#and on a scale from one to ten how dead am i | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

impossiblesuitcase · 1 year

Text

Two Blue Ribbons

“As we await the upcoming wedding of Emperor Kaito and Ambassador Linh-Blackburn, many are questioning the credibility of their relationship. As we know, the couple claims that their romantic connection began before either of them knew that Linh Cinder was actually Princess Selene. Seriously, is anyone buying this? The emperor just happened to fall in love with the girl that happened to be Princess Selene and—”

MUTE FEED.

Cinder groaned into her fist.

A week before her wedding, the public were drunk on anticipation. It was—without exaggeration—the only thing in the newsfeeds, as they all predicted the scale of the celebrations, and the colour of the bride’s dress, and would the handsome celebrity Carswell Thorne be officiating the ceremony as he claimed?

Cinder could handle that kind of speculation, even when it was far-fetched. (And no, Thorne would not be officiating…)

What irritated her was the other rumours—claims that she was still manipulating Kai, or that it was a ploy to conquer Earth in the bloodied footsteps of her aunt. Some said she was marrying him for money. Others that she regretted abdicating the Lunar throne and wished to regain power.

She slumped against the wall of her bare, humid sitting room, ignoring the critical expression of the muted host.

The silence was priceless. Even with the wedding prepared down to the exact millisecond she would walk the aisle, she had not been afforded rest. There was still her ensuing coronation as empress, and her first tour of the Commonwealth, and her first Opening of State Cabinet, and her first Annual Peace Ball, even when that was well over ten months away. Her only silent moments, it seemed, were in sleep.

“And why is the blushing bride looking so glum?”

Cinder lifted her head as Kai entered with his loud but assuring presence.

When it came to him, silence was overrated.

“I can’t blush, so I don’t know which bride you’re talking about,” she feigned. “Try next door.”

That received a pfft. His thin grey button-up and linen slacks were rumbled from a long day of formality, yet he would still look professional if it weren’t for the impish curl of his lips. “No, I’ve definitely got the right one. My soon-to-be wife is sarcastic whenever she can be.”

Cinder smiled and patted the floor next to her.

Kai cantered over as carefree as a duck in water. Her swirling emotions made her more like an ant in an avalanche. It was palpable in the air, judging by the delicate way he touched her back and settled against her side.

“How do you feel?”

She stared at the blank wall ahead. “Like I’m forgetting something.”

“Ceremony, reception, catering, outfits.” He listed the items off his fingers. “Anything else?”

When you arrive, do not greet the crowds until the train of your dress has completely left the hover. Pause at the chrysanthemum emblem on the floor until you hear music, then begin to walk—right foot, left, take a step every two seconds. The emperor will repeat his vows first. You must repeat his full name, not just Kai. Don’t call him Kai. “That’s what I’m not sure of.”

He poked her shoulder, sounding pleased. “Well, the honeymoon is three weeks long—just enough time for you to remember when we’re on the other side of the world and it doesn’t matter at all.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I am definitely right. As I am about most things.”

She sent a challenging look. “Oh?”

“I’m psychic,” he revealed, wiggling his eyebrows.

A dead-pan.

“It’s true! I already sensed you’d be fretting over something, so I shall provide you insurance.” Miming pulling glasses from his pocket and setting them on his nose, Kai cleared his throat and began: “The wedding is completely, truly over-planned. The crew will arrive three days prior. I confirmed all the honeymoon bookings. And I’ve already started unpacking your boxes into our suite.”

Cinder frowned. “I thought we were gonna do that together?”

He lowered his ‘glasses’ to stroke his chin mischievously, “You know, that probably would have been a good idea. Then I could blame you for all the things I broke.”

She jerked away. “You broke my stuff?!”

“No.”

“Then why would you—”

The troublemaker cackled. Ruffled her hair. “I didn’t expect you to be so easy to rile up.”

Why the little—

Her shoulder knocked into his, her pride smarting. “Shut up, I’ve been stressed.”

“The thought of marrying me must be overwhelming.”

“More like embarrassing,” she mumbled.

The laughter set to burst in his chest truncated. His smile tightened as he studied her, scrutiny forming in his eyes.

“So why are you here?” she diverted quickly. “Didn’t you have a meeting with Tashmi-jie?”

The hesitancy lingered, but he appeared to forestall his interrogation. It took him a moment to follow her inquiry. “She wanted to run over the ceremony, but I remembered the one thing we haven’t rehearsed properly yet.” Reaching into his pocket, Kai produced two thick ribbons, midnight blue in colour. “How good are you at tying knots?”

“The ribbons?” Cinder questioned, sceptical, but still took one when handed to her. “Isn’t it, like, taboo?”

Kai posed a finger over his lips and shhhed.

Royal Earthen tradition dictated that the bride and groom would tie a ribbon around each other’s wrists which the officiant would then tie together. It symbolised the unification of the pair as one person, one heart, one purpose. As most traditions went, there were needless superstitions surrounding it, here being that the betrothed couple was not allowed to tie the ribbons together before the ceremony. Doing so would supposedly diminish the significance of the act. They skipped this part at the rehearsal.

Her fingers pulled at the deceptively sturdy silk. “Does a knot require practice?”

He lifted her hand. “You’d be surprised how difficult the simplest tasks become under the watchful eyes of billions of people.”

She almost grimaced.

Billions of people would be watching. Judging. Scrutinising. Their wedding would be the most defining, incontestable proof of their love. She wanted the world to know, to witness it, but it was exhausting being watched under a microscope all the time.

Kai cradled her cyborg hand gingerly as he manoeuvred the fabric. Deftly, gently. Too gently.

“It needs to be tighter.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Kai.”

Once he’d let go, she tilted her hand vertically. The ribbon pirouetted down her fingers. “Metal and silk,” she reminded him.

He sighed and started again, tying it firmly. “Can you feel that?”

“Nope. No nerve endings.”

Though it did not slip off this time, Kai was not content. Tugging, tugging, tighter and tighter…and the ribbon’s edge slipped right into the crack of her wrist joint.

“I do need that hand,” she warned.

His eyes bulged, releasing her hand like he’d dropped a grand piano on it. Cinder just laughed and pulled the ribbon away.

“Here, I’ll try.” She flipped his palm over, roughly tying a knot like she used to tie cords in her booth.

“Hey, I have actual blood circulation here!”

“Sorry,” she hissed. Alas, a tourniquet didn’t quite send the message of lifelong love. Maybe lifelong imprisonment.

She untied it and retried, taking great care to move slowly. So slow that the silk lost traction on her metal fingers and flopped into her lap.

“Not so easy, huh?”

Gritting her teeth, Cinder attempted it again. Once. Twice. Thrice. Each time, it glided right past the metal.

“Okay, tie it loose first, and then pull on the ends,” he guided calmly.

She retied it loosely.

“Good,” he commended. “Now pull.”

Inhaling to prepare, she seized both ends, secured in the metal, and yanked.

The ribbon unravelled entirely and fluttered to the floor.

“You forgot a second loop.”

Cinder threw up her hands. “Nope! I’m done!”

Kai patted her arm consolingly. He picked up the traitorous ribbon, folded it over his knuckles for a moment then shifted in place, stilted against the stiff wall. “So why are we on the floor?”

Cinder settled her head on his shoulder, only catching a glimpse of his nose and jaw from this angle, then looked around the sitting room. “This doesn’t really feel like mine anymore.”

The room was a part of her own quarters, where she’d lived for the past year. Most of her personal belongings had been moved to Kai’s wing, where she would live in a week’s time. With only the furniture, carpet and drapes it came with, this felt like a guest suite.

“You’ll be in our home soon. You’re going to love it; we’ll play music while we cook dinner and slow dance in the kitchen, everyday.”

“You’ll love it. Not all of us are brilliant dancers.”

“You will, here—” He pocketed the ribbon, grasped her wrists and pulled her upright. “Feed,” he called, ignoring her groan, “play a walt—”

“—most controversial part of this wedding is the ceremony itself. The Ambassador is always preaching about reducing poverty and strengthening our weak economy and yet this wedding is going to cost millions of univs—”

“Mute feed.” His nose curled. “They’re all being ridiculous.”

“People believe them.”

“Not everyone.”

“Enough,” she whispered.

His scowl vanished, replaced with attentiveness and the words he’d held back before, “What’s wrong, love?”

She sighed and plucked the ribbon from his back pocket. Lifted his wrist and tied it. Methodically. Delicately. It was still a little too snug.

“Cinder?”

A glance at the feed, now broadcasting pan shots of the palace.

He followed her gaze, followed her frown, then bound her up in his arms.

“I’m so happy, Kai. To be getting married to you, you know I am,” she said. “And the last months planning this with you, finally being with you in person, it’s the happiest I’ve ever been in my life,” It was true, even if she hadn’t known until that very spoken oath. “It’s our wedding and our day…but…” Her voice warbled, catching on that blasted conjunction. “I’m getting tired of being watched.”

She sniffed, feeling stupid for pitying herself. They were born into this; prince or emperor, queen or empress, they would be plastered over the tabloids. She would have hundreds of thousands of millions of search results. Their relationship would span over multiple sections of their net profiles, all cited to ‘inside sources’ and grainy paparazzi photos.

Scratch the ant. She was a fly, frantically escaping a trillion prying fly squatters.

“I’m just tired.”

Kai began to rock her, a gentle ocean wave lapping up the sides of the boat.

“Do you know why I’m marrying you?” he murmured.

“Oh, tax purposes, mostly,” she testified. “I’m only marrying you to get Earthen citizenship.”

“What did I say about the sarcasm?”

A smile reached her despite her bubbling anxiety. “I don’t need a glamour to play mind tricks on you, my beloved.”

He was rolling his eyes internally, she knew. “I know perfectly well that our relationship causes scandals and rumours and all that. But I don’t care, because you, and my love for you, is more important to me than my reputation. That’s why I’m marrying you. And you’re going to walk down the aisle as the most beautiful woman in the room—”

“That’ll be Winter.”

“The most beautiful woman in the room,” he told her, “and the public won’t matter. It’s not about them. If my cabinet wouldn’t kill me for it, we would elope and have takeaway for our reception. Because what matters is us, and our marriage and our love. That’s all.”

She tucked her head under his chin, ensconced in his warmth, sequestered from the world. Thinking, thinking.

To tie the ribbons together, a third person was needed. A person who wouldn’t really know the ins and outs of their relationship, the intricacies of their love.

“I have an idea.”

His hand was still wrapped with her too-tight attempt. Cinder darted back to the wall, seizing the matching ribbon and held out her wrist. Kai came over and got to work.

Then, she took the end of his ribbon with her free hand, and gestured for him to take hers. He gathered her plan without a word, though, thinking about it, he was supposedly ‘psychic.’ Working together—his hand forming the loop, her hand threading through—a limp but effective knot bound them as one.

Kai gave it a pull and nodded, satisfied with its resilience. “How’d I end up handcuffed to a criminal?”

“And who was the one that arrested me?” Cinder folded her arms instinctually, drawing him flush to her chest.

He grinned, chin to her nose. “Me. But not before I forced you”—finding her waist, setting her arms horizontal—“to dance!”

Laughter was the musical accompaniment to sloppy flailing and attempts to not trip over the coffee table. He spun her under his arm, sending her staggering right into his heaving chest.

“You may trip the bride,” she giggled.

“Kiss,” he corrected, and did just so.

The graceless floundering transformed from a waltz to a tango to a conga line. They stopped before irish dancing.

Kai kissed her hair and her sweaty temple and swayed them back and forth. She went to tie her arms around his neck but felt her hands jolt.

Warm fingers laced through hers. “We’re stuck together.”

“As we should be.”

They kept dancing, because nothing was stopping them, and they kept loving each other, because no one could stop them.

Perhaps what she was forgetting was that they would be okay.

“I did break your pliers, though.”

“Kai!”

Notes

Pliers are hard to break. Give me your theories on how baby boy stuffed up in the notes.

If you want to be tagged, let me know!

@cindersassasin @hayleblackburn @spherical-empirical @salt-warrior @just2bubbly @gingerale2017 @zephyr-thedragon @holdmysparks @oceanspray5 @icarusignite @kaider-is-my-otp @slmkaider @luna-maximoff-22 @cosmicnovaflare @kaixiety @snozkat @imamirrorball4

#the lunar chronicles #lunar chronicles #tlc #cinder #linh cinder #kaider #emperor kaito #prince kai #selene blackburn #kaider fanfiction #the lunar chronicles fanfiction #engaged kaider #I started writing this like 2 years ago #and then cinder's adventure was coming out so I thought #ooh i'll wait because we might get new engaged kaider content #lol #remember our hopes?

155 notes · View notes

sketching-shark · 1 year

Text

Okay so I’ve now seen multiple posts arguing about whether Clytemnestra of The Oresteia fame is one of the world’s first girlbosses or just a power-hungry monster, but personally (and keep in mind that this is my impression after just reading Agamemnon) i think there’s something more interesting and horrifying on a society-wide scale going on with her.

Because right after she murders Agamemnon and the chorus reacts by saying she’s done an “evil thing” and will “go homeless now/crushed with men’s bitterness,” she responds with:

“Now it is I you doom to be cast out from my city

with men’s hate heaped and curses roaring in my ears.

Yet look upon this dead man; you would not cross him once

when with no thought more than as if a beast had died,

when he ranged pastures swarmed with the deep fleece of flocks,

he slaughtered like a victim his own child, my pain

grown into love, to charm away with winds of Thrace.

Were you not bound to hunt him then clear of this soil

for the guilt stained upon him?

Yet you hear what I have done, and lo, you are a stern judge. But I say to you:

go on and threaten me, but know that I am ready,

if fairly you can beat me down beneath your hand,

for you to rule; but if the god grant otherwise,

you shall be taught--too late, for sure--to keep your place.”

So in other words, one of her main reasons for killing Agamemnon was for killing her daughter, but it also seems that somewhere along the way she became convinced that any claimed adherence to justice, morality, honor, and even love were complete bullshit, that the only thing which mattered was how you could wield raw power to get what you wanted. And in the context of Agamemnon, you can understand why she would come to think this. Agamemnon, after all, was a lauded king even though he had murdered his own daughter so that he could go wage war against Troy, he does in fact put this entire city to the sword (and goddamn do a lot of works go into the minute brutality of that slaughter), and his entire household runs on slavery, with him bringing back even more enslaved people from Troy. And in the eyes of their society, all of this is understood as completely fine and good, or at least something that shouldn’t be challenged.

So if Troy and its people were destroyed because Menelaus was pissed at Paris, why shouldn’t Clytemnestra kill Agamemnon because she’s pissed at him? If it’s okay for a king to spend ten years waging war, why not kill one’s husband and take his throne? If we’re working in a social system that ultimately always falls back on a “might makes right” way of organizing itself no matter how much human pain and death may be the result, why not take power however you can and then tell anyone who objects that you’ll kill them too if they step out of line? And who even has the right to act like you’re in the wrong when they made it clear they were perfectly fine with so many other atrocities?

So no, Clytemnestra is not a good person. While I haven’t read it yet, my understanding is that she acts in more and more monstrous ways throughout the other plays she’s in, even going so far as to continually abuse her surviving daughter Electra. But her individual monstrous actions also seem to be the direct result of her concluding that the fine sentiments others claim to be acting upon are nothing more than a tissue-thin veneer for their own greed and lust for power, and that she at least wasn’t going to pretend that hers weren’t.

The Oresteia is a trilogy of tragedies, but I do think it’s one that’s made even more discomfiting by the idea that this was tragedy produced just as much by the allowances of society as the individual actions of its characters.

#the oresteia #clytemnestra #agamemnon #iphigenia #house of atreus

110 notes · View notes

ginneke · 1 year

Text

@acetier's beautiful, beautiful art plucked out my heart and dashed it to pieces. So here I am, trying to return the favour. Or at least to double down on it.

Also available on Ao3. (Link in notes.)

Accelerando

Five moments in time between Link and Revali as they find common ground, despite everything.

(Slowly. Then all at once.)

"I gave you a clear shot -- how could you miss that?"

Link is spared the need to answer: at that moment, Revali's powers start to peter out. Hurriedly, before he loses the advantage of height, Link shoulders his bow and grabs for the paraglider instead, eyes fixed on the Silver Lynel far below. Its fierce glare is locked on him in turn. His mind races, trying to calculate when he has to surrender to gravity. Eight seconds -- five seconds. He sees it reach for its arrows.

So does Revali.

"Don't you dare," he warns, before flapping his ghostly wings once more. Gale carries him higher, higher, higher than it's ever carried him before. Five Lightning Arrows crackle through the air, but he's safely out of range.

"Don't miss this time," Revali says, sounding almost tired, and disappears.

Link draws his bow again, forgoing the bomb arrows Revali always favoured; instead, he nocks one of Robbie's Ancient Arrows.

Have to end this quickly.

His arrow strikes true, this time, and then he's left drifting in an eerie, open sky, alone.

It's six hours before the tug of Revali's power anchors in his chest again. Revali's Gale is now ready, he thinks, mimicking the cadence of the words that always accompany that sensation -- but Revali's words don't come.

The Koroks' puzzles range from amusing to aggravating.

On the least annoying end of the scale: chasing lights, finding acorns, following flowers (usually).

A bit more annoying, depending on circumstance: following flowers (sometimes), rock puzzles, metal blocks, clockflower rings.

Far more of a pain than they're worth: acorn balloons.

Link hates those acorn balloons with a passion. They jerk around erratically. They duck in and out of the trees so that he can't track them. They move at such random speeds. They disappear within ten seconds of him leaving the treestump pedestal that sends the signal to spawn them.

And so often, he's running low on arrows and doesn't have enough to spare on Korok games.

He's staring down yet another cluster of circling acorn balloons when a thought occurs to him: What if...

He crouches low on the pedestal. Revali, he thinks. It's not necessary to literally call for the Champions—otherwise Mipha would never reach him in time—but with Revali, in particular, it has quickly become a habit.

It takes seven seconds to reach the zenith of Revali's Gale. He's counted it before.

It would certainly take more than three seconds to pick off those balloons, for almost anyone else.

He reaches for his bow, a three-shot device of the forest's make, and feels time start to crawl: slower, slower, slower.

He nocks three arrows, catches two balloons but misses the third. Draws again, and catches his fall with the paraglider just in time; below, the final balloon bursts.

"Cheater," Revali says snidely as the column of his Gale subsides; he's gone before Link can retort.

Honestly. Just because Revali could have done it in a single shot...

Revali takes his front-row vantage point of Link's archery — oh, forgive him, of Link's pale imitation of aerial archery — very seriously. Link can almost see the mark of a teacher in him. He wonders what Revali would have been like as an instructor.

"Shoulders," he barks sometimes, when Link's back holds more tension than his bowstring.

"Keep your eyes dead ahead," he advises, other times, when Link is tempted to use precious seconds to scan the field for further enemies; "one thing at a time."

"Remember to aim for where your target will be, not where it is now," he warns whenever the slowing of time reaches its limits, and Link is left with seconds to spare before his strength runs out.

"Don't miss," he says, as Link prepares to take aim at the thing that struck down Urbosa—and this time his words have the sound of camaraderie, no scorn to be found in them at all.

"I know," Link replies, reaching for Revali's Great Eagle Bow. He nocks three arrows to the string and obliterates Thunderblight Ganon in a hail of explosions that would make even Revali proud.

"You know, I had to succeed at that trial without supernatural means at my disposal."

Link hides a grin in the fur ruff of his Snowquill: Revali's words have the ring of a familiar refrain, rendered less irritating with repetition.

"I do hope you appreciate that," Revali continues, needling. Link tries to imagine the expression he would be wearing, how he might gesture emphatically: swooping drama, theatrical in motion, every inch of his persona polished and practiced.

Every facet of doubt buffed away, hidden behind that carefully constructed confidence.

"How long did it take you?"

Revali makes a sound of affront and this reaction, this one Link can picture: his head tilting up, his feathers puffing out in displeasure.

"Four," he says shortly, and Link leans back to stare at the shape of Vah Medoh's head overhead, no longer trying to disguise his grin.

"Four hours?" he asks, keeping his tone light and just this side of innocent. "Four days?"

"Four attempts," Revali snaps, and Link should have known, really. Revali always was exactly as good as he claimed. If only he could have met Ganon's Blight when in optimal condition... Link doubts Windblight could have bested Champion Revali, if the battle hadn't been stacked in its favour.

The thought is bitter, and not something Link should dwell on. The last thing Revali would want is Link's sympathy. So he pushes it aside,

"You don't have to rub it in," says Link, but he's smiling as he says it. While Revali splutters in protest, Link smiles, and huffs out a laugh, and desperately tries not to linger on just how unfair it is that the Champions, that Revali, should have fallen when he was granted this second chance.

All he can do is make the most of it, and avenge them.

"Dead ahead."

Revali's voice is all around Link, carried in the column of his Gale. Link can't look at him, can't afford to take his eyes off the rampaging incarnation of Malice below, and Revali must know that.

He wouldn't speak at such a crucial moment, otherwise.

His next words come so close to Link's ear that, if Revali lived, his breath would surely be warm against the shell of it. Instead Link feels only the cold grip of Gale, the only touch Revali had ever bestowed on him.

"Don't miss," Revali tells him.

It sounds like affection.

It sounds like faith.

It sounds like goodbye.

"Got it," Link says—or tries to, but the winds snatch his voice away.

At least that means Revali probably heard him. Cold comfort. Comfort all the same.

He shoots. Dead ahead.

He doesn't miss.

#revalink #revalink fic #acetier #inspired by art #fuck it we bawl #ginnefic #champions ballad compliant

133 notes · View notes

ilynpilled · 1 year

Text

The golden armor, not the white, but no one ever remembers that. Would that I had taken off that damned cloak as well.

When I reach King's Landing I'll have a new hand forged, a golden hand.

Cersei might like that. A golden hand to stroke her golden hair.

I am not myself. He eased himself down until the water reached his chin. “Soiled my white cloak . . . I wore my gold armor that day, but . . ."

“Gold armor?” Her voice sounded far off, faint.

Jaime slid into the offered seat quickly, so Bolton could not see how weak he was. "White is for Starks. I'll drink red like a good Lannister."

She did as he bid her. "The white cloak . . ."

". . . is new, but I'm sure I'll soil it soon enough."

“That wasn't . . . I was about to say that it becomes you.”

When he was done, more than three-quarters of his page still remained to be filled between the gold lion on the crimson shield on top and the blank white shield at the bottom. Ser Gerold Hightower had begun his history, and Ser Barristan Selmy had continued it, but the rest Jaime Lannister would need to write for himself. He could write whatever he chose, henceforth. Whatever he chose . . .

"Robert's beard was black. Mine is gold."

"Gold? Or silver?" Cersei plucked a hair from beneath his chin and held it up. It was grey. "All the color is draining out of you, brother. You've become a ghost of what you were, a pale crippled thing. And so bloodless, always in white." She flicked the hair away. "I prefer you garbed in crimson and gold."

At its head Jaime stood at vigil, his one good hand curled about the hilt of a tall golden greatsword whose point rested on the floor. The hooded cloak he wore was as white as freshly fallen snow, and the scales of his long hauberk were mother-of-pearl chased with gold. Lord Tywin would have wanted him in Lannister gold and crimson, she thought. It always angered him to see Jaime all in white.

Ser Jaime Lannister, all in white, stood beside his father's bier, five fingers curled about the hilt of a golden greatsword.

Fissures had opened in his cheeks, and a foul white fluid was seeping through the joints of his splendid gold-and-crimson armor to pool beneath his body.

Glory wore trappings of Lannister crimson; Honor was barded in Kingsguard white.

His cloak was Lannister crimson, but his surcoat showed the ten purple mullets of his own House arrayed upon a yellow field.

"My lord," the lad asked, "will you be wanting your new hand?"

"Wear it, Jaime," urged Ser Kennos of Kayce. "Wave at the smallfolk and give them a tale to tell their children.”

“I think not." Jaime would not show the crowds a golden lie. Let them see the stump. Let them see the cripple.

Behind the lords came a hundred crossbowmen and three hundred men-at-arms, and crimson flowed from their shoulders as well. In his white cloak and white scale armor, Jaime felt out of place amongst that river of red.

Jaime Lannister wore a doublet of red velvet slashed with cloth-of-gold, and a golden chain studded with black diamonds. He had strapped on his golden hand as well, polished to a fine bright sheen. This was no fit place to wear his whites. His duty awaited him at Riverrun; a darker need had brought him here.

Jaime had thought long and hard about whether to wear his gold armor or his white to this meeting; in the end, he'd chosen a leather jack and a crimson cloak.

For an instant, the deep red clouds that crowned the western hills reminded him of Rhaegar's children, all wrapped up in crimson cloaks.

Seven bloody hells," he started, "who dares—" Then he saw Jaime's white cloak and golden breastplate. His swordpoint dropped. "Lannister?"

quotes specifically focusing on his hand:

“The boy is dead." Jaime had drunk three cups of wine, and his golden hand seemed to be growing heavier and clumsier by the moment.

His golden fingers were curved enough to hook, but could not grasp, so his hold upon the shield was loose. "You were a knight once, ser," Jaime said. "So was I. Let us see what we are now."

“Radiant." Fickle. "Golden." False as fool's gold. Last night he dreamed he'd found her fucking Moon Boy. He'd killed the fool and smashed his sister's teeth to splinters with his golden hand, just as Gregor Clegane had done to poor Pia. In his dreams Jaime always had two hands; one was made of gold, but it worked just like the other.

"Men shall name you Goldenhand from this day forth, my lord," the armorer had assured him the first time he'd fitted it onto Jaime's wrist. He was wrong. I shall be the Kingslayer till I die.

One of them wore the ruins of a crimson cloak, but Jaime hanged him with the rest. It felt good. This was justice. Make a habit of it, Lannister, and one day men might call you Goldenhand after all. Goldenhand the Just. The world grew ever greyer as they drew near to Harrenhal.

The weight of his golden hand had grown irksome. He fumbled at the straps that secured it to his wrist.

Well, what's one more broken vow to the Kingslayer? Just more shit in the bucket. Jaime resolved to be the first man on the battlements. And with this golden hand of mine, most like the first to fall.

Around him he glimpsed the faces of men he'd done his best to kill in the Whispering Wood, where the Freys had fought beneath the direwolf banners of Robb Stark. His golden hand hung heavy at his side.

then the subconscious conclusion:

"Is it?" She smiled sadly. "Count your hands, child."

One. One hand, clasped tight around the sword hilt. Only one. "In my dreams I always have two hands." He raised his right arm and stared uncomprehending at the ugliness of his stump.

I think the narrative that is being told in the color symbolism present in Jaime’s story is the realization that glory has no presence in the man he wants to become. He gradually realizes again the truth of the golden hand covering his stump being a golden lie. It is more an embodiment of his sins, a heavy burden he carries. True honor and change will not be wrapped in gold, and obviously not crimson. But this should not lead to the return of his cynicism, which is how he approaches this early on, and why he wants to delude himself about it. He greys, and he sheds the red and gold color. The white becomes him. The crimson & gold comes back when he does his duty for the horrid Lannister regime, when he sustains loyalty to his family, and emulates his father. Nonetheless, he keeps drawing nearer to the blank white shield at the bottom of his page and distancing himself from the crimson at the top. But maybe the lesson is that he cannot start over like that. Maybe his only choices are not the evil Kingslayer and the glittering Goldenhand the Just. Maybe he should just be Jaime. That white shield is tainted. Our good actions do not wash out the bad. They will exist simultaneously. You will never be the golden heir, the perfect pure white Just Knight. You are a crippled broken man. But that does not mean you cannot choose to continue living and keep pushing to change for the better:

“What else can I do, but die?”

“Live,” she said

Maybe the blank white shield is an impossible ideal not made for him. But what remains if he cannot be crimson, gold, or the pure white?

yet she knew it was him. “Even at a distance, Ser Jaime Lannister was unmistakable. The moonlight had silvered his armor and the gold of his hair, and turned his crimson cloak to black.”

He was always meant to be a grey character. Why don’t we mix that black & white?

#something about the gold of his armor and hair being silvered turning closer to white and his crimson cloak turning black #and it is the moon #the graceful crescent during the night he decided to live #and its as early as agot?:?):#i love being delusional guys #asoiaf #jaime lannister #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #also the ‘Jaime resolved to be the first man on the battlements. And with this golden hand of mine most like the first to fall’#he is at it again oml #frank reynolds ‘sulclde is badass’ on loop #anyway the build up works very well with the vows of taking the black

122 notes · View notes

secretswiftymarvelfan · 1 year

Text

Fixer Upper: A Long Day - Mechanic!Curtis x Reader

A/N: This is dedicated to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork as it was our conversation that inspire me to finally finish this wip that I was too tired to finish for months! Hope you enjoy this comforting Curtis

Summary: Curtis looks after you after a very long, tiring day at work

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Fluff!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist / AU Masterlist

Walking into the break room you let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. When you reached your locker you rested your forehead against the cold metal fighting the urge to fall asleep right there and then.

“I think I might have actually died and come back as a zombie at hour 9” you hear Mollie say as she walks into the break room behind you.

You let out a weak snort of laughter lifting your head so you could look over at her “That was me at hour 7”

“Oh god yeah you had that Karen didn’t you? What happened in the end?” Mollie asks as she opens up her locker and pulls out her bag.

“Dr Roberts had to step in and you know she takes no shit,” you tell her, your head back resting against your locker.

“Did she do her worst-case scenario trick?” Mollie smirks knowingly.

“Oh yeah” you laugh nodding your head “threw in some Latin phrases too, Karen was quaking in her boots and finally let them do the procedure”

“What was even her problem to begin with? It's a simple minor surgery” Mollie asks as she shrugs on her coat.

“She didn’t like that Dr Roberts was a female, and demanded a male surgeon” you explain finally having the energy to open your locket and grab your bag and coat.

“Asshole” Mollie grumbles before smirking to herself “should introduce her to Mr Tanner”

You couldn’t help but snort with laughter at the idea of that “I would say that would be a match made in heaven but they both belong in hell so,” you say shrugging on your coat.

“Hell-born soulmates” Mollie chuckles as the two of you finally make your way out of the break room “So you got plans for the evening?”

“No I’m too exhausted to do anything, just gonna collapse on the couch and fall asleep,” you say shaking your head.

“Poor Curtis” Mollie smirks making you roll your eyes “I bet he wanted to get lucky tonight”

“Curtis knows well enough that after a 12-hour shift, I am dead to the world, he’ll probably just tinker in the garage for the evening while I get an early night,” you say shaking your head, wrapping your arms around yourself as you step out into the cold evening air.

“Ah, so that’s why I never hear you the day after,” Mollie says making you frown in confusion “You’re too busy getting busy” she smirks.

“You’re a nightmare” you state shaking your head.

“I don’t hear you denying it,” Mollie says in a sing-songy voice as she walks over to her car, you respond by just flipping her off while carrying on to your car “Love you!” She calls out.

“Love you too” you call back before climbing into your car.

The brief boost of energy you had gotten from stepping out into the cold evening air was completely depleted by the time you got home. Trudging into the house like a zombie. Jacques came running over to you instantly his whole body wiggling as he said hello.

“Hey buddy, yes hello,” you say tiredly, giving him a few pats.

“Hey, how was work?” Curtis asks as he appears from the kitchen.

“Urgh” you respond making Curtis chuckle as he walked over.

“Scale from one to ten how tired are you feeling?” He asks as he helps you take off your coat, hanging it up for you.

“Z” you mutter.

Curtis chuckles once more as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his embrace. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in his woodsy, smoky scent which was just distinctly him.

“It’s a good thing I already have dinner on the good, should be done in the next five minutes,” Curtis tells you, his large hand running up and down your back.

“Is it comfy food?” You mumble, your voice muffled by his chest.

“It’s mac and cheese so it's the definition of comfy food” Curtis chuckles “And afterwards I’ll run you a bath to soothe all the aches I know you’ll have and then we’ll stick on a movie you don’t care about falling asleep during and call it a night”

You let out a small hum “sounds amazing but I don’t think I have the energy to move past this point”

Curtis chuckles kissing the top of your head “not a problem sweetie, just hold on tight,” he says.

You were about to question what he meant but you didn’t get the chance. Squeaking in surprise when he bent down enough to hook his hands behind your knees, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his skinny waist.

“And I’ll do all the moving,” he says kissing your cheek which with the added leverage was now level with his.

Curtis carried you into the kitchen before carefully setting you down at the table. He then bent down to untie the laces of your shoes and slowly slip them off. He put them out of reach of Jacques before cupping your cheek and softly kissing you.

“Relax, you more than deserved it,” he says pecking your lips once more as the timer on the oven goes signalling that dinner was ready.

You smile softly, resting your chin in your hand as you watched Curtis pull the mac and cheese out of the oven. He quickly served out two portions, placing your plate down in front of you with a kiss to the top of the table.

“Under the table Jacques” Curtis says as he sits down, Jacques running under the table and lying down so he was still in prime position for scraps but wouldn’t be staring you down.

You smiled over at Curtis as you tucked in, the mac and cheese being the perfect pick-me-up comfort meal, especially since Curtis had made it.

Once you had finished eating Curtis cleared up the plates, turning back to you he crouches down and moves your arms so they were around his shoulders. He murmured another “Hold on tight” as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

You giggle softly, kissing his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder as he carries you through the house. He takes you upstairs and into the bathroom settling you down on the counter as he moves to run you a bath.

“Let’s get these scrubs off,” he says as he turns back to you.

“Will you get in with me?” You ask reaching out to tug at his light grey vest.

A smile tugs at your lips “You’re supposed to be relaxing” he points out as he pulls off your scrub top.

“And I can’t think of a better way to relax” you smirk making him chuckle.

“Fine but no funny business” Curtis says with a knowing look.

You hold your hands up in surrender “I’ll keep my hands to myself as long as you do” you say making Curtis laugh again.

“Sure, now c’mon” he grins leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose.

You watch with a lazy smile on your face as Curtis undresses and climbs into the bath. Sliding off the counter you finish getting undressed yourself and climb in with him, letting out a moan as you sink into to warm water.

Once you were seated Curtis wraps his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your shoulder “Feel good?” He hums.

“So so good” you sigh happily, leaning back into his chest.

Curtis hums running his hands up your arms before resting them on your shoulder and begging to massage your neck and shoulders. You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips as he kneaded the knots away with his large skilled hands.

“Oh yeah right there” you moan, your head tilting forward to give him better access.

Curtis lets out a low chuckle, leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of your neck. He continues to massage you until all the knots were gone and you were practically slumped against him.

When the water began to cool you both climbed out, Curtis wrapping you in a warm fluff towel capturing your lips in his for a sweet kiss. You then got dressed into some comfy PJs and climbed into bed while Curtis went to make sure the house was all locked up.

When he returned he pulled you into his embrace and stuck on one of your favourite Disney movies. One that you’d seen so many times that you didn’t mind falling asleep during. Which was good because the cosy feeling that being in Curtis’ arms gave you meant it wasn’t long until you fell asleep in his arms. Curtis pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head as you dozed off.

Sharing is caring so please reblog if you enjoyed this! and leave a comment to really make my day!

Lets have a chat!

Masterlist / AU Masterlist

I don’t have a tag list by follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary and turn on post notification to keep up to date!

#NiamhWrites #Fixer Upper #Mechanic!curtis #mechanic!au #curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x y/n #curtis everett x you #curtis everett fanfiction

67 notes · View notes

jeffersonhairpie · 7 months

Text

Spoilers up to chap 336 of Jujutsu Kaisen

Sorry gotta get this out of my system

A slightly unhinged list of reasons that I'm Not A Fan of this Gojo death that I sincereley hope will make me look like an overreactive weirdo in a few weeks time:

He died offscreen. I know we see the body but we don't actually see the finishing blow. Bizzare for a character of his prowess and significance at this point in the story

Gojo in the 'afterlife' immediately talking about how much stronger Sukuna was than him hits really strange for a character defined by his casual arrogance. Gojo is fast as fuck so it's pretty clear that Sukuna could only get him with the Mahoraga-aided slashes if he caught Gojo off guard. Nothing we have seen in the Gojo vs Sukuna fight indicates that Sukuna is all that much stronger than Gojo and they're mostly pretty evenly matched. Nothing about this ending for Gojo looks to me like 'dying without regrets'.

Sticking Gojo in a box for 3 years real time (19 days in universe time) and freeing him just so the rest of the story can screech to a halt while all the other characters watch him die is fucking stupid. It's bad storytelling.

There are a few different things you could view as Gojo's character arc - whether it be the question he's asked of whether he's the strongest because he's himself or himself because he's the strongest, whether it's laying Geto to rest, whether it's learning that being the strongest is not all there is to being a complete person, whether its shedding his loneliness by learning that Geto is not the only person who he could be emotionally close to. Whatever you see it as, his arc has not reached its conclusion. Gojo is incomplete and him dying now makes his whole character feel like a waste. He didn't even really learn to value the people left alive bc how is he in the afterlife all smiling and happy knowing that Sukuna is about to rampage through the lot of them?

Gojo dying has always been so damn obvious. This is entirely personal preference, but I would have sooooo much rather seen him have his powers neutered so he was forced to understand tha value of an individual life than just wiped off the board. Also I think the universe could benefit from the notion that getting stronger and dying are not the only two things that can happen to a sorcerer.

I know they're not even on the same scale of plot significance, but I can't help comparing how Nanami's death was painful but felt well foreshadowed and entirely justified in the story to this death which very much doesn't (my thoughts on Nobara's death are more complicated). Nanami's death hurt because it felt true to the character, but Gojo's death has just annoyed me.

I never expected the final fight to be Gojo vs Kenjaku and I knew that something was going to have to happen to him in order to justify him not being part of the final showdown. Yuji as the MC and as Kenjaku's kid in this story about how the sins of the past shape the present is 100% the right choice for the story. Much as I thought it was taking the easy route, I hadn't discounted the possibility that Gojo would die, I had just expected him to, ya know, learn something and complete his character arc before he did.

This death just feels really cheap to me, in a way that I don't think even makes for a good fakeout. Maybe the fact that characters have already come back from the dead means that there was no way to have a fakeout feel entirely shocking, but I don't think I should be left thinking 'was that REALLY it?' after the fakout death.

BUT maybe hope doesn't have to be lost

Things I am holding on to hoping that this will be some kind of fakeout (copium is real and I am huffing it):

Gojo wasn't hit in the head, and in his fight with Toji he is able to come back from basically being dead because his head was undamaged

There is still one of the ten shadows that we haven't seen and given that it can't possibly be a stronger combatant than Mahoraga I'm betting on it having a healing ability, which would presumably be incredibly strong given that it's the last to be unveiled. The same healing could save Gojo and Nobara

When Yuji was presumed dead by his classmates and training with Gojo, Gojo comments that Yuji's body will eventually be scarred by Sukuna's cursed technique and he'll be able to use it as his own. Sukuna has the ability to bring people back from the dead so if Yuji can access those powers he can save Gojo (and probably Nobara).

Maki and Mai have something of an 'afterlife' conversation that is real but it doesn't stop Maki from returning to the land of the living.

Depending on exactly how you want to count 'coming back from the dead' several characters have done it at this point lol

In the afterlife Nanami has that random ass line about how curses and sorcerers can bring people back from the dead that doesn't seem to fit in with everything else being said. This could be foreshadowing.

Speaking of foreshadowing, maybe Gojo's line about not wanting to have two death anniversaries was an indication that he intended this to happen and has some sort of pre-established plan for how to win.

Shoko reveresed technique bass boosted by Utahime can heal anything #IBelieve

#jjk #jjk spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #manga spoilers #manga leaks #gojo satoru #shitty text post #jjk 236

24 notes · View notes

noellawrites · 11 months

Note

Out of all the fandoms you write for, who would you say are the top 5 overall horniest? I know Nick is the top of the SVU scale, but how does that compare if you widen the pool? Is he still the number 1?

i absolutely love this ask and i have been pondering it for a while! so without further ado, may i present to you…

@noellawrites’ horniest characters i write for list! 💖

*this list is ranking the top five characters i write for this is my opinion! feel free to discuss in the comments*

#5 - Marcus White from Superstore

Marcus is always talking about sex and how horny he is, but deep down his heart is really what’s horny. he is a bisexual king and also hella in love with Jonah (i don’t make the rules.) most of the fandom agrees he could get it, despite the show’s running joke that no one likes him. he needs a ten-hour fuck session followed by some good ramen. horny level: 8/10

#4 - Lalo Salamanca from Better Call Saul

Lalo is dripping in sex appeal, even his words are sexy. he’s drug dealer dilf in the best possible way. i feel like he’s been to several orgies before and also he has a massive schlong. also bisexual and had a fling with Gus Fring happy pride month and once again i don’t make the rules. horny level: 8.5/10

#3 - Nick Amaro from Law and Order: SVU

Nick is so pretty and he knows it. and he just looks like he fucks, yk what i mean? he can be my baby daddy anytime. all of the shirtless shots of him in SVU? they knew what they were doing to us. bonus points for being a great dad bc that’s hot, too. we love good parenting. horny level: 9/10

#2 - Rosita Espinosa from The Walking Dead

Rosita’s a badass, she’s gorgeous, she’s a milf, and she’s managed to fuck all the hot apocalypse men. she’s always horny and always ready to kill walkers. she has mad pussy game and gives some crazy head (literally what am i even saying at this point) horny level: 10/10

aaaaand #1 horniest character goes to: Richie Jerimovich from The Bear !!!

If you’ve seen this show, you know i’m right. i saw someone refer to him as having “futon dick” = he’s a broke ass guy who fucks like god. richie is a big whore with a big dick and oh my god he needs to use it. we better get a sexy scene this season. anyway he always looks like he just fucked someone over a table in the back and you can’t tell me him and Mikey weren’t fuckbuddies. horny level: 11/10

#noelle answers #the bear tv show #richie jerimovich #rosita espinosa #lalo salamanca #better call saul #superstore #marcus white #nick amaro #law and order special victims unit

33 notes · View notes

ninja-go-to-therapy · 7 months

Text

Monster? I Hardly Know Her!

The Pearce Joza obsession lives on im afraid 😔

ao3

Prompt: "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Fandom: Mech-X4

Characters: Spyder, Harris, and Veracity

Summary: Spyder wakes up, delirious and injured after a monster attack. Harris plays severely unqualified nurse.

Trigger Warnings: injury, mentioned vomit, mentioned death

809 words

Something was screeching. High pitched and whiny, kinda reminding him of a school bell… was he at school right now? No, that didn’t sound right. If not there, then where was he?

He groaned, blinking his eyes open. The screeching didn’t go away. In fact, it only somehow got even worse. He couldn’t see that well, vision all… blurred. Did he normally wear glasses? He couldn’t remember. He was pretty sure he didn’t, but then why else would his eyes be so… messed up?

A dark shape loomed over him. His first thought: dad? His second: please not dad.

The screeching (which he was now beginning to realize was just a ringing in his ears) was polite enough to quiet down some. A win was a win.

“Spyder?” the shape called, sounding like it had come from underwater. Or maybe he was underwater… he really couldn’t tell. “Can you hear me?”

“Harris?” he attempted, throat so scratchy it was painful. He coughed, his lungs burning at the action. “Wh’s goin’ on?”

“Oh, thank god. You took a real bad hit… or, a couple, more accurately. Do you remember the fight?”

His brain felt like it was full of soup, so… probably not. Was that why everything sounded so far away? “Did I win?” he croaked, squinting at the Harris-shaped blob.

“You were sort of… unconscious for most of it. Veracity had to hop on weapons, it was… quite the experience. But yeah, we won.”

He moved to sit up, immediately regretting the attempt. His body curled in on itself on pure instinct, raw pain sprouting in his chest like a… plant or something.

“Oh, shit, yeah, don’t move!” Harris said, words stumbling over themselves. “We still need to check you out. Leo went to get some supplies… um, on a scale of one to ten, how are you feeling?”

“Mmm, ‘ve had worse,” he slurred. “‘nt hear good…”

“You can’t hear good?” Harris clarified, getting a low groan in response. “Okay, okay, I’ll forgive the grammar this one time on that. Uhhh… how many fingers am I holding up?”

Spyder squinted at the shape of his friend, trying to focus on his where his hands probably were. “Mmm… twelve?” he guessed.

“Yeah, that’s… definitely not right. I’m gonna need to scan you, hold still, okay?”

It wasn’t like he had much choice. If he moved, he was half convinced he’d disintegrate on the spot. God, everything hurt. He’d been knocked around plenty in his life, and he’d definitely had worse, but jesus. It was like his insides were on fire.

But he couldn’t stay down. He couldn’t afford to be dead weight on the team, not even for a minute. Not when he was constantly teetering on the edge of their collective patience. Not after the day Harris had been infected with ooze, had screamed at him that he was always in the way.

He needed to show them that he wasn’t just the useless fool who didn’t add anything to the team other than plain annoyance. Quickly. Before they realized that it really was all he was and kicked him to the curb.

“Wh—stop trying to get up!” Harris ordered, pushing him back down. Spyder’s head spun violently, and he had to give himself a moment to swallow down a bit of puke.

“I’m good,” he hissed through his teeth, doing his best to filter the pain out of his voice. “All good. We’re good.” He still couldn’t actually focus his eyes enough to see the expression on his friend/severely unqualified doctor’s face.

“I will strap you down, I swear,” he insisted, obviously annoyed.

“Kinky,” came the unexpected voice of Veracity from somewhere near the door.

“Wh-that’s not what I — no!” Harris stammered. Spyder wished he could see how red he probably was. He bet it’d be cute. Harris always somehow was.

“Relax, dumbass,” she said with a half-laugh. “Anyway, how are you feeling, kid?” She asked, her voice closer, now.

“Mmm…” he managed, re-assessing his body to check for pain. To his faint surprise, though it was still definitely there, it felt so… detached from him, now. He felt like he was dreaming. “I think ‘m dying.”

“What?” they both cried in deeply concerned unison.

Spyder grinned in what he assumed was Harris’s direction. “Cause you look like an angel.”

“I hate gay people,” Veracity mumbled under her breath.

“I assume,” he continued, “'cause I can’t actually like… see you.”

“That’s… a problem. What can you see?”

“Shapes’n colors,” he slurred, giggling slightly. His head felt like it was going to explode. To be perfectly honest, that did sound pretty sick, though. Not as sick considering it hurt like a bitch. “G’nigh… sweet prince…” he mumbled, hoping his friends would still be there when he woke up again.

They probably wouldn’t be, but he could dream.

12 notes · View notes

liquidstar · 6 months

Note

Hello!! Goddess OC anon here! Today I would like to borrow your ear for a spot of cosmology! In my universe, all sapient beings have a potential direct-ish line to the gods in their minds. This is because the gods are not entities on their own, but the eventual result of tens of thousands of dead consciousnesses sharing a single thought or aim until a new being is shaped, like a metamorphic rock. Most of these are the result of cultish rituals, except for the protectoress and the seeker (god of knowledge), since that's what's generally needed to have so many people dying with the same intrinsic desire.

(None of these gods have names yet because I want to give them cool and intimidating titles yet am so very very bad at naming >.<)

The universe is a vast number of planets, many of which are inhospitable, lifeless, or in the last legs of their civilization. Travel between them is possible due to the remains of a prehistoric interstellar alchemy-powered civilization. Opening a star gate requires a sacrifice, not always in blood, but always terrible. Many species exist - some emerging from the radioactivity-and-blood-magic cocktail the Alchemeisters left on the planets they abandoned.

The lines connecting mortal to deity exist in almost everyone, but need to be opened. In the case of the god of knowledge, for example, everyone (well, 70% of every sapient, individual, mentally human-aligned species) is born with a logic puzzle in their mind. If they successful find, consider, and solve this puzzle, their connection to the god is opened up. The opening for the god of bloodshed is a sufficient amount of simple violence, one premediated murder, and one betrayal and butchery. Every female child is born with an open link. It's not perfect - there's all the problems of AGAB roles - but it's the easiest way through, especially since souls don't differentiate between humans and eldritch beings, let alone men and women.

The purpose of priests is to help with this psychic connection, help explain the clauses, to link one devotee's conscious to that of the rest of them to make a sort of psychic gathering. (A groupchat of sorts.) The reason the students of the seeker are so predominantly male is because priests will often crack open the hooks a tiny bit for male babies, making it easier for them to find the puzzle in the first place, and then to connect. Higher priests also serve as leaders of these gatherings.

Luna, the trans priestess from before, is also a member of the Seeker's flock, though these days she mostly just goes there to spy. She finds more fulfillment in the pen than the textbook, these days. This intelligence is how she managed to link herself to the protectoress' ladies by hand.

The Protectoress differs from the other gods in a few other ways, especially related to what happens to priestesses after their deaths but this is long enough.

Happy Belated Birthday, as well! All good wishes for your year to come.

i think this is all SUPER interesting and creative lore for the gods, im not really sure what else i could say beyond the fact that im very invested in this system! i am a bit curious abt the way some of the sex biases work and why though? esp since they dont differentiate between men and women but then at the same time they do? it might be on me for not fully getting it tho lol

i really do have to give you huge props for coming up with such intricate and HUGE lore for a system thats cosmically-based. not just terrestrial fantasy but THE WHOLE UNIVERSE its so cool. it creates such a great sense of scale here, like, the way you explain it really does make it seem big. bigger than anything going on on earth that we could really understand. but at the same time everyone has the potential to really connect with the gods on this scale, like the lines you described... its really very cool. the whole all is one and one is all thing.

AND from the little bits of info on other worldbuilding stuff you give its also clear theres a looooot going on for the mortals too. like the alchemisters and radioactivity magic and stuff. theres a lot of complex lore here building on top of itself that i find super fascinating. its awesome!!!

honestly im not great at names either, so i dont blame you for having a hard time coming up with ones to match this scale. i think my only suggestion (from experience) is to not overcomplicate the names. sometimes short and blunt sounds can convey power in just one syllable. its to the point, yknow? so i think thats something to consider when making names that sound grand too... also sometimes its not the name itself, but the context surrounding it! AT managed to make a name as silly as "golb" seem soo serious and important lol. so dont stress too much abt the name itself but what you can make with it, especially with lore this grand! but obvs youd know what fits them the best

and thank you!!! i appreciate it :) i hope your year is good too just in general :p

8 notes · View notes

unsleepingtales · 7 months

Text

Burrow’s End!!! I am so excited for this season and I’m also incredibly nervous because I think it’s going to emotionally destroy me. This is a long one.

(Also I am now living in gmt which means episodes drop at midnight for me, so I’m likely gonna wind up posting about them the next day)

Aabria!! Welcome back!!

I’m so thrilled that more and more players are doing character makeup it’s so fun

OH we’re just getting classes and subclasses out the gate ok

Hi Izzy hi Erika <3

I have not seen Jasper William Cartwright in anything ever but simply based on the look and the vibes I’m so excited about this

Siobhan <3

Ooooh two paladinssss

(This is excellent for me personally because I have been slowly convincing my boyfriend that paladins are actually really cool and I can now use his crush on BLeeM to my advantage)

They’re a family!

DOME ALREADY

I hope Beatrix is in some way a reference to Beatrix Potter <3

Siobhan IMMEDIATELY in goblin mode incredible

Wooo full stats love when they give us the full stats

First roll of the campaign is a 21! Good vibes!

Oh what stat array did they use I need to look at that

I so hope that the bizarre british things counter sticks around

Izzy playing a rogue is so delightful

We’re in pvp already and I am HERE for the chaos

Ok so their dad’s Dead. Fantastic. Sure hope this doesn’t emotionally affect me at alllll.

Cheating at what??

Ten minutes in and they already made their guardian/aunt/babysitter curse

Their physicality is great

I also love the info we’re getting about Tula before we’re introduced to her

Dome? Dome? DOME??

God the art department knocks it out of the fucking park every fucking time

Oh these are KIDS

I know I say this every season but I love First Episodes. I love meeting them and learning what the vibe is for the season and settling into the world.

They’re rolling so welllll

Oh that was a Good entrance

The voice!! Her voice!!

Oath of devotion paladin !

Everyone really wanted hats huh

oh h my god

Girl WHAT

I love Aabria snatching the small opportunities to hint at what will be bigger later

Now why can he do that

Viola doesn’t go anywhere alone!

Oh that’s so bad

Oh right their lifespan is super different!

This line had been spoiled for me by my dash but that did not make it hit less hard.

“It’s interesting to watch someone go from wanting to survive, to wanting to live.”

Erika playing the grandma is everything to me

Also Erika literally shaved their head in the pattern of that character scar. Incredible

A SINGLE MOM THAT WORKS TWO JOBS WHO LOVES HER KIDS AND NEVER STOPS

Dropout team I love you so much

Brennan PC :)

Oh she’s SUCH a mother.

(Inquisitive music stops as the soft rejection hangs in the air)

CC writers are also back and on their game in full force!

Mmhmh

The first of all stoats 😭

She has cartoon anger eyebrows

Oh that’s gross

Did she just shade her dead son in law.

“I’ll try to keep up appearances” is so heartbreaking

YOU’RE LOOKING SO… LIKE YOU.

If I said that to my mom I would immediately dissolve.

Erika’s table acting is fabulous

Dome. Blue dome.

OOOOO

I love the multigenerational relationships here

No not a fanatic. A religious crazy!

Family dynamics.

Don’t threaten the children with emotional damage

The FACE

I feel like the roll for panic attack shirt is gonna make a comeback thanks to Thorn

Oh this is gonna make me feel real bad about being human huh

This is such a good season to be released over October-December. I know it was planned that way but I really appreciate it.

Straight Groucho 💀

“This is making me sad and scared” me too Brennan.

Baby girl has never known a thing in her whole life

Oh god oh fuck

His face

Ok things are being scaled down! Good to know

This is the second time Aabria’s had players use echolocation against her damn

I swear if he starts bleeding from his nose I’m gonna lose it

The CURTISES

The more she emphasizes that this is unnatural the more freaked I get

I am nervous for Jaysohn.

Oh no oh god

I love how Aabria is able to make nat ones still helpful and important

This is crushing ngl.

Is the tree gonna fucking get cut down

SHE HAS WERTHERS

I’m gonna cry this season I just know it

Oh my god this is so good.

#reactions #burrow’s end #verbal component #burrow's end

11 notes · View notes

girljpg · 9 months

Text

i warched good omens season 2

i have a lot to say that doesn't really amount to anything so i'm gonna start typing at random

i liked the romantic vibe of the season and all the cute flashbacks. the dialogue between the leads was appropriately trusting and sweet. they really leaned into showing how they rely on each other. i also like that the conflict was pretty small in scale compared to season 1. it's not armageddon, but there were still some stakes if you include all the humans that almost died. although.... heaven and hell seem to know exactly where crowley and aziraphale are... yes, they fooled them at the end of s1, but wouldn't they idk. try other means? why didn't they get their names erased from the book of life earlier if that was something higher up angels could do? whatever

i like that there were real actual gay characters (lesbians even! who looked like real people!) even though I was worried they were getting together too fast, the reveal towards the end that they were going to move slow felt realistic. but them having to talk crowley into confessing his feelings felt ripped straight from a fanfiction. the lesbians comparing themselves to aziraphale and crowley was a bit on the nose. many moments did in fact feel like fanfiction. the dancing together, the "I need you!", the "We can just be us." all of that was cute and probably something i would've written idk could you do any better??? i am not immune to fluff. but also, that's a grown man. does it not take agency away from the character to have his relationship explained to him? and then they had the gall to not even show us this conversation. ideally he would've come to a conclusion about his feelings on his own-- perhaps after seeing gabe and beez fuck off to alpha centauri and going huh. i guess you can just do that. or even just through way of flashback-- oh no wait. all of the flashbacks were from aziraphale's point of view for some reason. why didn't azi get any realizations? you know michael sheen would've ate

the "i was wrong dance" well here's the thing i did clap

I thought the set of the street in london with all the little shops looked nice although there were always so so many extras walking around. is london really that crowded?

i thought they kind of wasted muriel's character. she seems to disappear for a long time before the plot calls for her to conveniently be there. i know she's meant to be a bit dim but surely she noticed 70 demons walking down the street.... ALSO i thought the book crowley handed her was going to be good omens but it. was not

looooved shax loved new beelzebub. who else. idk everyone was really giving it their all. megatron showed up for all of two episodes i think but was pivotal for the ending. what are you doing neil. gabriel is also doing. things. they wasted jon hamm as well by making him a frustrating himbo. one of the only scenes i liked with him was crowley yelling at him for trying to kill aziraphale in s1 and then trying to jump out a window and then calling crowley nice. but that whole bit felt more like a crowley scene than a gabe scene. he does get a mug with his name on it tho and hypocritically falls in love with the fly lady so all is forgiven.

i'm gonna be real with you all.. the way they filmed the kiss felt awkward. the way the camera swings around and crowley grabs him felt very....... rehearsed? a little unnatural, i think. the way crowley LUNGES. idk i need to rewatch the last ten minutes again. and it went on so long. we got like three of four angles on it like whoah. but the reaction face we got out of michael sheen. mamma mia

"I forgive you." asdejgkasdgahdgdfs when i say i paused the ep for extended laughter lmfaoooooo. clutching a wine bottle to my chest and cheering. this fucken guy. babygirl is distraught for all of about ten seconds before it's time to start the new job. i did start yelling at my screen after that point. he had no right to look crowley dead in the eye across the street and not run back to him. COWARRD. i understand why he did it but COWARD. why, after sooo long, would you think crowley would jump for joy to be an angel again... i watched all eight minutes of the credits certain that there was going to be more but nope. catch ya next time for the second coming (of jesus?? <- does not know things about the bible)

so i was pretty satisfied with that watch. i wish the season was longer than 6 episodes but tbh they had to make this story from nothing and it shows in the romcom hijinks and threadbare mystery. but it was fun and went by quickly. then i check on the fandom and they're, get this, upset for some reason about this ending. there's no pleasing some fans i guess. good job neil you've pissed off the people who wanted them to kiss AND the people who didn't want them to kiss, bravo! hopefully in a month or so everyone will cool down about it. and if not well. plenty of fanfic fodder until season 3. not that i read good omens fanfic, but it'll be there. just be happy there was a kiss alright!!!!!!?!!!1

(i just know we're going to get a flood of people calling aziraphale a big meanie and crowley a poor little scrimbly blimbo meow meow who got rejected. booooo stop that right now)

#go2 spoilers #go2 #feel free to come into my inbox if you felt the same or hate my guts forever it's up to you

9 notes · View notes

istumpysk · 2 years

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: The Reaver (Victarion II) [Chapter 29]

My little dumbo! 🥰

The drums were pounding out a battle beat as the Iron Victory swept forward, her ram cutting through the choppy green waters. The smaller ship ahead was turning, oars slapping at the sea. Roses streamed upon her banners; fore and aft a white rose upon a red escutcheon, atop her mast a golden one on a field as green as grass.

The smaller ship ahead belongs to House Serry of Southshield. I don't think the white rose upon a red escutcheon sigil means anything, but good lord it's distracting.

For those who haven't read the books, the ironborn are attacking the Shield Islands. The Shield Islands protect the Mander. If those islands fall, Highgarden becomes badly exposed.

Guess what happens!

+.+.+

He vaulted over the gunwale, landing on the deck below with his golden cloak billowing behind him. The white roses drew back, as men always did at the sight of Victarion Greyjoy armed and armored, his face hidden behind his kraken helm.

First over! Victarion is a lot of things, but he ain't no craven.

+.+.+

They were clutching swords and spears and axes, but nine of every ten wore no armor, and the tenth had only a shirt of sewn scales. These are no ironmen, Victarion thought. They still fear drowning.

Ahem.

+.+.+

Victarion slew another man, and another. He would have killed a third, but Ragnor cut him down first. "Well struck," Victarion bellowed at him.

We love a warlord who supports his colleagues!

+.+.+

When he turned to find the next victim for his axe, he spied the other captain across the deck.

[...]

"You of the rose! Be you the lord of Southshield?"

The other raised his visor to show a beardless face. "His son and heir. Ser Talbert Serry. And who are you, kraken?"

"Your death." Victarion bulled toward him.

Why do you insist on embarrassing me?

+.+.+

He caught Serry's blade in an iron fist. Lobstered steel crunched, and a stab of pain made him grunt, yet Victarion held on. "I am quick as well, boy," he said as he ripped the sword from the knight's hand and flung it into the sea.

Ser Talbert's eyes went wide. "My sword . . ."

Victarion caught the lad about the throat with a bloody fist. "Go and get it," he said, forcing him backwards over the side into the bloodstained waters.

Hurt hand alert. Add him to the list.

In case you're unaware, Victarion Greyjoy is one of the best warriors in Westeros. There's few people in the realm who could beat him in single combat.

Knowing this, it's fun to dream up all the stupid ways he could get himself killed.

+.+.+

As he was struggling to free his axe from the dead man's rib cage, a spear jabbed him between the shoulder blades. It felt as though someone had slapped him on the back.

[...]

They hacked at him from front and back, but their swords might have been willow switches for all the harm they did him. No blade could cut through Victarion Greyjoy's heavy plate, nor did he give his foes the time to find the weak points at the joints, where only mail and leather warded him. Let three men assail him, or four, or five; it made no matter. He slew them one at a time, trusting in his steel to protect him from the others.

Hey guys, did you notice Victarion wears heavy armor? Heavy, heavy, heavy armor.

+.+.+

The only blow he landed completed the ruin of Victarion's shield, but the cut the captain dealt in answer split his head in two. Would that I could deal with the Crow's Eye as simply.

It's that time again! Let's count how many times Victarion thinks about killing Euron.

One!

(Don't worry, he would never do it. No man is as accursed as the kinslayer.)

+.+.+

Let them go, Victarion thought, let them tell the tale. Once a man had turned his tail and run from battle he ceased to be a man.

Is this referencing anything?

+.+.+

"That knight," he grumbled, "the knight of the white rose. Did any of you pull him out?" A lord's son would be worth a goodly ransom; from his father, if Lord Serry had survived the day. From his liege at Highgarden, if not.

I told you Victarion was smarter than Daenerys.

+.+.+

None of his men had seen what became of the knight after he went over the side, however. Most like the man had drowned. "May he feast as he fought, in the Drowned God's watery halls." Though the men of the Shield Islands called themselves sailors, they crossed the seas in dread and went lightly clad in battle for fear of drowning. Young Serry had been different. A brave man, thought Victarion. Almost ironborn.

Thank you, George. I get it.

+.+.+

"Throw the dying in the sea. If any beg for mercy, cut their throats first." He had only contempt for such; better to drown on seawater than on blood.

Alright, George. That's enough.

+.+.+

"I want a count of the ships we won and all the knights and lordlings we took captive. I want their banners too."

Did you say. . . banners?

+.+.+

Obedience came naturally to Victarion Greyjoy; he had been born to it.

Yeah, well, we all have a breaking point.

+.+.+

He gave the deck to Nute and went below. In his cramped cabin aft, he found the dusky woman wet and ready; perhaps the battle had warmed her blood as well. He took her twice, in quick succession. When they were done there was blood smeared across her breasts and thighs and belly, but it was his blood, from the gash in his palm.

[...]

As a reward for his leal service, the new-crowned king had given Victarion the dusky woman, taken off some slaver bound for Lys. "I want none of your leavings," he had told his brother scornfully, but when the Crow's Eye said that the woman would be killed unless he took her, he had weakened. Her tongue had been torn out, but elsewise she was undamaged, and beautiful besides, with skin as brown as oiled teak.

According to Daenerys, Missandei has dusky skin, so it's possible the dusky woman is a slave from Naath. I'm told they're the best slaves. Apologies, I forget who said it.

Anyway, because she's a gift from Euron, many have speculated that Euron is using this woman to spy on Victarion aka he's warging inside of her. I can't even put into words how stupid I think that is.

Honestly, I think her sole purpose is to be a sounding board. His storyline can't be all internal monologue.

+.+.+

The wind was at their backs, as it had been all the way down from Old Wyk. It was whispered about the fleet that Euron's wizards had much and more to do with that, that the Crow's Eye appeased the Storm God with blood sacrifice. How else would he have dared sail so far to the west, instead of following the shoreline as was the custom?

Can someone please just tell me if he can control the wind or not?

+.+.+

"All fell out as Euron said it would," Victarion told the dusky woman as she bound up his hand with linen. "His wizards must have seen it." He had three aboard the Silence, Quellon Humble had confided in a whisper. Queer men and terrible, they were, but the Crow's Eye had made them slaves. "He still needs me to fight his battles, though," Victarion insisted. "Wizards may be well and good, but blood and steel win wars."

He's got a point.

A troubled look crossed the king's face like a passing cloud. "More like he plans some treachery. There will be no combat of champions. Ser Cortnay was dead before he ever threw that glove. The flames do not lie, Davos."

Yet they require me to make them true, he thought. - Davos II, ACOK

+.+.+

He drank in the darkness, brooding on his brother. If I do not strike the blow with mine own hand, am I still a kinslayer? Victarion feared no man, but the Drowned God's curse gave him pause. If another strikes him down at my command, will his blood still stain my hands?

Two!

(Don't worry, he would never do it. No man is as accursed as the kinslayer.)

+.+.+

"I placed the crown upon his head," said the priest, seaweed dripping in his hair, "and gladly will I wrest it off again and crown you in his stead. Only you are strong enough to fight him."

"The Drowned God raised him up," Victarion complained. "Let the Drowned God cast him down."

Victarion will drown, and he's my god, does that count?

+.+.+

When the sun came up the next day, Aeron Greyjoy had vanished from Old Wyk. Even his drowned men knew not where. They said the Crow's Eye only laughed when he was told.

I think I know where you can find him.

+.+.+

Victarion found himself remembering Baelor Blacktyde's words as well. "Balon was mad, Aeron is madder, and Euron is maddest of them all." The young lord had tried to sail home after the kingsmoot, refusing to accept Euron as his liege. But the Iron Fleet had closed the bay, the habit of obedience was rooted deep in Victarion Greyjoy, and Euron wore the driftwood crown. Nightflyer was seized, Lord Blacktyde delivered to the king in chains. Euron's mutes and mongrels had cut him into seven parts, to feed the seven green land gods he worshiped.

Boo, I liked him!

+.+.+

His oarsmen bent their backs toward Oakenshield, and the iron captain went belowdecks once again. "I could kill him," he told the dusky woman. "Though it is a great sin to kill your king, and a worse one to kill your brother." He frowned.

Three!

(Don't worry, he would never do it. No man is as accursed as the kinslayer.)

+.+.+

"Asha should have given me her voice." How could she have ever hoped to win the captains and the kings, her with her pinecones and her turnips?

SHE TRIED TO, YOU PEANUT.

+.+.+

The night the driftwood crown was placed on Euron's head, she and her crew had melted away. Some small part of Victarion was glad she had. If the girl keeps her wits about her, she will wed some northern lord and live with him in his castle, far from the sea and Euron Crow's Eye.

How does he not know about the seal?

+.+.+

The town [Lord Hewett's Town on Oakenshield] seemed strangely still as they approached.

[...]

A gang of sullen survivors moved amongst them, chasing off the black birds and tossing the dead into the back of a wagon for burial. The notion filled Victarion with disgust. No true son of the sea would want to rot beneath the ground. How would he ever find the Drowned God's watery halls, to drink and feast for all eternity?

Dead Greyjoys belong at the bottom of the sea.

+.+.+

"Who are they?" he asked the men who helped tie up their boat.

"Widows and orphans. They're to be sold as slaves."

"Sold?" There were no slaves in the Iron Islands, only thralls. A thrall was bound to service, but he was not chattel. His children were born free, so long as they were given to the Drowned God. And thralls were never bought nor sold for gold. A man paid the iron price for thralls, or else had none. "They should be thralls, or salt wives," Victarion complained.

"It's by the king's decree," the man said.

"The strong have always taken from the weak," said Nute the Barber. "Thralls or slaves, it makes no matter. Their men could not defend them, so now they are ours, to do with as we will."

It is not the Old Way, he might have said, but there was no time.

+.+.+

Nute the Barber gave a hoot at the sight of them. "Reader," he called out, "why is your face so long? Your misgivings were for nought. The day is ours, and ours the prize!"

Lord Rodrik's mouth puckered. "These rocks, you mean? All four together wouldn't make Harlaw. We have won some stones and trees and trinkets, and the enmity of House Tyrell."

I have no idea why the Reader is here, but I'm not complaining.

+.+.+

"The roses?" Nute laughed. "What rose can harm the krakens of the deep? We have taken their shields from them, and smashed them all to pieces. Who will protect them now?"

"Highgarden," replied the Reader. "Soon enough all the power of the Reach will be marshaled against us, Barber, and then you may learn that some roses have steel thorns."

Drumm nodded, one hand on the hilt of his Red Rain. "Lord Tarly bears the greatsword Heartsbane, forged of Valyrian steel, and he is always in Lord Tyrell's van."

My goodness, that was forced. What a clumsy insertion that was.

Here's your periodic reminder that Heartsbane is important for reasons we've yet to uncover.

+.+.+

Victarion's hunger flared. "Let him come. I will take his sword for mine own, as your own forebear took Red Rain. Let them all come, and bring the Lannisters as well. A lion may be fierce enough on land, but at sea the kraken rules supreme."

What about a stag? What's your history with stags at sea?

I may not know what's going on with Heartsbane, but I'm pretty confident we'll never see it in Victarion's hands.

+.+.+

He would give half his teeth for the chance to try his axe against the Kingslayer or the Knight of Flowers. That was the sort of battle that he understood. The kinslayer was accursed in the eyes of gods and men, but the warrior was honored and revered.

I'm counting it.

Four!

(Don't worry, he would never do it. No man is as accursed as the kinslayer.)

+.+.+

"Have no fear, Lord Captain," said the Reader. "They will come. His Grace desires it. Why else would he have commanded us to let Hewett's ravens fly?"

I love characters that break down exactly what's going on.

Euron wants the Tyrells, and Lannisters to respond. Got it.

+.+.+

"The Knight [Harras Harlaw] took Grimston by himself. He planted his standard beneath the castle and defied the Grimms to face him. One did, and then another, and another. He slew them all . . . well, near enough, two yielded. When the seventh man went down, Lord Grimm's septon decided the gods had spoken and surrendered the castle." Hotho laughed. "He'll be the Lord of Greyshield, and welcome to it. With him gone, I am the Reader's heir." He thumped his wine cup against his chest. "Hotho the Humpback, Lord of Harlaw."

"Seven, you say." Victarion wondered how Nightfall would fare against his axe. He had never fought a man armed with a Valyrian steel blade, though he had thrashed young Harras Harlaw many a time when both of them were young.

Is that foreshadowing? Does Euron have a Valyrian steel sword?

More talk concerning the Reader's heir. Hm.

+.+.+

The serving wenches wore fine woolens and plush velvets, the Lord Captain did not fail to note. He took them for scullions dressed up in the clothes of Lady Hewett and her ladies, until Hotho told him they were Lady Hewett and her ladies. It amused the Crow's Eye to make them wait and pour. There were eight of them: her ladyship herself, still handsome though grown somewhat stout, and seven younger women aged from twenty-five to ten, her daughters and good-daughters.

Lord Hewett himself sat in his accustomed place upon the dais, dressed in all his heraldic finery. His arms and legs had been tied to his chair, and a huge white radish shoved between his teeth so he could not speak . . . though he could see and hear.

[...]

"Who is that?" Victarion asked the men around him.

"His lordship's bastard daughter," laughed Hotho. "Before Euron took the castle, she was made to wait at table on the rest and take her own meals with the servants."

Euron put his blue lips to her throat, and the girl giggled and whispered something in his ear. Smiling, he kissed her throat again. Her white skin was covered with red marks where his mouth had been; they made a rosy necklace about her neck and shoulders. Another whisper in his ear, and this time the Crow's Eye laughed aloud, then slammed his wine cup down for silence. "Good ladies," he called out to his highborn serving women, "Falia is concerned for your fine gowns. She would not have them stained with grease and wine and dirty groping fingers, since I have promised that she may choose her own clothes from your wardrobes after the feast. So you had best disrobe."

Oh, Falia.

Falia, Falia, Falia.

+.+.+

He shames Hewett as he once shamed me, the captain thought, remembering how his wife had sobbed as he was beating her. The men of the Four Shields oft married one another, he knew, just as the ironborn did. One of these naked serving wenches might well be Ser Talbert Serry's wife. It was one thing to kill a foe, another to dishonor him. Victarion made a fist. His hand was bloody where his wound had soaked through the linen.

It's so amusing when an objectively awful human being has a code of conduct. Lol

+.+.+

The torches along the walls were burning bright, and so was he, blue lips, blue eye, and all. "What the kraken grasps it does not loose. These isles were once ours, and now they are again . . . but we need strong men to hold them. So rise, Ser Harras Harlaw, Lord of Greyshield." The Knight stood, one hand upon Nightfall's moonstone pommel. "Rise, Andrik the Unsmiling, Lord of Southshield." Andrik shoved away his women and lurched to his feet, like a mountain rising sudden from the sea. "Rise, Maron Volmark, Lord of Greenshield." A beardless boy of six-and-ten years, Volmark stood hesitantly, looking like the lord of rabbits. "And rise, Nute the Barber, Lord of Oakenshield."

[...]

Victarion had expected the Crow's Eye to give the lordships to his own creatures, Stonehand and the Red Oarsman and Left-Hand Lucas Codd. A king must needs be open-handed, he tried to tell himself, but another voice whispered, Euron's gifts are poisoned. When he turned it over in his head, he saw it plain. The Knight was the Reader's chosen heir, and Andrik the Unsmiling the strong right arm of Dunstan Drumm. Volmark is a callow boy, but he has Black Harren's blood in him through his mother. And the Barber . . .

Victarion grabbed him by the forearm. "Refuse him!"

Nute looked at him as if he had gone mad. "Refuse him? Lands and lordship? Will you make me a lord?" He wrenched his arm away and stood, basking in the cheers.

And now he steals my men away, Victarion thought.

For an idiot, he put this together rather quickly.

+.+.+

Victarion drank with the rest. There is no wine so sweet as wine taken from a foe. Someone had told him that once. His father, or his brother Balon.

Are you sure?

Firelight glimmered in Euron's eye. His smiling eye. "Will you take a cup of Lord Hewett's wine? There's no wine half so sweet as wine taken from a beaten foe."

+.+.+

One day I shall drink your wine, Crow's Eye, and take from you all that you hold dear. But was there anything Euron held dear?

That's a good question.

Five!

(Don't worry, he would never do it. No man is as accursed as the kinslayer.)

+.+.+

"When?" The voice was Lord Rodrik's. "When shall we return, Your Grace? A year? Three years? Five? Your dragons are a world away, and autumn is upon us." The Reader walked forward, sounding all the hazards. "Galleys guard the Redwyne Straits. The Dornish coast is dry and bleak, four hundred leagues of whirlpools, cliffs, and hidden shoals with hardly a safe landing anywhere. Beyond wait the Stepstones, with their storms and their nests of Lysene and Myrish pirates. If a thousand ships set sail, three hundred may reach the far side of the narrow sea . . . and then what? Lys will not welcome us, nor will Volantis. Where will you find fresh water, food? The first storm will scatter us across half the earth."

The Reader might be the bravest person in the entire story.

+.+.+

A smile played across Euron's blue lips. "I am the storm, my lord. The first storm, and the last. I have taken the Silence on longer voyages than this, and ones far more hazardous. Have you forgotten? I have sailed the Smoking Sea and seen Valyria."

Every man there knew that the Doom still ruled Valyria. The very sea there boiled and smoked, and the land was overrun with demons. It was said that any sailor who so much as glimpsed the fiery mountains of Valyria rising above the waves would soon die a dreadful death, yet the Crow's Eye had been there, and returned.

"Have you?" the Reader asked, so softly.

Euron's blue smile vanished. "Reader," he said into the quiet, "you would do well to keep your nose in your books."

Stormy!

Lord Rodrik's questioning that trip to Valyria, which means it never happened.

+.+.+

"It is the Arbor we want," said Red Ralf, and other men took up the cry. The Crow's Eye let the shouts wash over him. Then he leapt down from the table, grabbed his slattern by the arm, and pulled her from the hall.

Fled, like a dog. Euron's hold upon the Seastone Chair suddenly did not seem as secure as it had a few moments before. They will not follow him to Slaver's Bay. Perhaps they are not such dogs and fools as I had feared.

You'll never guess who goes to Slaver's Bay.

+.+.+

At some point Left-Hand Lucas Codd decided he wanted one of Lord Hewett's daughters, so he took her on a table whilst her sisters screamed and sobbed.

Ugh, god.

You start to enjoy the ironborn for one second, and they'll quickly make you regret it.

+.+.+

Euron stood by the window, drinking from a silver cup. He wore the sable cloak he took from Blacktyde, his red leather eye patch, and nothing else.

The wind came gusting through the window and stirred his sable cloak. There was something obscene and disturbing about his nakedness.

"No." Victarion glanced away. "Cover yourself."

Euron seated himself and gave his cloak a twitch, so it covered his private parts.

Gosh, he's really bothered by the naked. I can't imagine why!

Victarion looked at his fists. "She gave me horns. I had no choice." Had it been known, men would have laughed at me, as the Crow's Eye laughed when I confronted him. "She came to me wet and willing," he had boasted. "It seems Victarion is big everywhere but where it matters." - The Iron Captain, AFFC

+.+.+

"When I was a boy, I dreamt that I could fly," he announced. "When I woke, I couldn't . . . or so the maester said. But what if he lied?"

Did you fail the crow test?

+.+.+

"Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?"

[...]

"No man ever truly knows what he can do unless he dares to leap."

So profound.

+.+.+

"Grapes are real. A man can gorge himself on grapes. Their juice is sweet, and they make wine. What do dragons make?"

"Woe." The Crow's Eye sipped from his silver cup.

From the sea had come the ironborn, and the fish that sustained them even in the depths of winter, but storms brought only woe and grief. - The Prophet, AFFC

+.+.+

"I once held a dragon's egg in this hand, brother. This Myrish wizard swore he could hatch it if I gave him a year and all the gold that he required. When I grew bored with his excuses, I slew him. As he watched his entrails sliding through his fingers he said, 'But it has not been a year.'" He laughed. "Cragorn's died, you know."

"Who?"

"The man who blew my dragon horn. When the maester cut him open, his lungs were charred as black as soot."

Victarion shuddered. "Show me this dragon's egg."

"I threw it in the sea during one of my dark moods." Euron gave a shrug.

I'm calling big bullshit on this story.

I'm not saying he never owned an egg. I'm saying I don't buy for one second he tossed it in the sea because he was cranky.

+.+.+

The captain took the cup Euron had not offered, sniffed at its contents suspiciously. Seen up close, it looked more blue than black. It was thick and oily, with a smell like rotted flesh. He tried a small swallow, and spit it out at once. "Foul stuff. Do you mean to poison me?"

"I mean to open your eyes." Euron drank deep from his own cup, and smiled.

You are the winged wolf, but you will never fly." Jojen got up and walked to the window. "Unless you open your eye." - Bran V, ACOK

+.+.+

"Shade-of-the-evening, the wine of the warlocks. I came upon a cask of it when I captured a certain galleas out of Qarth, along with some cloves and nutmeg, forty bolts of green silk, and four warlocks who told a curious tale. One presumed to threaten me, so I killed him and fed him to the other three. They refused to eat of their friend's flesh at first, but when they grew hungry enough they had a change of heart. Men are meat."

One of those warlocks is Pyat Pree.

"Not all your enemies are in the Yellow City. Beware men with cold hearts and blue lips. You had not been gone from Qarth a fortnight when Pyat Pree set out with three of his fellow warlocks, to seek for you in Pentos." - Daenerys III, ADWD

Cold hearts, and blue lips. Count on Daenerys to screw up that warning.

I just had a thought! Wouldn't it be sweet if Euron gifted Daenerys Pyat Pree's head?

+.+.+

"A king must have a wife, to give him heirs. Brother, I have need of you. Will you go to Slaver's Bay and bring my love to me?"

I had a love once too. Victarion's hands coiled into fists, and a drop of blood fell to patter on the floor. I should beat you raw and red and feed you to the crabs, the same as I did her.

Six!

(Don't worry, he would never do it. No man is as accursed as the kinslayer.)

+.+.+

"You have sons," he told his brother.

"Baseborn mongrels, born of whores and weepers."

"They are of your body."

"So are the contents of my chamber pot. None is fit to sit the Seastone Chair, much less the Iron Throne. No, to make an heir that's worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware."

+.+.+

"The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world. Her hair is silver-gold, and her eyes are amethysts . . . but you need not take my word for it, brother. Go to Slaver's Bay, behold her beauty, and bring her back to me."

"Why should I?" Victarion demanded.

"For love. For duty. Because your king commands it." Euron chuckled.

[...]

Euron's smiling eye was bright with mockery. "Or do I ask too much of you? It is a fearsome thing to sail beyond Valyria."

"I could sail the Iron Fleet to hell if need be." When Victarion opened his hand, his palm was red with blood. "I'll go to Slaver's Bay, aye. I'll find this dragon woman, and I'll bring her back." But not for you. You stole my wife and despoiled her, so I'll have yours. The fairest woman in the world, for me.

Oh Vicky, I don't have high hopes for ya, bud. She gets every warning wrong.

Is there a better storyline in this series? I think not.

Final thoughts:

Why give control of the Shield Islands to the Greyjoys, open up the Mander, and expose Highgarden, if you don't intend to send an army through there?

My best guess is that's how we get the Dothraki to the Reach. Unlike the show, there will be no teleporting from Dragonstone.

(It still kills me, because they went through the trouble of showing us the Unsullied advancing on Casterly Rock by ship, but can't be bothered to tell us how one hundred thousand Dothraki made it to the Goldroad.)

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #affc #the reaver #victarion ii

54 notes · View notes