… it was an intriguing thought. Something else came to her mind again. “That word - the garden districts, I know it must mean the region around Loc Grim, but it’s not in the maps.”
“It’s colloquial for the Imperial heartlands,” Morvran explained. “The garden districts comprise of Loc Grim District, the Golden Hills and the Dakhur District. Once we are across the ridge, you’ll see why your father insisted on making the trip, early though it is.”
The name of the singular provinces Cirilla knew, they had come up in various things she had learned about the Empire since arriving in the south. They were among the economic strongest of the Empire, trading in various goods, especially dyes, silks and medicines. “While I would like to know what my father’s possible reasons could be, I also am just realising that I cannot recall many noble houses from the region.”
“There aren’t that many,” Morvran said, “except a few minor titles that are as old as the Empire itself. Most of the region is immediate to the Empire, making it the place with the least influence of the great houses in all the Empire. Which would be one reason, the reason of state, why your father chose to move you here before birth.”
It made sense, Cirilla agreed, that a few houses would still be miffed that her father had spurned them, bringing his daughter from the North to Nilfgaard and marrying her safely to one of his allies. While she had fallen in love with Morvran by herself, and he had been willing to wait for her, wait for a long time if necessary, many houses believed they should have had a slice of the Imperial cake. “Provided that the region’s populace isn’t worse than certain houses…”
Morvran laughed heartily at the suggestion. “With another Emperor, maybe, but your father? When he took the throne, he ended the religious persecution of all the heretics in these districts, stopped his secret service to further nose after traces of the old religious organisations that preceded Sol Invictus as state religion and generally allowed them to live in peace. Keep the Imperial law, pay taxes, and no one will ask to whom or what they pray or whether they believe your father to be a deity or not. Even before, many loyalists came from these hills, but after your father lifted the persecution, it gained him a few provinces with fanatically loyal people. I don’t want to know how many would-be-assassins were taken out by the locals before they could even come close to the summer palace.”
It was one thing that Cirilla truly struggled with - state religion saw her father as a deity incarnate, and she had encountered many people to whom this was important. Her father had allowed for certain religious liberties among his people, stopping zealous persecution of heretics and sects, something she wholeheartedly agreed with. But the entire idea was still very complicated to her. “And what would the other reason be?” she asked when she felt the carriage sway slightly as it began to be drawn along a steep rise.
Suddenly Morvran beamed at her. “Look outside,” he said softly, cradling her hand between his.
Peering through the window of the carriage, Cirilla gasped. They were just drawing across the ridge, and beyond she could see white road winding across the hills. Sharp black basalt cliffs formed the background, overgrown and dotted with flowering bushes and trees. Where the capital had been grey and stormy when they departed, spring had already come to these hills. The burst of red and violet bushes in front of the black cliffs were marvelous, and the fragrance of them even made it past the windows of the carriage. “It’s beautiful…”
Strong, warm hands squeezed hers. “The garden districts usually have an early spring, because the mountains shield them from the rough sea winds,” Morvan said.
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Since today is headcanon kinda day, I would like to suggest something I thought about few weeks ago.
I was hit by nostalgia and rewatched few videos about bookcanon of Game of Thrones. One of them was about real size of Winterfell and it made me think about Exile.
I don't know if the castle in the Exile is big - you didn't specify it I think (but maybe, I should re-read it since it is one my favorite fics of yours), but... If it is big or there is free space, my headcanon is that Steve would plant a little forest within castle walls like a godswood in GOT universe. He knows that Reader would be content living in the forest for the rest of her life if she wasn't stolen by him. Her connection to nature, her ability to live off the resources the forest provided fascinated Steve and (I think) he would want her to have that land of solitude, where her soul could rest. So, he would ask to plant lots young trees as a start (I think it was possible even in medieval times to replant trees that has grown for some time), maybe also some wild flowers and forest berries to create beautiful glade in the center of the forest.
idk - but reading how devoted Steve is and how much he loves Reader even when she fights with him, made me think he absolutely would do that for her.
(Tumblr, please, don't make the ask disappear 😢)
While I didn’t specify how big it was, I love this idea of Steve giving her her own forest in the interior grounds of the castle. Its her own private escape and it helps mend bridges between them
“I told you not to look.”
“I told you I’d cut your hand off and feed it to the crocodiles.” You spur him and his attempt to scold you almost playfully, and jut back against him when he gets a little too close to your back.
And that still doesn’t stop him.
“There’s no crocodiles in this area.” Despite your warning, Steve still leans in close enough to whisper in your ear, a husky drone that elicits a shiver.
“Where are you taking me anyway? To a torture chamber? A bottomless pit?” Your spite draws a laugh from him and with his hands still covering your eyes you’re forced to put a little faith and trust in him.
“I think I’ll suspend you from the tower, make an example of you.” The teasing continues and Steve is decidingly coy about how eased he is now, and much to your dismay you find yourself relaxing around him.
Instead of commenting on the teasing nature as you perhaps should have, you avoided the immediate easement of your relationship to comment on the surprise that he had for you.
“What are you doing? Where are you taking me? And if you don’t tell me in the next few minutes, I’m going to-”
“A surprise, spitfire.” Steve embraced you fully, drawing his hands from your eyes to place them on your hips, and as your vision had come to fruition you had seen an encased forest and meadow before you.
“Your own private meadow and wilderness. Somewhere for you to feel safe with nature while being home-”
“I remember these flowers.” You departed from him immediately, drawing toward a bushel of petals and greenery that reminded you of the brook you’d cross every morning on your walk.
“And these vines…” you were at a loss for words, truly and wholly unaware of how much detail Steve had picked up on when he heard you talk about missing your freedom away from this all.
It was overwhelming to see it, no small amount of space for you to experience life as you once had and yet you were safely nestled within the confines of the castle walls. It was endless, a seamless and even compromise between the nature that raised you and the man who would be your husband.
“Steve-” you turned on your heel, silence befalling you as you watched him, gazed at him with some unreserved and unfiltered emotional shift reflecting in your eyes.
It was as if you were seeing him cast in an entirely new light, as if every ounce of bitterness had been carved away to reveal true person lingering beneath his animosity and heavy guard he had held in place.
“Do you…want to walk with me?” It wasn’t what you really wished to say, but it was something akin to the truth bubbling on your tongue.
#king!steve rogers x reader#King!Steve Rogers#king!Steve Rogers x soulmate!Reader#exile series#Steve rogers x reader#soulmate!Steve Rogers x soulmate!Reader#historical au
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Renegades (Part 1)
Warnings: Violence, Death, Sexist/degrading themes, smutty themes, religious themes.
Description: Leif x Reader
A Saxon reader lives at a monastery as a postulant under the unforgiving rule of cruel leaders...until the Vikings turn their world upside down.
On the outskirts of London, along the peaceful river nestled into county land, a small monastery lies hidden amongst the wheat fields and wild grass. Mostly untouched and isolated from the Saxon population, the monastery exists ruled under the strong hand of Æthelred II. The inhabitants of the monastery live a life of solitude, as silence is believed to be the space in which God may truly talk to his patrons. Those who were worthy of course. Monks spend their days in prayer, study, and education. The more quiet inhabitants, the sisters of Æthelstan live under the monks, silenced to a life of servitude to the Monks, enabling the Monks to live a life in a constant state of spiritual sabbatical…
A deep yawn escapes as I sat knelt on the ground, my aching fingers clasped tightly together. The stone brick room leaves no allowance for heat within the room, the only source of light and warmth coming from the flickering candles as they fight against the wax consuming it. ‘When the candle has melted entirely is a good indication of when prayer may be replaced by sleep’ Elder Aefentid had commanded. Easy for him to say whilst he and his monks sat in the library in front of the roaring fire on a cold eve. ‘Insolence is a sin Sister Y/N’ Mother Brynhorn always scolded me. Being the youngest in the monastery wasn’t an easy feat, especially under the watchful eyes of Elder Aefentid and Mother Brynhorn’s leadership.
Sister Edith whipped her head around forcefully, her eyes squinting in a nasty manner as her gaze locked onto mine with just as much vexation. If there was anyone as rapacious, earnest, competitive or desperate for purpose and power, it was Sister Edith. To be prideful and spiteful in spirit was an abomination, but if it were in the name of Christ, it was perfectly acceptable. It was practically demanded. Living at the Monastery was meant to be an unselfish, charitable, spiritual existence, but within its walls, malice, ambition and greed were what truly plagued the inhabitants. We weren't living true to God's word. If this place were true to God’s word, God would send his enemies to this place. There was no redemption for the people here.
We all sat in prayer, under the watchful gaze of Mother Brynhorn as she gazed over the sisters with her nose held up high. Under her habit, I could see her legs shift in an attempt to warm up her body, but it was no use. As high and mighty as the sisters treated her, and as diligent as she felt, the Monks were certain to make sure that Mother Brynhorn knew she was just as inferior as the rest of us. The room was silent, only allowing for the noise of wistful cold air as it whistled gushing between the cracks of the stone walls, the sound of fire sizzling as it inevitably lost its battle, and became swallowed up by the melted wax. We all sat still, however, waiting for the ring of the bell to tell us we could retreat into the blissful escape of sleep.
•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•
*Ding. Ding. Ding.*
The bells vibrations carried across the small room, radiating to the depth of my eardrums. The quiet sound of dresses sweeping against the floor, followed by the gentle light footsteps as the sisters exited the room. The sounds of our footsteps carried down the dense room, ricocheting down the hall as the final ding of the bell cascaded into silence.
*DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING…*
The bells continued to sound, getting faster and louder with each thrust. Some of the sisters dropped to their knees, others stood frozen in fear, and the voice of Brother Irvin could be heard from the bell tower ‘INVASION’ he screamed across the small courtyard. The silence was sliced in half by the piercing screams and cries of the sisters, the deep voices of the brothers from upstairs could be heard shouting at one another, Elder Aefentid yelling orders. ‘GO TO THE CELLAR’ Sister Brynhorn screamed as she rushed down the hall, ushering the sisters down the stone steps. I stood, frozen in place, for some reason, desperate to go anywhere but the cellar.
The Monks cascaded down the stone steps, running toward the large wooden gate that remained forever locked. My gaze was fixated on the gate as it opened, revealing the world outside I hadn’t seen in months. The moon shone brightly upon the field, illuminating the ground below. The wheat was now as tall as a person, a fiery orange glow shining behind the wheat, illuminating a presence from afar. ‘SISTER Y/N GET TO THE CELLAR THIS INSTANT’ that old crabby voice cried. Instead, my legs took me toward the gate, instead of the cellar. ‘Y/N’ she screamed, a deep growl in her voice. But the sound of her voice was soon replaced by the sound of my heavy breathing and footsteps as I ran across the court toward the large gate, desperate to seek more of the outside world than I had seen since I came here. I could barely register the numbness I had previously felt in my body that made my body freeze, and instead, the forceful beating of my heart warmed my body as I ran toward the group of Monks that flocked outside the gate, unforgivingly handling their swords with such pitiful stance.
God at least admires your efforts…hopefully, God had a sense of humour, I thought.
I could almost smell the wheat as I got closer to the gate, only for the scent to be stolen from my senses as the large gate suddenly slammed shut in front of me. Brothers Svein and Wystan are on either side of the door, standing guard as to shut down any source of freedom or hope. ‘DECEITFUL CHILD’ Brother Wystan growled, raising his palm, landing a quick backhand to my temple. I stumbled at the sudden impact, falling at the feeling of a leg kicking into the back of my knees. My palm stung as the small rocks and pebbles cut deep into the flesh of my skin. 'AWAY' he hissed.
I gathered my knees beneath me, running back toward the monastery walls, only to find the door to the cellar firmly shut and locked. I turned toward the east wing, running down the hall, almost crawling up the stairs as I desperately climbed the steps against the chaos, tripping on my long skirt. Upon the top of the stairs, I immediately ran across the turret, following the light streaming from the corner tower. The walls were adorned with books with shelves that reached the ceiling. Rolls of parchment and collections of quills and ink adorned the crafted tables. The Monks Library. I gawked at the realisation. The library, a sector strictly forbidden from the sisters. The room was enveloped by the warmth of a roaring fire, the sweet sickly smell of grapes wafted across the room as half-drunk glasses sat upon the central table, the roasting sizzle of hot stew boiled in a large cauldron. Bastards. I stomped to the table, spitting in the large pot out of spite.
The ladder to the bell tower sat sturdily within the library walls. I inspected the ceiling, surprised to see a trap door on the ceiling open. I eyed the ceiling carefully, looking between the gap to find the bell tower completely unoccupied as the bell itself had stopped ringing entirely. This was my only chance. I grasped the ladder, my left palm stinging at the sensation as a light trickle of dried blood cascaded down to my wrist. I kicked my feet out from under the confines of my skirt, climbed the ladder to the ceiling, and finally crawled into the moonstruck cool breeze as I slithered through the trap door, slamming it shut below me. The bell tower was surrounded by stone pillars but never had I imagined the view would be so widespread as the wheat fields surrounding the walls of the monastery seemed to go forever and ever. The only difference in scenery was the small river way, cutting through the fields of unending wheat.
Yellow and brownfields were splotched in patches of red, as unidentifiable monks lay face down on the ground, blood pooling out of their lifeless bodies. A deep growl emitted as sounds of water violently splashed, interrupting the gentle flow of the riverbed. Two peculiar-looking bodies struggled and fought against the uniformed bodies of a group of men. Bodies smashed, as men growled, yelled and grunted, the sound of skin and bodies smashing against one another. The only source of light illuminating the scene below came from a burning wooden pillar that leant to one side, threateningly burning close to the dry field below. One of the men ran into the darkness of night, while multiple bodies followed, yelling at the figure. The other unfamiliar-looking individual, dressed in strange clothes battled in hand-to-hand combat in the river with a uniformed Saxon. Someone direct from London…the invaders more threatening than anticipated if the Saxons came all the way here. The stranger grabbed the Saxon by the throat, his body shifting as he turned and thrust his opponent into the water, his head now directed toward the bell tower. I dropped to my knees, pressing my back to the stone wall, hiding away from the gaze of the stranger. I listened to the water splash as his deep voice grunted. But I couldn’t keep away for that long. I crawled back to the other side of the tower, sitting on my knees, letting my head ascend just enough to see the river below. This time, the Saxon stood triumphantly, waist-deep in water as he struggled to keep the body beneath the surface. I could make out the body of the man struggling underneath the water as he fought against the harsh grip of the Saxon.
I don’t know why, but something felt wrong about the whole scene in front of me. The bodies of monastery inhabitants lay lifeless, blood still pooling from them, staining the crop around them. A Saxon man triumphantly stood, defeating whatever entity had come to destroy us. But strange, all my energy, my being, my emotion was solely focused on the foreigner as he struggled beneath the surface of the water, drowning at the hands of my own people. The people who were here to protect us, and yet, I couldn’t let him die, and I couldn’t explain the inexplicable feeling as to why. I desperately searched around for anything that could help, his counterpart had long gone, and it was unlikely that the monastery was going to share my outlook of mercy for the man that had killed their brothers. In the corner of the tower sat a bow and a few arrows. It sat securely in the corner, covered in cobwebs, and coated in dust, indicating it had been sitting there untouched for a long time.
I brought my shaking hands, desperately prying off the old, thick webs. I had no training, and I had never touched a weapon before, but I had seen my father wield one as a child, but I was never allowed to go hunting with him. But I had seen him shoot a shot once.
I shakily loaded the arrow into the bow, my hands shaking either in fear or desperation. I gathered all my strength, pulling the string back with such forceful desperation that was probably bound to snap. I directed the tip of the arrow toward the man, letting the string go as it quickly swiped against my cheek, sending a shooting sting across it. The arrow pierced the wind, flying straight toward the river, only to shoot into the riverbed, missing the man so unskilfully. But it was enough to catch his attention. The man suddenly averted his attention, looking for the source of the arrow, directing his attention to the bell tower. I could hear him growl as his fury turned from the man beneath the water to me.
Oh God, what have I done?
A sudden loud gasp of air emitted, followed by a loud, deep yell that emitted from deep within the previously drowning man. The Saxon, clearly surprised, turned back toward the man, only to be met with a rock to the face. The loud crack hauntingly pierced my ears, as I watched blood spew from the man's nose, only for the Saxon to pin his head under the water effortlessly, until it swept away lifelessly down the river with the current, followed by a watery trail of crimson. My gaze locked onto his lifeless body aimlessly flowing down the river, the monastery now dead quiet.
The man swayed as he stood waist-deep in the river, hunching over as he coughed and spluttered liquid. I could swear there was blood. Struggling desperately against the gentle tide, he weakly grasped onto the riverbank, using everything within to pry his body from the water. I could hear his grunts as he struggled but eventually pulled himself just enough onto the bank to escape the freezing water. However, he didn’t seem all that bothered by the cold temperature. If his close encounter with death by drowning wasn’t going to kill him, the cold temperature probably would.
I turned my gaze back toward the monastery courtyard to find the grounds completely deserted. Monks were never the bravest of sorts.
I climbed down the ladder, cautiously leaving the trap door open as it once was before. The only sounds now were the whistling winds and the chirping of insects in the distance. The once roaring fire that encapsulated the Monk's restricted library was now completely consumed by ash remnants. The battle below had felt so quick, but the now cool temperature of the room proved otherwise. Amongst the luxurious items in the library, furs adorned the chairs providing further warmth while we sisters made do with old woven blankets with gaping holes in the fabric. I grabbed one of the furs, folding it into a tight ball and hiding it within the large sleeve of my habit.
The large oak wooden gate was now totally unguarded, as everyone had taken refuge in hiding. If only they knew there were only two offenders…but they didn’t need to. The gate, now inched a crack open slowly creaked as the winds blew forcefully against the wood. I slowly squeezed through the gap, being sure not to move the gate in case it drew attention. The bottom of my dress became slightly damp as the crimson stain of fallen blood pooled at my feet. Still warm, and already flies begun to swarm the bodies of the fallen monks. The scene in front looked like a hunt, similar to the ones my father and brothers used to go on, but instead of deer or pheasants, human bodies lay dead…and I didn’t feel any sympathy.
I quietly trudged through the wheat, grass now sticking to the thick crimson blood which stained the bottom of my dress. The sound of the river carried gently as if it had been undisturbed all evening. A gentle groan emitted, followed by chesty coughs. I cautiously approached, being sure not to rouse or alert the stranger. His coughs got louder the closer I approached, he didn’t seem phased about alerting anyone of his presence…a true sign of a dangerous person. I peeped through the long thin grass to see his body curled up in a ball, spluttering and spitting out liquid nestled deep within his lungs. His eyes were closed shut, the coughing clearly a source of pain, his body quivering as the cool temperature began to consume him. His body shifted, as he rolled towards the river, letting the contents of his stomach spew from his insides. He let out a loud gasp of relief, turning back over gently, only for his body to stiffen as his gaze locked onto mine. He grasped one of the rocks from the riverbank, raising it above his head, directing his aim toward me. The way our eyes were fixated, our bodies still, it was clear we were both waiting for the other to make a move first. I gently lifted my hands, showing a sign of surrender to assure the man I meant no harm. Whether that would stop him from killing me like he had the others, I didn’t know, but even a violent death would be a preferable end to a lifetime at the monastery as a sister. He lowered his arm slightly, but his fingers were still tightly clasped around the rock. As I reached inside my sleeve, he propped himself up onto his feet, squatting on the ground, raising the rock back up behind him.
‘Who are you?’ He questioned. I was taken aback, not by the gruffness of his voice, but by the dialect he spoke. My village was populated by both Saxon and Danish settlers back home, the language although foreign to most was familiar to me. However, his strong accent indicated that this man was a long way from home, likely not a Danish settler himself. ‘SPEAK’ he yelled, almost as if he wasn’t sure I understood him at all. He inspected my long dress, taking particular interest in the habit which revealed only the skin of my face. Otherwise, everything else was completely covered. I pulled the soft fur from my habit, throwing the ball of fabric at his feet before taking a step back. He leant his arm forward, his gaze and striking aim still locked on me, his fingers gently smoothed over the warm dry fabric. He glanced down, only to quickly revert his pupils to mine. He continued to stare, both of us frozen in place, but now instead of a tense feeling in the air, an aura of calmness washed over us.
*Ding. Ding. Ding.*
Instantaneously, we both directed our gaze to the bell tower as brother Svein stood atop the tower, his back turned towards us. He clearly hadn’t looked carefully enough to check if all was safe outside the grounds of the monastery. I quickly turned around, averting my attention back to the stranger in front of me. I simply nodded, before running back through the long grass, slipping back through the confines of the monastery.
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Three days had gone by, and the stranger was now a complete enigma as if he had never existed. Elder Aefentid and selected brothers were permitted to leave the grounds to retrieve the bodies of their fallen brothers. They all returned alive and unharmed, either the stranger had died or had left. I hoped it was the latter.
Elder Aefentid spoke on the other side of the small divider, singing in Latin and reciting bible verses. The brothers got to sit on pillars, the sisters had to kneel. While chapel services were silent and separate, the allowance for mixed services was completely out of the ordinary. Elder Aefentid had decided to sanctify the fallen Monks, as he put ‘who so bravely fought to protect this institute of God’. An interesting narrative, considering they engaged in no battle, merely sent out for slaughter. Their weapons mearly decorations. Their bodies lay there, crafted and carefully placed to hide the marks of defeat and expert combat their fates ultimately had succumbed to.
The service persisted into what was seemingly an endless day. I could feel my knees clicking beneath me, my neck stiff in place as I obediently faced my head toward the ground. Nobody dared move, not even Sister Edith, as Mother Brynhorn sat on her pitiful stool with a watchful eye cast over the group. In particular, her gaze was directed at me. In the eyes of the Monks, sweeping fireplaces and cleaning chamberpots were enough suited punishment for disobeying Mother Brynhorn’s orders. If it were up to her, the consequences would have been severely different…
‘Now we will proceed with silent prayer’ Elder Aefentid announced. The aura of animosity that swept the room was evident by the sound of silent sighs of agony, even Sister Edith began to shuffle on her knees to relieve the ache of her legs. The sound of slurping could be heard on the other side of the divider as the Monks silently sipped on sacramental wine. I could feel my lips cracking as I desperately lapped my equally dry tongue over them in a desperate attempt to hydrate myself. Even Mother Brynhorn sat on her stool, taking deep meditative breaths in an attempt to calm her fury as the Monks silently enjoyed the luxury of the tart grape liquid. At this moment, the life of rest and recreation the fallen brothers had lived within the Monastery, I couldn’t bring myself to pray for their souls. I couldn’t relish in their sanctity, I could barely bring myself to pity the violent death they came to at the hands of the two strangers nights ago. Elder Aefentid made it clear, our prayers were to be focused upon the fallen brothers, to truly worship their sacrifice and bravery, both in life and death.
Bullshit. I thought.
Instead, as my legs ached beneath me, my stomach pained at the hunger, and my dry parched lips. All I could think about was the stranger. How his eyes squinted as if he were in a constant state of contemplation, the way his sun-bleached strands of hair shone amongst the sandy brunette locks, how his wet clothes stuck to his muscly figure…
‘Sister Y/N’ Mother Brynhorn hissed. I opened my eyes to find everyone standing to attention, Elder Aefentid now standing at the head of the room, both their eyes cast on me still knelt on the ground. I wearily shifted my stiff legs, a loud crack evident as my joints adjusted to a stand. ‘Forgive her, Elder Aefentid, she is still young’ Mother Brynhorn pleaded with slight desperation in her voice. Elder Aefentid stood, his nostrils flaring as he shifted his gaze between the pair of us. His hand came down with a striking slap, causing Mother Brynhorn to step back as she regained her balance. ‘This is what I get for trusting you to bring in some farmer's daughter’ he scolded. ‘The King is a fool for trusting in his whore of a wife, an abomination of Viking descent, women have no place at a monastery’ he shouted, spitting in her face as he got closer and closer to her person. Mother Brynhorn stood there, her eyes cast to the floor in shame. Although she was a leader by definition, there was no way Elder Aefentid was going to allow her to feel as such. ‘AND YOU’ he screamed, his chunky index finger now pointing at me, his sleeve slightly fallen back revealing his prominent veiny arms. ‘Learn to submit or else’ he threatened. The rest of the sisters stood firmly to the side, parting like Moses and the red sea, leaving me vulnerable to the wrath of Elder Aefentid. I closed my eyes, anticipating a blow like Mother Brynhorn. Instead, his footsteps carried to the other side of the room, behind the divider and out the oak door.
We all stood in silence, not sure what to do. ‘Go to your quarters for individual prayer’ Mother Brynhorn silently whispered between sniffles. The Sisters didn’t need to be told twice, as soon as Mother Brynhorn had finished her sentence, the sisters swept out of the room. I cautiously followed to leave, but Mother Brynhorn stood there, still silent with her palm cupped to her cheek. I turned around, approaching her instead. ‘Mother Brynhorn, are you oka…’
*SLAP*
My weight shifted beneath me at the sudden impact of her strike. I could feel a warm liquid dripping from my nose as a stinging pain seared the bridge of my nose. I gently brought my hand up to my nose, only for my fingers to stain from the small flow of blood. ‘You will not make a mockery of me anymore SISTER’. Her voice sarcastically seethed that last word. For them, the term sister implied equality amongst the women here, but in her eyes, I was still the young, naive postulant. ‘GO TO YOUR QUARTERS, AND YOU WILL STAY THERE TILL THE DAWN OF TOMORROWS MORN’ she screamed, her voice echoing within the small chapel. I turned quickly, speedily walking down the monastery corridor to the small isolated room that was more suited to be a broom closet rather than a bedroom. But I was grateful for the solitude it provided. Outside the door, a large clang thrust against the door. I reached to open it, only to find the door locked in place. ‘Shit’ I whispered to myself.
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The small cracks in the stone wall allowed a small beacon of light to enter the room. But the light turned from a summery yellow to orange streaks as the day slowly faded away into darkness. My stomach rumbled so loudly, I could swear it would be heard outside the locked door. The old candle wax was even beginning to look appetising. I was used to fasting, but fasting with a combination of worry and boredom brought about a different type of hunger. I sat on my thin bed, listening to the pitter-patter of feet outside the door. But just as normal, the monastery was silent. This was no place for chatter, socialisation, or community. For the sisters particularly, Monastery life was a lonely experience. In the eyes of these people, however, I was always going to be the farmer's daughter.
As I sat there studying the sounds of footsteps, the gentle pitter of feet outside the door began to turn to pacing, then speed walking, and all at once, it turned to running. I sat up at the sudden shift in pace. What was calm had turned to chaos. Silence filled with yelling. ‘THEY’RE BACK’ I heard Mother Brynhorn’s voice scream down the hall. I stood up, desperately jiggling the door frame in an attempt to see what the cause of the commotion was. Were there bandits in the field? Had the King come unannounced? Maybe war-ravaged Saxons were at the gate begging and demanding shelter and supplies. If there was something this place was not, it was charitable.
*DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING DING…*
The bells rang, sending everyone outside into a scramble. A piercing deep yell screamed in agony from afar. The sound of women screaming became louder as they all banded together. I banged on the door, but they were lost to the sounds of desperate outcry and fear that sounded outside the door.
‘VIKINGS’ Elder Aefentid’s voice cried. The sound of outcry continued, their screams encapsulating the entire compound as the sounds of running feet echoed, slamming doors and desperate pleas to God. In the distance, the sound of metal beating against wood could be heard, turning to the sound of men and women talking. I couldn’t make out specifically what was being said, but their heavy thick accents carried through, making obvious the group that was headed towards our doorstep were not our allies.
I frantically kicked at the door, desperate to get out. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic in the small room, helpless and panicked at the bewilderment just on the other side of the door. The clanging sound of metal, laughter and taunting came closer and closer until the banging outside began. The sounds from outside the gate carried through the monastery as the large oak door took the brunt of a beating. The apparent Vikings held no mercy as the sounds of their forces became stronger and stronger. A loud BANG emitted, and the sounds of yelling and screaming continued as the intruders laughed and roared in celebration.
Suddenly the sound of slashing flesh, cries of agony and screams to God painted a more sinister picture of what was happening outside the door. I stepped away, backing up against the stone wall away from the door. A small trickle of crimson crept under the door. In particular the voice of a man, deep, regal, prideful, and confident cast across the corridor outside. ‘FOR SAINT BRICES DAY, AVENGE OUR PEOPLE, AVENGE YOUR KING’ he cried as his calls were met with celebratory cries. The sounds of doors opening and closing roughly could be heard, slowly making their way down the hall. Closer…and closer…and closer, until the door started to vibrate. The door almost came off its hinges, slamming against the stone wall as a powerful kick almost broke the wood in two. I slowly drew my eyes from the powerful feet that entered the room upwards. His statue was not too tall, nor too short. His thick, almost new-looking clothing indicated he was a man of money. He had long, yet clean-tamed facial hair that matched his raven locks. The hair, cut to the root on the sides, emphasised his long luscious ponytail. I stood with my back to the stone wall, my nails digging into the coarse texture of the stone. He waltzed into the room, his welded weapon clearly made of the finest materials. He looked around the room agonisingly slowly taking in every detail, a taunting chuckle as his eyes landed on me. He lifted his palm, brushing his thumb over my cupid's bow, bringing it to his lips sucking on the dried crimson blood that had stained my skin hours ago. He lifted an eyebrow inquisitively, his eyes capturing mine entirely as he playfully rejoiced in my terror. He slowly pulled out a blood-stained knife from his belt, grabbed a heap of my skirt, cleaning it slowly on my dress, dousing my dress in blood. I could hear my voice hitch in my throat, my eyes bulging out of my head as the man laughed.
‘King Canu…’ another Viking entered, taken aback by the scene in front of him. As soon as his eyes met mine, it was as if lightning had struck us both. His face was inquisitively looking as if in a state of contemplation. Those eyes struck me as they did the other night. He stood there, his chest rising and falling, the raven-haired man looking intently at the stranger. ‘What is it Greenlander?’ His voice demanded. But the Greenlander didn’t take his eyes off mine, nor I his. ‘Harald needs you’ he said, a slight cough as he spoke. Clearly the incident the other night still affected him. The King took a step back, contemplating his next move as he shifted his gaze between the pair of us. He gave a quick nod, accepting his sudden change in plan, but his knife was still directed at me. He gently turned toward the door, handing the hilt of the knife to the Greenlander. He put his hand on his shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze as a proud parent would to their child. ‘All yours Greenlander’ he said, turning around and eyeing me up and down like cattle for the slaughter. The King calmly strode out of the room amongst the chaos, undisturbed and totally in control. The Greenlander stood there, the knife loosely clutched to his chest, still staring as if unsure of what to do.
‘You speak Norse?’ He questioned in his native tongue. I simply nodded in response. ‘You are Viking?’ He questioned, his eyes evidently confused as he looked at my habit. I shook my head. He took a step forward, clutching the knife tightly as if he were about to use it. ‘How do you speak Norse?’ He demanded. ‘Vikings settled in my village…’ I whispered, my voice slightly shaking as I stared at the knife in his hand, still plastered against the wall. ‘DID YOU KILL THEM?’ He screamed, pouncing forward, pressing his forearm arms against my breasts, pushing me further into the wall as the blade of his knife rested against my throat. ‘WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?’ I screamed back, panicked as the crisp cool blade pressed further into my throat. The Greenlander took a step back, his face questioning at the response. He looked behind him to find the corridor behind him completely empty. He seemed relieved by this for some unknown reason. He lowered the knife, still clutched firmly within his grasp, but, pointed in my direction. ‘What is this place?’ He questioned, his tone still demanding. ‘It’s called a Monastery…it’s sort of like a temple’ I retorted, my gaze still fixated upon the blade pointed in my direction. He looked around, taking in all the detail of our surroundings. ‘Why are you here?’ He questioned. ‘I didn’t have much of a choice…my fate came to me just like yours did you’ I whispered, attempting to communicate in terms he would understand. The Viking settlers back home always spoke of the Seer, fates and the Gods. ‘You are a priestess?’ He questioned, more inquisitively. I shook my head. He stood there contemplating, I could feel my body shaking in anticipation, questioning his next move.
‘LEIF’ a voice shouted down the corridor, gaining the Greenlander's attention swiftly. He raised his knife once more, pointing the blade in my direction. ‘Stay’ he ordered, backing out of the room, and swiftly shutting the door behind him.
My legs buckled beneath me as I dropped to the floor, cupping my mouth to stifle my cry. The tips of my fingers stung as I clutched the stone so tightly it had indented my fingertips. I could still feel the force of his body against my breast where he had pushed up against me...the pierce of his blade on my throat.
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The room was pitch black as I sat at the very head of the bed, curled up into a ball, leaning into the stone wall. The night was cool, but the aura in the air was chilling. The Vikings walked up and down the corridor, making my heart beat like a drum each time footsteps came close to the boarding wing. There was no mistaking it, the Vikings had made themselves quite at home without much retaliation from the Monastery’s inhabitants. It had been a while since I’d heard any screams from the sisters, or cries from the Monks. The last peep I heard from any of them was their agonising screams at whatever fate had brought them. I could feel my body shake, the night was not cold, but it was frightening. Whatever the Greenlander had in store, I wasn’t looking forward to it. I had heard many tales from Viking settlers in their homeland…horror stories. beatings…releasing prisoners only to hunt them like a game…ritual sacrifice…blood eagles. I could feel the bottom of my teeth slightly chip as I fought so hard to stop my teeth from chattering. My body felt so hot, yet cold at the same time. It felt as though my heart was going to explode.
A set of footsteps quickly paced down the corridor, headed straight for the boarding wing. I reached for the wooden candle holder, gripping it firmly within my grasp as if it were any match against whatever weapons the Vikings had. The door slowly peeled open, and an orange hue emitted from the other side of the door. The Greenlander slid into the room, firmly closing the door behind him, knife still in hand. Without thinking, I flung the wooden candlestick at his chest, rising to my feet and jumping toward the door. As swiftly as the wood had hit him, his one arm wrapped around my mid-section catching me midair as if I were a feather. The knife made a clang as it dropped to the floor. He held his candle steadily in the other hand. His fingers gripped the skin of my dress, thrusting my body onto the lumpy mattress. I screamed, kicking and flailing my arms about in a pathetic effort for self-defence.
The Greenlander slammed his candle down on the small wooden table shoved up against the door, his arms attempting to grab my wrists. I flailed and kicked, screaming as he expertly clutched both my wrists in his one hand, thrusting his palm onto my mouth to muffle the screams. His leg expertly knelt upon my long skirt, pressing between my thighs so the fabric trapped my legs in place. He stayed there, his grip intensifying as I began to cry, muffled begs, pleading. Eventually, he brought his body down, his chest now pressed against mine as his hot breath breathed into my ear. ‘Stop’. He hissed, the heat penetrating my eardrum. I turned my head, the tips of our noses just brushing as I looked at him through teary eyes. He brought his hand to his face, my wrists still clutched in his grasp. He lifted his index finger, pressing it to his lips in a shushing motion. I just nodded. He raised his palm off my mouth, looking relieved to find my lips locked tightly together. He thrust his face into my neck, letting out a groan as he tentatively let go of my wrist placing his hand on the curve of my waist. His breath was just as steamy on my throat, but it was only momentarily as he lifted himself from atop of me, kneeling at the end of the mattress. His eyes still locked onto mine as I curled myself back into a ball, trying to blend into the wall.
He let out a huff, grabbing the knife he had previously dropped, tucking it safely into his belt. He seemed breathless, even though his efforts to stop my attack attempts were so inferior to his strength. We sat there, staring at one another, unsure of what to do.
‘What is your name?’ He whispered, breaking the never-ending silence. ‘Y…..Y/N’ I retorted, my breath as stuttered as it was exasperated. ‘Y/N’ he repeated quietly to himself. I glanced up and down his body at the end of my bed. ‘What’s yours?’ I whispered back. I could swear through the flickering light I could see him slightly smirk to himself. ‘My name is Leif’ he spoke. ‘Leif’ I repeated to myself. ‘Are you going to kill me, Leif?’ I questioned, trying to back into the wall more. He averted his gaze to the wall, taking a deep breath. He stood from the bed, placing his back against the opposite wall, sliding down. He seemed confused, even conflicted by the question. He looked toward the flickering candle, as it slowly melted into a pool of wax. But I didn’t take my eye off him. He averted his gaze back to mine, giving a slight nod. ‘Go to sleep Y/N’ he said. I took some deep breaths, staring back at him as he took in the tiny room around him. The silence...the waiting...it was infinite.
It was evident that Leif had no intentions of striking up more conversation or leaving. I slowly leaned forward, his gaze now locking onto mine as he clutched the hilt of his knife at his belt. I gently lifted the blanket from the bed, slowly peeling it off, before scrunching it up into a ball, reaching over the bed to place it at his feet. His gaze flickered between the blanket and me, almost confused at the gesture.
He simply nodded. With that I shifted my body, laying down, turning away from him. If he were going to kill me, at least he might show mercy to do it to me in my sleep…
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hey so remember when I said I was gonna hyperanalyze all the Toshihisa moments in that Shigezane story
anyway buckle up it's going down
a brief recap, to start!
the story starts with Shige and MC finding out that they're going to be meeting Toshihisa so that the Oda and Oshu can feel each other out. they decide to meet up more or less halfway at an inn which would be considered neutral territory for them both
MC is brought along to this despite her trepidations because she has heard of Toshihisa through Toshiie. this is... more or less meaningless as expected during their first meeting bc Toshihisa acts like himself and is stiff and formal at best, taciturn and stand-offish at worst
later that evening on day 1, however, MC runs into Toshihisa having an episode in the hall
though Toshihisa allows all of this out of necessity, he's clearly not happy about it whatsoever, in part because he feels like he's being a terrible burden upon mc
MC subsequently lets it slip that she is aware of the fact that he has a weak constitution and that his body is often unkind to him, which Toshihisa is less than amused about until he learns how MC came to know this little factoid
here is where things first get interesting!!!!!!!!!
this is a man who absolutely knows what MC means to his brother!! he is fully aware of the pining and the yearning his brother went through!! knowing that, it's no wonder that Toshihisa immediately brushes off MC's further attempts at kindness and tries to leave. this person who has just shown him incredible kindness and consideration, who already knows him well enough to know his weaknesses, this person whom Toshihisa has only heard wonderful things about, is dangerous to stay around!!
unfortunately for Toshihisa, his escape attempt from the conversation fails immediately and spectacularly:
enter Shigezane!!!!!!!
ignoring the ridiculous trope of "oh no! one of us fell on top of the other and now we're in a suspiciously compromising position that someone else might misconstrue!" Shigezane is truly a Chad here. like we all knew he was great but damn. what a man. instantly rushes to Toshihisa's aid while entirely ignoring the jealousy-bait bc ofc he trusts MC!!! even though we later learn that it freaked him out in the moment!!
this is also inconvenient for Toshihisa, however!!!
after all, Shigezane has no reason to be acting this kind and considerate opposite him, a near-stranger! Shigezane could have easily assumed the worst of him but he immediately rushed to his aid and even doubled down on the fact that not only should he always accept this amount of selflessness, he should continue to do so now, something he is clearly not used to (at least with near-strangers)
NOW WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO UNPACK ALL THAT..... but Toshihisa is clearly someone with a tremendous amount of guilt and baggage surrounding his health. at one point in this conversation, MC and Shigezane have a silent conference between the two of them before resolving to spend time with Toshihisa so that he'll have time to recover, and it's fairly obvious that Toshihisa catches on to this kindness pretty immediately
(pls also note one of my favorite dialogue choices for characters like Toshihisa illustrated here: the deadpan period-annotated question!!!!)
MC then leaves to get everyone blankets and tea only for Toshihisa to unexpectedly invite her into the conversation
(there's a small tidbit here that would allow for serious reading into with extremely plausible deniability, but if you squint it's possible to read this as disappointment that MC immediately sat next to Shigezane. at this point, after all, Toshihisa is unaware of the fact that the two are romantically involved; up until now, MC has only introduced herself as a maid at Omori Castle)
the two get to talking more, some about Toshihisa's health, and Shigezane goes out of his way to once again thank Toshihisa for traveling all that way in spite of his health, which earns him this delightful response that is then!! quickly amended!!!:
that first remark is classic Toshihisa. it's possible to construe his follow-up as just a matter of necessary politeness, but I really don't think so!! mainly because he never feels the need to add little remarks like that in literally any other instance
from there, the conversation shifts to MC's knowledge of Toshihisa via Toshiie, and Shigezane, seeming to have caught on to the fact that Toshihisa and MC are gelling particularly well, remarks on this... only for Toshihisa to immediately deny it.
... or does he?
the narration mentions that he does so "coldly," (even if MC quickly amends this), so I'd just straight up call that a defense mechanism!! anything to keep people at arm's length, you know!!
needless to say, this fails almost immediately
MC puts him in a difficult position here. he tries to push people away and keep them at arm's length (further if possible tbh), but this girl already knows him in certain ways just by merit of knowing his brother. there's an almost artificial closeness here, one that trumps his earlier attempt at brushing it off considerably
not to mention that this random girl knows quite a lot of things about his brother that Toshihisa himself doesn't know. another reason to talk to her and keep her around!! this is terrible!!!
fast-forward to the next morning, and Toshihisa gets an unfortunate awakening in the form of learning that MC and Shigezane are together
he pulls himself together pretty quickly (he is a professional tsun, after all), but we don't see that expression too often on Toshihisa. this must have really, really taken him aback for SOME reason!!!
(if at this point anyone is calling me delusional for reading into things this much I invite you to remember that a) this is an otome game, b) these event stories very much centered on the concept of jealousy, and c) what you're about to learn)
the three of them head into town after Toshihisa invites them to one of his favorite teahouses, where, even though Toshihisa is third-wheeling, we find out that Toshihisa is extremely adept at pining from afar:
Shigezane notices this immediately, because!! lbr!! how could he not!!!!
as happy as he ends up being in that scene regarding the praise MC receives, he is not super duper thrilled at the way in which Toshihisa is looking at her and tbh I can't blame him!!! this guy is clearly falling for his girl, and fast!!!
this event story obviously features unrequited pining here, Toshihisa → MC, but shortly after this, MC gets so distracted thinking about Toshihisa that she trips on a rock:
Shigezane feels jealous enough after this point that he runs away in shame and MC has to run to catch up to him with Toshihisa following rather closely behind, which... why??? WHY WOULD HE FOLLOW THEM IF NOT BC HIS OWN FEELINGS ARE PART OF THIS???
the other option here ofc is that he feels personally responsible for Shigezane's state, in which case he would be extremely well-aware of exactly how he's been looking at and acting opposite MC!!!
Shigezane says quite a bit more than this before Toshihisa cuts in, most of it him berating himself for being jealous to begin with and being rude to Toshihisa, but what's important here is the part where Shigezane said the quiet part out loud!!!!!!!
presumably, Toshihisa overheard this!!!!! and then he DOES NOT DENY IT
instead he chooses to make me increasingly unhinged by saying this:
let's break this down in order!!!
OH, HE GETS IT, DOES HE??? I can only assume he saw this coming because of course he did, he's been looking at MC like she's the world since that incident on the veranda!!!
oh so exactly his opposite, huh??? how much do you dislike yourself toshihisa
I AM ON THE FLOOR!!!!!!!!!! it's not that Shigezane has nothing to worry about because Toshihisa isn't interested, it's only because MC isn't interested in him!!!!!!!!!!!!
you'd think the take-away from that evening together that Shigezane would have seemed idk more important but nope!! he sure is playing second banana compared to MC!!
that said, I wouldn't count on MC not being interested!!! MC CLEARLY HAS GREAT TASTE, AND TBH WHO CAN BLAME HER
anyway absolutely unhinged unrequited pining on Toshihisa's part, it's been like nine months and I'm still not over it
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Many defenses of Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre have been written already, but I feel they’re important to remember when reading the book. It is easy to judge his actions towards his wife based on modern sensibilities and norms, but the historical context of the story is extremely important to note when evaluating his actions.
First off, in the 1840s, insanity was not grounds for divorce. So he wasn’t lying when he said he was trapped in that marriage; there was no legal way for him to leave her.
Also, in the 1840s, asylums were basically worse than death. Inmates were treated as less than human, and often chained, beaten, and sexually assaulted.
Plus, look at Bertha’s actions whenever she escapes from the attic:
1. She tries to murder her husband by burning him in his bed.
2. She tries to murder her own brother.
3. She sets the house on fire by trying to murder Jane, thinking she’s still in that room.
This woman is a 3-time attempted murderer. Regardless of motive, murder is a crime. It’s not okay. And not once, not twice, but THREE times she tries to kill someone. That just…isn’t okay. Yes, perhaps she’s not in control of her actions; perhaps her insanity is doing these things, not her conscious self. But still. She’s a danger to everyone around her. And considering the medical achievements of the time, there was no hope that she could ever be cured.
Rochester had every reason to send her to one of those asylums after she proved how dangerous she was. But he didn’t. He kept her locked in the house and looked after by a 24/7 caretaker where she was guaranteed safety, food, water, and decent company rather than abuse, torment, and starvation. That was in fact the better and kinder option. Nowadays, such an action would be horrifying. But considering the situation, he did the most honorable thing that could possibly be done with regard to her.
And his anger towards her is not because of her madness. He himself tells Jane that if she were mad, he would still love her and be devoted to her forever. Bertha cheated on him during the first years of their marriage. He was ready to love and care for her all his life, but she betrayed his trust completely. You can’t fully fault him for having mistresses when she broke their vows of faithfulness first. Also, considering, he was not told about her insanity ahead of time, he had absolutely no idea what he was signing up for with her. He wasn’t prepared to deal with someone who was mentally disturbed.
And he mentions he literally contemplated suicide during the marriage; that’s how miserable she made him. Whenever he talks about her, he rarely calls her “my wife.” He always calls her Bertha Mason, never as Mrs. Rochester. He’s so scarred by what he’s been through with her that he’s literally in denial and trying to convince himself that they’re not married. His behavior really reflects that of someone who has experienced spousal abuse and is unable to leave. It’s not pretty.
Yet, let’s not forget their last-ever moment together. She has ruined his life completely. Her existence prevented him from marrying the love of his life and doomed him to be alone forever after Jane left him. You’d think he would leave her to burn after all the harm she caused him, her brother, and Jane.
Instead, while still in love with another woman, and knowing her death would give him a chance with Jane, he goes back into a burning house, loses a hand, goes blind, and very nearly dies trying to save her life. She has done nothing to earn this act from him. But he still does it. Because his experience with Jane has taught him that, in spite of the unfair hand he was dealt, and his understandable anger towards her, Bertha is still his wife. He is still her husband.
What’s more, he chose to become Adele’s guardian. There was no proof that she was his, and he disliked children. Yet he still took on the responsibility of taking care of her and took the time to give her presents, hire a governess for her, and make sure she grew up in a safe environment. That really shows his good character.
Also, he completely turns around after deceiving Jane and concealing Bertha’s existence. When Jane learns the truth, Rochester stops all lies and comes clean, telling her everything and being completely honest. Honesty is one of the core factors of a healthy relationship and though Rochester badly fails the test early on in his romance with Jane, he does redeem himself on that front. And when she leaves him and he is heartbroken, he doesn’t take his pain out on anyone (unlike a certain “hero” from Charlotte Brontë’s sister Emily’s classic book). He arranges for Mrs. Fairfax to be comfortably retired and for Adele to go to school (decisions which very likely ended up saving both of their lives considering that Thornfield burned).
Moreover, when Jane returns to him, he has become selfless enough to believe she’d be better off without him and encourage her to marry St. John. He doesn’t try to possess her or keep her, like he used to. He gives her the freedom to choose.
And, being financially independent, Jane now has the power to live without him. Her marrying him is a choice, not a forced or coerced action.
The great thing about their love story is how it evolves from unhealthy to healthy. They both experience individual growth when separated, and get back together more compatible than ever before.
So, despite what haters may say, the great Charlotte Brontë’s text contains more than enough evidence that Rochester IS good enough for Jane and that he DOES deserve her.
#jane eyre#mr rochester#edward rochester#bertha mason#adele varens#literature#classic books#classic literature#thornfield#pro mr rochester#anti hero#jane x rochester#charlotte brontë#lit
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I was watching RotG and suddenly I could only see the meme with the increasingly large dominos. With the small domino being 'Pia watching RotG' and the big domino being 'Efnisien, Gary, Anton, Temsen, Gwyn and Augus all starring in the same a/b/o fic'. Does RotG hold a special place for you, thinking of all the stories you've written since?
Hmm,
Yes and no? There's an even smaller domino you're not seeing which is that I had written original characters and stories before this, and Augus in particular was based off an original character I'd written before (and not published) so like, Rise of the Guardians didn't *invent* him, I did, years before I ever watched the movie. But there's also dominoes that drove me out of the fandom, and it was my bitterness re: the fandom that prompted the writing of original fic in the first place.
So let me tell you a story, anon. If you don't want to know how toxic the RotG fandom could be, I recommend you just walk away now and know that no, actually, RotG doesn't have a special place in my heart, knowing I wrote original fic to initially escape the way some small pockets of that fandom treated me. Otherwise I would have written RotG fiction for far far longer, because as the old-timers will remember, I actually had a couple of longfic ideas lined up to go immediately after SAL that I abandoned because of well...everything.
I actually spent a while after finishing SAL kind of hating Rise of the Guardians because of some nasty drama and meanness/spite towards me, particularly in the last few chapters, and it took about 2-3 years before I could even consider watching the movie again or write for the fandom again. And then by the time I'd come back, all of my original stuff was established, and I felt a lot more comfortable, and a lot more 'fuck the haters' with some of the stuff I had previously had to deal with.
(Fandom wank beneath the cut, lol)
For example (self-harm and suicide mention) one person would specifically post graphic horrible self-harm photos complete with blood tagged into the RotG and blackice tag/s specifically to coincide with my chapter releases towards the end of SAL - and she was a BNF in the fandom in her own way, so *everyone* kind of knew who she was and what she was doing - and she blamed me and my story for the self-harm, and so I had people coming to me going 'do you realise what this story is doing to this person, don't you even care.' And of course I felt horribly guilty and distressed, but I was also at this point around 7/8 chapters from finishing the story, wanting to give everyone a happy ending, and after posting the last chapter I broke down and cried because I was just so relieved that I didn't have to be tormented by this specific person anymore or see these images as a survivor of suicide attempts and self-harm myself.
But also just crying out of sheer distress because of how horrible those last few weeks were, because like, if it wasn't for the readers I would have walked away due to the pressure and bullying and coercion to get out of the fandom just because I had a story that some folks enjoyed reading. That was a level of targeted hate I'd never encountered before, and have never encountered since.
Around that time a couple of small hate groups started up about me, and I would get messages like 'you realise there are hate groups about you, right?' and I'd be like 'please don't tell me about this, people can hate me, leave them alone.' Then there was the time I just got - over around 10 days - about 100+ messages telling me to kill myself because of SAL and how 'horrible' it was re: it's 'really dark themes' which I find hilarious now, but back then, was actually really stressful when it coincided with someone literally *harming themselves* or posting old self-harm photos on days I posted a chapter, talking about how the reason she was doing it was because she hated that my story was so popular when it didn't deserve to be.
Like, no, I did not have a special relationship with Rise of the Guardians by then, or the fandom. I hated it. It's why I stopped writing for it when previously I literally had so many ideas I wanted to write for Jack/Pitch. For years after that. I would remember the good memories I'd made with SAL, but a lot of readers followed me into original works. And otherwise, all I remembered was being forced to see those photos and this person's tags if I went into the tags to look for fanart to share and promote. I'd made some very good friends (some very best friends, actually), and some of us got the hell out of that fandom as fast as we possibly could to escape these people.
So like, I would love to say that like, I feel nothing but fond memories thinking of the influence Rise of the Guardians has had on me, but no fandom that I've ever been in has ever had this kind of level of underground viciousness that developed as the story gained momentum.
When I wrote The Golden Age that Never Was I was truly detached from the fandom and the movie. I was writing based on my memories and feelings of the characters. I didn't look in the tags like I used to, and instead looked for when I was mentioned directly. I had a spike of anxiety every time I got an anon message while writing it, and I had to like...avoid fics and a bunch of other stuff to get through it.
I have watched Rise of the Guardians since and I do really enjoy it, but...I don't see the dominoes the same way you do anon, probably because of the way it all happened in my head, though I do think putting original writing on AO3 happened partly because I was in a hurry to get out of the RotG fandom. So in a way RotG is connected to that, but like, only because I was fleeing and abandoning all of my Pitch/Jack ideas as I went (to the point where people remembered them and still asked me about them years later and I was like 'haha oh no sorry I'm not writing those oh well maybe one day!')
Chances are high I actually wouldn't have written original fiction if my love for Rise of the Guardians had still stayed strong. I was ready to write two very specific longfics, and had done worldbuilding for both, and was talking openly about them, but towards the end of SAL I bolted from the fandom as fast as I could. The hate I got from specific corners of the RotG fandom is one of the reasons I started writing Game Theory before SAL was even finished - to cope with how I felt about the end of SAL and the hatred I was getting there. When some of those folks said 'omg I'll never read a story about Augus' I was literally like 'oh thank fuck, I'm going to be left alone now.'
Like...I got diagnosed with Fibromyalgia like 6 months after that, I cracked teeth because of how stressed I was, and I still have crowns in my mouth and teeth removed because of that whole period. I was sleeping an average of 3 hours a night.
...I feel a very special fondness for the people who supported me at the time, especially my good friend Silvia, who is still my beta and friend today. She is responsible for far more of the dominoes that have led to this moment than Rise of the Guardians could ever directly be. And I am extraordinarily grateful for the readers who have found my stuff since. Now the majority of readers of my original stuff have never actually seen Rise of the Guardians or read my RotG fics, and like, actually sometimes that's really nice, if a bit weird.
I have never, in my life, encountered a fandom that could get as toxic as pockets of Rise of the Guardians got, and I'm including Dragon Age: Inquisition in that, which had literal blocklists of asexual people, so you know I mean business! But as a final point, I do want to say the majority of people there were amazing, absolutely amazing, this is truly a case of a few bad apples spoiling the whole experience, and I'm still to this day gutted it happened like that, and have zero surprise a lot of people left the fandom all at once, at the same time, because of it.
#asks and answers#personal#lmao not gonna tag this into anything important#SALverse#shadows and light#basically yeah... even when i rewatched the movie#i can't help but remember what happened#and those images#of literal self-harm being posted on tumblr#and tags viciously implying i was the worst person#for the crime of writing a story that got popular#like i didnt' PLAN for that to happen and i certainly didn't know#as a result#i'd be told to kill myself over a hundred times#one of the reasons i just don't give a shit about antis these days#is that i know they're just bullies#but being a *direct victim* of that bullying with those specific triggers#was like...yeah#anyway there are so many people from that fandom who i love and think of fondly#but the movie will always remind me of *that* time#and even writing this post has left me feeling like choked up and anxious#like i used to feel all the time back then#i have complicated feelings for RotG#and it's a shame because the movie is truly gorgeous and savagely underrated
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