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not-joan-of-arc · 1 year

Text

heaven official's blessing (pt. 2)

(finished reading on April 1 2022)

my unedited annotations for books four and five (SPOILERS AHEAD):

BOOK FOUR

been too busy to read for the past few days but I'm super excited to dive back into this - that being said, I'm still scared of this book ending

and so we return to the past!!

okay so Xie Lian's already been banished? ngl I was kind of hoping to see the actual banishment because I'm still confused as to why exactly he was banished??

also it's weird because the Xie Lian of the past is vastly different from present him but you can also very clearly see how he became the way he is today

ah yes now we know exactly where Xie Lian's poison-cooking-specialty originates from lol

okay Mu Qing is being kind of a dick in leaving Xie Lian but also he's got a valid point, and I kinda sympathise with him?

oh fuck me it's Hua Cheng?? I knew he would be in this book somehow!!

“I want to protect them.” - no but this is his unfulfilled wish that ties him to the mortal realm?? like he just wants to protect Xie Lian, that's so pure and wow I'm actually going to start crying now

I hope one day to find someone who loves me as much as Hua Cheng loves Xie Lian, even if its just in a platonic way

‘“If you remain forcibly, you won’t be able to rest in peace,” Xie Lian said.

The nameless ghost didn’t seem to care. “I pray to never rest in peace.”’

no but this whole scene with Xie Lian and little ghost Hua Cheng is like the foundation of their current relationship - Hua Cheng protecting Xie Lian without ever speaking a word to him of it, suffering to keep his heart to himself

so Hua Cheng died in the war, that makes sense

wait what?? Xie Lian actually cooked something edible?? maybe his cooking skills are a plot device after all

oh so this is when Feng Xin gets all wifed up

no but you really feel the second-hand embarassment when Xie Lian is caught trying to rob someone, like he's really fallen from that gracious and honorable Crown Prince of the past

yo someone help this boy, he is literally having multiple panic attacks and has very severe PTSD and also probably depression, like boy needs some therapy stat

but tbf, that's all characters in every mxtx adaptation rip

okay but ghost fire Hua Cheng is genuinely adorable

oh so these are the thirty-three heavenly officials Hua Cheng becomes famous for killing - of course his reason for doing so was Xie Lian! I should have realised that sooner considering everything Hua Cheng does is for Xie Lian

“But, this hand had reached out too late.”

I think White No-Face's obsession with Xie Lian is because he is the Crown Prince of Wuyong who suffered a terrible fate and he wants Xie Lian to suffer likewise and join him so he won't be alone anymore

the one instance where Feng Xin and Mu Qing are actually getting along and it's Xie Lian who drives them apart, how ironic - I keep trying to make myself like Mu Qing and like, I understand why he does what he does but I still don't like him - Feng Xin though is my boi

I'm beginning to understand why book four is the most tragic and hardest-to-read section in the whole book

no but it makes sense?? killing makes you immune to the human face disease

oh fuck no I think I know what's about to happen

Xie Lian...what are they doing to you

fuck me but he is without a doubt the character with the most tragic backstory ever to exist

SOMEBODY FUCKING SAVE HIM

how painful this must be for Hua Cheng too seeing the love of his life bear so much pain and be unable to do anything about it

Xie Lian you need to tell Feng Xin what happened to you or you're going to lose him too

“It’s not like I’m a god, can’t I be angry? Can’t I hate?”

I understand why Feng Xin leaves but also fuck you Feng Xin! can't you see how much torment your best friend is in? can't you see that he's too broken to be left alone

wait the King and Queen have actually hanged themselves?

no okay this is too fucking much don't y'all leave Xie Lian alone like this, he doesn't deserve to be tormented like thus, he doesn't deserve any of this

Ruoye!! and now I understand what Xie Lian meant when he talked about forging his spiritual device with Pei Ming - I knew it would be tragic but never this tragic

he's on the verge of becoming the white-faced calamity isn't he?

Hua Cheng to the rescue!! and now I understand all the fan art of Hua Cheng in a smiling face mask

or maybe not Hua Cheng to the rescue? curiouser and curiouser

Xie Lian has definitely got something up his sleeve as always but it still hurts to watch him be so broken and in pain

and now we have the story behind the bamboo hat

Hua Cheng!!

ahh why do they both go through so much pain?? and because they're soulmates they feel each other's pain too - my heart -

I read a post that said all that happens to Xie Lian makes him “desensitised” to everything and that's exactly what it is - he bears so much pain and suffering and humiliation in such a short span of time that eight hundred years later present day Xie Lian just does not give a fuck about anything anymore, like he's reached the lowest it is posible to ever go and can go no lower and like my heart is in pieces for him but at the same time he's such a fucking icon

the truth behind his second banishment

and thus we have present day Xie Lian in all his adorableness, except now we know his full story

the only big mystery left now is his third ascension I think

now onto book five as we return to Mount Tongl'u

BOOK FIVE

I don't this even needs to be said but I loathe White No-Face with every inch of my being okay

no but its actually hilarious that Hua Cheng carved a inhumanly big statue of Xie Lian out of a literal mountain, like my man is whipped

the real question is why is Hua Cheng a ghost king and not a world-famous artist and sculptor?? like he should have his own museum and not be running the ghost version of las vegas lol

it's also hilarious how though all the gods supposedly find Xie Lian strange they're all still willing to do whatever he says, like Quan Yizhen and even Pei Ming

haha I knew Pei Ming totally ships it

its only been like a few hours since Hua Cheng and Xie Lian properly kissed with no pretensions (and they haven't even properly confessed their love yet - though they don't really need to to be honest lol) but I'm absolutely living for these casual displays of love, like Hua Cheng giving Xie Lian a forehead kiss makes me feel so warm and happy

I was wondering when Shi Quingxan would show up again - ngl, was not expecting this reunion though

absolutely love the fact that Xie Lian can quite easily kiss Hua Cheng in front of everyone when it's a high-stakes situation but gets flustered by kissing his cheek when they're completely alone, Xie Lian is just too adorable

Jun Wu is White No-Face?? what the fuck....

I thought Jun Wu was kind of sus but not to this extent

no I don't want Yin Yu to die, he's genuinely one of my faves and deserves so much better than he got

yasss we stan Lord Rain Master!!

hmm I wonder if Mu Qing's interrogation has anything to do with what Hua Cheng heard him and Feng Xin arguing about on Mount Tongl'u

I mean Hua Cheng isn't wrong, the two of them really have zero self-preservation instincts lol

yes finally, we're going to get the full story!

so Jun Wu/White No-Face has basically been manipulating everything from the very beginning? damn - and I thought Mengyao in mdzs was a psychopath, this is just on a whole other level

Guoshi ships it!! he's definitely confused about where all the gay came from though lol

I'm screaming Guoshi is definitely trying (and failing) to give Xie Lian some sex ed

this whole battle seems like some sort of crack dream

okay but Guoshi is actually the best

Guoshi referring to Quan Yizhen as a ‘fluffy child’ is the peak of hilarity

not Guzi!

this Hua Cheng is He Xuan isn't it

not gonna lie, I kinda ship General Pei and the Rain Master

Hua Cheng already imagining having a child with Xie Lian - I can't, that's too adorable

final battle approaches

Hua Cheng wanting to make a good impression on his boyf's ‘dad’

come on Xie Lian, you're so good at sussing out every other gods mysteries but you can't even figure out all Hua Cheng has done for you? you're so fucking obtuse at times

Hua Cheng thinking that Xie Lian was going to stab himself again - my heart - and then being reminded of when Xie Lian was stabbed by a hundred swords but Xie Lian just laughing it off - ahhh why did they have to go through so much pain

I think Feng Xin is slowly coming to the understand the depth of trust and love and mutual respect that is Hua Cheng and Xie Lian's relationship - he's definitely not against it now at the very least

also glad we're finally getting some character growth from Mu Qing, after 800 years

so this is the truth of Mu Qing and honestly, I can't really say I dislike him so much anymore, like I understand where he's coming from

he's still a dumbass for not realising that Xie Lian genuinely did want to be friends all this time though, but then again, if I met someone as good as Xie Lian I would be a little skeptical too lol

this whole scene is low-key hilarious, they're both dumbasses

scratch that, all three of them - Xie Lian, Mu Qing and Feng Xin - they're all dumbasses

‘Xie Lian responded, “IF THEIR ENTIRE FAMILIES ALL LOOK LIKE THAT, YOU SURE YOU WANT TO FUCK THEM??”’- I'm crying

okay now I'm starting to understand where all the shipping of Feng Xin and Mu Qing comes from, this whole bit with Feng Xin carrying Mu Qing and them bickering is kind of adorable

Mu Qing and Feng Xin definitely give the vibe of Xie Lian's brothers who don't really approve of Xie Lian's boyf in the first place but still don't want him to be harmed for the sake of Xie Lian - I actually love their friendship okay, however much history they have between them all

and now we get the rest of Hua Cheng's story!! I'm so ready for this

no fucking way - so Hua Cheng could have been a god??

he definitely chose the ghost life for the aesthetic lol

I love the trope when couples fight together as a team, like all the wordless communication and synchronisation

‘Because he wasn’t as good as Hua Cheng thought him to be.’

that's the thing though, Hua Cheng has seen every bit of Xie Lian and knows that he's imperfect, he understands him and sees him for who he is - Xie Lian, don't you understand? Hua Cheng cares about none of it, all he cares about is you, its all he's ever cared about

‘“Your Highness, don’t be afraid. Remember? The one basking in infinite glory is you; the one fallen from grace is also you. What matters is ‘you’, and not the state of you. No matter what’s happened in the past, I will never leave you. You can tell me anything.”’

nooo not ruoye!! :(

‘He couldn’t help but wonder—perhaps, to be defeated by someone, to end these relentless days of brokeness and madness, was possibly Jun Wu’s wish deep down.’

Xie Lian you are truly one of a kind - “shattering boulders on chest” lmao

‘All of a sudden, thousands of emotions, millions of words swarmed into his head. There was gratefulness, there was shame, there was heartache, there was wild joy, but above all else, there was incurable love.’

fucking finally!! it's taken Xie Lian way too long to realise the truth lol

‘Hua Cheng said quietly, “Your Highness, I understand your everything. Your courage, your despair; your kindness, your pain; your resentment, your hate; your intelligence, your foolishness. If I could, I would have you use me as your stepping stone, the bridge you take apart after crossing, the corpse bones you need to trample to climb up, the sinner who deserved the butchering of a million knives. But, I know you wouldn’t allow it.”

He said all this as the maple red of his robes slowly faded away.’

fuck me they better have a happy ending after all that or I'm going to scream

Jian Lan and Feng Xin deserved better, they all deserved so much better

I love how every little story arc is getting some sort of resolution as we near the end

‘Hua Cheng waited for him for over eight hundred years, so what did it matter if he waited for Hua Cheng for another eight hundred more? It could be a thousand years, ten thousand years, and he would still wait, and continue to wait.’

‘A smile hung on Xie Lian’s face, thinking, he wasn’t the only one who had fallen.’ - but I'm also bawling

‘Last time, they spent eight hundred years running towards each other. This time, it only took an instant to fall into each other’s embrace.’

final chapter let's go!! but also I don't want this to end

love that they've returned to Puqi shrine it's so wholesome

I'm screaming - this definitely means Hua Cheng and Xie Lian have already slept together lol - and Feng Xin and Mu Qing are just there like ‘we really didn't need to know that’

the elusive He Xuan??

I am living for domestic HuaLian

“I am forever your most devoted believer.”

---

after finishing the book:

screaming crying laughing I can't believe its over

this was a genuine masterpiece

also reading the post-script I think MXTX is legitimately a genius like wow, I aspire to be as talented as she is

(rated 5 stars)

---

my annotation system

#books #bookish #reading #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #mxtx #hualian #book review

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nillegible · 3 years

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Hua Cheng, with the ennui of an immortal whose reason to live had vanished from the face of the three realms, takes refuge in what little in the world still reflects his Crown Prince’s glory. He seeks out powerful, near mythical swords, and remembers the sharp eyes that would enjoy testing them. He seeks him in wayside flowers, and spring rain, and finds it strange that a world so empty of his prince could be so full of him. The god who had reached out to Hua Chang and commanded him to live.

The people have long since forgotten. The kingdom of Xianle is but a forgotten memory, a sidenote in history scrolls maintained by the larger library collections. Most of the Crown Prince’s shrines are also long gone, fallen into disrepair. Hua Cheng tries to make up for it with the resplendence of his own shrine to His Highness.

And then one more shrine to His Highness, appears.

Reappears, perhaps; there had been one there before. Hua Cheng spares it a glance, but when it is clear that His Highness had not returned, and that it was merely the work of a young Wen disciple, Hua Cheng ignores the site once more.

Well, he can’t resist keeping half an eye on him. Hua Cheng occasionally observes him – there’s so little else to do – and notices him giving medicine to civilians, watches him completely fail at bargaining and pay too much for every little thing, watches him return to the little shrine again and again, and stare at the words carved into the lintel, and repeat the words to himself, sounding confused.

The boy never kneels, but he prays.

His Highness would have adored this child, would have supported his almost inhumanly accurate archery, would have looked at his sword forms for barely five minutes before intervening to tell him that he needed a different sword for his stature and temperament.

Two believers. His God now had two believers; Hua Cheng, the Ghost King who had ascended to heaven and then turned them down, and little Wen Ning, a fifteen-year-old child of Qishan Wen, a ruthless cultivation sect that didn’t suit him at all.

(Hua Cheng watches Qishan Wen sect, knowing that like Xian Le, like Yong’An and hundreds of other kingdoms, they too would inevitably fall.)

Rarely, very rarely, Hua Cheng takes a child’s form and visits the other shrine and tells Wen Ning stories about His Highness, the crown prince of Xian Le.

And then Hua Cheng all but forgets about the little Wen, his Highness ascends a third time and Hua Cheng has finally found him again, this time, this time Hua Cheng would not lose him, would not be parted from him.

It’s when His Highness says that he has no believers that Hua Cheng remembers that it’s not true.

Two believers is not many more than one, and Wen Ning could never match the depths of Hua Cheng’s devotion.

(But when he leaves His Highness on that cursed mountain, it is good to know he would not be alone.)

And then one day there’s a prayer. Prayers sound different to heavenly officials, depending on who is making them. They are usually stronger from within a shrine, stronger with humility, and stronger by far depending on the strength of their faith. (Hua Cheng does not know why Wen Ning believes so steadfastly, when he did not know the man gege had once been, had not been saved by him, been told to live for him, and died for him, twice.) Wen Ning’s prayer echoes, and gege turns to him. San Lang, please. Would you take me to Yunmeng?

Yunmeng is burning down, and Wen Ning prays, “Daozhang, help them.”

His Highness loves Wen Ning.

Hua Cheng leaves a few butterflies to watch him, watches him dance around the fighting, never taking a life himself, returning the bodies of the deceased to the rightful places with respect, a battlefield medic, only seventeen, who sits beside the dying with empathy and grace, tries to lessen their suffering. His sister, Wen Qing, is remarkable, she pulls people back from the brink of death, produces miracles with her own two hands. Wen Ning follows after, easing the pain of those mangled bodies that Wen Qing cannot reach in time, or judges impossible to cure.

Where do they go? Wen Ning asks once, bathing in icy waters, washing off the blood of his day.

“I don’t know. The ones who stay are still here. I do not know what comes after,” he admits. “But I hope it’s somewhere peaceful, before they return again.”

Wei Wuxian does the unimaginable. If anyone of this current crop of cultivators deserves to ascend it’s him. But he’s carved out his golden core to give to his brother, and Hua Cheng thinks that if he does ascend, it might be downwards, like him.

And then Wen Ning is taken to a work camp run by sadists. “San Lang, can you take me to see Wen Ning?” asks XIE LIAN, and he seems frightened.

“What happened? Has he stopped praying?”

“He is only repeating ‘Body in hell, heart in paradise.’”

Hua Cheng has seen the young man repeat the words a thousand times, but this time must be different. Wen Ning has finally learned what that means.

“I can’t go, I have to protect my family, Daozhang, Please. I can’t go,” are Wen Ning’s last words, though his mouth only shapes the words. His lungs have caved in from the beating and then the push off the cliff edge, and he can’t breathe enough to speak. Can only mouth the words as blood dribbles from his mouth.

His Highness kneels beside him. “Oh child, what have they done to you,” he whispers, resting a hand on his chest. The power flows from his hands, but he’s not a god of healing. All he does is ease his pain.

Wen Ning smiles.

“Can you watch them until I come back?” strangely, he’s looking at Hua Cheng, not XIE LIAN.

“I will,” he says softly.

“Thank you for everything, Daozhang,” Wen Ning whispers to his god, and then his spirit untethers. A small green flame, dim and exhausted from what he’s been through. Hua Cheng leans over and gathers the small spirit into carefully cupped hands.

“San Lang,” says Xie Lian, and he looks weary. Hua Cheng would gather him into his arms were they not occupied. “What are you doing?”

Some spirits don’t leave. Can’t. Wen Ning is a mild mannered, silly child and yet in this, he is no different than Hua Cheng; Wen Ning will not go.

There aren’t many places for lost, stubborn spirits, but Hua Cheng has carved one out painstakingly.

“I will take him home.”

#ghost!LWJ fic excerpt #little ghost Wen Ning #hua cheng #xie lian #wen ning

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katfett · 3 years

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Damned (Hvitserk x OC) - Prompt Piece

Summary:

Unable to find peace with his path, Hvitserk decides an early morning wash to clear his doubts was in order. The water nymph that he accidentally comes upon is temptation itself and the young monk cannot win the internal war raging between the man he was, the man he is and the man he should be.

Prompt:

“For a monk, it does present certain problems.” (In the name of the rose)

Author’s Note:

Any mistakes, I apologise for. I know I’ve probably missed some. I’ll fix them tomorrow.

I’m going to be honest, I really disliked and liked the end of Hvitserk’s story. It made sense in Hirst’s story but it let me do this so yay! I wanted to see Hvitserk venture to Ireland and come into his own. So this is the concept of him shedding that path and following another. I also wrote this in the span of two hours, and did not realise how long I made it... enjoy! Thank @youbloodymadgenius cause without her prompt, this wouldn’t exist.

Warnings: Smut, nudity, internal conflict.

***

Travelling north on his pilgrimage was strange. He had been so accustomed to his old life, the life of a heathen, that the friendly greetings and kindness displayed were uncomfortable. It had been some long months since that bloody day; since Ivar’s death.

He still saw him, dreamt of him. He would never be without him. The constant shadow whispering that he shouldn’t have renounced their gods, he should’ve returned to Kattegat and taken it back from Ingrid. Some nights, he could feel the blade against his throat that Ivar’s ghost would hold there, telling him he didn’t belong in monk’s clothes.

Last night, had been such a night. He could sleep on the hard ground without complaint; he’d done it long before taking his vows.

Still, he was weary and exhausted come morning. The pilgrimage had been requested by Alfred. They wished him to venture across England, spreading the word of god, self-reflecting, praying.

There was a deep part of Hvitserk that was grateful to escape the confines of the church; his life before had left him a wanderer, and that part of him felt too confined in one place for months on end.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Hvitserk climbed to his feet. He looked around at the sleeping forms around him. Three monks had come with him, Alfred’s watch, Hvitserk knew, as the young king still did not fully trust him.

The sun had not yet risen and Hvitserk decided he would take the time to wash while the others slept. He grew weary of their eyes following the tattoos adorning him when they shared the river; marks that highlighted just what he had been before this.

Finding the river, Hvitserk stripped off his robes and sunk into the cold water with a sharp breath. It was freezing but it woke him up.

A startled squeal pierced the silence of the early morning and Hvitserk spun, hands instinctively going for a weapon at his hip that was no longer there.

His eyes landed on the woman; back to him and waist deep in the water. Her arms were wrapped about her front, even though she was turned from him, her wide eyes looking at him incredulously.

“What are you doing?!” She all but hissed at him.

Hvitserk glanced down at himself, suddenly aware that he was thigh deep in the water and therefore completely exposed to her. He quickly sunk into deep into the water until it covered his lower half.

“I could ask the same of you woman,” he said. The response wasn’t passive and apologetic for looking at her naked back, as it should’ve been for a monk.

She was watching him warily, he could see the way she glanced towards her clothes on the bank, to where a bow and quiver lay. Her blonde hair hung down her back, clinging to fair skin as they stared at one another.

Then he realised what she was staring at; his tattoos. He muttered a curse under his breath, brother Osgyth would’ve blushed hearing it. The woman thought him a Viking.

“I was bathing. You intruded.” Her voice was firm, as though she were scolding a child.

Hvitserk held his hands up as a sign of surrender, though he refused to take his eyes off her, aware of the weapon on the bank.

“You bathe alone?” Hvitserk asked.

“Yes.”

He waved around to their surroundings. “Are you not worried about being set upon?”

The heavy silence that followed said everything. Laughter broke it and Hvitserk was surprised by how sweet it was. It had been a long time since he had heard the laughter of a woman.

“You have set upon me, Viking.”

He frowned, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he motioned to the robes laying near where he’d walked in. “I am not Viking.”

Her eyes followed his hand, spying the robes she frowned. “A monk?”

She turned to face him then; her arms still covered her breasts but Hvitserk now was able to see her fully.

She was beautiful. He should’ve pushed the thought down; shouldn’t let his gaze trail across slim shoulders, the swell of her breasts that were exposed above her arm, or her flat belly and wide hips, but he did.

He bit out a soft curse feeling the shift in his thoughts. She was beautiful, and alluring. Hvitserk hadn’t lain with a woman in a long time, even before converting. Until now, it hadn’t been much of a problem.

***

Elen stared at the man. He looked more heathen than he did monk. His muscular chest was covered by tattoos, his hair was long and not shaved at the top like she’d seen of monks before and his beard was long. His overall appearance did little to evoke the image of a monk.

The robes could be a ruse. The cross about his neck stolen from a man of god he had slain. Despite the fall of Ivar the Boneless, the Vikings still raided into Mercia and Elen knew what they did to women.

If only she could get to her bow.

He had only nodded in reply to her query about him being a monk. He spoke English well too, for a Viking.

***

Hvitserk was quiet, unmoving as he watched her deep in thought. Her face was pretty, she couldn’t be much younger than him. Did her husband know where she was? Did she have a husband?

Hvitserk felt like pinching himself and from somewhere deep in his mind he heard Ivar laughing darkly at his predicament. What did it matter? He should get out and leave her to bathe. His legs didn’t move.

“Are you going to turn around?”

Hvitserk actually grinned at her; a cheeky, boyish grin. “So you can go for the bow? I don’t think so.”

She didn’t fire a remark back. She had been thinking it, he would be too if he were face to face with himself like this in her place.

She turned her back to him with a stubborn huff and he chuckled quietly. She was quite feisty for an English woman. He hadn’t met many, even now he lived here among them. His days had been spent cloistered, being taught to write. It had been embarrassing at first, but his people hadn’t been ones for writing their histories down like the English did; like Alfred’s chronicle.

The woman uncovered herself once she presented her back to him. She was going to pretend he wasn’t there. Some part of Hvitserk stirred as he watched her dip low and tip her head back to soak her hair. She straightened, squeezing the water from her golden locks. In her movement, he could see the swell of her breasts and had to bite his lip.

He had not really thought of fucking since converting. It just didn’t occupy his thoughts as it once had, but seeing this woman it reawakened in him and he was suddenly hungry for it.

He quickly scooped up two handfuls of water and splashed his face, scrubbing to try and cool his thoughts. He had said vows, he couldn’t be that kind of man anymore.

***

Elen didn’t look at him. The monk, she still had her doubts, was handsome and she blushed at the sinful thought of how it might feel to lay with him. He was a man of god, even though he looked heathen, he had not moved to invade her space.

“I am Aethelstan, lady.”

His voice was deep, smooth and calm. He called her lady? She almost laughed at the idea of appearing at all ladylike as naked and wet as she was.

“Elen, monk.” She heard the sloshing of water. Glancing over her shoulder, Elen found him sitting in the water, chest deep, his gaze far off. She wondered who he was. Monks didn’t usually look like heathens. Who had he been in his previous life? Had the church forced him into converting?

Sinking down so her chest was covered, Elen turned to look at him. She could go for her bow while he was like this, he might catch her but he surely didn’t have reflexes as quick as hers.

Something stopped her though as she heard him sigh, pressing his fingers into his eyes for a moment. “How do people live like this?”

Was the question for her? Was it about his predicament? She tipped her head curiously, treading a few cautious steps closer. He glanced at her and Elen realised he looked exhausted. “Live like what, Aethelstan?”

He seemed to cringe as she spoke the name. It likely wasn’t his birth name, perhaps he was still fresh to the church and getting use to having to answer to a new name.

“So confined by rules,” he muttered, hitting at the water as he drew a knee up and rested an arm on it.

Fascinated, Elen dared to move just a little closer. “Can you turn?”

He glanced across at her and she was struck by the confused, weary look in his eyes. His gaze dragged over her for a moment. “You won’t go for the bow?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “So long as you don’t try anything.”

He shifted in the water, presenting her his back. She moved so she could sit with her back to him, but the scars stopped her. Up close they were visible; old and new scars. So he had fought in his previous life. He was definitely a Viking, but how had he become a monk? She almost reached out to touch the raised, white lines on his back but stopped herself.

Instead, Elen shifted and leaned her back against his. She felt him tense as their skin came into contact; his back was warm and hard.

***

She was so close. Her back leaned into his and he tensed, unable to control the reaction. She didn’t move, letting him adjust to having her there. She was warm against him and he smiled to himself, dropping his gaze to the side to glance at where her arm was drawing lazy circles across the water.

This was peaceful, calming. He reached for the cross around his neck. It felt heavy as he weighed his thoughts.

“Who were you?”

Her soft question pierced the comforting silence and he sighed, dropping the cross back down. He didn’t respond straight away and it earned him a nudge.

With a raised brow, he glanced at her over his shoulder. She smiled sweetly at him and Hvitserk was captured by it. She was beautiful up close; delicate features on a face shaped by Freya... he stopped.

No, not Freya. Freya hadn’t made this woman. Her god, his new god had.

“A Viking.”

She rolled her eyes and he smiled. He didn’t miss the way her cheeks suddenly flushed as she watched him. “That is a given. Did you convert willingly?”

He nodded. “Yes.” She remained quiet, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, she sighed, leaning her whole back against his and dropping her head against his shoulder. His breath fanned her cheek as he watched her. Her eyes were closed, waiting. “I did, but adjusting, reshaping everything I knew to be a monk, is far harder than I expected.”

“Did you leave family behind? Do you regret the choice?”

She was curious he realised. He reached up, letting his fingers brush across the hair sticking to her temple, pushing it back gently, letting his fingers card through the long tresses hanging by his shoulder. He felt the shiver go through her.

“I don’t know if any survived. My father, my mother, three of my brothers are dead,” he said, Ragnar, Aslaug, Sigurd, Bjorn, Ivar - all dead. Ubbe’s face came to him then. Had his brother survived his journey? Were two sons of Ragnar still walking the earth? He hummed a little at the thought of his older brother. Would he be proud of him? Would he laugh as Ivar did in his dreams? “There are times I do regret it.”

She was quiet for a moment, her eyes fluttered open and their gazes met. “When do you find yourself regretting it?”

He wanted to chuckle. Was she an Angel coming to question his faith? His commitment? Was she a sign from old gods wanting him back? It was hard to tell.

“When I think of my father, when I picture the disdain my mother would have seeing me as I am, when I picture my brother and his disdain for Christains,” he said and then smiled, continuing, “when I find myself in front of a beautiful, naked woman and shame and guilt collide with want and desire.”

Her cheeks flushed and she let out a breathy chuckle, pulling her head from his shoulder. He was being bold, the old Hvitserk was bold, Aethelstan wasn’t meant to be. “And, what would you do if you found yourself in front of a such a woman before you converted?”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at her boldness. She didn’t seem innocent but he knew women could be many things. “Are you asking so you can imagine it on a cold, lonely night, Elen?”

“I’m curious is all.”

She deflected well.

“Ah,” he hummed, not believing her for a second, and then he turned just a little, his fingers reaching out to trail across what was exposed of her upper arm. Her body shuddered against his and he grinned, letting his fingers slid along her shoulder and then down her back. “I would fuck her until she cried out my name like a prayer to her god.”

Her soft whimper was barely audible as he swept her hair up into his hand, drawing it across her opposite shoulder as his hand came around the back of her neck, his thumb finding her pulse. It was racing frantically under his thumb. He squeezed gently. “Though then I would have broken my vows.”

His fingers almost slipped away but she reached over her shoulder, stopping them. He remained where he was. “For a monk, it does present certain problems.”

Hvitserk chuckled, nodding at her. “It does indeed, and so Elen, I find myself at an impasse.”

She turned to him, his hand remained on her, following her. They stared at one another. She licked her lips, and his eyes dropped to her mouth. It was soft and full, perfect for kissing. He wanted her. Damn him to his new God’s hell for it, but he wanted her and he wanted to give in to that want. “Do they not preach God will forgive those who repent?”

He smiled at her.

“They do,” he whispered, leaning down slowly to her mouth. “What if I have a taste and do not want to repent after?”

Her breath fanned over him as she chuckled softly. “Then that would be between you and God, Aethelstan.”

“It’s Hvitserk,” he said before capturing her mouth in a kiss. She turned fully to face him, her hands sliding around his neck as he pulled her in to him. She tasted sweet and he was drowning, lost in the feel of her fingers burying into his hair as she kissed him back with a surprising fervour.

Hvitserk knew he shouldn’t, knew that even if God would forgive him, he had failed a test so easily succumbing to the nymph with him. How could he ever hope to maintain his vows if he let himself fall now?

Her body pressed into his and he groaned at the feel of full, heavy breasts against his chest. She was made for fucking, what man in their right mind would refuse a willing roll with a woman like her. Hvitserk’s thoughts crumbled away as they came to their knees in the water, their bodies flush against the other. She moaned softly into his mouth as his tongue swept across her lower lip.

In an awkward tangle, they managed to stand, Hvitserk’s hands found her hips to guide her backwards to the bank, never letting up from their kiss. She clung to him, her small frame moulding to him in a way that was just right.

He broke away as they came down to his robes, her back hitting the cloth as he settled between her thighs. Her legs clung to his waist and he stared down at her. She was watching him with hooded eyes. He hadn’t been with a woman in so long. Cupping her cheek, he leaned in and kissed her.

“Are you innocent?” he asked against her.

She didn’t answer at first. Then slowly she nodded against him. He grinned against her. “You’d let a heathen turned priest take your innocence?”

Her cheeks were bright red and she bit her lip as she stared up at him. “I’m letting Hvitserk.”

He ground his cock against her belly as she said his name. His real name. He pulled back from their kiss and reached between them. His thumb found that nub between her legs and glided over it, she whimpered, her legs tightening around his body. He buried his head into her throat; nipping and sucking at the fair, damp flesh as he touched her.

She rode his fingers as he slipped two into her, needing her ready for him. Her body arched from the ground as his lips found her nipples. His teeth closed over one as her nails dug into his back. He grunted; rocking against her. He swallowed her cry as she came, all too aware of how close his fellow monks were. Though they tended to sleep like they were in the safety of their beds, even whilst on the road, he didn’t want to risk them hearing.

She trembled against him. Hvitserk grinned at the soft sigh that escaped her as she relaxed into the cloth at her back. Coating his fingers in her slickness, Hvitserk took hold of his hard cock and stroked himself. She glanced down between them, watching what he was doing. Elen was breathtaking beneath him. A water nymph who had seduced him with her sharp tongue. He grunted as he felt his belly tense. Her fingers glided along his sides as he positioned himself. He looked at her, the question hanging between them.

“Hvitserk.” His name was a breathy whisper from her swollen lips and he grinned down at her, sliding in a little. She tensed at first and he pulled back, repeating his movement, letting himself sink further into her each time. She didn’t cry out in pain, though she did wince when he finally settled fully into her.

Hvitserk moaned into her throat, dropping down on her, one arm curling around her head to find her hair as he leaned on his forearm, taking some weight off her. She felt so good around him. He allowed her to relax into it. Her fingers found his free hand and entwined with his, giving them a squeeze.

Hvitserk rocked against her and she groaned softly. He kissed her throat as he rode her. She was enjoying it, her fingers squeezing his as she arched her hips up to meet his own. Hvitserk didn’t last long, he knew he wouldn’t. When her walls clamped down on him, Hvitserk had grunted out a curse and rode her hard to chase his end.

She whimpered beneath him, her nails leaving imprints on his back.

He collapsed atop her, his sweaty body sticking to hers as they dried from their time in the river. He leaned back enough that he could kiss her gently, his fingers massaging her scalp and coming to her throat. “I am damned, woman.”

She giggled beneath him, moaning softly as he rocked himself against her. “We both are, Hvitserk.”

He snuggled into the woman beneath him. Content for the first time he’d been in quite some time.

Hvitserk was certainly damned, and he knew it. One night with Elen, it would never be enough. It came as a surprise when his fellow monks rose that morning to find Aethelstan’s things gone. A crude note was left, explaining he would prefer to finish his pilgrimage alone and would venture from Mercia to Wales.

What they didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt them, for Hvitserk didn’t journey alone. His water nymph followed him deep into the west of Wales towards the sea, never to be heard from again.

#youbloodymadgenius1kcelebration #smut #fanfiction #prompt #fanfic #angst #nudity #hvitserk #vikings #aethelstan #hvitserk monk #monk hvitserk #hvitserk vikings #promptpiece #hvitserk x oc #hvitserk x

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antihero-writings · 3 years

Text

Undead Memory (Ch1)

Fandom: Castlevania (Netflix) (Season 2)

Character Focus: Alucard

Summary: What happened during that month in which Alucard was alone in the castle?

Alucard dealing with the aftermath of S2, and trying to cope with the death—or, more accurately, the ghosts—of his parents.

Notes: First of all, spoilers for season 2!

Another Alucard-centric fic, but actually about the show this time!! Whoo!! I'm excited to finally start posting this one.

Believe it or not, I started this idea a while before S3 started, wanting to write something for the time after S2 of Alucard being alone in the castle. Then after S3 I wanted to write it both more and less XD The idea of Alucard seeing ghosts brought up at the end of S2 is an interesting one, and one I thought deserved more exploration. As well as just that month where he's alone being something interesting to write about.

This is one of those fics I wanted to post as a long one-shot, but ultimately got stuck and decided it would be better to break it up into chapters to make it more manageable for both reading and writing. I said it'd be 4 chapters above, but I'm not quite sure exactly how many it'll be. It just helps me to jot down a manageable ballpark number.

That being said, one of the reasons I hesitate to break things up into chapters, is because if people don't seem interested it severely inhibits my desire to keep writing that fic. So, it really does help my motivation a LOT when you comment and say you want to read more!! So just know that when you comment, you're helping more of this fic get written!!

Shoutout to @it-burns-when-i-pee for giving me the clock idea!

Chapter 1: Reminders

There were no graves. Dracula and Lisa didn’t get graves. The rest of the world would have said they didn’t deserve to rest in peace.

Antigone would say Polynices deserved to sing in Olympus all the same.

The only grave they got was a castle. And many would say it was better than most—that they’d take a castle over a headstone, a mausoleum, or the ground any day. They’d say a castle was a hell of a lot better than being dumped down the sewage grate.

And all that’s fair, but perhaps the bigger problem was this: there were no remains.

They both burned. One in holy fire, one in hell. (And who could say where they truly ended up, if there was a heaven and hell after all?)

All that was left of Lisa Tepes was a pile of charcoal on an altar to a priests own pride.

And all that was left of Vlad Tepes was a ring, and a soot stain on the carpet.

Most would say they got what they deserved; to die without chance at Olympus.

Adrian doesn’t know where to put his flowers.

Most children bury their parents eventually, but usually this is when they have children of their own to keep them company, and their parents have been bouncing grandchildren on their knees for at least a year or two, with white hair and crinkled smiles, barely able to walk, or see: sick and ready to greet the gods.

Adrian may look old enough to settle down, but he’s younger than most would surmise. And while he can certainly handle himself, he was not prepared for his parents to die within a year of each other…especially considering that the parent who was meant to be immortal died by his own hand.

He would have liked to have some respite in his own home.

But perhaps, more important than where to put flowers, there was most unfortunate side effect of the lack of remains, and the castle grave:

Ghosts.

And this isn’t the pearly white wraiths wandering around saying ‘boo’, or skulls that float about the head gnashing their teeth. Not even a chained apparition to remind one of their sins.

This is something much worse. Worse because they belong to the house’s owner. Worse because their true grave is his head.

—(And that place never rested)—

Their ghosts wander the castle, not just a graveyard. This castle seems to have an affinity for the undead.

Maybe not everyone could see them. He tries not to indulge the thought that maybe there’s nothing there at all, and they’re nothing more than undead memory.

Alucard has been seeing ghosts since the moment he was left alone in this place.

He’d rather have a grave to mourn them at, and converse with the memories, than watch their ghosts keep him up at night, unable to touch, or to talk to them.

He should remind himself to look up the definition of ‘torment’ later.

At first it was his father’s steps when he walked up the stairs. His mother’s smiles, his own young laughter when he sat in the study. When he sat at the table to eat, he watched the vampire king tossing a young boy into the air, both laughing like fairy wing beats, as Lisa watched on from the table. Alucard tried not to lose his appetite.

Then they were given voice: it was Father’s lessons when he looked for a book in the library. Mother’s stories as he sat reading, making him incapable of concentrating to his own book all the while. Baking cookies together in the kitchen. Father allowing him his first drink—(of wine or blood? Take a guess. He only needed one of them, after all)—as he walked through the cellar. Mother decorating the castle, making it look a little nicer, a little more alive. Not all of them were positive. Their arguing voices down the hallway. His own tears.

Father’s claws against his chest.

And he wouldn’t dare get close to that room. Because whenever he walks past the door, he can still hear his father speak to him like he did when he was still a child dressed in sunlight, and there was nothing but love.

Mother, father and…himself. As if he died long ago with them. As if the happy child he was within them is gone. As if he’s no longer the Adrian who sat with his parents, read with them, baked cookies, and laughed with them…but the Alucard who killed them.

And, well, maybe he didn’t kill his mother, but sometimes he didn’t know what else to think but to blame himself for the thought that he could have saved her.

And he did kill his father.

He still feels that stake in his hand when he walks by that room—(But it wasn’t a stake was it? It was the bedpost of his childhood bed, as if ripping his childhood at the seams and denying everything he was born as). He still feels its splinters in his fingers, the smell of pine, the feeling of it piercing his father’s chest, the way his heartbeat refused to stop—(he rested his head on his chest once, the constancy of the rhythm was comforting then). The warmth of his father’s blood draining over his fingers. The sound of his father’s ripping voice. The unearthly, ungodly howling of the souls trapped inside him—(was he really so bad?). He could still smell his flesh burning.

He still wakes up in the middle of the night with the image of his fathers face melting off its bones as it came closer to him, reaching out as if to to caress his son’s cheek, seared onto his eyes—(is this how Victor Frankenstein felt when the creature smiled at his window?)

But when the morning came, he took that ring and he wore it on a chain around his neck all the same, to remind him of a few things:

One: that love is one of those things that is free, but comes at a high price. If you take it lightly, it will leave you heavily.

Two, an addendum to one: that love is not soft. Love is not flowery words, or even the insatiable desires the romance novels say it is. Love is an insidious fire, when you have it, it rages, and you know what warmth is. When the fireplace is empty it aches, and when your heart breaks your chest gets cut on all the pieces. And underestimating it, calling it weakness, will always be your undoing.

Three—(one that was beginning to weigh heaviest): that living and immortality are not the same thing. Vlad may have been immortal, but he was only ever alive with Lisa.

Four: to always know where he came from…and where he didn’t want to end up.

Five, and final: that though he had saved lives, though it was noble, and the stories and songs would say he was brave, and though Trevor and Sypha would say it was for the greater good…he would always be the son who loved his father…and the son who drove the stake into his father’s heart.

All for love.

He can find respite from the memories sometimes. He finds himself spending too much time down in the Belmont hold, reading, organizing, putting away ancestors—(ancestors not of his, ones that didn’t come back). Learning, pursing his lip in disapproval, or laughing to himself at the thought of some of the things Trevor’s relatives did (making a mental note to use the story against Trevor when he next saw him). Thinking of his friends…and trying not to think of them, lest they become ghosts too.

He likes going out into the woods to get food, and water, and fresh air. He wavers there at times, wondering if maybe he could just… leave. He spends more time out there than is strictly necessary.

Sometimes he runs out into the woods—well, more precisely padding, cantering on paws—and other times flies—trying to make sure his tongue can taste freedom, and his wings can snare sunlight, before he turns back.

But he always has to return. Return to the stuffy, putrefied remains of the castle. The air where he hears his parents whisper sweet words that are gone, where memory reconstructed from fairy castles sweet worlds he’s ripped away.

Would it be so hard to just leave?

Surely we can let the poor wandering souls in the woods find refuge. It was a grave after all. Just let the lost rest against the headstones, though they know not whose skeletons lie beneath them.

He leans against Trevor’s tree, and sees a young boy playing on the branches—laughing, free—and smiles…before it becomes gasp and grimace, and he shakes his head, returning to the castle.

Not them too.

He thought he could take it. The grief. The ghosts. The wrath of the gods

But he can’t stay.

Not forever. That is to say, he can’t leave for long. Just to visit town, to see another person or two, to get out of his head, and pray the specters won’t follow him.

He slings his bag over his shoulder, along with the coat he always wore—the one that smells like the campfires he sat at with Trevor and Sypha—and sighs as he walks out the door.

He has another grave to visit.

#castlevania #netflix castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania fanfic #castlevania fic #castlevania netflix #alucard #alucard castlevania #castlevania alucard #adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes #castlevania season 2 #dracula #Lisa Tepes #Vlad Tepes #Vlad Dracula Tepes #castlevania fandom

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symphonyofthewrite · 3 years

Text

Undead Memory (Ch1)

Fandom: Castlevania (Netflix) (Season 2)

Character Focus: Alucard

Summary: What happened during that month in which Alucard was alone in the castle?

Alucard dealing with the aftermath of S2, and trying to cope with the death—or, more accurately, the ghosts—of his parents.

Chapter 1: Reminders

There were no graves. Dracula and Lisa didn’t get graves. The rest of the world would have said they didn’t deserve to rest in peace.

Antigone would say Polynices deserved to sing in Olympus all the same.

And all that’s fair, but perhaps the bigger problem was this: there were no remains.

They both burned. One in holy fire, one in hell. (And who could say where they truly ended up, if there was a heaven and hell after all?)

All that was left of Lisa Tepes was a pile of charcoal on an altar to a priests own pride.

And all that was left of Vlad Tepes was a ring, and a soot stain on the carpet.

Most would say they got what they deserved; to die without chance at Olympus.

Adrian doesn’t know where to put his flowers.

He would have liked to have some respite in his own home.

But perhaps, more important than where to put flowers, there was most unfortunate side effect of the lack of remains, and the castle grave:

Ghosts.

And this isn’t the pearly white wraiths wandering around saying ‘boo’, or skulls that float about the head gnashing their teeth. Not even a chained apparition to remind one of their sins.

This is something much worse. Worse because they belong to the house’s owner. Worse because their true grave is his head.

—(And that place never rested)—

Their ghosts wander the castle, not just a graveyard. This castle seems to have an affinity for the undead.

Maybe not everyone could see them. He tries not to indulge the thought that maybe there’s nothing there at all, and they’re nothing more than undead memory.

Alucard has been seeing ghosts since the moment he was left alone in this place.

He’d rather have a grave to mourn them at, and converse with the memories, than watch their ghosts keep him up at night, unable to touch, or to talk to them.

He should remind himself to look up the definition of ‘torment’ later.

Father’s claws against his chest.

And, well, maybe he didn’t kill his mother, but sometimes he didn’t know what else to think but to blame himself for the thought that he could have saved her.

And he did kill his father.

But when the morning came, he took that ring and he wore it on a chain around his neck all the same, to remind him of a few things:

One: that love is one of those things that is free, but comes at a high price. If you take it lightly, it will leave you heavily.

Three—(one that was beginning to weigh heaviest): that living and immortality are not the same thing. Vlad may have been immortal, but he was only ever alive with Lisa.

Four: to always know where he came from…and where he didn’t want to end up.

All for love.

He likes going out into the woods to get food, and water, and fresh air. He wavers there at times, wondering if maybe he could just… leave. He spends more time out there than is strictly necessary.

Would it be so hard to just leave?

Surely we can let the poor wandering souls in the woods find refuge. It was a grave after all. Just let the lost rest against the headstones, though they know not whose skeletons lie beneath them.

He leans against Trevor’s tree, and sees a young boy playing on the branches—laughing, free—and smiles…before it becomes gasp and grimace, and he shakes his head, returning to the castle.

Not them too.

He thought he could take it. The grief. The ghosts. The wrath of the gods

But he can’t stay.

Not forever. That is to say, he can’t leave for long. Just to visit town, to see another person or two, to get out of his head, and pray the specters won’t follow him.

He slings his bag over his shoulder, along with the coat he always wore—the one that smells like the campfires he sat at with Trevor and Sypha—and sighs as he walks out the door.

He has another grave to visit.

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mousehole5000 · 3 years

Text

tgcf again chapters 174-191. im now midway through book 4. pain and suffering. and yet also.... this is really good.... but also.... pain...

okay cave of ten thousand gods everythings coming out into the light.... xie lian pretending not to hear fengqing drop their act im emotional..... fengqing silently working together to separate xie lian and hua cheng im emotional..... every word that comes out of mu qing’s mouth im emotional....

honestly reading the xianle trio discussing hua cheng.. its very hard for me NOT to project all the times ive been in a friendship trio and someone got a boyfriend the other two didnt like (which was every time. theres never been a bf everyone liked. sometimes i was the one who had the bf. there were no winners then and tbh i predict there will be no real winners here as far as this friendship goes but such is life)

mu qing is so smart he’s clever he’s tricksy i love it i love him ugh

“A pair of arms had circled around him from behind, and hugged him with force all of a sudden. Xie Lian had buried his face in his back, and also didn’t speak. Though nothing was said, it was enough.” okay i cant get into every different way im feeling about whats going down bc it would get Too Personal but this..... im emo. also xie lian saying “something like this has to be said clearly“ and then proceeding to not say a word just going in for a hug is a mood

“He heard Hua Cheng’s staggering voice coming from above. “...Your Highness. You really…will be the death of me.” - ok well DONT SAY THAT!! now im worried!!!

“Hua Cheng, however, only snorted, appearing as if his eyes could see through the thick rocky walls. He said darkly, “Don’t worry. If he kills one, I’ll make ten more. Fast and furious like the storms, I will never back down. Let’s see who’s the one left standing in the end.” Xie Lian’s heart skipped a beat for some reason, and he mumbled inwardly, “... Oh no, this is bad.” Even though Hua Cheng’s expression was subconsciously displayed, Xie Lian really was quite weak to this aggressive and rebellious confidence of his.” - fjadskfajsl its okay xie lian honey you never know whats going to do it for you

okay so are the murals and statues are only from the xianle era? im hoping hua cheng didnt secretly follow xie lian during his time as a mortal during the entire 800 years and then pretend to a total stranger that would be too much imo lets see. i still really do get why feng xin and mu qing are like “...dude wtf lets get out of here stay away from that guy” (also tbh probably if theyd all managed to stay close... this probably wouldnt be happening which isnt a judgement im just saying bc thats definitely how ive felt about friendships) although this whole thing IS indeed tinged with homophobia which i still dont think makes sense in this setting but whatever i guess.

BOOK 4!!!! im scared

“A few days ago he nearly fainted, and it was only after that did he realize it was because he hadn’t had anything to eat for several days.” - unfortunately relatable but :(

“Ever since Xie Lian was young, he had never had to consider these kinds of affairs, and this was truly the first time in decades that this problem gripped him. However, if gods didn’t even know what starvation felt like, how could they possibly understand the feelings of a starving worshipper? How could they possibly empathize? At this point, he could only take this experience as a form of training.” - TRUE THO!!!!!!!! i like seeing this even tho the circumstances are sad

wait does xie lian get his bad cooking skills from him mom? im gonna cry...

“After returning to the city, Mu Qing’s stomach was still turning. He said as he stumbled, “I thought…that porridge, it smelled like bran water, but I hadn’t thought it’d taste like it too!” Feng Xin gritted his teeth. “Shut up! Don’t force people to remember that pot of stuff! The queen is…body of ten thousand gold after all…never cooked…this is already…UGH!…” Mu Qing humphed. “Did I say something wrong? If you didn’t think it was like bran water, why don’t you…go ask the queen to grant you another bowl! UGH!…” The two were heaving back and forth, and Xie Lian grabbed hold of the both of them, patting their backs.” - xianle trio.... including simply because it made me do the pleading emoji in real life..... also the way the queen wanted to feed all of them... weeping

i didnt realize that mu qing would still be around during this time.... god the fact that i know theyre all going to split......

“It’s precisely because it’s a time like this that money has to be brought up!” Mu Qing countered. “A time like this? What time is it? Time when we’re starving! It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to admit it, but nothing can be done without money! Can you both not just suck it up a little bit?” - mu qing i love you. god.... for real the fact that he comes from a completely different background than the other two is so important to his character and i think it shows so much in the way he continues to be in the present. he gives me the vibe of someone who is smart and hardworking but is bitter about it and tbh!!!! i get why he is!!! he’s very aware of these kinds of concerns bc he’s had to be, while the other two kind of think theyre above it and its a big difference between them. he’s still separated by the circumstances of his birth despite how much harder he’s worked to get to where he is.... ugh painful and delicious

i really am enjoying the xianle story tbh. xie lian going from his highness, favored by heaven, well-intentioned but lacking in experience and understanding to living in poverty and fighting with mortals who disrespect him. fucking delicious i mean this sincerely and respectfully im sad but i really like his character arc. and then to how he is in the present....

“Mu Qing looked at him, speaking not a word. Then he bowed deeply and really turned around to walk away.” - OH NO ITS HAPPENING AHHHHH ;_; honestly all of this hurts but it feels real like i think mu qing has every right to want to leave honestly and he DOES have other family and other ambitions outside of the trio... and i get why feng xin is mad about him wanting to leave when theyre suffering!! and i get why xie lian lets him go.... friendships are hard man and the pain of them splitting is rough!!!!

“Mu Qing’s departure had really shocked him to the core. First, he had never thought that someone so close would just up and leave. Second, Xie Lian had always believed in “forever”. For example, friends would always be friends forever; no betrayal, no deception, no breaking up. Perhaps there’d be times when they’d part, but it for sure wouldn’t be over reasons like “life is too horrible” - pain. just pain. same as above i get it but it hurts

“Xie Lian didn’t know too well just how much money would be considered normal when buying over ten lanterns, and he never looked at the price tag when he purchased things in the past.” - i feel bad kicking him while he’s down and he’s still trying to be kind even when it costs him but this is the first thing that came into my mind

but also oh?? spirits of soldiers from the battlefield you say?? hmmm i wonder... who.... could possibly be among them....

“If you remain forcibly, you won’t be able to rest in peace,” Xie Lian said. The nameless ghost didn’t seem to care. “I pray to never rest in peace.” - i cant lie this legit gave me goosebumps lol

“Xie Lian himself was alright in suffering through it, since there were far too many other things to worry about. But his mother, who had lived a comfortable, luxurious life, when had she ever done such crude labour? But if the queen didn’t do this work herself, who else could take over?” - hmmmm!!! housekeeping!!!! it matters!!!! rich people dont appreciate how much until they have to do it themselves!!! but this still makes me sad

oh god THATS when they pawned hongjing?? with the king sick and mu qing leaving?? :(((( even more emotional about its appearances in the present day

“That passerby chuckled. “You don’t know? This is too exciting! The servant is beating the master!” - oh god the dramatic and ironic timing of it all

god..... this is just... a sad time....

“MU QING ISN’T LIKE YOU ALL. HE’S MY FRIEND, HE WOULD NEVER HELP YOU!!!” [cut to] “Those were the only words echoing in Xie Lian’s mind, but he couldn’t utter a single sound, and could only crazily grab at anything at his disposal to throw. He didn’t care who he was hurling at, either. Finally, Mu Qing couldn’t take this anymore, and he steeled his face as he swept his sleeves and left. Xie Lian panted harshly for a bit and fell back down, spacing out again.”- IM SAD!!!!!! tbh i wonder if on some level xie lian kind of felt like mu qing owed him? i know he said to forget about that stuff to both of them but its one thinig to say it and think you mean it and another to have to deal with it

white no-face what is your DEAL!! also all the little fire ghost bits im...

“After having exchanged so many words, Feng Xin finally got the gist of what had transpired. He widened his eyes and pointed at Mu Qing, unable to speak. A moment later, he bent down and grabbed a sack and flung it over, roaring. “SCRAM! SCRAM SCRAM SCRAM!” Mu Qing was hit in the face by the sacks of rice he brought and backed two steps away. All three of them in the house were panting harshly.” - this is it this is the part where i closed my laptop and said “noOOooOOOoooo” out loud to my room im so upset... and mu qing still tried to leave the rice even after the broom thing im ;_;

“Feng Xin was completely convinced that he would never do such a thing, but that was precisely why this had become the worst-case scenario!” - pain, suffering, dismay, etc

“Feng Xin continued, “If Your Highness thinks your life might be in danger, I can finish this for you, I won’t tell Her Majesty, haha.” - bless your heart for trying feng xin

“But it shouldn’t be like this. The Feng Xin of the past would have absolute faith in him no matter what! Even if there was only twenty percent doubt, it was still unbearable!” - AHHHHHHH okay idk if i really have much to say about their relationship other than im sad but IM SAD!!!!

the differences between feng xin and mu qing’s relationship with xie lian are so interesting. feng xin has clearly always idolized xie lian a lot while mu qing hasnt at least not in the same way and he seems like he has some resentment towards xie lian (thats how i read it anyway thats what i said about it at the beginning of book 2 and i think its understandable and can be a very real part of friendships) that feng xin doesnt and i just think thats neat!!

“He was firmly tied down upon the altar, that broken base of the statue under his body. There were many people squeezed below the altar, and pair after pair of round, unblinking eyes were watching him.” - hmmm dont think i like where this is going

“Yet, before he could finish, he realized that the white silk that he used to cover his face had been undone. In this moment, the thing that had him completely tied down was that exact white silk.” oh my god wait is this ruoye?? is ruoye that same ribbon???? ill cry

“The hand stained with blood, the one that ended a life, was immune to the Face Disease.” - ohhh shit okay. okay okay. okay. shit okay. i See now.... so if youre an innocent civilian the only way to escape this fate (and the faces are actually the souls of other innocent civilians) is to get rid of your innocence... and doesnt this disease not actually hurt its just horrific? god.............

“White No-Face pitied, “You think they don’t want to do it? Wrong, it’s not that they don’t want to, it’s solely because no one wants to be the first, that’s all.” - shut up!!! youre the one who created this situation dont fucking preach about the way you think the world is

“He forced down the mouthful of blood and hissed, “What are you laughing at? You think that you got what you wanted? This was all forced by you!” The ghost fire within the ghost’s hand flickered even more fiercely.” - yes exactly!!! you put people in extreme circumstances sometimes they do extreme things!! youve proved nothing!! god i do love when characters say exactly what im thinking. plus the first ones who caved were trying to save their child

“He felt that, if he was to let them do what they wanted, there was something in his heart that would never return to its original state.” - :( also i kind of feel that in my life sometimes and i just hope xie lian’s heart ends up in a state he’s happy with

“He didn’t dare to look at what had become of the person lying on the altar, because what laid there didn’t look human anymore.” AHHHHHH!!! :(((( i mean i get why this event is what made hc... level up??? thats not a good way to describe it fjasldkfjaslk but you know what i mean... that line about being powerless to help your beloved OOOOOOF

okay well finished that chapter im. pain. hmmm. pain. i dont know if i actually have any words rn lol but im gonna stop here for now

#half of my commentary is just me going wow im sad!! this is sad!! pain!! wow sad!!!#anyway i love xianle trio with my whole heart they really do feel so real #mouse mumbles #tgcf liveblog #hc also feels real but in a way i might not ever talk about lol we'll see

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blindrapture · 3 years

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also #ThrowbackFrihorse to this short little ditty. Summer’s come and gone by now, but this song fucking sticks. This song is what Summer Sucks is all about. From the start to the finish, this is my best editing work and some of our best writing.

I’m gonna post the lyrics here because why the fuck not, I can be proud of my own work.

I: Here Comes The Sun Country glen with shouting men Growing star erases our Liquid lenis leaving only the Ruptured tenebrious loud thundercloud memoir:

RANGI (WHAT THE THUNDER SAYS): Are you afraid? When we're together I can almost feel you shake. Let me cry for you, though my tears evaporate. Even if the light should destroy us, Wouldn't you... like that? Uh, hm, ahem.

II: The Wind’s An Invisible Jester You left home To satisfy your convic(pass)tion Shun pain, watch, trap it in ice Invisible Jester, come home. I see now, The hurt surrounds us all. To this extent, their flames are meaningless! Clowns falter 'fore impermanence. Invisible Jester, commence. Talk to the wind.

When, how, why? White Jester, White Jester Talk to the wind. Yes, I'm afraid When we are together. I'm afraid my pride forbade me from seeing Exposure to the light hardens victims

Here's a Clown His name's Eugene, eugenicist. "Hey Sunsetto," calling you home "Hey Sunsetto, won't you come home?" Shareholder With dividends in high places, you see. He claims he might be Death. "Hey Sunsetto," calling you home "Hey Sunsetto, you're coming home. Or else!"

III: Ready Your Engine, Eugene Oh, I am too tired for this.

EUGENE: You're tired Hardwired And burning on flaming wings, money. You're tired Unsteady Overwhelmed You can't win, Pig Bruiser. Nerves fired Not ready There's no chance

ME: Yes, I'm tired Hardwired Better keep up! Ready your engine, Eugene.

[Lucius kills Eugene.]

See? I'm tired Hardwired And still take down Any Clown.

IV: Ghost of Capitalisms Past So yeah, summer goes on.

Archangel calculus, How infinitesimal! To go towards but never reach; How maddening to think you were once heresy!

Growing star closing in Melting cars on saucepan roads I know it's dynamo, not personal Still a sad show. Treading so slow Maybe when Aleph Null is full we'll see the afterglow? From bottom-up is impossible.

Adiaphanous number

(VOICE OF) CHORUS: Trapped in birth aging illness death In suffering, you're mine.

V: Kurentovanje III- Duration Of Inferno Seas flood with blood As Death slays War Rise, second sun Soon even blood will dry up

Somewhere Yggdrasil withers Until it's hard as stone.

VI: Watch For Rolling Rocks

VELES: Out of Yggdrasil a giant I am Veles, king of the rocks Come and sleep under the tree You'll see the workings of Society With Papa, mother under Eshu cenotaph asunder Sky bring horrors, make you wonder Meet with Rangi when comes thunder

Clowns won't bother you under the ground You'll be with your new family In restful slumber, peaceful Lay on your back, wait for landslide

Summer comes round The sun comes down Earth is ablaze Mind your young eyes, don't hit your head Or mind your music tastes instead To the Supermarket Yggdrasil, Drop to your knees and pray for skill Pray for balance And pray consumers choose their meal

Sleep under the Earth September Clowns believe just this, remember: "Their anabasis comes at your expenses... Crush them."

ME: O Goodnight, Yggdrasil Summer's too long for goodbyes But a goodnight may be wise O So goodnight, Yggdrasil Yeah, goodnight Yggdrasil Pray consumers choose their meal Else the Clowns will choose for us.

VELES: By the third sun, mountains will bake Mighty clouds will eat the atmosphere and choke whatever remains, Leave Earth as toxic wanderer. Fourth cruel sun won't even grant that, Molten rock combust to plasma, Making Earth itself the fifth sun, Solar system hideous beast. Still the stars will not be done, The next two take our gravity, And by the time come is the last one, We will all become as one sun.

VII: Landslide Lay on your back We will all become as one Wait for landslide What other choice do I have? Actually... I can think of just one thing: Ask the Clowns to dance. Predator, I'm not afraid.

Atop Mount Meru, He reclaims the thirty-third power for the Clowns. Power to erase all evidence, Transcend and escape samsara.

CANIO: There's something higher than God, Beyond form Neither perception nor lack of perception

He longs to define the shape of Shaping He doesn't see me climb the mountain

My first fragment returns from the Chaos, A spring in his step. He has conquered. I open his ears, and he joins the dance that never ends. I send him on his way.

Canio ain't happy.

CANIO: Messing with the balance!

ME: Ah, but I'm not done Pierrot, Canio, or whatever your name is. And then the second falls out of the sky. They found their name: "I'm Sunsetto." I hate to lie, that's not a surprise. Anyway, they join the dance. There was no Conquest, Famine or Death, was there? Just a planet of shades' lament.

CANIO: If you are quite finished, I've got business to do. You know I won't dance? Tarantella's not for me but you.

So he snaps his fingers and he's now a mockingbird Flies away and leaves me here without another word

VIII: The Wordless Sunset INSTRUMENTAL

IX: Remember Sunset

And the world goes dark But it's odd, feel the water rise.

The wind picks up, a sonata It's enough to vibrate the water And if I hold my body still I can just about make out the words:

"It's time to go, we begin again. And this time, no more supermarket; The Clowns will have a better task."

X: The Grand Reopening Gardens all across the Earth are green As up comes a new sun But I'm dancing at the roots of a new Yggdrasil And I still can't stop

The shops open again and no one goes in. The well of destiny: Puddle in the spring.

#my music #also lindsay's music #there's a million things i can say about this song. how it took literal years to compose. the collision of apocalypses in the lyrics.#which parts reprise and develop motifs from the rest of the album. which parts are original.#and *why* there's even original content here in the final stretch of the story.#but mostly i just want to say i am really really happy.

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lawrenceop · 4 years

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HOMILY for Sun in the Octave of the Ascension (Dominican rite)

1 Pt 4:7-11; John 15:26, 27; 16:1-4

Dom Prosper Gueranger, in his classic commentaries on the Liturgy, says that today’s Sunday Liturgy, coming between the Lord’s Ascension and the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, is one in which “the Church is yearning for the Lord, she feels the pangs of separation.” Thus the Officium, the Entrance chant, says: “my heart has said to Thee, I have sought Thy face, Thy face, O Lord, I will seek: turn not away Thy face from me.”

Many of you might say that this has been your refrain these long weeks while the churches have been closed up, and the Sacred Liturgy has become largely inaccessible. Today’s Liturgy, therefore, expresses in a particularly poignant way this year the deep yearning and longing in your heart for the Eucharistic Lord. So, yes, this year we share the experience of the first Christian community who, as Gueranger says, “yearns for Christ, and directs her gaze upward to her heavenly King; [and the Church] awaits the Holy Ghost with prolonged prayer.”

However, I think that the Officium expresses something even more profound, and touching not merely our Christian state of being, but rather the fundamental human condition. Due to original sin, all humanity has been separated from God and so experiences a certain existential angst. The classic expression of this comes from St Augustine who said: “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” The restlessness of the human heart is alluded to in the Entrance chant: “my heart has said to Thee, I have sought Thy face.” The whole human quest for happiness and indeed, for any kind of lasting joy, is in fact a quest for the face of God, a deep intrinsic desire in Man to see the face of God. As St Augustine said, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord.” Therefore, Man, having lost his friendship with God through the sin of Adam and Eve, is separated from God, and so he is fundamentally restless, always seeking happiness but never really finding it in the created world.

Not that God is absent from his world, for all that exists is good, and is held in being by the good and loving God. However the tragedy of sin is that our hearts become insensitive to the goodness of God, we become blind to his beauty, we can no longer see the One whose face we seek even when he is present to us. In this sinful state, the human quest for happiness, for God, leads us to try and find God in the pleasures and distractions of this world. We have a God-shaped hole, so to speak, in our lives, but we try to fill that with things and persons who are not God. And so the restlessness remains, the dissatisfaction, and the yearning, ultimately, for love. Tragically, Man – and so many of our contemporaries – do not know their fundamental intrinsic need for God and for his love. So many have fallen for the lie of the ancient Serpent, the Devil, who deceived even Adam and Eve into thinking that God is the enemy of my happiness and freedom, and that I can find joy and human fulfillment without God. But this is a lie. It is impossible. For “you have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless unless they rest in you.”

Therefore, St Augustine realises at last that “you [God] were within and I was in the external world and sought you there, and in my unlovely state I plunged into those lovely created things which you made. You were with me, and I was not with you. The lovely things kept me far from you, though if they did not have their existence in you, they had no existence at all. [But] You called and cried out loud and shattered my deafness. You were radiant and resplendent, you put to flight my blindness.“

Notice that it is God who calls out to Augustine. It is vital that we realise that although we can speak of our human life as one long quest for God, and although we often speak of the Christian life as our journey towards God, it is important to remember, as St Augustine does, that everything begins with the divine initiative. It is God who creates us; it is God who holds us in existence through his love; and it is God who saves us, and who moves us to seek him, and who touches our hardened hearts. St Augustine speaks of the inbreaking of God’s grace, of the effect of the grace of conversion in a way that is both bodily and spiritual because the whole human person longs for God. He says: “you lavished your fragrance, I gasped, and now I pant for you; I tasted you, and I hunger and thirst; you touched me, and I burned for your peace.”

So, yes, the Christian soul, and the whole Church, now longs and yearns for the Lord as Gueranger says. And today’s Liturgy expresses this longing: “Thy face, O Lord, I will seek: turn not away Thy face from me.”

But one has to wonder, sometimes, if we really long for God. Do we actually actively seek his face? Could we say, with St Augustine, that we gasp and pant for God; that we hunger and thirst for him; that we burn with desire for him? Or is it just his favours that we want; his consolations; the way he makes me feel; the things I can get from him? As a wise Dominican sister said to me when I was a novice: Do not confuse the God of consolations with the consolations of God. Because, if we really long for God, then we need to pray. In the epistle today, therefore, we hear the exhortation of St Peter: “be vigilant in prayer.” This doesn’t mean, necessarily, that we need to spend more time in prayer, or say more words in prayer, or even more novenas. St Thomas Aquinas, in fact, said that prayer shouldn’t last too long lest it becomes tedious, nor too brief so that it is distracted and irreverent, but rather it should be long enough to increase our love and desire for God. For that is the aim of true prayer: that we should yearn for God himself with a deeper love. And this is the yearning that today’s Liturgy speaks of; the deep love of the Church, of Our Lady and the apostles who gathered in prayer in the Upper Room of Jerusalem for the first and only necessary Novena of prayer. For, following Our Lord’s instructions to “stay in the city”, (Lk 24:49b) they “devoted themselves to prayer” (Acts 1:14), awaiting the Holy Spirit, the “power [of God’s love] from on high”. (cf Lk 24:49c)

Therefore, in this time between the Ascension and Pentecost, the Liturgy invites us to be united with Our Lady and the apostles in prayer. We need not necessarily spend more hours in prayer – although I would encourage us to persevere with a daily Rosary at least – but, more importantly, we’re called to pray more intensely, more devotedly, more completely with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength. (cf Lk 10:27). In the epistle St Peter thus speaks of prayer in a way that involves the whole human person: “practice hospitality… minister the grace you have received from God, one to another… [speak and serve] by the strength that God supplies” so that our whole life gives glory to God. (cf 1 Pt 4:9-11) Our whole Christian life, therefore, is lived in a state of prayer. For the yearning for God in true prayer fills us with his love, which empowers us to live a life of love for God and neighbour. For it is thus that prayer can be said to suffuse our whole lives; thus that we can be told to “pray constantly”, as St Paul does. (1 Thess 5:17)

The fruit of genuine Christian prayer; the fruit of this active love and graced service, is that we are united to Christ, to the God for whom we long. St Augustine puts it this way: “Why do we on earth not strive to find rest with him in heaven even now, through the faith, hope and love that unites us to him? While in heaven he is also with us; and we while on earth are with him. He is here with us by his divinity, his power and his love. We cannot be in heaven, as he is on earth, by divinity, but in him, we can be there by love.”

Therefore, the Lord commanded us, before he departed from us, to love another as he has loved us. And he promised to send us the Holy Spirit, who is the personal Love of God, who comes to inflame our hearts with love. For only the love of God satisfies the deepest longings of the human heart. Our hearts are restless until they rest in God, in him who is Love. Hence, in these days of the first novena, let us pray: “Come, Holy Ghost, fill the hearts and minds of Thy faithful servants and enkindle in them the fire of Thy Divine love.” For “my heart has said to Thee, I have sought Thy face”… So, come, Holy Spirit. Amen.

#prayer #love #charity #service #grace #St Augustine #Aquinas

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blackkudos · 4 years

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Yolanda King

Yolanda Denise King (November 17, 1955 – May 15, 2007) was an African American activist and first-born child of civil rights leaders Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Coretta Scott King. She was also known for her artistic and entertainment endeavors and public speaking. Her childhood experience was greatly influenced by her father's highly public and influential activism.

She was born two weeks before Rosa Parks famously refused to give up her seat on a public transit bus in Montgomery, Alabama, she occasionally experienced threats to her life, designed to intimidate her parents, and became a secondary caregiver to her younger siblings and was bullied at school. When her father was assassinated on April 4, 1968, the 12-year-old Yolanda King was noted for her composure during the highly public funeral and mourning events. She joined her mother and siblings in marches, and she was lauded by such noted figures as Harry Belafonte, who established a trust fund for her and her siblings.

In her teenage years, she became an effective leader of her class in high school and was given attention by the magazines Jet and Ebony. Her teenage years were filled with even more tragedies, specifically the sudden death of her uncle Alfred Daniel Williams King and the murder of her grandmother, Alberta Williams King. While in high school, she gained lifelong friends. It was the first and only institution where King was not harassed or mistreated because of who her father was. However, she was still misjudged and mistrusted because of her skin color, based on perceptions founded solely upon her relationship with her father. Despite this, King managed to keep up her grades and was actively involved in high school politics, serving as class president for two years. King aroused controversy in high school for her role in a play. She was credited with having her father's sense of humor.

In the 1990s, she supported a retrial of James Earl Ray and publicly stated that she did not hate him. That decade saw King's acting career take off as she appeared in ten separate projects, including Ghosts of Mississippi (1996), Our Friend, Martin (1999) and Selma, Lord, Selma (1999). By the time she was an adult, she had grown to become an active supporter for gay rights and an ally to the LGBT community, as was her mother. She was involved in a sibling feud that pitted her and her brother Dexter against their brother Martin Luther King III and sister Bernice King for the sale of the King Center in Atlanta, Georgia. King served as a spokesperson for her mother during the illness that would eventually lead to her death. King outlived her mother by only 16 months, succumbing to complications related to a chronic heart condition on May 15, 2007.

Early life

Early childhood: 1955–1963

Born in Montgomery, Alabama to Coretta Scott King and Martin Luther King, Jr., she was only two weeks old when Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a bus. Even in her infancy, Yolanda was faced with the threats her father was given when they extended to his family. In 1956, a number of white supremacists bombed the King household. Yolanda and her mother were not harmed. She and her mother, at the time of the bomb's detonation, were in the rear section of their home. Despite this, the front porch was damaged and glass broke in the home. She kept her father busy when walking on their home's floors. While her mother liked her name, her father had reservations about naming her "Yolanda" due to the possibility the name would be mispronounced. During the course of her lifetime, King's name was mispronounced to the point that it bothered her. King's father eventually was satisfied with the nickname "Yoki," and wished that if they had a second daughter, they would name her something simpler. The Kings would have another daughter almost eight years later named Bernice (born 1963). King recalled that her mother had been the main parent and dominant figure in their home, while her father was away often. Decision-making towards what school she would attend in first grade was done primarily by her mother, since her father expressed disinterest to her early in the decision making.

Martin Luther King III described his role as the second-born of their family as having made Yolanda jealous, and that she was always overcommitted but "still found time to get to the things that were most important to her". Her mother referred to her as being a confidant during the time following her husband's assassination. She complimented her mother on her achievements and her mother spoke of her in a positive light, as well. When asked by a young boy what she remembered most about her father, she admitted that her father was not able to spend much time with her and the rest of her family. When he did, she would play and swim with him. King cried when she found out her father had been imprisoned. Her father admitted that he had never adjusted to bringing up children under "inexplicable conditions". When she was 6 years old, she was saddened by classmates' remarks that her father was a "jailbird". An important early memory was that she wanted to go to Funtown, a local amusement park, with the rest of her class, but was barred from doing so due to her race. She did not understand, and asked her mother Coretta why she was not able to go. When she replied "Your father is going to jail so that you can go to Funtown." after numerous attempts to explain the issue to her, Yolanda finally understood. After having not seen her father for five weeks while he was in jail, she finally was able to meet with him alongside both of her brothers for less than half an hour.Her father also addressed the issue himself. He told her that there were many whites who were not racist and wanted her to go but there were many who were and did not want her to go. However, her father reassured her as she began to cry that she was "just as good" as anyone who went to Funtown and that one day in the "not too distant future" she was going to be able to go to "any town" along with "all of God's children".

Assassination of John F. Kennedy and Nobel Peace Prize: 1963–1964

On November 22, 1963, when U.S. President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, she learned of his death at school. When she returned home, she rushed to confront her mother about his death and even ignored her grandfather, Martin Luther King, Sr., to tell her mother what she had heard and that they would not get their "freedom now." Her mother tried to debunk this, insisting that they would still get it. She predicted at that time that all of the "Negro leaders" would be killed and the non-leading African-Americans would agree to segregation. Her mother started to realize that Yolanda had become more aware of the possibility that her father could be killed as well. For Christmas 1963, King and her siblings accepted a sacrificial Christmas as appealed by their parents and only received a single gift. King and her brother Martin III bragged about their selflessness at school. In 1964, upon learning her father would receive the Nobel Peace Prize, she asked her mother what her father was going to do with the money he was receiving in addition to the award. After she suggested that he would most likely give it all away, King laughed with her mother.

Enrollment at Spring Street Elementary School and last years with father: 1965–1967

King and her brother Martin Luther King III were enrolled in the fall of 1965 to Spring Street Elementary School. In 1966, she listened to a speech her father gave when he was addressing a rally. At the age of eight after writing her first play, she enrolled in the only integrated drama school of that time. The head of the school was Walt Roberts, father of the actress Julia Roberts. She began speaking at the age of ten and even filled in for her parents on occasion. Her memories of her father prompted her to state that he "believed we were all divine. I have chosen to continue to promote 'we're one, the oneness of us, and shine the spotlight,' as my father did." Coretta King wrote in her memoirs, My Life with Martin Luther King, Jr., that "Martin always said that Yoki came at a time in his life when he needed something to take his mind off the tremendous pressures that bore down upon him."

Father's death: 1968

On the evening of April 4, 1968, when she was 12, Yolanda returned with her mother from Easter-dress shopping when Jesse Jackson called the family and reported that her father had been shot. Soon after, she heard of the event when a news bulletin popped up while she was washing dishes. While her siblings were trying to find out what it meant, Yolanda already knew.She ran out of the room, screamed "I don't want to hear it," and prayed that he would not die. She asked her mother at this time, if she should hate the man who killed her father. Her mother told her not to, since her father would not want that. King complimented her mother as a "brave and strong lady," leading to a hug between them. Four days later, she and her brothers accompanied their mother to Memphis City Hall on her own terms, as she and her brothers had wanted to come. King flew to Memphis, Tennessee with her brothers and mother and participated in leading a march in Memphis with sanitation workers and civil rights leaders.

King was visited by Mrs. Kennedy before her father's funeral. After the funeral, she was visited by classmates from Spring Street Middle School with flowers and cards. At that time, she was also called by Andrea Young, whose own father had insisted that she should. The two were the same age. Bill Cosby flew to Atlanta after the funeral and entertained King and her siblings. King and her siblings were assured an education thanks to the help of Harry Belafonte, who set up a trust fund for them years prior to their father's death.

In regards to the possibility that her father could have been saved, King said she doubted that her father could have lived much longer given all the stress he had during his tenure as a leader of the Civil Rights Movement. She did admit that, had he lived or he been listened to more, "we would be in a far better place." King openly stated years later that she did not hate James Earl Ray.

Teenage years and high school: 1968–1972

At Grady High School, King was president of her sophomore and junior class, and vice president of her senior class. She ranked in the top 10 percent of her class. She was active in student government and drama. She made lifelong friends while in the institution that would collectively be called the "Grady Girls". She was also on the student council. At that time, King still did not know what she wanted to do with her life, but acknowledged that many wanted her to be a preacher. Her inclinations were driven to be artistic, which did not suit the political aspects of her father's life. Of the King children, Yolanda was the only one to attend Grady High School, as her siblings would go to different high schools following her graduation.

During the family's interview with Mike Wallace in December 1968, Yolanda was introduced by her mother and revealed her role in keeping the family together. Being the oldest, she had to watch her three younger siblings; Martin Luther King III, Dexter King and Bernice King and referred to the three as independent when she watched them whenever their mother went out of town. Sometime after Martin Luther King's assassination, King told her mother "Mom, I'm not going to cry because my dad is not dead. He may be dead physically, and one day I am going to see him again".

On July 21, 1969, King's uncle and father's brother Alfred Daniel Williams King was found dead in the swimming pool of his home. His youngest two children, Esther and Vernon, were vacationing with King and her family in Jamaica when they heard of his death. On April 4, 1970, the second anniversary of her father's death, she and her sister Bernice attended their grandfather Martin Luther King, Sr.'s silent prayer for their father at his gravesite. The practice of going to her father's grave on the anniversary of either his birth or assassination became an annual ritual for the King family to mourn his death.

In her teenage years, King preferred to go by her nickname "Yoki." As she said during an interview, "I prefer Yoki. Maybe when I'm older I won't be able to stand Yoki, but Yolanda sounds so formal!" She felt teenagers were confused and were using drugs as a method to escape their problems.

At 15 she was subject to controversy when she appeared in the play "The Owl and the Pussycat" with a white male lead. Though her mother kept her naïve to the controversies so she could "fulfill [her] objective, which was to do the play", that did not stop her from learning of the negativity implemented from her role years later. Her grandfather Martin Luther King, Sr. initially was not going to go to her performance due to opposition by locals, but changed his mind afterward. During a Sunday visit to Church, King was forced to stand before the congregation and explain her actions. In response to her role in the play and her own response to the role, a man wrote to Jet predicting that she would marry a white person before she was eighteen. Despite statements such as these, King did not become aware of the public discomfort with her role until years later, citing her mother's involvement in her knowledge of the criticism.

When King was 16 she received attention in Jet in 1972, where she talked about what her father's famous name was doing for her life. In the interview with the magazine, She related how people expected her to be "stuck up" and referred to it as one of the "handicaps" of being Martin Luther King's child. She recalled having met a friend that was scared of being acquainted with her, because of her father's identity and expressed her thoughts in the colleges she wished to attend. King would ultimately attend Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts after graduating from high school.

King called her father's name and having to live up to it a "challenge" and recalled a friend when she first met a friend of hers, who believed she could not say anything to King but after beginning to know her, realized that she was "no worse than my other friends" and she "could say anything" to her. King also voiced her dislike of the assumption that she would behave just like her mother and father, and the difficulty of being perceived as not being someone others could talk to. When asked what kind of world she would like to live in, King said she wished "people could love everybody". Despite this wish, she acknowledged that this was of no ease and expressed happiness that her father had changed many things, and even made some people gain self-esteem.Positive reception came to this interview, and Yolanda was even called the "leader of the 16-year-olds" for her "calmness, her concern," and "her vision".

Early adulthood

College: 1972–1976

After graduating from high school, she went to Smith College. She took classes taught by Manning Marable and Johnnella Butler, and became satisfied with her choice of a college. But after finishing her sophomore year and returning home so she could work over the summer, her grandmother Alberta Williams King was killed on June 30, 1974. With her death, the only remaining members of King's father's immediate family were her grandfather Martin Luther King, Sr. and aunt Christine King Ferris. She was also subject to some harassment by her classmates, describing it as the "era when students were making demands and many black students were closer to the teachings of Malcolm X, or what they thought were his teachings." The children referred to her father as an "Uncle Tom" and she was scared that he would go down in history as such. She reflected "I had never read his works. I was just someone who loved someone, and I knew he had done great things and now people didn't appreciate it." She proceeded to read his books, and started to believe that her father had been correct all along.

When asked about what pressures emerged from being a daughter of Martin Luther King, Jr., King stated that "as soon as people heard me speak, they would compare me to my father ... My siblings had the same kind of pressure. There was such a need, like they were looking for a miracle." At the time of her turmoil in college, King recalled having not known Malcolm X and "didn't understand daddy, so here I was trying to defend something I thought I knew about but really didn't." On April 4, 1975, King joined her family in placing azaleas over her father's crypt, marking the seventh anniversary of his assassination.

Immediate life after Smith College: 1976–1978

An alumna of Smith College after graduating in 1976, she was the subject of an essay among the "remarkable women" during a celebration during the college's one hundred and twenty-fifth year and she was a member of the Board of Directors of the Martin Luther King Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change, Inc. (the official national memorial to her father) and was founding Director of the King Center's Cultural Affairs Program. King became a human rights activist and actress. She stated in 2000 to USA Today, that her acting "allowed me to find an expression and outlet for the pain and anger I felt about losing my father,". Her mother's support helped in starting her acting career. Despite some early opposition to acting that she received during her controversial play in high school, King still tried to get roles and actively tried performing.

She served on the Partnership Council of Habitat for Humanity, was the first national Ambassador for the American Stroke Association's "Power to End Stroke" Campaign, a member of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, a sponsor of the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Human Rights Campaign, and held a lifetime membership in the NAACP. King received a Bachelor of Arts degree from Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts, a master's degree in theater from New York University, and an Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters from Marywood University. In 1978 she starred as Rosa Parks in the TV miniseries King (based on her father's life and released on DVD in 2005).

Meeting Attallah Shabazz: 1979

In 1979, Yolanda met Attallah Shabazz, the eldest daughter of Malcolm X, after arrangements had been made by Ebony Magazine to take a photograph of the two women together. Both were worried that they would not like each other due to their fathers' legacies. Instead, the two quickly found common ground in their activism and in their positive outlook towards the future of African-Americans. The two were young adults at the time and had a mutual friend who noticed they were both studying theater in New York and arranged for them to meet. A few months after King and Shabazz met, the pair decided to collaborate on a theatrical work, resulting in Stepping into Tomorrow. The play was directed towards teens and focused on the 10th year reunion of six high school friends. Stepping into Tomorrow led to the formation of Nucleus in the 1980s, a theater company which King and Shabazz founded. The theater company was based in New York City and Los Angeles and focused on addressing the issues that their fathers, Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X, spoke of in their lifetimes.The pair performed in around 50 cities a year and did lectures together, typically in school settings.

Adult life

King holiday, arrests, and return to Smith College: 1980–1989

When presenting herself in 1980 to the GSA staff members, she stated: "Jim Crow [segregation] is dead, but his sophisticated cousin James Crow, Esq., is very much alive. We must cease our premature celebration [about civil rights already achieved] and get back to the struggle. We cannot be satisfied with a few black faces in high places when millions of our people have been locked out." She received a standing ovation afterwards, alongside a thunderous applause. In February 1982, King was a speaker during the centennial of Anne Spencer's birth. In 1984, she was arrested in the view of her mother for having protested in front of the South African Embassy, in support of anti-apartheid views. It was the first time she had ever been arrested. On January 7, 1986, Yolanda, her brother Martin Luther King III and her sister Bernice were arrested for "disorderly conduct" by officers responding to a call from a Winn Dixie market, of which had an ongoing protest against it since September of the previous year.

She showed dissatisfaction with her "generation" on January 20, 1985, and referred to them as being "laid-back and unconcerned", and "forgetting the sacrifices that allowed them to get away with being so laid-back". That same year, she presented the Martin Luther King, Jr. Award for Public Service to Chicago Mayor Harold Washington during the fifth annual Ebony American Black Achievement Awards.

She celebrated her father's holiday on January 16, 1986 and attended a breakfast in Chicago with Mayor Harold Washington. She stated that her father had a "magnificent dream", but admitted that "it still is only a dream." King started Black History Month of 1986 by giving a speech in Santa Ana, which called for the study of African-American history to not "relegated to the shortest and coldest month of the year."After having been a public speaker for over twenty years, Yolanda recalled her talents having "happened very naturally growing up in a house like mine". She also found "great irony" in President Ronald Reagan having signed a bill to make Martin Luther King, Jr. Day a national holiday.

She kicked off Martin Luther King, Jr. Day by starting a weeklong celebration on January 12, 1987 and talked to students about opportunities that they had at that point which their parents and grandparents did not have.On April 8, 1988, King and Shabazz were honored by Los Angeles County supervisors for their "unifying" performance and message on stage at the Los Angeles Theater Center the previous night. Their play Stepping into Tomorrow was praised by supervisors as being "entertaining and enlightening." At the time of the honor, King said that their production company had been approached by organizations seeking to arrange special staging of the play for gang members before May 1, when the show's run would end. Supervisor Kenneth Hahn said to King that he "sensed I was in the presence of a great man when I met your father."She returned to Smith College on January 26, 1989. There, she gave a speech and made references to her past difficult experiences when first coming to the college. King made it clear that while she had not been "endeared" to the institution, she was still "grateful" for her experience. She called for Americans to memorialize those who gave their lives for "the struggle for peace and justice." At this point in her life, King also served as director of cultural affairs for the King Center for Nonviolent Social Change and was tasked with raising and directing funds for all artistic events.

Arizona boycott and James Earl Ray retrial: 1990–1999

On December 9, 1990, she canceled a planned appearance in a play in Tucson, Arizona and ignored a boycott going on at the time by civil rights groups and other activists for Arizona voters rejecting the proposal of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day being celebrated there. King and Shabazz had planned the play months before the voters of the state rejecting the holiday, and King prepared a statement which solidified her reasons for supporting the boycott. Despite this, Shabazz still appeared in the state and performed in the play. On January 17, 1991, Yolanda spoke before a crowd of students at Edmonds Community College, around 200 in number. She debunked complacency in having any role in progression of her father's dream. She joined her mother in placing a wreath around her father's crypt. King stressed in 1992 that love would help people make their mark on the world. That same year, she also spoke at Indiana University. In October, King gave support for a Cabrini-Green family that wants to escape the violence, and a fundraiser for their cause.

25 years after her father's assassination, she went to his gravesite. There, she joined hands with her siblings and mother along with other civil rights activists, singing We Shall Overcome. During July 1993, she agreed to speak at the Coral Springs City Centre for airfare and a fee in January 1994. She originally wanted $8,000, but was negotiated down to $6,500. During said speech, she mentioned that the fact that the poverty line in America among children had nearly tripled and urged people to "reach out" and "do what you can". In October, she uttered her belief that her father's dream of integration was not understood fully.

On February 1, 1994 King attempted to speak before a diverse class of students at North Central College. She stated, "It is entirely appropriate that you would choose to focus on multiculturalism as the opening activity of Black History Month. The only reason why Black History Month was created and still exists is because America is still struggling and trying to come to grips, come to terms with the diversity of its people." In July 1994, after seeing some photographs of her father prior to his death, Yolanda lamented that "this [had] brought back a lot of memories. It's often hard for young people to understand the fear and terror so many people felt and how bold they were to get involved in the marches. But walking through the first part of the exhibit I felt that terror." She honored her father in 1995 by performing in the Chicago Sinfonietta in the play "A Lincoln Portrait", in which she was the narrator. The "commitment" to diverse members in the audience and the play itself, was what represented the opportunities for which King fought.

In the fall of 1995, at age 39, she joined Ilyasah Shabazz and Reena Evers in saluting their mothers as they chaired an attempt at registering one million African-American women to vote in the presidential election of 1996. King joined the rest of her family in February 1997, in supporting a retrial for James Earl Ray, the man convicted of her father's murder, having realized that "without our direct involvement, the truth will never come out." In an interview with People magazine in 1999, she recalled when she first learned of her father's death and stated that "to this day, [her] heart skips a beat every time [she] hear one of those special bulletins." King appeared in the film Selma, Lord, Selma, based on the 1965 Selma to Montgomery marches as Miss Bright. Prior to the film's release, King expressed belief in children of the time only knowing "Martin Luther King Jr. was killed, but when it is time to talk about the facts and the history, there is not a lot of knowledge. They look at me when I'm talking as if this is science fiction."

Final years: 2000–2007

King attended and spoke at the Human Rights Campaign Detroit Gala Dinner of 2000. In a twenty-four-minute-long speech, she brought up the presidential election of that year, and also quoted the words of Bobby Kennedy by recalling his line which he took from George Bernard Shaw, that of "Some men see things as they are and say why? I dream things that never were and say why not?". During a presentation in May 2000, King was asked if the human race would ever become "color blind". In response, she pushed for "the goal" to be "color acceptance." Following the September 11 attacks, King spoke in North Chicago in 2002 and related that her father's wisdom during the crisis would have been of great aid to her. She mentioned the possibility that the event could have been a calling for Americans to put their loyalty towards "their race, tribe and nation", as her father once said. She, her brother Martin Luther King III and Al Sharpton sang We Shall Overcome in front of "The Sphere", which stood atop the World Trade Center prior to the September 11 attacks.

In honor of her father, King promoted a show in Los Angeles entitled "Achieving the Dream" in 2001. During the play, she changed costume numerous times and adjusted her voice and body language when changing roles. King and Elodia Tate co-edited the book Open My Eyes, Open My Soul: Celebrating Our Common Humanity, published by McGraw-Hill in 2003. In January 2004, King referred to her father as a king, but not as one who "sat on a throne, but one who sat in a dark Birmingham jail." While in Dallas in March 2004, King related; "It's only in the past half-dozen years or so that I have felt comfortable in my own skin. I don't have to try and prove anything to anyone anymore." "I struggled with a lot of the legacy for a long time, probably actually into my 30s before I really made peace with it," Yolanda stated in 2005 on "Western Skies", a public radio show based in Colorado. During the fall of 2004 she played Mama in "A Raisin in the Sun" at the Schwartz Center for the Performing Arts at Cornell University.

Mother's death, sibling dispute and final months: 2006–2007

Coretta Scott King began to decline in health after suffering a stroke in August 2005. She also was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. The four children of the civil rights activist noticed "something was happening". King was having a conversation with her mother in her home when she stopped talking. Coretta Scott King had a blood clot move from her heart and lodge in an artery in her brain. She was hospitalized on August 16, 2005, and was set to come home as well. Alongside the physician that took care of her mother, Dr. Maggie Mermin and her sister, Yolanda told the press that her mother was making progress on a daily basis and was expected to make a full recovery. She became a spokesman for the American Heart Association after her mother's stroke, promoting a campaign to raise awareness about strokes.

That year, she and her brother Dexter came to oppose their other brother and sister, Martin Luther King III and Bernice King, on the matter of selling the King Center. King and Dexter were in favor of sale, but their other siblings were not. After Coretta Scott King died on January 30 of the next year, Yolanda, like her siblings, attended her funeral. When asked about how she was faring following the death of her mother, Yolanda responded: "I connected with her spirit so strongly. I am in direct contact with her spirit, and that has given me so much peace and so much strength." She found her mother's personal papers in her home.

She preached in January 2007 to an audience in Ebenezer Baptist Church to be an oasis for peace and love, as well as to use her father's holiday as starting ground for their own interpretations of prejudice. She spoke on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day 2007 to attendants at the Ebenezer Baptist Church and stated: "We must keep reaching across the table and, in the tradition of Martin Luther King Jr. and Coretta Scott King, feed each other,". After her hour-long presentation, she joined her sister and her aunt, Christine King Farris, in signing books. On May 12, 2007, days before her death, she spoke at St. Mary Medical Center, on the part of the American Stroke Association. It would be the last time she would speak on behalf of the association.

Death

On May 15, 2007, King stated to her brother Dexter that she was tired, though he thought nothing of it due to her "hectic" schedule. Around an hour later, King collapsed in the Santa Monica, California home of Philip Madison Jones, her brother Dexter King's best friend, and could not be revived. Her death came a year after her mother died. Her family has speculated that her death was caused by a heart condition. In the early hours of May 19, 2007, King's body was brought to Atlanta, Georgia by private plane belonging to Bishop Eddie Long. A public memorial for Yolanda King was held on May 24, 2007, at Ebenezer Baptist Church Horizon Sanctuary in Atlanta, Georgia. Many in attendance did not know her, but came out of respect for the King family's history of non-violence and social justice. King was cremated, in accordance with her wishes. She was 51. All three of her siblings lit a candle in her memory.

Bernice King said it was "very difficult standing here blessed as her one and only sister. Yolanda, from your one and only, I thank you for being a sister and for being a friend." Martin Luther King III uttered that "Yolanda is still in business. She just moved upstairs." Maya Angelou wrote a tribute to her, which was read during the memorial service. She wrote "Yolanda proved daily that it was possible to smile while wreathed in sadness. In fact, she proved that the smile was more powerful and sweeter because it had to press itself through mournfulness to be seen, force itself through cruelty to show that the light of survival shines for us all." Many former classmates of both Grady High School and Smith College attended to remember her. Raphael Warnock stated; "She dealt with the difficulty of personal pain and public responsibility and yet ... she emerged from it all victorious. Thank you for her voice."

Ideas, influence, and political stances

To the time of her death, King continued to express denial in her father's dreams and ideals being fulfilled during her lifetime. In 1993, she debunked any thought that her father's "dream" had been anything but a dream, and was quoted as saying "It's easier to build monuments than to make a better world. It seems we've stood still and in many ways gone backward since Martin Luther King Jr. was alive.", during a celebration that marked what would have been her father's sixty-fourth birthday.

Despite this, she was quoted in January 2003 of saying that she was "a 100 percent, dyed-in-the-wool, card-carrying believer in 'The Dream'. It's a dream about freedom—freedom from oppression, from exploitation, from poverty ... the dream of a nation and a world where each and every child will have the opportunity to simply be the very best that they can be." The statement was made while she was in the presence of 800 people who gathered to honor her father at the Everett Theatre. She made it clear that month that she was not trying to fill her father's footsteps, noting jokingly that "They're too big" and that she would "fall and break [her] neck". She also advocated for her father's holiday to be used as a day for helping others, and also expressed dissatisfaction on the basis of people relaxing on his day. On January 15, 1997, she spoke at Florida Memorial College and expressed what she believed her father would feel if "he knew that people were taking a day off in his memory to do nothing". She disliked cliches used to define her father and expressed this to Attallah Shabazz, and recalled having seen a play where her father was a "wimp" and carried The Bible with him everywhere.

King was an ardent activist for gay rights, as was her mother, Coretta. King protested many times over gay rights. She was among 187 people arrested during a demonstration by lesbian and gay rights activists. She stated at the Chicago's Out and Equal Workplace Summit in 2006 "If you are gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender, you do not have the same rights as other Americans, you cannot marry, ... you still face discrimination in the workplace, and in our armed forces. For a nation that prides itself on liberty, justice and equality for all, this is totally unacceptable. Like her parents and siblings, King did not outright go and make any affiliation with a political party publicly. Despite this, she did voice opposition to President Ronald Reagan in his reluctance to sign Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, her father's national holiday.

Legacy

Dexter King said of his sister, "She gave me permission. She allowed me to give myself permission to be me." Jesse Jackson stated that King "lived with a lot of the trauma of our struggle. The movement was in her DNA." Joseph Lowery stated; "She was a princess and she walked and carried herself like a princess. She was a reserved and quiet person who loved acting." January 2008's issue of Ebony, her relationship with Rev. Suzan Johnson Cook was highlighted in an article written by the minister, as she dubbed her deceased longtime friend a "queen whose name was King". On May 25, 2008, her brother Martin Luther III and his wife, Arndrea, became the parents of a baby girl and named her Yolanda Renee King, after his late sister. During a 2009 reunion at her alma mater Smith College, a walk was done in her memory by fellow alumni.

Portrayals in film

Yolanda has mostly been portrayed in films that revolve around her parents.

Felecia Hunter, in the 1978 television miniseries King.

Melina Nzeza as a child and Ronda Louis-Jeune as an adult, in the 2013 television movie Betty and Coretta.

Filmography

King (1978, TV Mini-Series) as Rosa Parks

Hopscotch (1980) as Coffee Shop Manager

Death of a Prophet (1981, TV Movie) as Betty Shabazz

No Big Deal (1983, TV Movie) as Miss Karnisian's Class

Talkin' Dirty After Dark (1991) as Woman #2

America's Dream (1996, TV Series)

Fluke (1996, TV Movie) as Mrs. Crawford (segment "The Boy Who Painted Christ Black")

Ghosts of Mississippi (1996) as Reena Evers

Drive by: A Love Story (1997, Short) as Dee

Our Friend, Martin (1999, Video) as Christine King (voice)

Selma, Lord, Selma (1999, TV Series) as Miss Bright

Funny Valentines (1999) as Usher Lady #2

The Secret Path (1999, TV Movie) as Ms. Evelyn

Odessa (2000, Short) as Odessa

JAG (2000, TV Series) as Federal Judge Esther Green

Any Day Now (2001, TV Series) as Marilyn Scott

Liberty's Kids (2002, TV Series) as Elizabeth Freeman (voice)

The Still Life (2006) as Herself / Art Buyer

#11/17 #05/15

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years

Text

Old Ghosts - Jon Snow

You haven’t laid eyes on Jon Snow in years. Now, winter has come and brought a Dragon Queen with it. When Jon returns to Winterfell and brings Daenerys with him, you can’t help but side with Sansa. However, for reasons somewhat dissimilar to her own.

This just a short little piece I wrote after episode one of season eight because I found myself out of touch with Jon’s character (the choices he made thus far I DO NOT agree with but understand why he made them). Enjoy the angst!

“Breathe, will you? He will be overjoyed to see you,” Sansa snapped, although the sideways smirk on her lips was one of amusement. You flushed at her words before turning your gaze back to the large gates that held the Winterfell stronghold together.

“Despite the circumstances?” You fire back, sparing one last glance at your friend. Sansa’s smirk fades and her blue eyes lose their hopeful glimmer. When she had told you Jon was returning home, you had been struck speechless. It felt like centuries since you had last laid eyes on Jon. Travelling beyond the Wall with Bran had been loathsome, the most difficult thing you had ever done; what belief got you through was the idea of seeing Jon again. So when Sansa elaborated and told you who would be accompanying him on his journey home, you had stiffened.

A true Targaryen beauty, Daenerys, Queen of the Andals and the Mother Dragons would be riding side by side with the object of your affections. Sansa gave you an overview of her politics, how she had burned countless men alive after the Lannisters took Highgarden. You were told of her influence, her Unsullied, her dragons, and how, in all of Jon’s letters, he seemed to have taken a liking to the young Queen. It wasn’t unfathomable as to why and, as the marching allies flooded through Winterfell’s gates, you understood completely.

You would have loved to say your eyes landed on Jon first and found a safety, a warmth, in seeing him again. That would be a horrible lie. The first figure your eyes fell upon was the womanly one perched atop a white stallion. Silver hair tumbling down her slim shoulders and framing the brightly colored eyes of her house. You gawked in silence at Daenerys Targaryen’s beauty as a thorn of pain struck at your heart when you saw how Jon was looking at her.

Jon looked just as you remembered him in your mind, just as how he looked in your dreams only older now. His dark brown eyes looked almost black with the distance between you and you felt your heart begin to race. However, the toiling in your stomach outmatched and outmanned the spark of joy blooming in your chest. You turned to Sansa who, within an instant knew the question balancing on your lips.

“Go excuse yourself, Y/N. I’ll find you later.” With a swift nod of thanks, you turned tail and darted out of the courtyard. As you feet sank into the soft damp earth, you felt your mind racing. Memories of Jon helping you teach Arya the proper needlework technique, only to have him misguide her, flew by your eyes. How terribly you had missed Jon Snow and how terribly you felt on his return only made the nausea brewing worsen.

Luckily, by the time you made it to the Godswood tree, you were able to catch your breath and calm the storm within you. You reached out and brushed you fingertips along the smooth, white bark of the tree in the hopes that the Old Gods would whisper words of wisdom into your ears. Sadly, no such words came. Instead, you were left in silence with your shoes covered in a layer of snow and nothing but old ghosts dancing in your head.

In a vain attempt to quell the bitter feeling rising up inside of you, you walked about the Godswood. It looked so beautiful under the thick blanket of snow and, if it weren’t for the impending White Walker threat, you could find yourself enjoying the sight. You recounted the many times Ned Stark had invited you along with his children to pray. The Starks, despite being their ward, made you feel as if you were one of them. In turn, you made Jon feel as much as a Stark as the rest of them as well, much to Catelyn’s disdain.

Just as you were getting lost in old visions and the crunch of snow under your feet, you heard a twig snap in the distance. You halted, biting your lip to keep yourself from breathing too loud. The beating of your heart in response to fear was already echoing in your chest. Could the White Walkers be in your midst already, here in Winterfell?

You swallowed hard as a shadow made itself known. As the figure stepped out from the forest, you saw that it wasn’t a human form at all. Long, furred legs sank into the drifts of snow as Ghost approached you. You smiled at the direwolf and tried to meet his ruby red eyes.

“Your boy is home,” you said softly and Ghost’s ears perked up. “Aye, Jon is back but...I fear he’s not with us like he once was.” Ghost let out a huff as he strode up to you. You reached out a hand and rubbed the fur atop his massive head. Even for the runt, Ghost was as large as any horse you had seen. Despite the thought being treasonous, you couldn’t help but imagine how easily it would be for the wolf to swallow the Dragon Queen whole.

It was strange to see how much Ghost had grown while retaining his aloof spirit. You could still see him as a young pup, trailing Jon only to wander off. Never once did he play with his brothers and sisters, much like Jon himself. Instead, the pup would fall into step with you just as Jon had when you were both younger. Time and Queens had stolen that peace from the three of you.

“I should have known I’d find you here.” You pull you hand away from Ghost so you can fully face the owner of the voice. You didn’t have to look to tell who it was, but you longed to lay eyes on him without the overwhelming presence of others. Jon stood with the lightest of smiles on his pink lips, crinkles near his eyes giving him the most wonderful touch of age. “I’ve been looking for you, and him, of course. Sansa told me you weren’t feeling well.”

“I needed a moment,” you breath, trying to steady your voice, “the sight of dragons is quite...fear invoking.”

“You get used to them,” Jon said, his smile growing as he took a few more steps towards you. You longed to rush towards him, to lean into his arms and hold him tightly. Yet, in spite of your desire, your feet remained planted beside Ghost.

“Have you?” You countered back, the question coming off more cold than the winter winds swirling around you. Jon’s brow furrowed and he stopped in his tracks.

“I’ve had to, yes,” he replied calmly, “to give the North a better chance against the Night King and his army. Those dragons-”

“Is that all then?” You cut him off, your jealousy taking the reigns of your tongue. There was no holding back now.

Jon was frowning now, eyes saddened where before they were bright. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Jon. You’ve heard the lords whispering about the Dragon Queen. You’ve betrayed their trust, their honor, you’ve betrayed m….” You curled your lips together to stop your speech.

“Y/N, I did what I had to do.” You heard a low growl from Ghost when Jon spoke and you glanced at the direwolf. While the beast’s teeth were not barred at his master, rage sparked in his crimson eyes.

“You had to bend the knee? Put the life of a Queen before the lives of your family?”

“Gods you sound like Sansa,” Jon grumbled, shaking his head.

“She’s in the right,” you proclaim, hoping the tone of your voice will distract from the tears spilling down your cheeks. “She’s trying to protect House Stark and-”

“I’m no Stark,” Jon interrupted, “and neither are you. Now is not the time for Houses, now if the time to fight.” You bit your lip and shook your head.

“It’s not about the house, Jon,” you whisper, but he can still hear you despite the distance between you. “It’s about family.”

“We’re not Starks,” Jon repeats, but he is no longer angry. He has seen your tears.

“We are,” you mumble, “and bringing a new Queen nearly as mad as the one sitting on the Iron Throne puts us, the family, in danger. I thought you….I thought you cared.”

“I do,” Jon growls, and you feel Ghost stiffen beside you. “I brought Daenerys here to save us. Why can no one see that?”

“She may save us from the White Walkers, but who will save us from her?” Jon’s mouth fell open but no words came out. You wiped at the streams of water pouring from your eyes and sniffled before walking towards him. He watched you approach in silence, eyes on you despite his dire wolf trailing like a shadow after you.

You stop when you reach Jon’s side. With a daring look up at him, you meet the brown eyes you fell in love with. Yet now, you find them unfamiliar without their shine. HIs light has been stolen by another and you knew that now. You bite back a new flood of tears to rest a shaking hand on his shoulder. He holds your gaze and, for a moment, you flash back in time to a day better than this one. A day more simple and more soft than this one; but a day that rests in the past now.

“You love her,” you choke out, “and that will be your downfall.” Pulling your hand away from his shoulder, you make your way out of the Godswood. Jon’s Ghost and what was left of his spirit following after you.

#sorry this is trash #jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow imagine #jon snow imagines #jon snow fanfic #jon snow fanfiction #got #game of thrones #got imagine #got imagines #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #sansa stark #daenerys targaryen #house stark #got s8 #game of thrones season eight

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sailorshadzter · 5 years

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remembering.

post season 8 finale. another in a series of “fix it fics”

This path she walks has haunted her for years now.

These same steps she takes now sound just as empty, just as hollow as they had the first time she'd been forced to walk them. Back then, she had lived in a world of fear, of misery. Back then, she had been sick with it, alone and lost in a world where she was nothing beyond the prey of a mad boy king. Even now, she can recall the horror that had rushed through her at the first sight of her father's head, newly removed from his body, stuck on a pike on the highest of walls. It was where traitor's heads were put as a reminder to the rest of the world of what would happen to those who rebelled against their king.

She's standing at the edge of the stone now, the wooden bridge just barely beneath the the pointed toes of her boots. Though she knows when she looks up there will be nothing there, she's still hesitant, she still feels ill. But she forces her gaze upwards as she had once done years before, though this time she sees nothing but the vast expanse of blue sky above her. The newly restored roof glimmers in the sunlight, the old one destroyed in the sacking of King's Landing by Daenerys Targaryen only several months before. Of all things to remain intact after the burning of the capital, this dark, awful place had to remain standing.

And so she forced herself to return to it, telling herself that if this place had withstood Daenerys' fiery destruction, then it was meant for her to come back to it. She was meant to try and find peace in this place, after all that had happened to her here, she was meant to face it again.

Letting out the breath she's been holding, Sansa takes a step out onto the wooden bridge, recalling the exact place Joffrey had once been standing. Look at him! Joffrey's sharp, angry voice still ripples through her memory. As does the image of her father's weather beaten face, bloodied and bruised upon the pike. Such a sight has haunted her since that day, the day she watched him have his head cut from his neck. Joffrey had laughed and called that mercy. Mother says a king must never strike his lady. Ser Meryn! She can still yet feel the stinging blow from Ser Meryn, she can still taste the blood that stains her lips red. Ser Meryn had never held back when he was doing Joffrey's bidding.

She remembers the exact moment she had realized just how high they stood, how with just one single shove Joffrey would be dead. She also remembers how little she feared what would happen to her after doing such a thing. But the Hound had stopped her, had cleaned her bloody lip and stopped her from making another mistake. When they had left her standing there, she had contemplated jumping, if only to be with her family again. But fear had stopped her and instead she had cried beneath her father's severed head, silently pleading for guidance from the Gods she had been taught to pray to. None of them ever answered her and so she had learned to stop praying.

Back then, she had thought that nothing could ever be worse than Joffrey... She only wishes she had been right.

"Sansa?"

She turns at the soft sound of a voice calling her name, lips curving with the smallest of smiles when she sees Jon standing there. "I've been looking for you," he says, taking a single step closer to where she stands on the bridge. "What are you doing up here?" He's surprised to find her out here. It's strange, seeing her there in a gown that is not black or gray. This one is the same shade as a morning dove, the softest of blues that one might argue is still gray, though it is a color most fitting for her ivory skin and fire kissed hair. He misses her Northern style gowns, but this Southern style gown is fit for a queen, form fitting with a pack of direwolves embroidered along the trailing hem. Her hair is still twisted back in its usual braids, done with her own hands that very morning. He's offered her ladies and hand maidens, but she always waves away the suggestion, opting to only keep Brienne close to her.

He had been watching her for a few moments before interrupting; he knows there's much for her to face here in King's Landing. He knows there's much she's not told him in regards to what happened to her here- but watching her there, he knows she's facing a painful sort of memory. Her face tells him everything that her words had not. He's told her time and time again that she need not be here, that she could return home to the North where she belonged. But she always laughed and asked him how he would ever survive without her? She wasn't wrong. After so long of always being driven apart, Jon wasn't certain he could ever part with her again.

"Remembering," she finally says, turning back around to look up at the sky one last time before she turns back to him. For a moment, she contemplates telling him the truth, but he smiles and bridges the gap between them, his hand warm on her elbow a moment later. It was only ghosts and memories left here in King's Landing. There was little reason to fear what could no longer hurt her. And so she allows Jon to steer her back and down the corridor she once walked alone, back down towards the main floor of the palace. As they walk, she cannot help but to lean in on his arm, happy to feel the warmth of his skin against hers through the layers of their clothes. King's Landing might have held dark, frightening memories for her... But she had a feeling that soon, new ones would take over.

New, happy memories that she would cherish for the rest of her days.

Being here with Jon, she would find happiness.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #got fix it fic #got post s8 #my writing #i wrote this

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crowkingwrites · 5 years

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Vicious (Ch.9)

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton X Reader

Summary: The story of Lyanna Baratheon, the trueborn daughter of Robert and Cersei, and the Bolton Bastard and what happens when they decide to take the Iron Throne for themselves.

Prologue // Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five // Chapter Six // Chapter Seven // Chapter Eight

Words: 2324 // Ao3 Link // Game of Thrones Masterlist

Ramsay sat next to Lyanna in the private dining hall. The evening had proved to be quiet for both of them. The only sound that gave them company was the crackling of the fire in front of them. Neither of them could believe what they heard.

“I want to see this witch,” Lyanna broke the silence.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes. I do.”

“I won’t take you.”

“You will.”

“Last night, you told me I was mad for believing in the Old Gods. Now you want to know everything,” Ramsay said. He sat back in the chair letting a slow breath expel from his lungs. A hand ran through his hair. “I am not going to my mother.”

“She has answers. That’s what Freda said. She knows why those voice are calling to us. Don’t you wish—

“My mother is dead.” Ramsay said. “She gave me away like a pig. That’s what I was worth to her. Pigs. I was too much for her. So, she traded with my father. My father gave her a pig farm. My mother gave me to him.”

Lyanna was left speechless. She heard of how bastards were treated in the south. She remembered the day her brother Joffery ordered the deaths of every suspected Baratheon bastard that could take his title. Some were boys who could smile and laugh. One was a baby slain in Petyr Baelish’s establishment. She knew bastards were looked down upon because she did the same. Bastards deserved nothing.

There wasn’t a bastard like Ramsay. He looked like a spitting image of his father. He had taken Winterfell from Theon Greyjoy and turned him to Reek. He had hurt people. She didn’t know of any bastard who was as powerful as him.

Joffery didn’t earn the crown. It was given to him by her mother. Ramsay worked for everything he had and his stained name still followed him.

“I’m sorry. I just never heard of anything like this before.”

“You don’t have stories of witches down south?”

“My father was afraid of magic. He thought it was demented. Joffery was more of the same. Both claimed to be religious men, but none had ever prayed of shown the gods any gratitude.”

“King’s Landing is truly godless then?” Ramsay laughed. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before turning back to the fire. “It is getting to be late. You should rest.”

“What about—

“The voices? I wouldn’t worry,” Ramsay stood up. “The same voices call out to me. They’ve never harmed me. They won’t harm you.”

Lyanna snuggled into her bed slowly. Her ear trained on her window to listen to anything she could. The furs welcomed and warmed her body as she laid down. No voices called this night. The world was as still as the quill that laid across her sister’s letter. Myrcella was comforted by the sun in Dorne. Lyanna began to cherish the cold, dark nights that lulled her into sleep.

Her heavy eyelids drooped until they stayed shut. Finally, without interruption or a whisper from the gods, Lyanna sank into her bed. Deep slumber took over her happily. No dreams of King’s Landing. No nightmares of the ghosts of the North. Just peace. It spread from her head to the tips of her fingers and her toes.

“My lady!” Myranda shouted. Jarring Lyanna from her sleep. Her body shot straight up and looked at Myranda.

“Myranda? What are you—

“We’re under attack, my lady!” Myranda closed the door to Lyanna’s chambers and rushed to her side. “We need to go.”

“What?” Myranda dragged Lyanna out of bed and into a dark cloak. She pulled the hood over her head. Still confused, Lyanna blinked slowly. Was this a dream?”

“Lyanna! Wake up!” Myranda snapped her fingers in front of her face. “It’s the Iron Islanders. They’re here for Theon. We have to hide you. Now.” Lyanna put the pieces together herself. Myranda had a cloak on too. A bow was strapped to Myranda’s back. A dagger was in her left hand.

“My ladies. Where are my ladies?” Lyanna took a hold of Myranda before she could open the door.

“I don’t know. I don’t care. You need to hide.” Before Myranda could make her leave, Lyanna grabbed the one useful thing her mother left her: the dagger.

Nothing lit the corridors as Myranda slipped Lyanna through them. All was quiet until they neared the kennels where Reek would be. Lyanna heard the yelling and the clanging of swords. Myranda kept a tight grip on her.

“This way,” Myranda ordered.

“Where are we going?” Lyanna whispered, trying to follow her as fast as she could. Myranda stopped and pushed Lyanna away from a corner. Lyanna had experienced riots and a siege before. She knew someone bad was just around the corner. Lyanna backed away doing her best to not make a sound.

Someone lunged at Myranda. It was too fast for a bow. Myranda sunk her dagger in the man’s thigh. As he cried out in pain, Myranda took out the dagger and sent the man falling. Both of you continued down the corridor. He wasn’t alone.

Another Iron Islander had been behind him. Myranda’s dagger swiped at his face. He dodged it and swung at Myranda with his sword. She pushed you back and caught the sword’s blade on her arm. She winced. The pain in her arm spread.

Which made Lyanna angry. No one hurt her ladies. Absolutely no one. The man swung again at Myranda and Lyanna pulled her back. He laughed at the pair. Myranda favored her arm, but her eyes were dead set on the man.

She lunged at the man again with her right arm, attempting to sink a dagger into his thigh as well. When he dodged, Lyanna took her opportunity. Her wedding gift sliced the man’s throat wide open. It cut him like paper and left him gasping for breath on the cold ground. Lyanna grabbed onto Myranda and ran.

Deep down inside the crypts of Winterfell, Lyanna’s cloak hid her well. She blended into the walls and graves. Then she saw her grave. She had a beautiful statue. A crown of blue roses donned her head. She held a long feather in her hands. Someone had left her that feather. Lyanna took cover inside her namesake’s grave, tucking herself just inside the wall.

“Myranda—you’re hurt. Stay here with me.”

“No.” Myranda refused. “I can move. I can fight!” Myranda winced and favored her arm once again. Lyanna pulled her just inside the wall.

“Stay here with me,” Lyanna said. “It’s an order. You can’t disobey your lady.” Lyanna held Myranda as their bodies sunk to the ground in the crypt. Lyanna knew nothing about battle cuts and wounds, but she did know fear. Lyanna started to run her fingers through Myranda’s hair. She undid the simple braid she had, and continued to run her fingers through her dark hair repeatedly.

Myranda started to sob quietly. Lyanna tucked Myranda’s head into her chest, silencing her.

“You’re alright. We’re both alright.”

Both of them waited there until a glimpse of light caught their attention. When both of them looked up, a shirtless Ramsay stood before them. His body had been cut several times. Blood stained his skin and face. A crazed look changed into anger when he realized who he was looking at.

“My girls,” Ramsay breathed out. “What in seven hells are you both doin—Myranda.” Ramsay caught sight of Myranda’s arm. She had held pressure on it, but Ramsay saw the wound.

“What happened?” a dark tone sent chills down every spine.

“Ramsay. It wasn’t Lyanna,” Myranda said, sitting up. “It was one of them. The Islanders. I came to hide Lyanna, and they attacked us. Lyanna killed him.”

“You did what?” Ramsay looked at Lyanna. Both of them stood up and Ramsay caught sight of the beautiful dagger stained with blood in Lyanna’s hand.

“I killed them. Slashed his throat.” Lyanna said. Her eyes did not wander away from Ramsay’s body. They were fascinated in how many cuts he took without any armor on. Lyanna helped Myranda into Ramsay’s arms. Both of them carried Myranda out of the crypts and into a bed. While a maester took care of Myranda’s arm, Ramsay and Lyanna watched.

“I sent them away. The dogs scared them,” Ramsay laughed. “The kraken is fearful in the sea, but once it’s out of water, it’s useless.”

“Did they take Theon?”

“No,” Ramsay corrected. “They didn’t take Reek. Reek was loyal. He shall be rewarded for his loyalty. He stayed in his cage like a good boy.”

“Good.”

The question dawned on Ramsay as the sun started to rise. “Where is your cousin?”

“What?”

“Your cousin, Markus. Where is he? Wasn’t he supposed to be protecting you?” Ramsay asked, staring her way. The question sunk deep in Lyanna’s stomach, making her sick. Where was her cousin? Why didn’t he protect her? He claimed to lover her dearly and yet, he was absent during her time of need.

Lyanna’s eyes were set aflame. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

Markus Lannister was brought before Lord Bolton, Kevan Lannister, Ramsay, and you. He looked well-rested, but peeved.

“I don’t understand what the fuss is all about,” Markus shook his head. “Are you not Lady Lyanna’s guard?” Lord Bolton asked him. “Where were you last night?”

“Sleeping like everyone else.” Markus spat. “The savages came after Theon, not Lyanna. She was under no threat.”

“No threat?” Lyanna spat. “They tried to hurt me. They wounded Myranda who guarded and shielded me from them! That was your job.”

“Myranda? The kennelmaster’s daughter?” Roose turned to Lyanna and Ramsay.

“Yes, I’ve taken her in as one of my ladies. She protected me while he was sleeping.” Lyanna and Ramsay both stared daggers into Markus. Ramsay’s fingers itched.

“Is this true?” Roose asked him.

“My lord, I don’t recall you or Kevan in the fight last night either.”

“Do you think the Lord of Winterfell and the Lord of Casterly Rock must jump into every battle that’s presented to them?” Ramsay asked. “It is their job to rule. It is your job to protect her. Unless you think I’m more dangerous than a group of savage sailors with swords.”

“I understand. I was in the wrong,” Markus raised his hands in a sort of surrender.

“Understanding will not heal Myranda’s arm,” Lyanna spat. She was disgusted with her cousin. How could he sleep at night peacefully when Winterfell was being attacked? There was so much noise and yelling about. She doubt anyone slept through the night. “You said you were sleeping.”

“Yes, my lady, I was,” Markus said. “I want to apologize for my incompetence.”

“Your chambers are near the armory. How did you sleep? Ramsay said they went for the armory first. You must have heard them? How did they not wake you?”

“Well-well, my lady, if you must know I am a deep sleeper. Nothing wakes me.” Markus stumbled over his words. Ramsay caught on quickly.

“Your room was locked. I remember. One had attempted to get into your chambers, but failed. You locked it from the inside.”

“Doesn’t everyone lock their chambers at night?” Markus said defending himself.

“No. I trust the Boltons,” Lyanna said. She caught Ramsay’s sliver of a smile from the corner of her eye. “I think you’re lying. I think you were awake.”

“Does this really matter? I said I was sorry,” Markus rolled his eyes.

“You are charged with protecting your cousin, Ser Lannister,” Kevan said aloud. “Her very life was in danger and you don’t seem to care too much about it.”

“I’ve had enough,” Roose spoke. “This is not important in the grand scheme of things. I want to know how they got in and attacked us before Stannis finds out about a weak spot.”

Lyanna stormed off into Myranda’s chambers and stood by her side. Her ladies-in-waiting were thankful that they had locked themselves in the Allyis’ room that night. All four of them stayed by Myranda’s side, keeping her company. Lyanna smiled to see her ladies comparing childhood stories with Myranda. They told her of the hot sun and juicy fruit. She told them of the warm nights and playing in the snow.

Early in the evening, Lyanna noticed that Markus hadn’t been by her side all day. She remembered the common phrase in King’s Landing. Where to doe goes, the lion follows. This time the lion did not follow. In fact, he hadn’t followed her in days.

She went to his chambers and knocked on the door. No answer. Lyanna knocked on the door once more. Her hand hit the wooden door making a hollowed sound. No answer again.

“Are you looking for your cousin, my lady?” Ramsay asked behind her. She flinched, and turned to see her betrothed leaning against a pillar. A flaying knife between his hands.

“Where have you taken him?” Lyanna asked, but not out of anger. Ramsay turned and Lyanna followed him. The dungeons in Winterfell were among the biggest in the North. They had enough room for Winterfell’s prisoners and the Wall’s deserters. Ramsay led Lyanna along the wide hallway until he stopped in front of a door.

Ramsay opened the door and let Lyanna inside.

Markus hung on a cross. His hands and feet were tethered to it while his head hung low. Weakened breathing expelled out of him as if he was gasping for air. His blonde hair darkened while drops of water collected on the ground in front of him.

“What did you do?” Lyanna asked flatly.

“He doesn’t realize that the krakens are dangerous. I’m reminding him that water is deadly.” Ramsay turned to Lyanna and looked upon her face. “Does this not please you?”

Lyanna shook her head. “It does please me. Drown him until he understands his lesson.”

Ultimate Tag List (People who wished to be tagged in EVERY work I post.)

@angelicshinigami @sugarwastaken @carilov09 @i-theredqueen@sleepylunarwolf @loki-0fasgard@ravenqueenbr

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#vicious #ramsay #ramsay bolton #ramsay snow #ramsay bolton x reader #ramsay bolton x oc #ramsay bolton imagine #ramsay snow imagine #ramsay bolton/reader #got #game of thrones #got imagine #got fanfic #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones imagine

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killthebxy · 5 years

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a heap of headcanons: the last hours before the Battle for Winterfell

inspired + complemented by @needlcd & @zcldrizes own posts

first of all, all of these come following my personal take on the events of s08, as i am show!canon divergent. this can be found: HERE.

Jon has had A LOT to do, ever since Tormund, Edd, and Beric arrived with the news. as Warden of the North, it falls on him to supervise the setting up of defenses. just as much, he’s been trying to learn as much as he can about the Unsullied and the Dothraki, as to understand how to better place them in the battlefield. he’s also been keeping close talks with Gendry and the other smiths, and helping with distributing dragonglass weapons to everyone himself, in between everything else already stated. for all this, he doesn’t have much free time up until after the strategy meeting we see in episode 2.

even though he concludes such meeting with “let’s get some rest”, he doesn’t follow his own advice really. he’s very antsy and understandably so, and cannot bring himself to stay still --- so he goes on a final round to make sure everything and everyone are as prepared as they can possibly be. this is when he goes to check in on Sansa and Bran, to also ensure they are well and to try and reassure them a bit --- again, as much as possible in the situation.

after this comes the scene we see in episode 2 between Jon, Sam, and Edd. they reminisce about their times at the Night’s Watch, particularly the night that Mance Rayder stormed the Wall --- note that @tymptir and i headcanon Grenn as very much alive and at Winterfell. Jeor Mormont and Mance himself (ft. @starfrckled) just as much, so Jon spends some time with all of them as well. he also finds Tormund (ft. @talltalkr) in between his moments with Brienne & co, and they talk of how they did not survive Hardhome to let the Night King come kill them in their own home now. particularly, while he says nothing about this, Jon prays to the old gods that Tormund will not be made to see/fight his daughters who have been turned into wights at Hardome.

next, comes the scene at the crypts with Dany. based on my divergent background and on my own plot with @zcldrizes, the source of tension between them at this point is the fact that Dany did not tell Jon that she burned the Tarlys for treason. now... Jon does understand this. he’s a commander himself, he’s executed men (and boys) for similar reasons. so what’s driving him off, at the moment, is 1) how conflicted he is, because he does not wish to hurt her but he also does not wish to hurt Sam, and 2) based on my plot with @tymptir, one day before, Sam revealed to Jon in these same crypts that his mother was Ashara Dayne (ft. also my plot with @ashccra). ever since, Jon has been struggling to come to peace with the fact that Ned never told him of it --- and here comes into play the heightened paranoia he was left with after the mutiny at Castle Black and his revival (if you’d like details on how this affects my portrayal of Jon, you’re welcome to read: this meta). Jon has ever felt the need to prove himself, as per his bastard-born nature and the internalization of this stigma (again, a meta: here), but after his own men betray him this grows A LOT worse --- as in, that was an absolute failure on my end and i deserved what happened. at this point, he’s questioning himself if maybe this is why his father never told him anything --- if Ned was ashamed to have him as a son, if Ned saw him under the same light Cat (for example) did and only tried to hide it out of kindness. then, suddenly... he gets told that Dany also hid such a huge fact from him, and this goes even further downhill. it is important to note: right now, after Sam’s revelation (+ the current very stressful circumstances + his own physical and mental exhaustion, as he’s been barely eating and sleeping during the past couple of days), Jon is NOT in his right mind. he’s exhausted, he’s paranoid, he’s dealing with HUGE guilt for being unable to guarantee his loved ones and his people will live to see another day. this is why he’s been avoiding Dany, and this why, even if they do talk right now at the crypts, he’s still very much distant --- it’s a self-defense coping mechanism. Artie and i, therefore, headcanon that, while they do not really fight, they are unable to properly discuss everything, either --- so they agree that they cannot afford to go into this battle whilst angry at each other, and they agree to take some time apart and to finish this talk later --- both of them fully aware that, likely, there won’t be a “later” for either or both of them.

after this, Jon heads for the godswood for a good while. he’s spoken to the statues of Ned and Robb already ( @kingwholost you can be sure there IS a statue of Robb), and now he goes to speak to the old gods. for the most part, though, he does not pray --- not yet. he simply seeks their calm and their peace and their wisdom, and sits under the heart tree honing Longclaw’s blade as Ned so often used to do with Ice, himself. and it does bring him a little bit of comfort.

finally, he heads back to his room and begins donning his Stark armor. and listen. idc what episode 3 will bring, JON -IS- WEARING ARMOR BECAUSE HE IS NOT STUPID. also the stewards @thedolorous & @satincrow are welcome to come help for a bit if they want. eventually, @needlcd comes to join him and he wouldn’t have it any other way --- he’s spending his potential last hours alive with his little sister, his heart, light of his eyes, the person he loves most in this world and quite more than his own life. he doesn’t need more than a look to see how distressed she is and, if nothing else, he’s happy that he can finally be here to keep her safe after all the horrors she’s had to face on her own. there isn’t much talking, as there is not need to be, and he simply lets her snuggle into him as much and for as long as she needs --- he lets her cry if she needs and makes no comment, simply running his fingers through her hair. Jon himself does not cry, not yet, because this moment is for her.

eventually... Arya falls asleep in his arms, Ghost by now also joined into the little cuddle pile, and Jon spends the last hours before the sound of the warhorns with himself. he’s exhausted, but he cannot sleep --- and he does not want to sleep, not when this may be his last chance to have his little sister safe in his arms. he thinks about everything and everyone, at this point. and this is when he prays: gods of my father, protect my people. protect Arya and let her live to see brighter days, she’s been through so much. protect Bran and Sansa. protect Dany and allow her to give justice to her child. protect my good and loyal friends who’ve followed me to the end of the world. i beg you, give me strength and skill to keep them all safe or at least alive. guide my steps and let me save them. and this is when he cries... or as close to crying as Jon Snow ever comes; a few silent, tiny tears rolling down his cheeks, and that he promptly wipes away with the back of his hand. it’s not his first time waiting for the enemy to come, though even wildling hosts pale in comparison to literal Death. at this point, Jon has a very cocky relationship with the possibility of his own dying --- because he has gone through it (twice, as i headcanon that he died in that frozen lake). not as in “i am so tough and death can’t kill me”, no, but in a completely detached sort of toxic mindset --- i have died and they brought me back because they still had a use for me (Melisandre told him this, through different words) --- if i die again and they still need me, they’ll bring me back yet again. but you, Lord Snow, you’ll be fighting their battles forever. he does not feel bitter about it anymore, for the simple reason he has repressed that experience to the point of being numb to it. therefore, right now, Jon is not afraid to die --- his only huge, overwhelming fear is that he will be unable to keep his loved ones alive/ unharmed, especially this skinny little girl currently sleeping in his arms. so, when the time comes, this is why he does not feel any of his fatigue anymore --- a sort of parallel with the wights; our enemy does not tire. Jon himself has become a wight animated by fire, rather than ice. and he will not tire --- not while he has his family and his home and his people to defend, or die in the attempt.

one final note: if there is one thing i do not tolerate in the show, it is the lack of consequences when it comes to Jon’s actions (frozen lake, cough, just to cite the more blatant case). i do NOT write Jon Snow as an overpowered superhero who can recklessly do whatever he wants and does not pay the price for it. i don’t know how the battle will unfold --- for example, if he will be wounded during it --- but i know that, should this be the case and the show does not acknowledge it, i will. in post-battle scenarios, despite what happens, he will suffer physical consequences for his actions --- and, if nothing else, he’s going to crash VERY HARD and go comatose for at least some 24h because his body will have reached the limit of exhaustion.

#GOT spoilers #long post #「ᵐᵉᵗᵃ ᵗᵃᵍ」ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʳᵒʷ ᶤˢ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵃᵛᵉᶰ'ˢ ᵖᵒᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵘˢᶤᶰ #「ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃᶰᵒᶰ」ᶰᵒ ˢᵗᵃʳᵏ; ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵈᶤᵉ ˡᶤᵏᵉ ᵒᶰᵉ #the irony of my headcanon tag right now

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