#please take this Agu!

[slushyseals]

Happy Valentines Day!

#If you do not yet have a valentine #please take this Agu! #Thank you for sharing Emiemipoemi #All you have to do is reblog him and he will join you on your wall #Cutest valentine frien ever

[mearpsdyke]

👁️👁️

#sighs dykely #agus PLEASE take my hand in marriage i'll be a good wife #agustina barroso #argwnt

[francesminos-tt]

I stumbled upon a post here saying Joff is Jacegan’s son, and I also know about a fic where Viserys is Lucemond’s love child, which make me think. A lot. How about a modern au where Joff is Jace and Cregan’s son, Aegon the younger is Rhaenyra and Daemon’s son where Viserys Jr is Luke and Aemond’s son. I am messing up some age gap here.

Please don’t take this too seriously. It’s just a quick crack post!

When Joffrey was born

Jace 20

Cregan 21

Luke 18

Aemond 23

Daeron 13

Jace gave birth to Joff when he was 20. It was totally unexpected, truly, he didn’t even realize he was pregnant until like 4 months in. He was still trying to figure out who he really wanted, Cregan or Sara. (It is Cregan. It is Cregan from the start. Even Sara knows it, if her speech at Jace and Cregan’s wedding is anything to go by.) Jace panicked all through his pregnancy, thinking himself a failure to be knocked up while still in college. He ceased that line of thought the moment he got little Joff in his arms. All is well after that. (Or maybe not, because Jace worked nonstop after Joff’s birth, trying to make up for all the missing school work and graduate in time. Cregan had to feed him real food. Humans can’t survive solely on energy drinks, obviously. One would expect someone smart as Jace, a leading debater at the school debate team, should know better. But alas. Fortunately Cregan was there to help, and he had no intention of ever leaving Jace’s side.)

Luke beats his big brother’s record by giving birth at 18. (19, Luke agues, his water broke when celebrating his 19th nameday, so technically he was 19 when Viserys Jr was born.) Unlike Jace, his pregnancy was a carefully constructed plan to baby trap Aemond. And it worked. Luke is very proud of himself. Aemond can play hard to get for all he likes, but Luke knows his scaring uncle has feelings for him. Or else who would stare at someone like Aemond does every time their extended family is forced to get together? When Luke learned Aemond would go to Citadel School of Business for a master’s degree next year, he knew he had to act quickly. He pulled some strings (black mailed Aegon, to be precise) to get Aemond’s schedule and successfully stumbled upon a drunk Aemond outside a shady bar. The rest is history. (Luke shared his pregnancy with his mother Rhaenyra, who was expecting her first child with her uncle Daemon. They made so many uncle fucking jokes that Jace had to flee the room out of sheer terror. Luke laughed until Aemond picked him up from the sofa to go get a scheduled ultrasound. Aegon the younger was born 3 months prior to Viserys Jr.)

Joffrey always feels like a big brother to Aegon the younger and Viserys Jr growing up, although he is only one year older than them. He takes after Jace, apparently, to care for the little ones, but he also inherited Cregan’s protectiveness toward his family. So when he sees Aegon and Viserys being bullied by some shitface, he rushes to their rescue. Joff took several punches, sure, but he also kicked one of the bullies on the balls. (Cregan is so proud. Jace, not so much at first, but after he learns Joff only gets in a fight to protect Aegon and Viserys, he gets Joff a Switch as reward.) Joff is at least a head shorter than the bullies, so he slowly loses his ground and is about to be shoved into a stinking pond when his knight in shining armor arrives. Daeron is on his way back from tennis training when he saves Joff from drowning in a stinking pond worse than the sewers. Joff spits out disgusting water and kicks Daeron on the shin. To his credit, Joff doesn’t need protection, he can fucking defend himself thank you very much. (Language! Jace shouts.) Years later, when Daeron nervously asks Joff to go on a date with him, Joff barely spares him a glance as he says yes. Daeron is more nervous than he goes to a Grand Slam Final. He can’t be blamed. He’s asking his great-nephew (Oh god that sounds wrong) 13 years his junior to go on a date with him.

Later at a family dinner

Cregan: Look I will allow you to date my son only if you get your tennis player buddies to sign the autograph- (Jace throwing him death glare) Never. I mean I will never let you defile my precious little Joffrey.

Daeron: Come to think of it, I am only 13 years older than Joff while uncle Daemon is like 16 years older than Rhaenyra. No offense, uncle Daemon.

Daemon (sipping wine, looking smug): None taken, kid.

Luke: I know I am not the best person to say this-

Aemond: You are not.

Luke: Shut up.

Aemond: Make me.

Rhaenyra (ignoring the gross sound of kissing in the background): Joff, dear, just remember to use protection. I have some condoms in my drawer that you may like. I believe they are coke flavor.

Jace: MUM!

Daeron: Thank you sister, but I don't think it will be necessary. I won’t even hold Joff’s hands until his 16th nameday.

Jace: YOU WANT TO HOLD MY SON’S HANDS???

Luke (finally breaks the kiss but still sits on Aemond’s lap): Now I feel like we are not the sickest couple in this family anymore.

Aemond: I can be sick.

Jace: THIS IS NOT A COMPETITION!!

Joff (stealing Daeron’s desert while frantically poking at his Switch. Damn that dragon is hard to defeat)

#aemond x lucerys #lucemond #house of the dragon #hotd #mpreg #jacegan #jacaerys velaryon #cregan x jace #daeron x joffrey #joffrey velaryon #joffron #crack

[polysprachig]

17.03.2024 | lá fhéile Pádraig sona daoibh and some borderline Merlin fanfiction in Irish ☘️🍄

*Currently learning to record and working on my reader voice—without dropping my mixed accent

Sometimes you plan to do something 4 years ago, then 2, and in the end you do it today. How long I thought it would take to improve my writing and translation skills before moving on to creative reading and how long it actually took differed quite drastically. But as I annotate the polyglot journal I started in 2020 (which is not the book pictured above), it's hard to feel like that's a bad thing, since I gave myself an appropriate amount of time to work on each stage of my projects at my current level without feeling the need to rush on to the next thing.

The audio here is cut from a set of blanket test recordings I made to test out some recording software, which is why it gives she-just-picked-up-the-text-and-started-reading-without-prep-time vibes.

Text in Irish and English below.

English translation shares the original sentiment but at a different register—as was my specific intention in this particular project.

Fadó, fadó chuaigh Merlin go Camelot.

Long before the days of yore and once upon a time Merlin went to Camelot.

Bhuel, shiúil sé chuig an gcathair agus teangacha a bhróg ag longadán anonn is anall agus é ar a bhealach ann.

Walked, rather, the tongues of his boots swaying back and forth as he made his way there.

Ní raibh ann ach stócach bocht thart faoin am sin agus ní raibh a fhios aige cén dóigh marcaíocht ar chapall a dhéanamh, agus ní raibh capall aige fiú!

He was only a young lad at that time and hadn’t the faintest idea how to ride a horse, but fortunately for him, he didn’t own one!

Ba bhuachaill deas is cairdiúil é Merlin. Bhí sé ard tanaí agus bhí gruaig dhubh, súile gorma, agus cluasa móra air.

A nice, friendly boy Merlin was, tall and thin with black hair, blue eyes and sizeable ears.

É sin ráite, níor éist sé le daoine eile ar chor ar bith – agus fadhb i gcroí an scéil seo a bheidh inti sin, déanta na fírinne.

Not that he used them to listen to anyone else – a truth which, I dare say, will be the problem at the heart of this story.

Mar sin féin, ní hionann sin ‘s a rá go raibh sé ag déanamh amaidí gach lá.

Be that as it may, he wasn’t one to make a complete fool of himself either.

Thuig sé rudaí praiticiúla, mar shampla: ná bí i do shuí ar do thóin nuair a bhuaileann tú le díbheargaigh sa choill, ná hól uisce as an áit naofa agus rudaí mar sin.

He knew such practical things as not to sit on his arse when he happened on bandits in the forest, not to drink water from a sacred well and things like that.

Cé gur thuig sé é sin, rinne sé a rogha rud freisin.

Still, Merlin was rather prone to do as he pleased.

Tugadh am crua dó, ach b’fhearrde sé é gan dabht. 

It nearly always made his life more difficult, but what great test of character that turned out to be.

Chaith sé éadach glan buanfasach. Éadach donn a bhí i gceist den chuid is mó, ach bhí léine ghorm is scaif dhearg iontach deas aige freisin.

He wore clothes which were clean and durable and mostly brown to my recollection; yet he did have a blue shirt and a wonderfully lovely red scarf as well.

Ní raibh ach mála beag amháin aige chomh maith le pocán fíona, a luasc nuair a ghlac sé gach céim, agus éadach olla áisiúil ar chodail sé air. 

With him he carried only a small rucksack, a wineskin which rocked to and fro as he took each step, and a handy, woollen blanket to sleep on.

Bhí sé an-ghaofar nuair a chuaigh Merlin thar na sléibhte ar an mbóthar gainimh, ach mhothaigh sé an ghrian ar a aghaidh. Bhí sé te go leor.

A strong wind blew as Merlin traversed the mountains on the sandy road, but the sun on his face shone warm enough.

Bhí lá breá geallta don lá, rud a rinne radharc an tírdhreacha i bhfad níos áille.

The day was proving, as promised, to be a fine one and that made the view of the landscape even more beautiful.

Bhí féar glas agus rosáin bheaga ag fás taobh le cosán an tsléibhe, crainn ghiúise ina sheasamh ar charraigeacha na n-aillte, sruthanna beaga sneachta ag soilsiú ar cheann an tsléibhe agus néalta geala ag síneadh go bun na spéire.

Green grass and small shrubs grew along the mountain path, fir trees towered on the rocky cliffs, little streams of snow glistened on each mountain peak and bright clouds stretched as far as the eye could see.

Ní fhaca sé Camelot fós agus bhí tinneas cosa air, ach níor chuir sé sin moill air.

He could not yet see Camelot and his feet grew weary, but his pace never slowed.

Le fírinne, bhí an-dúil ag Merlin sa turas mór agus bhí sé sásta, is dócha. 

Truth be told, the journey was quite enjoyable for Merlin and he was generally content to be on it.

#happy st patrick's day everyone #its basically a frame by frame description of the first few seconds in ep 1 #with a narrator #langblr #studyblr #mo chuid staidéir #irish #gaeilge

[cla0chlaithe]

First post on here !

Sliogán (shell) is ainm dom.

My name on here will be Sliogán (shlig-gawn)(shell).

(She/her)

(sí/í/(s)ise)

Eolas fúm agus faoin blag seo:

Is as Éirinn mé. Táim ocht mbliana déag daois. Tá mo chroí go mór sa Ghaeilge! Tá spéis agam san fhilíocht, i mBéarla agus i nGaeilge araon. Ceartaígí mo chuid earráidí gramadaí, más é do thoil é!

feicfidh tú mo chuid filíochta, ábhar Gaeilge, agus b’fhéidir píosa beag ealaíne ar an blag seo!

Info about me and my page:

I’m Irish. I’m eighteen. have a passion for all things Irish language! (Lit: My heart is strongly in Irish!)I have an interest in poetry, in both English and Irish. Please correct my grammar mistakes!

You will see my poetry, Irish language content, and maybe small art pieces on this page!

Tabhair aire!

Take care!

#gaeilge #langblr #irish #irish history #irish mythology #ireland #poetry #poem #art

[facesofone]

This is a repost of one of my earliest comics, back when I didn't do 4 panel format, back when Atom spoke in cursive, and back when I was using a mouse and didn't know exactly how to draw my selves. It's interesting to see how much my style has changed, yet how many of the core elements remained the same. 

[ID]

Panel 1: Kyra and Jak (and their conversation takes up the majority of the page as they are the largest things on there. Thusly Atom and the person he is talking to is smaller in the center. The person asks "How do you feel about ____?" The conversation between Jak and Kyra goes as follows:

Jak: Look it's just easier to let me handle---

Kyra: Are you serious?! This is important to---

J: Blah...I don't care enough to get into this.

K: Well I do! Things like this matter, you can't not have an opi---

J: ---nion? Oh I HAVE one, it just does not align with yours.

K: You can't even try?

J: Look, getting into this will contradict us.

K: Oh my god. Fine. Go ahead and spout your shitty opinion.

J: Shitty?!

K: Yes

J: Get off that high horse.

K: OMG How dare you! Whatever, do what you will. I give up.

J: Sorry I don't want to ague.

K: It's fine. IDC.

J: I Just want to chill okay?

Atom has been trying to butt in, saying "Umm...guys? We need to respond...SOON." Eventually he gives up and says to the person, "Ahem please excuse me." And in then in Jak and Kyra's voices says "I need to go."

[END ID]

(PS: Sorry for slacking on the content ID the past few comics, I'll try to be better about that)

#did #osdd #system #alters #dissociative identity disorder #faces of one #systems #plural

[acesofspadess]

Live {8}

summary: after a silly little comment on Niall's live, who would've thought it bring you...well here....

a/n: so I realised I spoiled it last chapter... but this a never ending story......anyways... grab tissues😅

"Is tú mo bhuachaill órga, mo sholas na gréine, agus gabhaim buíochas leat go deo" you told him with a smile. He had a thinking expression before it softened as he pulled your chair in to him, to smuggle you into his chest. "is tú mo neamh, mo chara is fearr." you visibly melted into his chest. "I'm gonna cry." he pulled back and smiled at you. "no." he simplified and you laughed. "Gosh, I don't think I've ever heard something more Irish." you laughed hysterically

“All of your finalist are taking the stage with their coach for an awesome duet. Wer'e gonna get to one of those right now. You know when Niall first met Maia, he immediately recognized all the unique qualities that would bring her to the end of this competition now, if he could only make out what she’s saying. Take a look.”

You and Niall sat side by side both in blues as you talked about the duet

“I’m excited to sing with you!” your excitement thickened up your mixed accent. “Sorry?” Niall teased leaning in towards you. You went to repeat yourself but knew he was teasing when he started laughing at you and you joined. “They're gonna put that in there.” you laughed. 

“You are the only person that I can't understand sometimes. I love your mixed accent.” He confessed as you smiled at him. “I definitely sound more Irish than anything."

"Should would have an Irish off?" He offered and you nodded wanting to see where this would go, "What is our national drink? And how do you pour it?" he asked and you rolled your eyes. "Guiness, of course, and please listen while I tell you how to do this America," you joked as you sat up in your seat proceeding to demonstrate with an imaginary glass. "Slow pour at an angle onto the top middle of the glass, like 2/3 height. Then your gonna fill it to the pour mark, slowly! tilting the glass back to a proper position. Leave it to sit for a second let all the goodness rush to bottom. Let it settle and then top it off. Hálainn."

Niall had the best look of admiration on his face. "Spot on. Down to the Gaelic." you laughed with him as you thought of the next question, "okay hard one, Best brand of crisp, and the flavour."

He looked at you with scoff, "Easy, 'Tayto' but it has to be cheese and onion." You groaned as he got it right, even though you knew he would. "You're from Dublin-" he started before you cut him off, "I grew up in Mullingar thank you." he lifted and continued on with the question anyway. "okay i'll change it then, how many pubs are there at home?" You knew the fans were screaming as he said home. "There's like 24 in a mile." you tried to tamper the question. "Ill give it to you, even though that wasn't the question."

"It's 'cause you love me." you teased looking at him, he turned to and raised his eyebrows dismissively, "sure." you gasped in fake hurt and he laughed. "Fine then, im giving you one your not going to know the answer to." he looked at you in fake pity. "no go easy on me." you shook your head looking away from him. "Nope, I want you to translate this into English." you watched him sit up and face you, "my Gaelic is rusty." he admitted before nodding at you to give you the okay.

"Is tú mo bhuachaill órga, mo sholas na gréine, agus gabhaim buíochas leat go deo" you told him with a smile. He had a thinking expression before it softened as he pulled your chair in to him, to smuggle you into his chest. "is tú mo neamh, mo chara is fearr." you visibly melted into his chest. "I'm gonna cry." he pulled back and smiled at you. "no." he simplified and you laughed. "Gosh, I don't think I've ever heard something more Irish." you laughed hysterically

“The first zoom I did with yah, I went to turn on the captions because I can never understand anything anyone says on there. Immediately turned them off.” you laughed as he acted it out. “It had you saying the craziest stuff.” you were slowly sliding off your chair as tears came to the corner of your eyes. 

“Ive learned to slow down for certain people you know. But with you I never have to and that makes me feel good.” he pulled you in for another hug across the top of the chairs. “You’re a great person.” he shrugged and you scoffed jokingly, “eh.” 

“The song Maia and I are going to be singing is New York State of Mind by Billy Joel. I’d seen it on Maia’s list of songs she would potentially like to sing, and it's also one of my favourite songs ever, and every time I get drunk I sing it karaoke.”

You giggled with a scrunched up face, “does that happen often then?” you both laughed into each other “i didnt know that.” he laughed harder at that. “I forgot-did i not tell yah?”  when you shook your head no you both died of laughter.

“No you have to say the whole thing.” you giggled in the next cut. “You know what you're gonna get from this performance?”

“Slay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The piano played as you and Niall nodded to each other in some hidden language. You gave him one last encouraging head nod as his part came

Some folks like to get away Take a holiday from the neighbourhood

You were with the audience when they went crazy over Nialls light tone

Hop a flight to Miami Beach Or to Hollywood

You watched Niall admire your voice first hand and it was beautiful

But I'm taking a Greyhound On the Hudson River Line I'm in a New York state of mind

The audience cheered as you smiled at Niall 

I've seen all the movie stars In their fancy cars and their limousines Been high in the Rockies under the evergreens

You shook your head at his note and smiled at him

But I know what I'm needing And I don't want to waste more time I'm in a New York state of mind

You loved hearing his voice, you couldn't help the giddy smile

It was so easy living day by day Out of touch with the rhythm and blues But now I need a little give and take The New York Times, The Daily News Oh,oh 

You changed your pitch in the middle of your note as Niall continued singing

It comes down to reality And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide Don't care if it's Chinatown or up on Riverside

You were always amazed on the raspy control of his voice

I don't have any reasons I've left them all behind You smiled at him as you sang it ‘Cause i'm in a New York state of mind Yeah

You felt the chills run through you as Niall ad libbed to perfection. You high fived each other and jumped into spin before you ran into each other's arms and he lifted you off the ground. You both walked down the stage with wide smiles from singing with each other for the first time. You both messed with your in-ears at the same time (a video you would later save and cherish) and he helped you down the stairs as you both waved to everyone around you as you both went backstage. 

He pulled you along the dressing rooms quickly as he had to be back by the time break was over. “That was amazing.” he said, pulling you into another hug. “You are so angelic, Ni.” you smiled, wiping stray hair from his face as his arms wrapped around your waist holding you tightly to him. “Heaven can’t hold a candle to you” he whispered and your eyes snapped to him. “Only a few more hours baby.” you whispered back. “I'm counting down the seconds.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

To say you were shaking was an understatement. “Bitch if you don't stop moving your makeup is going to look like the underside of a kangaroo.” you stared at him through the mirror trying your best not to laugh.

“I'm sorry, I'm just so nervous.” Atticus groaned, pulling the powder brush away from your face. “Here.” he passed you a letter and you looked at him who just went back to fixing your hair.

Hi baby,

I know you're nervous, but I know you're gonna win this. You are incredible and I will always be proud of you. Thank you for letting me back in your life, I promise you with my entire being that I will never ever put us in that position again. You mean the most to me. I'll see you soon

Your niall

“Your gonna have to fix my make-up Atty.” you pouted. “What? You think I didn't prepare for your tears when you win. This shit is waterproof, tear proof, cu-”

“Okay, you're done.”

```````````````````````

“This is the moment we've all been waiting for.” you were standing centre stage with the rest of the finalists.  You looked around as this would be your last time on this stage. “It's been an incredible season. It's time to find out, of course, who is the winner of The Voice. We’re just gonna hear from everybody quickly.”

Carson went down the line getting to you last.

“And last but not least, Maia.”

“I'm gonna try not to cry,” you laughed as everyone ‘awed’. “But thank you from the bottom of my heart. You helped find me not only as an artist but as a person and though our story started 3 years ago, this was an amazing chapter with you, and I hope for many more.” 

He nodded at you and sent two thumbs up and dopey smile to you as Carson moved on. “I will first announce the artist in fifth place.” you all linked hands as this was the beginning of the end.

“The artist in fifth place is… Noivas.”

“The artist in fourth place is… Sorelle.”

You were now in the top 3. You were glad Atticus had gotten you ready because you were a mess. “ Now I will read the name of the artist in third place.”

“The artist in third place is… D-Smooth.”

You gave him a big hug as he had been like a big brother to you in the short time you knew him. You and Grace were gripping onto each other. “Grace and Maia, one of you is The Voice. This is the closest margin of victory in Voice history.” you both looked at each other in shock and laughed softly. “Good luck to you both.”

It seemed you had tunnel vision as your eyes locked on Niall whose hand was against his heart. “The winner of season 23 of the voice is…”

The season flashed before your eyes as you let them close

The Blinds

Next artist is walking on stage

You waited for your next part and saw the next chair turn…

Niall

~~~

I know Niall. I forgave you a long time ago. It sucks that i could never stay mad at you. But this doesnt mean im pushing everything out. You still really hurt me. 

Im going to make it up to you i promise.

The battles

“We've got a steal!” Carson announced as you stood back up. “Team Niall!” 

The Knockouts

He took a deep breath before looking up, “the winner of this knockout is Maia.”

~~

“You okay Nialler?” you laughed and he rubbed his lips. “You gotta stop making me cry.” 

~~

“The second artist advancing to the Lives is… Maia.”

~~

“Atticus…” you called your best friend. “I think I love him…..”

The semi-finals

“Every. Single. Song. They all connect back to you Maia. I always connect back to you.”

“We can’t.” you cried softly, hands tangling into his hair to pull him closer. “I know.” he cried back, “I know.”

~~~

 “Team Niall slay.”

~~~

“Your third finalist…. From team Niall is….” 

You and Ryley looked at each other with big grins 

…Maia Quinn!”

The finale

 Niall wrapped you in a such an apologetic hug, you looked over his shoulder and stared at Atticus quizzically. ‘What did you do?’ you mouthed but all Atticus did was wink and walk away. 

~~

“…This is incredible. Im so proud of you.” 

~~

“Ugh,” atticus groaned, “your love-sick puppies. Moment. Ruined.” 

~~

“Hi Maia, it's Harry! “Ello! Liam and Bear here.“Hi love! Louis here. “Hi Maia, Zayn here.

This one's for you Nialler.

~~

“I’m excited to sing with you!” your excitement thickened up your mixed accent. “Sorry?” Niall teased leaning in towards you.

“Ive learned to slow down for certain people you know. But with you I never have to and that makes me feel good.” he pulled your chair closer to him so that he could hug you across the chairs. 

~~

“You know what you're gonna get from this performance?”

“Slay.”

~~

“Only a few more hours baby.” you whispered back. “I'm counting down the seconds.”

~~

I'll see you soon

- Your niall

~~~

“MAIA QUINN!!”

Your eyes shot open in shock and you froze looking at Niall who was screaming. Grace shook your hands to snap you out of the shock and you robotically hugged her. “Team Niall for the win!” It was when you let go you realised what was happening. The tears immediately fell down your face as you looked around at the flares. Grace hugged you one more time before the other finalist came on stage and gave you hugs.

 Niall tapped you softly and you turned to him and more tears fell down your face. He laughed at your pout and hugged you one arm around your shoulders and the other pressing into your waist. He tucked his face into your neck and gave it a short kiss. “I told you! I told you!.” he chanted as he pulled away from the hug. But you just shook your hand wanting to be back in the home that was his hugs. 

You walked over with Niall to another camera, trophy in hand as they asked you guys to share what the win felt like. “I told her on day one,” Niall passionately pointed to you, “when she was a nervous wreck.” you laughed surprised at him calling you out. “That she was going to go the whole way, and she still chose Kelly.” you laughed again with him this time. “But i stole her anyway. This girl is special. Special talent and people that are nice do good things.” You hit him over and over again as he was making you blush and he turned to you realising his effect and hugged you again with no plans on letting go anytime soon.

You were being congratulated all the way back to your fitting room after you and Niall were seperated, and when you closed the door there he was waiting for you. “My little winner.” he said, scooping you up and dipping you making you squeal a laugh as your hands found his chest. “I can do this now.” he said pulling you close like the night in his music room.

“Do what?” you teased. He rested his head against yours briefly before going to capture your lips but you pulled back and he whined. “Say please.” you whispered dominantly. “Please?” he begged and your lips were moulded into his in the second. 

In that tender moment, your hearts aligned, the first sweet touch of lips.

A brush of softness, a fluttering start, a spark ignited, a flame from the heart.

Like butterflies dancing on a summer breeze, your souls entwined in a moment of ease.

The world around you faded into a haze, lost in the rhythm of this new phase.

Lips intertwined, in a passionate embrace, Whispering promises with tender grace.

With every tender touch, your love story unfolds, every heartbeat, a tale that forever holds.

A symphony of emotions, a crescendo of desire,

You let this memory forever be imprinted,

A cherished milestone in the journey you’ve walked.

And your love, like a flame, burned bright and true,

Ignited by that first live 

The start of him and you....

@youcan-nolonger-run @ravenclawdirectioner

@luxiorchive @maeflowers653

HOW ARE WE FEELING RIGHT NOW?!?!?!?!?!?!

#nialler #cute niall #niall horan x reader #niall horan fluff #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan #niall horan smut #niall fanfic #niall one shot #one direction #solo niall #niall 1d #niall james horan #niall horan fic #niall the show #niall horan x y/n #niall imagine #niall horan x you #the show 2024 #live

[kriz-fics]

The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Sixteen: Lore and Luminaries

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters), Slow Burn

Length: 13.8K

CW: Mentions of underage sexual exploration / mention of child abuse (physical)

“Dragon root, dried wasp stings… vervain, lovage. Grind all those up for me, if you would, my lady.”

For a long while, the sound of stone grinding against stone is the only thing to be heard in the Healer’s rooms. It is the most riveting sound, that steady rasp, bewitching in its constancy. The scent wafting from the mortar is yet another component of the enchantment that has fallen upon the space. Each breath you take is more pleasant than the last. Invigorating. It is almost enough to make you forget the purpose of the brew. And to whom you will have it served.

Mother had been taken ill a couple of days past. The sweats, they feared, at its onset. The sweats, thank the gods, it is not. The source of the bug had been confined to her cottage, to sleep away the malady and prevent its spread. 

By no means was this to be the last spate of illness within the household, Healer Darya warned. The autumn storms are soon come upon you and with them the dreaded ague. It is not so lethal as the mortal sweats, to be sure, but it is a great deal more catching and takes its fair share of lives when left untreated. 

The cooks have been outdoing themselves of late, churning out dish after dish bursting with greens and fish and eggs. Fare to prevent further illness and strengthen the constitution, it is known. The year’s bounty of oranges (bloody and otherwise) find themselves a constant on the household table as well. And lemons. So many lemons. From fowl cooked with lemons to lemon cakes to liqueurs, the cooks find no end to their utility. It is almost enough to put you off them for the next year. Almost. Lemon cakes are altogether too tasty to give up for a full year.

“My lady, perhaps you can enlighten me with the properties of lovage.” Healer Darya gives you the briefest of glances before turning to her work. 

An unusual yet not unpleasant mixture of scents trails the priestess’s words. Peppermint, wormwood, silk moss. For the tonic to revitalize Mother. You grind your own ingredients on, as ordered, before eventually answering, “Lovage is most effective as an aid for digestion. If used too much, though, it can leave the patient extremely disoriented. As such, it must be used sparingly, and with a light hand.”

“What of vervain?”

“It is often used for the treatment of feral dog bites. However, it is also generally known as a potent restorative, especially if used in tonics. As we are using it right now.”

“Quite right, and well-put.” The Healer gauges the steadily burning flame beneath the small pewter cauldron on its iron trivet. She holds out her hand. “My lady, the paste, if you please.” The unusually pleasant scent takes on a new note and a different sort of pleasantness. Healer Darya puts aside the black stone mortar and its matching pestle, before taking up a ladle and stirring the concoction. “Perhaps I’ll set you to making the next few batches of these so I might at last move on to restocking the other essentials.”

You will take no issue with that. The past week or so of Healer lessons had been nothing less than stimulating. It began with books. The Lady Alyrya’s priestess was only too happy to oblige her mistress when you requested tuition. Light reading, to start. Greens in Your Garden; Flowers of the South; Physic and Herblore, an interesting treatise on medicinal plants, written by renowned herbalist Prior Flora, which you had started two nights past.

The true work is what you anticipate the most.

“Hang these up to dry and finish the tisane.” 

A bundle of herbs changes hands, and you proceed to obey. Pennyroyal and golden parsley, you note, with no small amount of wryness as you walk toward the drying area. Herbs needed for that most infamous of brews. The Healer had been instructing you on all manners of subjects: the drying of herbs, the extracting of vegetal oils, the making of tisanes, potions, pastes. Soon, you will move on to the more difficult tinctures, perhaps even your first poultice. All of these and more you will learn. But for the brewing of that one draught.

It had not been too long ago when Father had called you to his solar, grim and grave and so disappointed. He did not give you long to wonder at his disappointment. “What is this I hear about you and Young Master Meledin?” he had inquired, brisk and uncharacteristically terse.

He changed tack at your honest confusion, which he only doubled with his next query. Young, new-flowered Lady Rhyzkova could not understand nor picture what Father was on about. You had spent a good few moments in silence, puzzling out the details. You could not imagine how you were supposed to fit that hard rod of flesh inside you, or even that you could. 

So you had, truthfully, said no, Roman did not put his penis inside your sex. That new insight gave you awe, nevertheless. You might not have taken him in but you had taken him to hand, to his nervous excitement. That felt good, he said; it felt even better when you stroked. And so you did, encouraged by his eager urging, fascinated by the way he swelled and grew harder in your grip. Even the strange fluid that leaked from him in droves (not piss, he had asked Prior Ilya) did not put you off like it had that first time (your disgust did not let you get this far, and he had wilted from the embarrassment). He had climaxed all over your hand soon afterward. The milk-white liquid that came spurting from his cock was not piss, that was for certain.

For all your honesty, Father had his reservations. Healer Darya came to confirm your innocence, sent by Lord Alexander to corroborate his daughter’s claims. You were as intact as you could be, for a highborn girl, announced the priestess. It was not a boy’s cock that caused what tears there were down there. Noble girls are more like to lose their maidenheads to horses than to boys, this is known, and you have been riding since you were six, years and years ago.

Still, it stings, even now, to know Father had not taken you at your word. It is understandable, to a degree, to make absolutely sure - your value in the marriage market would have severely plummeted had you been plucked before your time. That does not lessen the sting, even so. It is some reassurance that he had not made you drink söga, at least.

Söga, the tisane you will never learn to make if Father and Healer Darya can help it. Both know well your capacity for wantonness. Your wanton streak, as Father called it. To your face. “You have a wanton streak in you, my child,” he had said, so very gently. Somehow, that had not stung - he could have worded, and delivered, it worse. He could have called it my whorish streak. 

And so you are relegated to keeping your whorish streak to yourself. It is all to the good, anyway. You know well what is expected of a lady, especially one with a standing as high as yours. That does not stop the what-ifs from cropping up every so often; they especially love to crop up in the face of a handsome boy, and the court does not lack for those. You are betrothed to one of those, as it happens. That you will use forbidden knowledge to go ahead and fuck your handsome boy without any consequences, you do not know. But that is certainly something.

You can always brew the tea yourself, you suppose, as you grab a length of knotted twine off the counter and begin to wrap it about the herbs’ stems. Söga is disastrous to get wrong, though. A misstep in the recipe will blast your womb and render you barren, a woman’s worst nightmare realized. You cannot have that; you must have heirs of your own body and continue a line eight thousand years strong.

Mugwort and nettle and goldenglow hang before you in a neat row, joined shortly by your pennyroyal and parsley. Herbal soldiers in line, waiting for their commands. And like true soldiers, they lose their potency beneath too much sun. All herbalists know to keep herbs away from scorching heat, and the Healer is no exception. The sandstone visible through the glass window before you makes for a dismal view.

The views are more cheering where the sun is allowed to shine. The apothecary is aptly stationed right beside the entrance to the sanctum, giving the resident Healer easy access to its wealth of flora. No autumn hues are evident through the wood-and-glass door that leads out into the palace gardens. This far south, the seasons turn more slowly, and so everything keeps its verdant bloom. For the moment.

You leave the apothecary bearing a silver trayful of remedies: ginger and mint tea (sweetened with honey), essence of yarrow, a bowl of hot water and a square of clean linen, marlock salve and the revitalizing tonic, finished at last after half an hour’s worth of labor. You cannot help the irreverent smile that pulls at your lips as you pass a familiar corridor.

Down those halls is a certain sitting room, now scarce used. It was that which made it so enticing to two highborn whelps who were too inquisitive for their own good. You do not know how that servant managed to catch you at it; hardly anyone went down there, as little used as the wing was. Perhaps you were louder than you’d thought. Par for the course for children, who tend to have little thought of their immediate surroundings. 

Father had the whole wing’s rooms locked and sealed away afterward. He hardly should have bothered. It had not taken him long to send Roman away, so you were left with no boys to play around with (no boys you were attracted to enough, at any rate). And no boys to learn the way of the bedchamber with, no one to fondle and explore just to see what went where. 

The older ladies of the court told you what went where readily enough.

Mother’s rooms are empty of callers and servants but for her handmaid, the Lady Oksana Aliyeva, sister to the Lady of Noyasnoy, Tatyana Aliyeva. “My lady,” she curtseys as you brush past the gossamer hangings to enter your mother’s bedchamber. The older woman proceeds at once to tie back the drapes, her long sheet of silvery blonde hair rippling in her wake.

You set your tray down on the table placed at the foot of the bed and gather the mug of tea in your hands. You wave away the handmaid as she comes over to assist. “Leave us, if you would, my lady.”

Lady Oksana checks, draws herself up and bows before taking her leave.

“Ah, my sweet little Healer,” Lady Theresia says hoarsely from her seat in her large bed, propped up on big silken pillows against her red gossamer-covered headboard and smiling her warm motherly smile. The stuffed peacocks flanking the bed stare haughtily down at you as you walk over to the bedside and sit on the crimson bedclothes. The clay of the teacup is rough and warm beneath your fingers, the tisane not too hot, perfect for drinking.

“How are you feeling?” you ask your lady mother as you hand her the drink. Still a bit peaky, you think, taking in Mother’s drawn complexion with a surge of concern. You mislike the gravel in her voice as well as its thickness. The mint will help the rocks and the obstruction.

Lady Theresia smiles, sardonic. “The cavalry is running a charge through my body, but this old bat is otherwise fine.” Mother and daughter share a laugh. “No leeches?” Lady Theresia queries after a taste of tea.

“Perhaps later. Healer Darya will drop by to check on you.”

“Oh, thank the gods. Such nasty creatures,” Mother shudders and takes another prim sip. “Did you mix this yourself?”

“Yes.” A bowl of water is sitting beside a tiny ornate brazier on the bedside table. A square of linen floats, submerged, in the yarrow-infused liquid. You stand and take the basin, striding back to the other table at the foot of the bed.

“Your lessons are going along swimmingly then.”

The pleasant scent of yarrow drifts through the air from the bottle in your hand. You pour a capful of the essence into the fresh bowl, well-pleased.

“Tell me of your curriculum. I trust that it is a good one. And appropriate.”

You cannot fail to hear the emphatic tone your mother’s voice has adopted. “It is good. And appropriate.” No söga, have no fear, Mother dear. You hang the unused linen over an arm and gather the steaming bowl, the revitalizing tonic, and the salve before returning to the bedside table.

“Eren is a handsome lad - gods, such a handsome lad, and so well-made-” you look askance at your mother’s dreamy expression, which she hastily shakes off, “-but you can afford to wait. Not long now ‘til you can tumble your man to your heart’s content.” Lady Theresia titters as the bottle of tonic near slips from her daughter’s hand at her remark. Her laughter waxes into a hacking cough as you turn to her with abject horror on your face. Never again do you want to hear anything remotely raunchy come out of your mother’s mouth.

“Ah, but he is a sweet lad,” Mother sniffs once her laughter and the coughing subside. She dabs at her nose with a square of linen. “And he makes you happy. That is the most important thing of all.”

You set the revitalizing tonic down beside the salve. He had sent you a tonic once, over a month ago. You had never been more surprised to see Healer Dmitriy outside your rooms in Merrydell, a purple glass bottle in his hands. “Young Master Eren asked me to give you this, my lady. Essence of valerian for your insomnolence.” 

As surprised as you had been at this unexpected visit, your astonishment paled in the light of the overwhelming surge of affection that coursed through you at this most thoughtful gesture. Your unrested state had struck a bigger cord in your betrothed than you’d realized. Such a sweet lad indeed.

Lady Theresia finishes her tea at last and hands you her cup. “We are lucky in our men, you and I.” Another set of smiles changes hands. “As I hope your sisters will be. And your brother with his lady wife someday. To be lucky in love is the sweetest thing.”

You putter about the bedside table, fussing at the cup and the bowl and the brazier, cheeks prickling at that most potent of words. Love.

Several moments pass before you can return to your place by Mother’s side. “Speaking of… men and future matches, how is Father taking into account the king’s continued reticence as regards the Crown Prince’s hand?” It has been some time since last you’d spoken of the matter. You hand Mother the small porcelain tub of marlock.

“Yes, well, your father has other options. As he always has in all matters.” A lesson he has been instilling in you most diligently throughout the years. Your mother removes the lid off the tub in her hand, dips her fingers in the ointment, and smears it over her chest, pulling the neck of her nightdress down a little as she does so.

“I don’t think the prince will make Lydia happy anyway.” Not when Lady Gudrun is around to be a paramour on the side.

“They can always grow into it. Such matters are a passing thing.” Lady Theresia hands back the tub, which you set aside on the table, just as a commotion in the form of your baby brother enters the room.

“Mava!”

The swept-back drapes of the bedchamber afford you both a view of little Oliver Rhyzkov tottering down the privy chamber, threading his way past the divans, the armchairs, and the tables in his route to get to Mother’s bedroom. He is carrying an earthenware bowl filled with a glistening golden mass in his little hands.

Behind him drifts his nurse, brown-haired matronly Mother Raisa, in her cerise robes lined with gold. She is carrying her own dish, this one piled high with the harvest’s bounty: pears, peaches, plums, grapes and dates and melons, all manners of berries. “My ladies,” she bows over her bowl once she reaches the threshold of the bedroom, which makes her young ward pause and dip into his own bow.

“No need to bow to your own kin, Olya,” you inform him with a grin, taking the dish from him and ruffling his hair affectionately, making the boy giggle. Your hand shoots out quick as a whip and closes around a pudgy forearm as your brother makes to run to Mother’s bedside. “Sorry, love, but no kisses for Mava just yet. You might get sick, and if you get sick, there’ll be no more playtime. And no more swimming.”

The threat of no more swimming hits hard. Olya slumps down in your hold, pouting a most magnificent pout. “But it’s tomorrow and you said you’d be better tomorrow,” he calls out, sad and plaintive, to Mother, who smiles at him apologetically.

“I’m afraid the bug is stronger than we thought, my love. But I promise I will be better.”

“I told you to let me squish it! I’m not afeared of bugs, I can squish it! So you can be better!”

“That’s why we brought these, your little lordship, to squish the bugs and make your mother stronger,” Mother Raisa intercedes as she places the fruit bowl amidst the physic on the bedroom bench. “Only a good serving of fruit can squish this sort of bug. Of course, a prayer or two will work even more wonders,” she adds piously, clutching at the golden pendant on her chest, that of the Mother Above’s scepter tipped with a tiny pomegranate.

Olya nods vigorously. “Honeycomb makes me feel better, too, so you have to eat them all today so you’ll be better tomorrow. For true.”

Sure enough, the sugary scent emitting from the bowl in your hands belongs to his favorite sweet. You place it beside the fruits, greatly endeared.

“I can’t promise you I’ll be all right tomorrow but I will be in a few days. For true,” Mother says, as endeared as you. “And then we can swim.” 

Olya is not quite placated, that is plain to see, but he nods anyway. His hand drifts to his mouth, prompting his nurse to grab hold of the limb. He has been weaned, for the most part, from that most babyish of habits yet still it manifests, especially when he is upset. At five, he is too old for such conduct and needs further work to break the practice for good and all. Lydia had suggested smearing his hand with sun pepper jelly to stop him sucking. Mother had rebuked her most sharply and the issue was dropped.

“I thank you most kindly for the fare. From a harvest well done, indeed,” Lady Theresia remarks, eyeing the overflowing fruit bowl with so much pride. “Not just for us, I am told.”

“Not just for us,” you affirm, proud as the room’s stuffed peacocks. The past week or so had seen the doves coming in from all the Vascalene provinces, all with reports of excellent harvests. You have yet to come down from the heights of your satisfaction.

“A good portent. And good for public perception. Any proof of the gods’ favor of your rule will help ease the way when you come into your own.”

The fact is a most pleasing one. And much-needed, to help chase away the weight of the role.

“Oh, before I forget, you need to drink your tonic,” you exclaim, moving to measure and pour out the potion for your mother’s consumption. “We’ll leave you to it, then,” you put in once the philter has been drunk. You bend to pick up little Olya, who is not so little now, you realize as you feel the weight of him in your arms. Mother Raisa strides forward, voicing out aid, which you wave away. “Say goodbye to Mava,” you prompt the boy, and he obeys, adding a little wave into the bargain. “She needs to sleep so she’ll get better. And then we’ll swim.”

“Swimming! We’ll swim, we’ll swim like Renren,” Olya chirps, bouncing in your hold, to your distress. “Honey!” he demands, reaching for the corresponding bowl. Mother Raisa breaks off a piece of the comb and hands it to him. He sets to at once, happily munching his treat (Mother’s in truth, supposedly), wax and all.

You adjust your grip on him and bid your own farewell to your most beloved mother. You will visit again tonight. A good Healer must needs check on her patients most diligently.

Renren the Newt’s namesake is standing outside the rooms to greet you, to your surprise.

“Hello,” he raises a hand in greeting.

“Hello,” Olya replies, raising his own smaller honey-smeared hand to return the gesture. 

Eren smiles that warm, tender smile that has made such a home in his beautiful face. The way he regards you and the boy in your arms is achingly soft.

You shift Olya on your hip, so conscious of Eren’s gaze. “You remember Eren, yes? My betrothed.” Encounters between your betrothed and your brother have been scant. Not least because you are keeping Eren to yourself most every time, and Olya has his own little boy agenda to go through every day. “What are you doing here?” you question Eren, most curious.

He purses his lips and sighs, all tenderness lost. “I heard Lady Theresia was sick and you were tending her. I wanted to know how she was.”

Something in you squirms at the restrained fear of his mien. You know well what frightens him so. It is hard to be confronted with memories of his greatest loss. Mother’s predicament is hitting too close to home. “She’s on the mend,” you assure gently. “A day or two and she’ll be right as rain.”

“You’re a knight, right? Teach me how to joust.” Oblivious Oliver licks at his fingers, exposing Eren to the full brunt of his special stare, that wide-eyed compelling look he loves to use on everyone if he must have his way.

It is working a charm on the most susceptible knight. And does a superb job cutting through the miserable tension in the air neat as a pin. “Do you know how to ride a horse?” Eren asks the boy, who shakes his head. “That won’t do. Before you can joust, you have to know how to ride.”

“Teach me.”

“There’s a thought,” you interpose. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Olya certainly thinks so, too. He bounces in your arms again and again and again, trilling “Teach me,” with each bound. Mother Raisa strides forward to take the little lordling off your hands, and this time you let her. There is no winning against Olya, not when he has begun to work himself into excitement.

Eren chuckles at the spectacle and moves closer to you. “Your master of horse should be the one teaching you, not me. I’m hardly the right authority on that matter.”

“You’ll make a fine teacher, and I speak from experience,” you cut in, noting the frown and the trembling mouth of the little face brought about by Eren’s statement. Nothing good will come from that trembling mouth. You turn to the nursemaid before Olya can work himself up into a tantrum. “We’ll proceed to the stables. Perhaps we can commandeer a suitable pony for Olya.” Crisis averted, you think, relieved to see the excitement return to your baby brother’s face.

“You taught me how to ride and I’m a much better horsewoman for it. Don’t sell yourself so short,” you tell your betrothed, idly fiddling with the braid draped over your left shoulder. Mother Raisa and her charge have already started down the corridor. Your fingers brush against something sticky. Olya’s honey, you grimace, lamenting the stain it made on the pale green cloth of your charovma.

“I can teach you a different sort of riding, if you find me such a fine teacher.”

Your head snaps up. “Pardon?”

Eren gives you a slow, smiling gaze and does not answer, merely reaching out to pinch your cheek. “You make the sweetest faces.” He slips his fingers through yours and tugs you along.

“I have to get changed,” you force out, emerging from one of many spells he has taken to casting on you of late. Your cheek tingles where he had pinched it. “I have been honeyed,” you clarify, plucking at your dress at his inquiring look.

“Oh.”

The comfortable silence that falls between you does not last long. “Are you… sniffing me?”

Embarrassment takes his features over, yet it goes as soon as it comes. “It’s just… you smell sweet. And green. I like it.”

“Oh.”

You play with your braid once more. These Healer’s lessons are proving to be a most valuable asset in your skillset. In more ways than one. You have no choice now but to go about it most diligently. And you do so love the smell of herbs.

Into that wild enchanted wood he strode, the prince of dreams, to take up his seat in this his arcane realm. The birds chirped, and the leaves rustled, and the maid giggled, the maid of the wood, that girl with flowers in her hair.

High up she perched on her hawthorn throne, the true sovereign of this wood, and for her he bent the knee. It was never his wood, never his realm, and this he knew as he had never known before.

“Here you are at last, my lady of the wood,” said he, the prince of dreams. “You have kept me waiting.”

“Here I am at last, my prince of dreams,” said she, the girl with flowers in her hair. “I have kept you waiting, for my person’s sake.”

“I do not mean you harm, and will never. This vow, you will see, shall I keep,” said he, the most earnest of princes.

The mystery of her intrigued him so, and the sennights had been a torment. Food had lost all savor and the sun was dark in his eyes each day spent without her radiance. He had naught of her for she gave him naught, not even a name he could call with yearning lips.

For names have power, you see, said she, the girl with flowers in her hair, and forsworn will I be should I give you power over me.

Dong!

Eren looks round at the sound and instantly leaps to his feet. The time has slipped away from him and he is late. Lore and Luminaries, a Compendium of the Legends of the United Lands is thrown unceremoniously back into the lounge’s cushions as he makes a run for the library’s exit. He spares Prior Ilya a quick nod, who returns it, stiff and disapproving, as Eren speeds past his desk. He hastily straightens out the black and silver vidnon jacket (sans tunic) he is wearing with his black pants, making sure he is presentable as he proceeds down the hallway. The timepiece by the disgruntled dark-haired priest’s elbow shows the hour, that of the lynx.

Whatever seeds of remorse that have sprouted inside Eren wilt as quickly as they grow; he ought to be more careful with books, especially ones not his own, yet he is beyond caring at this point. He can always offer to rearrange the whole library in his idle hours. For now, his lady awaits.

And a true lady you are becoming, more and more each day. Some days, you would spend hours apart, you to your councils and audiences and duty, he to books and sparring and leisure. Much as he mislikes these times, some part of him marvels at them, marvels at you and what you can become. Detestable as she is in your intimacy, Lady Rhyzkova is promising to be a most resplendent woman. The image of you coming into your own excites him more than he realized.

Goldhaven’s sanctum is unrecognizable from the wood that it was two years ago. Then, it was a forest of oak and pine and hawthorn, of cypress and poplar and willow. Now, it is a park, and what oaks and pines and hawthorns there were are now growing in disparate plots across the sward. 

He strides down the stone trail that winds its way through the sanctum, eyes peeled for you. The sun is no longer at its zenith and has begun its slow descent into the west. It has dipped below the castle’s towers and so a quarter of the place is in shadow. He walks in dimness for a while until he comes across a choice of paths; he chooses the lefthand one and presses on, emerging at last into the light.

Like the gardens at home in Highridge, Goldhaven’s are elevated, perched high above the city on its leveled edifice. The wind will always blow here. It whips his hair about his face and he considers, for the briefest of moments, having it cut back to its preceding length. He has never grown his hair this long in living memory (it is almost to his shoulders now, hopelessly shaggy), and he is starting to realize why. Your voice echoes in his head, telling him how much you like the look on him, and he desists. For all the trouble it brings on, longer hair has its benefits.

A cluster of gardeners is about, trimming the verges that border one side of the large, circular fountain at the heart of the park. All turn to him and bow with their ‘Sirs’ and ‘Milords’. He acknowledges them with a nod, moving on and on and on, following his stone path. 

Still, his lady is absent, yet he knows where he will find her. Past stands of trees he strolls, once again astonished by how far this sanctum goes. The only other garden he knows can match the length of this one is the Bulwark’s. Connie had often claimed that one needed a mount to negotiate the place, as he and the Lady Mikasa were wont to do; it would take them half the day to do so on foot if they so chose to ply the full breadth of it. Eren had tested the veracity of that claim one summer’s day and decided that Connie was full of hot air and made from weak stock. It only took him half an hour to range the whole thing on foot, from the castle to the end of the gardens and back again.

He finds his lady where he knew she would be. High up you perch on the hawthorn tree, right there at the very end of the sanctum, lying latently along a sturdy branch. A fold of white cloth drapes down the bough from your dress, that white dress that exposed a great deal of smooth, shapely leg, split as it is from the thigh down. You are barefoot; your sandals peep out at him on the ground, beside a wicker basket and the godstone of this garden, a smooth, gray monolith with its proud, gray god, standing in front of this proud, tall tree.

His smile comes easily at your beauty’s behest. You have made a servant of his joy, and it comes so eagerly at your presence’s command. You are making a servant of all of him, his bits and parts, and he finds that he can care little and less. You can lead him anywhere and he will come. Unquestioningly. Willingly. Freely.

Your head turns at the sound of his footsteps. You smile your own smile and rest your head on your folded arms beneath you. “You have kept me waiting, Sir.”

Eren stares up at you, utterly charmed. “Here I am at last, my lady of the sanctum. I have kept you waiting only because time slipped away from me.”

“Ah, a flaw at last. The strong and dashing Falcon Knight is a most terrible timekeeper.”

“That is most unfair, my lady. It was only the once, I can assure you it won’t happen again. Look kindly upon me, I implore you.” Wind threads gently through his hair, light as your fingers had been that night in the Sphere. It slips through the edges of his loosely tied vidnon, its touch cool and pleasant on his bare skin. He takes a step forward until he is a handsbreadth away from the godstone. The rounded top of it reaches his waist.

“Why should I look kindly upon someone who calls me unfair to my face?” Wind threads gently through your hair, lifting it from your pretty face to flutter in the breeze. The hem of your dress ripples outward like a pristine banner. Not once did your smile drop.

He rests a hand atop the godstone. “It was the judgement that was unfair, not my lady herself.”

“The Falcon Knight has a silver tongue.” You sit up, lithe and languid, and press closer to the trunk.

“See, I have more to commend me than my timekeeping.” He comes closer, hand sliding off the godstone as he takes a step forward until he is standing by the hawthorn’s roots. His lady is sitting mere feet above him, all smiles still. He need not reach up very far to take one dainty foot into his hand. Yet he does not.

“What else commends you, aside from that tongue that gives you such credit?” You place an elbow on another branch beside you and rest your head upon your arm, playful as Alena of Makan had been with her Prince of Dreams.

Eren places a hand on the trunk, gleaming up at you, his own Alena. Without the flowers in her hair. “Wouldn’t you like to know. My lady.”

You giggle, a sound as sweet as silver bells. “Oh, I would like to know indeed.” You push off the branch and make to clamber down the tree.

At once, he reaches out to assist, taking a small hand into his own and guiding your way down the sloping trunk. The smell of leaves and herbs, that most intoxicating green smell, clings to you like perfume. It smells even better on you than your own perfume. Sweet as apples and winter roses are, they are not so comforting as the scent of fresh plant life.

You bend down to retrieve your basket, and there stands before him a maid of the wood. A vevda you wear, white and sleeveless and girdled with gold, the neck dipping down sharply to bare the shapely curves of your breasts. Your legs are as shapely, peering out from the split skirt of the garment. Your toes dig into the soft, lush grass beneath your still-bare feet. 

Eren gazes long and keen at you, committing the image of you as you are now to memory. A living fae maid. You only lack for flowers. A strong desire to crown you with such rises in him, and he glances about the wide, sweeping place. Flower bushes dot the area every few feet. Goldenglow and bronze betties and silver dream-of-morns, crocuses, peonies, even a patch of devil’s bloom with its black-and-scarlet petals, the garden is well-populated and still untouched by autumn’s hand. He will have enough for you.

“May I ask what it was that so engrossed the Falcon Knight that he would forget to keep a solemn promise?” you inquire lightly as you slip on your sandals.

“I was brushing up on my military science in the library. On the most sage recommendation of Sir Grisha.” You make your slow way back to the castle proper, hands clasped.

“Looking to gain more of an upper hand on me at our games, are we? I’ll have the truth of that tonight. I do admire your diligence. I would never think to read sleeping draughts as large as those during my reprieve.” You smile, shy and sweet, as he plucks a goldenglow from a passing bush and tucks it behind your ear. His hand lingers, tracing over the curve of your ear, slow and gentle, before pulling away. 

Eren watches you bite your lip at the gesture and look away. He bites his own lip to keep from smiling too widely. “Once you get past his tedious style, Hoover actually had interesting theses. And it wasn’t him that grabbed my attention. Prior Horst and his compendium provided a nice respite from all the philosophy and tactics.” 

“Ah, Lore and Luminaries?” You emerge at last from your reserve, eyes alight with interest.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Understandable, then. You are forgiven your lapse.”

Eren chuckles, just as you near the sanctum’s fountain. He has been rereading the old tales of late. His favorite stories ring different, somehow, though no one has changed the words. Perhaps it is he who has changed. Perhaps now he is reading with new eyes, not the eyes of a boy but of a man in l- 

Thump, thump, thump.

His hands have gone clammy in yours, though you do not seem to notice as you draw him down next to you onto the stone lip of the fountain. A circular stone colonnade, open to the skies, rings the structure. Queen Yelena Rhyzkova I stands at the heart of the fount carrying jugs, one pouring water down her stone vevda, the other spraying over her regal head. The steady splashing of water blends seamlessly with the rustling of leaves about you.

All those fade to nothing until all he can hear is the beat of his heart. Thumping, thumping inside his chest. Is he truly? He glances sidelong at his betrothed, the only girl he has ever liked this much. He likes you very, very much. But is it truly? Is it truly… love?

“The girl with flowers in her hair.” You reach up to touch the blossom behind your ear. “I only have the one.”

The sweet voice brings him back, as it always can do. “That can easily be remedied.” The gardeners have moved on to other verges. Those they had been trimming are in full bloom about you. Goldenglow, laceflowers, and violets give Yelena’s fount a touch of ornamentation. Eren plucks a golden blossom, and before long, he is plucking more, laceflowers, violets, more goldenglow. Fingers, long unpracticed, begin to remember their old skill. Slowly and surely, the crown takes shape.

“Where did you learn how to make crowns?” You observe his weaving hands, rapt.

“Mother and I used to make these for one another whenever we lounged in the gardens back home.” He smiles, lost in work and in memory. “I was her little Falcon Knight. She was my Queen of Love and Beauty.” 

The wreath lies finished in his hands at last, gold and white and violet. “Yours now, my lady, the title and the crown,” he avows, placing the ring of blossoms over your head. “The Queen of Dreams and Love and Beauty. The most beautiful Majesty.” The fae maid has flowered at last. “The girl with flowers in her hair.”

There it is, that look that he loves, the gentle awe of him come to grace your face again. And there it is, that word again. Love.

“The Falcon Knight has turned into the Prince of Dreams.” You brush light fingers over the petals and smile so beautifully. “You miss her so much,” you say, quiet and thoughtful, a statement meant to be a question yet comes out a statement nevertheless.

“Every day. And I always will.” The unceasing wind is the most comforting presence. He turns his face toward it, longing for the smell of salt. The sanctum faces away from the ocean, and so it is faint here, and far away. But it is there. Beneath the scents of the city - dust and woodsmoke and spices and humanity - there the salt breeze blows. Faint but never gone.

“You’re fortunate you can take care of yours,” he finds himself saying. “I could only watch, helpless, as I lost mine.” He takes your hands, marveling at how small they are compared to his, how smooth, and soft, and unscarred. Unmarked by violence. The hands of peace. The hands of a ruler. “The hands of a Healer,” he murmurs to himself, almost absently, caressing the unblemished skin. “You will preserve life, while I will take it away. And I have taken it away from a host of others.”

He stills as he feels the softness of your lips brush the back of his knuckles. You stroke the scarred skin, immersed in thought. “They have taken but they also give.” You hold up his hand and lace your fingers through his. His fingers close tight over yours as you reach with your other hand to cup his face, rubbing a tender thumb across his cheek. “And they can be so gentle. And so kind. And if they take, it’s only to preserve. You take to preserve those who matter.”

“And who are they, the ones who matter?”

You give him a long, considering look before giving answer. “I think… you would know that better than I.”

The ones I love. Those I am sworn to protect. The weak. The innocent. But who are the innocents, exactly?

It is too much to think about. Too much for the time and the place. Eren turns his head, to place a kiss on the cherished palm on his cheek. “Again, you always know what to say.”

You take your time withdrawing your hands, smile as soft as eiderdown. “I’m glad my words can touch you.”

“They do more than touch me, my lady.” He drinks in the sight of you, another one to keep in his memory for all his days. His eyes fall to the pendant that rests beneath the hollow of your throat, the family heirloom that proclaims to the world at large that you are no longer free for the taking, unavailable for marriage to anyone and everyone. But for him.

You will return the jewel to his House, as all brides must, to trade it for a more permanent piece, the scallop-and-pearl of those bound in wedlock.

The black pearl necklace’s chain gleams a bright silver beneath the afternoon light. Black and silver, like his vidnon. Black and silver, to your white and gold. Absolute opposing colors. Yet for all their opposition, a matched pair still.

“Lord Alexander invited me out for a gardening session,” he says, reminded of the fact by the basket that is sitting beside you. It is filled with greens, he now sees, indistinguishable from each other to his untrained eye.

“Oh?” You give him a look, of interest at the news, and of slight puzzlement at the change of subject. Which is just as well. You need to stir this ship to brighter, less troubled waters.

“Mm-hmm. I’m scared to death,” Eren laughs and rubs a hand across the back of his neck. He cannot help recalling one of his recurring nightmares ever since you had been promised, of Lord Alexander chasing him around the halls of Midford Castle, swinging at him with a gigantic bludgeon. His future father by marriage is an amiable man, true enough, yet he is also… big.

You giggle at his expression and take his hand. “Oh, you have nothing to fear. He’s the most lovable pup despite what his size may tell you. Unless… you do mean to make me cry.” You gaze at him beadily as you tug him to his feet.

He scoffs. “I’ll tell him what I told your barkeep. I have no intentions of ‘doing you dirty.’ And if I do make you cry…” he lets his eyes dip down to the luscious curves of your breasts, and smirks, “it won’t be from grief.”

His smirk unfolds into a grin at your disbelieving huff. “That’s quite enough out of you,” you mutter, picking up your basket and pulling him into a walk. The corners of your lips are twitching upward, though. “And here I was thinking I could give you a lesson in herblore to better get you into his good graces. I’ll leave you to Father’s mercy, then.”

“Please, milady, I’m sorry, milady, I won’t say no stupid things again, I do so swear. Teach me the ways of the wood.”

You beam and laugh and wrap an arm about his waist, this girl with flowers in her hair. This girl any man can come to love. “Since you asked so nicely… I am compelled. And perhaps we can scrounge up greens for Renren’s tank.”

No, not any man. Only me. Only me.

Oluo Bossard is a man who plainly loves the sound of his own voice.

“‘-flattered that you care for me so, Lady Petra, but I cannot take you to wife for I am already wed. Duty is the most jealous mistress and she will not suffer any other woman in my life,’” Bossard yammers from his place before the blazing hearth, waving his empty teacup around as he regales… who is he regaling, exactly?

Dorin Serech is sitting before him in a pale purple armchair, yet his nose is buried in a book, apparently deaf to everything but for words writ in ink. Crowded around the window embrasure at the end of the room are the Brotherhood’s youngest. Connie Springer is holding court, entertaining Bertolt Hoover and Marin Tarasav with anecdotes of his own. He at least seems to be having more success with his audience, who are laughing and rejoining with corresponding quips. The forefront of the solar sees Erwin standing behind his desk, dictating a missive to Hange, the only woman (lawfully) allowed in the Hall of the Sentinel.

Perhaps Bossard is under the misguided impression that he is interested in hearing about the paltry niceties of his life. That annoys Levi to no end. He must disabuse the man of that notion at once. He stands from his own armchair by the fire, clutching his cup of tea, and sweeps past the still-rambling knight, who does not seem to notice his lack of an attentive audience.

Prior Hange does not so much as glance up from her work as Levi walks past her seat at the left hand of the Lord Commander’s desk. He does not escape Rolf Wolfsbane’s attention as easily, though. Hard bronze eyes glare at Levi as he leans against the wall beside the fabled princely knight, the most fabled in the Royal Guard’s history. Or so they claim. Levi ignores the glower and takes a sip of his drink. Pardon me, Your Grace, but you are only a bust and I’m free to lounge about wherever I like.

It is not long until he has drained his cup. He stares down at the specks of tea leaves dotting the porcelain and feels that old and familiar feeling once more, the one he can’t quite give a name to. It is one he always has whenever his squires come into their own and he is left to face the prospect of acquainting himself with a new boy yet again. It is part wistfulness, part resignation, he supposes. But that is the lot of the knight. Useless to tell himself never to get too attached. Somehow, some way, no matter how slight, he still does.

All that at the sight of tea leaves. He can almost laugh. He wonders if the new boy will be an exceptional teamaker. Dieter Augenstein is to be the name of the new boy, a younger son of a Lesser House sworn to the Reisses, a lad of some eighteen or nineteen years. Levi will have to teach him the ways of perfect brewing if he proves to be a botch. Eren’s first attempts at brewing had been depressingly unacceptable, yet he learned in the end. It is always a toss-up with the boys. Some will always be better brewers than others. But none have yet surpassed that most consummate of brewers, Farlan Church.

“Finished! At last!” cries the Prior, at the exact moment the Lord Commander speaks.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

Erwin is glancing at him from the corner of his eye. The leaded glass in front of him shows the Hall’s yard and Midford’s main keep right across their smaller holdfast. The day promises to be a good one for rain - the autumn storms are begun at last. If they aren’t, then they will be soon, now that the Month of Storing has started.

Levi looks away from the Lord Commander’s gaze and his right sleeve, empty, armless, and pinned up at the shoulder with an iron brooch in the shape of an anvil. “Keep your coin. My thoughts aren’t worth that much.”

“These ones are, it would seem. What has the cool, imperturbable Levi Ackerman looking so… sentimental?”

“Ah, I am starving,” Hange whines, slumping down on her seat, utterly woebegone. Erwin stares at Levi a few moments more with that piercing stare of his, then turns to sit down before his desk and pick up the letter the Prior has completed, reading over the contents. 

Silently, Levi lets out a breath. Relief. Did he truly give himself away like that? I’m losing my touch. Many squires he’s had over the years, and yet the first always comes back to haunt him. It’s always the first that gets you, for everything. His first squire. His first triumph. And his first true failure.

“Where are Mike and my sweet rolls?”

“This is passable,” Erwin announces after a time, and Hange sits up, lips pouted, mind stuck on her stomach. “He’ll be pleased to hear back from me soon.”

Ortwin of Smith Street is a blacksmith of the highest standing. A standing he did not have before his son rose to prominence, some will be quick to whisper. He was one of many smiths in the area, deemed to be neither exceptional nor terrible. But that was hardly fair; his craft is as fine as any smith’s worth his salt, and he is worth his many times over. And if his son’s legend brings on more custom, what of it?

“Will you be delivering by dove or in person?” Hange yawns, rubbing at her stomach.

“In person. It’s been some time since I’ve visited.” Before he lost an arm, the Lord Commander had been known to return home on his free days and take up his old trade again. He was a capable smith in his own right; that storied blade of his, Sunstrike, is a weapon of his own making. It is no truesteel blade such as those forged by the peerless metalworkers of Old Paradis, but the sword had served him well over his years of active duty. Now it sits in his rooms, gathering dust, its vocation ended.

“How is the work coming along?” Hange asks, a little vaguely, seemingly distracted from her stomach at last. Her eyes are trained on the rest of the room’s occupants, thoughtful and ruminative.

“Well enough. Slow but sure, as they say. Fold this for me, would you?” Erwin hands the priestess back his missive and she complies, folding the parchment into a neat rectangle and securing it shut with pale purple wax, which she stamps with the Royal Guard’s seal, a crown ringed with twelve swords. “Although I fear I may never again be as able. Continuous practice is what’s needed and my duties get in the way of that. Being Lord Commander is detrimental to being a smith.”

The Lord Commander’s visits to his family forge are not entirely filial. Still he takes up his craft, trying to hone his remaining limb until it is as dextrous as the vanished one. Levi can empathize, to a point. His dear Uncle Kenny had broken his right wrist when he was a boy, soon after he had mastered the rudiments of swordplay with his dominant hand. To make him a most well-rounded warrior, the man claimed as he proceeded, brutally, severely, ruthlessly, to train his young nephew to fight with his left hand.

Not for the first time, Levi feels that most consternating confusion of anger and gratefulness that rises inside him at the thought of his uncle. Seeing Erwin struggle to recondition his body after such a profound loss only exacerbates the emotions. More than half of Levi is thankful that, should he lose his right, he will still have his left and be as proficient as he ever is in battle. Not even the Lord Commander can claim as much. Perhaps those years of hell were worth it, after all.

“Has this room ever been full?” Hange questions promptly. “With all of you lot, I mean. The Brotherhood of the Twelve instead of the Brotherhood of… Seven,” she adds after a hasty headcount of the solar’s occupants.

“It can’t ever be full,” Levi reminds her, crossing his arms over his chest. “The king is not to be left alone and unguarded under any circumstance.”

“Ah, right.” Something morose descends upon her in a flash. Unusual to the highest degree with this most upbeat of Priors. “Don’t you have three from the North? I see one northman… where are the other two?”

“Sir Julian is on duty, with Sir Keith. Sir Symon is… away,” the Lord Commander answers, careful and circumspect. Things have been uneasy with their northern brothers nowadays. Not so Dorin, not as much, with him being a Trostman (and therefore not one of the aggrieved northern parties, though their sort remains wary all the same).

Renouncing past ties and allegiances to serve one is easier said than done. Hard to keep those vows when the one you devote your life to has done you a great personal wrong. And reducing your line - a line ten thousand years old, one of the oldest in the land - to a mere shadow of what it once was is a great personal wrong, Halkin will not see it as anything but. Worse still is to eradicate your whole House, root and stem, and leave you as the sole successor to its legacy. And a fine successor Skaryn makes, one whose vows prevent him from leaving his own successors to cultivate their tree. His House will die a true death with him, in the end.

Mistrust is a chord that does not strike well with the Lord Commander yet that kingslayer Marius Zackly had given precedent for the sentiment to exist. Never again will Julian Halkin and Symon Skaryn do duty together. The squires are to be kept away from the northmen as well. They cannot risk the boys being overrun should the men act on any impulse of retribution; only the veterans will serve with them now, to keep the closest watch.

A loud whoop of laughter rings out from the other end of the room, from the squires and their cheery japes. No, not squires, no longer squires, Levi has to remind himself. They are knights now, dubbed and anointed as he is, no matter how young. And they will not remain so. Further service and battle will change that. And time. Which is, at present, working further changes on them. Connie, who not too long ago was of his height, now overtops him, to Levi’s displeasure; a large part of him feels betrayed.

“Laughter is always a good thing to hear. Sir Symon should be here to partake of it. Or at least to listen.” Hange smiles sadly. “How terrible it must be, to know you are the last. It’s a hard sentence to bear.”

“The law is the law, no matter how hard.” The Lord Commander hesitates for an instant, before advancing, “No matter his… disposition, and his judgement, it has been hard for His Majesty as well. We’re looking to you, for good measure, to keep him safe down where he will not let us follow.”

Prior Hange nods soberly, and Levi is left to ponder. His Majesty has been visiting the vaults more often these days, and lingering longer than his Guard would like. Levi can trace this change as having come about in the days of the late Lady Mariya’s death. Which had concurred with the late Zheletine priest’s court visit.

The king’s private enterprise has been years long in the making. It started with Dietrich, the most truculent of lords in recent memory. Where it will end is yet to be determined. Rod Reiss, the First of His Name, will not be the first Reiss to start this selfsame enterprise. The end may yet be imminent but it need not be uncertain, if the fates of His Majesty’s enterprising forebears were anything to go by. You would think he, or anyone else, would learn by now.

It is the stuff of the Lord Commander’s worst nightmares, this project, and it tears him between duties - to obey and to protect. He had dared ask the king, once, the nature of this undertaking, only to be coldly rebuffed and warned off of further inquiry, on pain of dishonorable discharge. No man of them has inquired since.

They can put two and two together, nevertheless. His Majesty can make his Priors swear all the oaths he requires and warn off his Guard all he likes, yet that cannot make them ignore the sounds, muffled though they are by thick metal. Levi hears them still, in his nightmares. Disembodied they are in life; at the castle in the air in the gloaming, they take on the most monstrous forms. The Titans were long before his time but he has seen the tapestries, the portraits and the paintings, and those come to life in his head in his worst nights.

It disturbs him to no end to know that the king will see them living once more.

“All this magic in the world and we can’t even wield it. All the potential, all of humanity’s progress wasted. At the least, it would make this whole thing so much easier.” Hange sighs. “It’s an ironic thing, isn’t it, that the thing we are working on is the very reason we lost our divinity in the first place.” Sworn to silence she may be yet this vow she does not keep. Not with them, the Lord Commander and his leal right hand. They proved too sharp to feign ignorance with, so there is little point in upholding the farce.

“For all the death and destruction they brought, though… Titans were a marvel unlike any other. To see even one alive… to know that it was I who brought them about… that it was due to my brilliance that the impossible was made possible… I should die happy,” Hange breathes, and slumps down on her chair, dreamy as a milkmaid mooning over her farm hand.

It is all Levi can do not to shake his head at her. “A misstep and you’ll die before you see your life’s ambition come to pass. There will be no joy in it for you, I promise you.” Doubly so should their studies cause the death of the king. Some days of late, he emerged much the worse for wear, to the Lord Commander’s increasing disquiet. Holding his tongue to obey his king is becoming more of a sore trial, day after day after day.

“The Northern Matter, it’s what’s spurring him on. They won’t stand up to him if he still had the old power,” says Hange, suddenly grim as the grave they had reduced Zheletov to.

Ill-done, it was ill-done, a voice oft suppressed murmurs within. Try as he might to play deaf, something in Levi acknowledges the voice’s truth. Once, his nights would have been spent in the company of the dangling dead. Sleeping like a log makes for a superior shield against the accusing eyes. And time. The dead have lost all the power they held over him. Something in him is appalled by the fact. Death is never supposed to be easy.

“This is not the place or time to discuss this,” Erwin breaks in tersely, a note of warning in his voice.

“Do the lads know?” Hange asks, as though Erwin had not spoken. “When are you going to tell them? Soon or late, they must know if they’re expected to perform their duty to its full.”

The Lord Commander sighs. “Soon.” When their mouths prove as closed as mine, are his words unsaid.

“I’m back.”

Hange gasps and pops up from her seat, dashing toward the solar door with cries of welcome and glee. Mike fends her off at once as best he can from his basket of goods. “Marchpane!” she squeals, grabbing at the crock of it sitting atop his promised sweet rolls. Matthias Ackerman looks on from his place by the door, unimpressed by the tomfoolery occurring beneath his bronze nose. To be sure, there is very little that can impress the bust of the first Lord Commander. Levi wonders if this was true of his ancestor in life; he will know where his own temperament comes from, if so.

“Soon?”

The current Lord Commander gives Levi the briefest of looks before he stands from his desk. The squires-turned-knights are coming over, drawn by the Prior’s capers and the smell of fresh-baked bread. Erwin proceeds to his subordinate to grab a bite of his own. “Soon.”

You tap on the door, the little knock that you and Eren have taken to using for your late-night meetings. You have not used or heard it in quite some time now, now that you think on it. The blowback from the Northern Matter had cut into your nighttime arrangements. That is not to mention the hassle that came with traveling and settling back into the rhythm of being home once more.

But you have grown peckish reading Lore and Luminaries (which you had borrowed from the library at your betrothed’s unknowing influence). Somehow, reading of Gerald and Cressida’s midnight trysts served to make you crave your beloved strawberry cream pie. And your own knight’s company. You had left the lovers of legend in their midnight garden and slipped to the guest wing, by ways only you were privy to. 

Almost all castles have their secret passages, byways to cut the time spent ranging from one side of the keep to another. Most serve a more vital purpose. Father had shown you one such some years ago. It is conveniently located in the anteroom of the family privy chambers. The second panel from the tall window to the left of the room, you must always remember. This one leads to an underground cavern, which opens up to the Arsechkalan countryside. Should the worst come to pass and you are besieged by enemies, gods forbid, you are to take here the family and as many of the household as you can and escape for the nearest sanctuary.

It is a grim probability and not one you want to think too deeply on yet you know your duty. A good ruler must save as many of her people as she can in times of peril.

The passage you took to visit your knight had a less bleak purpose. Sir Bacon - may the gods give him rest, the darling thing - had found it for you sometime before you entered court. There it is, in the corridor that leads to the empty chambers connected to yours (your future consort’s, your parents informed you). The brown tabby had tripped a mechanism in one of the hallway’s alcoves and you had both slipped through. This one leads to a hidden garden, an old sanctum, now unused, which in turn leads to the inner palace gardens (this one not a sanctum). From there, it is no trouble slipping through the castle halls to your destinations of choice. It allows you to steer clear from the guards posted by the privy chambers, at least, which makes for the greatest of godsends.

You hope Eren isn’t asleep yet.

His door swings open and a god emerges. The breath leaves your lungs with all speed.

The firelight from the braziers standing either side of the entryway gives this god a bronze cast and throws shadows across his naked skin, accentuating every line, every crest of hard corded muscle. This is a sight not new to you. You saw it then in Zheletov and see it often in your most desirous dreams, yet in this warm gilded light he is even more a glory. His is a stunningly perfect body. And he is; stunning and perfect, broad and lean and muscled, handsome, so handsome, the consummate image of a man at his best. Your eyes roam lower, to the sharp-etched muscles of his flat stomach and the dip of his hip bones, to his dark pants sitting low on his hips, to what lay beneath the concealing cloth, right there in the junction of his thighs…

Your throat has gone dry as dust. You swallow and attempt to drag your eyes up to his face. A fine sheen of sweat brought on by the fuggy air makes him gleam almost golden. Like the Sun. The Creed oft depicts him as such, Lusin, god of sun and flame and youth. The golden god, young and handsome and virile, a deity to rival that comeliest of gods Elios, the male half of Lyias the Lover.

You need not look too far to see Lusin mortal incarnate. The young man before you is fire made flesh, an ethereal being, a golden man.

He has been drinking in your own form, you realize, catching the tail end of the movement of his eyes as they flick up to yours. His eyes are dark.

“Um,” you begin, knitting your fingers together on your stomach and withering a little inside at your discomposure. Bad form, bad form. “D-did I wake you?” The stutter makes you wither some more.

“Uh, no, actually, I was just… headed there. To bed, I mean.” His eyes drop down to your chest, much exposed by your short-sleeved black vevda, and back up again. “To what do I owe this nighttime pleasure?”

“I’m peckish,” you say, your voice coming steadier now, to your relief. You try to ignore the dip in his voice as he said his last two words. “I thought I’d invite you along to have a midnight nibble, just like the old times.”

“The old times of three months ago.”

You laugh lightly as the mists of tension dissipate a little. “Yes.” You pause. “Unless you’d rather head to bed. To sleep,” you hurriedly tack on when his abundant eyebrows vanish above his hairline. “I mean, it’s late and I can understand if you’re tired and would rather rest, I can go by myself-”

There is something in the way he says your name that silences you at once. Eren gives you one of his delightful crooked smiles, full of fond affection. He holds on to his doorframe, carrying on, “I’d love to accompany you. Let me just-” He gestures down his bare torso. You wish he hadn’t.

You purse your lips and merely nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He flashes you another smile, takes another peek at your breasts, and withdraws, closing his door with a soft snap.

A quiet gasp escapes you the instant he disappears. What was it he said about less dangerous hours and less dangerous dresses? “Fuck,” you curse softly, standing still in front of his door. You glance down at your chest. It hadn’t truly occurred to you just how deep this neckline went. Not until he brought attention to it with his, frankly, shameless ogling. You didn’t even mean to tease him with this garb, truly - you hadn’t been lying when you told him of your tastes in homegrown fashions.

You stride over to the opposite wall and sit on the nearby daybed placed between two rounded pillars, a lounge for hosts to mingle with and keep their guests company. Your twined fingers rest primly on your lap. For all that you tease your betrothed, you certainly are not impervious to him. And he knows that well, and takes advantage. From thus comes your ebb and flow.

He had fucked himself to you that night you noted that ebb and flow. It is one of those strange thoughts, surreal in their strangeness; they seem too… much to be true, and yet they are. Up until that night, you had not truly allowed yourself to consider the possibility that he, Eren Jaeger - sweet and kind Eren Jaeger, a boy oftentimes so stiffly awkward in the face of desire and romance - could ever desire you as much as he apparently did. And yet he did. By the gods, he did.

You had set that drying sheet aside, singling it out lest you lose it from the countless identical others in your possession. You do not know how he used it for his pleasure (and ruminating on that brings its own pleasure). You do know that it had known the touch of that glorious body, that it had caressed the most intimate parts of him in ways you could only hope to do someday (and the day is growing closer, so much closer).

The Lady Wanton was most disappointed that he had laundered the thing afterward. Gone was his most alluring essence, lost to you this time. You had so wanted to tell him - to his sweet, sheepish face as he returned the cloth the next day - that you couldn’t give two figs about him sullying what was yours. The Lady would have been thankful for a splash of water off his skin, his sweat… even a hint of his seed.

You squeeze your fingers hard upon your lap, stunned by the turn of your thoughts. Never have you shrunk back from your most wanton musings, but never before has a young man induced so much of them out. And in that capacity, too. You chuckle to yourself. It is the most bizarrely droll thing. There he is, getting dressed for one of your many late-night jaunts; here you are, sitting on the daybed and thinking about his seed…

The creak of wood and iron hinges makes you jump a little in your seat, throwing your mind back to the present and out of the gutters that it had rolled in so happily. Your godly knight comes to you in a dark vidnon, dark as the sky at midnight, black and violet both. Its silver lining at hem and sleeve and edge are bands of stars, elegant against the darkness. 

Her ladyship Mistress Wanton rues the loss of the sight of his radiant body. You have not much to rue, in truth, favored as you are by the sight of his broad chest, partially bared by the loosely tied jacket. The light is his most ardent lover, so determined to show him at his finest. You stand from your seat, hands still clasped in front of you.

“My lady. Shall we?” He reaches to take one of your hands in his own.

You recoil at his touch, to both of your bewilderment.

“What’s wrong?” With his concern comes the smallest inkling of hurt. 

The sight of it makes your stomach drop. “I-I’m sorry. I’m just… a little wrought up, I don’t know what came over me.” You reach out for him and slide your fingers through his, holding tight. His hand is rough, so warm against yours. As it always is. “Let’s head on, then,” you smile up at him, and are relieved when he returns it.

Perhaps your wanton thoughts and his touch make for a more overwhelming blend than you realize.

The kitchens are empty, the pantry well-stocked. Not that well-stocked, Eren complains, when it fails to yield his favorite cream cakes. “I’ll have them start making them for you, then,” you say, placing your mug of tea and plate of strawberry cream pie on the wooden table and sitting down on the bench.

You have lit the branches of candles atop a couple of the fluted pillars that bound the servants’ dining hall. It is not quite enough to banish the shadows, but it is enough to see by. The room opens up to the castle’s herb garden, so beloved of the palace cooks. The waxing moon shines over the plots; its faint light silvers the greenery and lends the place a dream-like aspect.

“Please. If it’s not too much trouble. I do miss the things.” Eren plants himself next to you, having settled on a lemon cake (Armin’s favorite and a staple of their boyhoods) and his own brew. “Let’s see if they can make them as good as Lisa does.”

“I’m sure they’re more than capable of meeting your ideals.” You take your first forkful of confection. Excellent as always, you think, well-pleased. The pastry is well-baked, the cream smooth, the strawberries sweet. Just the way you like it.

“You’ve set the expectations high, milady. Here’s hoping they can, indeed, meet them,” he raises his forkful of cake at you in a teasing toast, then begins his midnight repast in earnest. “You know, for all their tastiness, these can get really sickening really fast when you have them every bloody day,” he remarks thickly, swallowing and looking reflective. “Stupid thing to fight over, though, now that I look back on it. Boys can be the stupidest creatures in the world sometimes.” He shakes his head, amused yet hangdog. “I really gave Armin hell over loving a bleeding cake, gods… speaking of, have you heard back from him yet?”

“It’s only been a couple of days since our last letter,” you remind him, making him hum in recollection. The both of you have been corresponding with Armin this reprieve, sharing parchment and taking it in turns to write down your sections. So far as you have heard, Armin’s reprieve is proving to be rather mundane. And dutiful. 

He had filled his scrolls with accounts of councils and audiences and meetings, with the occasional trifling yarn. His Alyfeis was as festive as ever, he had told you in his last missive. Some fisherman had caught a swordfish fifteen feet long, which he had offered to Lord Hagen for the audience, now they must dine on nothing but swordfish for a month, the Young Master Arlert jested. He sounds well, in any case, and both of you are glad of it.

“Nice to know it’s all rosy on his front, no matter how unremarkable,” Eren says, then snatches a piece of your pie, to your disbelief. He chews and blinks and smiles, cheeks dimpling a little, innocent as Olya after his daily shenanigans.

You pout at him a little, though you can feel your lips trembling. “If you want less unremarkable news, the one from home should serve you more than passing well.”

Eren widens his eyes at you, chewing on his own sweet now, frowning and chewing faster to chastise you as you take the moment to raid his own plate. The tartness of his cake is a pleasant change from the sweetness of your pie. He swallows and gripes, “Oi, no fair.”

“It’s more than fair, thief.”

He snorts yet smiles all the same. “All right, the debt is paid. As to that other thing… I’m to be an uncle twice over now.” His mouth curls in mild revulsion. “Their sheets must be exceptionally dirty these days for that to actually happen.”

“Oh, hush, you,” you reproach, light-hearted, smiling at his little snicker. “Took them five years this time. I suppose Zeke’s hoping for a boy. Your proper Jaeger heir.” You have to scoff at these Paradisian conventions. Ymir can rule just as well as her lord grandfather. Having or not having a cock should never be a consideration in such matters as power. In this is yet another way the Old Way triumphs over the new. You, at least, need never worry about Tibor or Oliver supplanting your rights. Vascalin is yours.

“And I move down the line of succession,” Eren declares, with no hint of envy or regret. This betrothed of yours has never aspired to further power or rule, a fact you find noteworthy. Honor, glory, and renown make his ambition, nothing more.

“Should Elva have a boy, we’ll have the making of little Ymir.” Lord Grisha had broached the matter with Father in the letter he’d sent bearing the monumental news. The birth of a brother will leave her free for wardship.

“Southron-raised, just like her uncle,” Eren mulls, taking a thoughtful sip of his tea. “A fine court to be in. I expect to see a proper lady when she comes back to us in full.”

“Of course, you’ll have nothing less.” Ludicrous to expect anything less. “Too bad she won’t have Olya for company. Still, there are the other wards, she won’t get lonely.”

Eren has finished his cake at last. “Olya’s a good lad. A champion in the making.” It had been such a joy to watch your betrothed instruct your brother in the ways of the horseman. You had acquired a pony for the little lad, a sorrel colt Olya had named… Lad. Lad was a gentle thing, an easy enough mount for a boy of five to manage. Eren had taught Olya the fundamentals, the equipment, the proper stances, and walked the boy around the inner yard to get him used to the motions. Olya had wanted to canter, but Eren put his foot down; he must walk before he could canter.

Seeing Eren handle your baby brother was… enlightening. It is not often you see him around children, yet he handles them more than exceptionally well whenever he chances to be with them. Ymir, Olya, even slightly older children like the miller’s girl Meadow, all of them he treated with an easy warmth. You find yourself pushing your fork around your plate, swirling cream and crumbs and strawberries about. He would make a great father, the smallest of voices whispers within. You smile tremulously down at the remains of your pie.

“Oh, look at this.” You have unearthed that rarest of treasures: a twin strawberry. Such luck. There it sits in the middle of the dish, a delicious red heart half-buried in sweet white cream.

“Luck,” Eren whistles, leaning closer to see. Heat prickles down your skin at his proximity.

“Do you want the other half?” You are cutting it down the middle and spearing the piece with your fork before you can think too much on anything else. You hold the utensil up to him, offering.

He does not move to take the morsel at once and merely stares at it, quite uncomprehending. Blank. There is something incredulous about his blankness, you notice. You suppress your smile. This will hardly be the first time you’ve ever fed him. You wonder what holds him back this time around.

Eren stirs back to life several heartbeats later and opens his mouth for the treat. You give it to him gladly, watching his lips close around the steel to take his half of luck. A pink flush colors his cheeks as he chews, faint in the dimness of the hall yet visible all the same. His eyes never leave yours, though.

You break the stare to tuck in to your own half, very aware of where this fork has been, of whose essence you are now polishing off the ware. Somehow, this piece is the sweetest of them all.

“There’s cream on your cheek.”

You still as a long, slender finger runs gently down the skin of your face, near the righthand corner of your mouth. You turn your head to look at Eren and watch as that finger vanishes into his mouth. He catches your eyes and flushes once more, yet his embarrassment leaves as soon as it comes. “Sweet,” he says, low and simple.

It is some time before you can think to look away, closing your slightly open mouth. You cannot recall parting them. “Let’s head back.” You make to stand from the bench.

“My lady.”

There is something in his voice that strikes. He is earnest as earnest can be when you turn to him once more. “I know I tease you sometimes but I never mean to upset. If such attentions are unwelcome, then tell me and I’ll stop. But,” he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, looking down at his lap like a scolded boy, “I thought we’d reached a certain understanding of one another the past month or so.”

Guilt blazes up in you at his crestfallen face. “No, it’s all right! I mean,” you shy away some, fiddling with your fingers on the table, “your attentions are very much welcome.” Perhaps you had been more curt than you meant to be, earlier. And you did flinch away from him before that, much earlier by his rooms… All responses easily misconstrued. You resolve to do better moving forward. “We do have an understanding of each other now,” you add quietly. “I’m sorry if I came off so… standoffish.”

Relief overtakes him, so strongly that it brings a smile to your face. “I’m-I’m glad,” he answers softly, taking up your hand in his and kissing it, light and gentle.

You leave the kitchens with the air cleared between you.

“So.” Once again you stand at the threshold of his chambers, about to part ways this time. You give him a parting beam. “Good night, Sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Good night, my lady. Dream of me tonight.”

Both of you giggle at that, and your fingers thread through each other upon your stomach as you contemplate your next course of action. Hesitating, hesitating… Oh, hell. You move forward and tilt your head up. Lemon and tea, soap and wood, Eren floods your being as you press your lips to his cheek, right at the edge of his mouth. You move away several heartbeats later, smiling at him one last time. “I hope your dreams will be as sweet as mine.”

And you turn and float away. You look back once you reach the end of the hall. Still he stands outside his door, staring back at you with a hand up his cheek. Like a statue. The most handsome statue. The tale of Kamilla the Kisser comes back to you then, she of the village of Swiftfrost, the girl who could turn men to stone with a kiss.

You giggle, wave, and move on.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

---

A/N:

Disclaimer! Any real-life herbs I mentioned and their properties are heavily played around with and may not reflect their real uses and properties in real life. Fantasy = playing around with these kinds of things, after all.

Added 1 (one) paragraph in Chap. 10 about Eren being quite fluent in the Traders’ Tongue for future purposes hehe. Also reworded a bit of Levi’s Chap. 4 dialogue to reflect the plot here - the old draft made it seem like they had no idea about Rod’s plans in the vaults.

And speaking of, yes, at last, the reveal of what His Majesty’s hobby actually is: he’s trying to bring back the Titans. Major plot point commences. To add on: Lord Commander background! And memories of squires for Sir Levi. Oh, Farlan...

I mentioned Wolfborn before, yes? Literally wrote Eren’s POV with their little theme (5:44 - 6:07)  in mind and I just *sighs* *swoons* at last, one of my favorite scenes come to life! Can’t wait for the next ones, hehehe. Ahh, the young couple coming to grips with *love*. Is it love? Is it? 😬😌🤭

Speaking of themes... toying with the idea of publicizing my playlist for the fic... and maybe publishing all the lore details as an extra (most like in AO3)... the playlist is more likely to happen but... I’ll see, I’ll see. I’ll deffo post links if I get around to them.

Again, thanks so much for the support and interest in the fic! Everyone’s been so kind and I’m storing all the love in my little heart <3 Til next time!

Tagging: @princess-okkotsu @lukepattersin​ @tojis-discord-kitten

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #eren jeager x reader #Eren Jaeger #eren yeager #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

[scotianostra]

On October 26th 1911 the Gaelic poet, Sorley MacLean, was born on the island of Raasay.

He was brought up within a family and community immersed in Gaelic language and culture, particularly song. Sorley studied English at Edinburgh University from 1929, taking a first class honours degree and there encountering and finding an affinity with the work of Hugh MacDiarmid, Ezra Pound, and other Modernist poets. Despite this influence, he eventually adopted Gaelic as the medium most appropriate for his poetry. However, it should be noted that MacLean translated much of his own work into English, opening it up to a wider public than the speakers of the Gaelic language.

During the Spanish Civil War, MacLean was torn between family commitments and his desire to fight on behalf of the International Brigades, illustrating his left-wing - even Marxist - political stance. He eventually resigned himself to remaining on Skye. He fought in North Africa during World War Two, before taking up a career in teaching, holding posts on Mull, in Edinburgh and finally as Head Teacher at Plockton High School.

It is often said that what Hugh MacDiarmid did for the Scots language, Sorley MacLean did for Gaelic, sparking a Gaelic renaissance in Scottish literature in line with the earlier ‘Scottish Renaissance’, as evinced in the work of George Campbell Hay, Derick Thomson and Iain Crichton Smith. He was instrumental in preserving and promoting the teaching of Gaelic in Scottish schools. Through the diverse subject matter of his poetry, he demonstrates the capacity of the Gaelic language to express themes from the personal to the political and philosophical.

MacLean’s work was virtually unknown outside Gaelic-speaking circles until the 1970s, when Gordon Wright published Four Points of a Saltire - poems from George Campbell Hay, Stuart MacGregor, William Neill and Sorley MacLean. He also then appeared at the Cambridge Poetry Festival, establishing his fame in England, as well as Scotland and Ireland, where he had become something of a cult figure thanks to a fan base including fellow poet Seamus Heaney. A bilingual Selected Poems of 1977 secured a broader readership and a new generation began to appreciate his work.

Latterly, he wrote and published little, showing his concern with quality and authenticity over quantity. Never a full-time writer, he was also a scholar of the Highlands with a vast knowledge of genealogy, and an avid follower of shinty. Amongst other awards and honours, he received the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry in 1990. He passed on in 1996 at the age of 85, and was survived by his wife and two daughters.

I have posted many times about Sorley, and probably overused Martyn Bennet’s Hallaig, but if you haven’t heard it, please go to Youtube and search for it, you won’t regret it.

Todays poem is Tràighean/ Shores, the Gaelic version first, followed by the verse translated by his fellow bi-lingual poet, Iain Crichton Smith.

Nan robh sinn an Talasgar air an tràigh

far a bheil am beul mòr bàn

a’ fosgladh eadar dà ghiall chruaidh,

Rubha nan Clach `s am Bioda Ruadh,

sheasainn-sa ri taobhn na mara

ag ùrachadh gaoil ‘nam anam

fhad ‘s a bhiodh an cuan a’lìonadh

camas Thalasgair gu sìorraidh:

sheasainn an siud air lom na tràghad

gu `n cromadh Priseal a cheann àigich.

Agus nan robh sinn ciudeachd

air tràigh Chalgaraidh am Muile,

eadar Alba is Tiriodh,

eadar an saoghal `s a’bhiothbhuan,

dh’fhuirichinn an siud gu luan

a’ tomhas gainmhich bruan air bhruan.

Agus an Uibhist air tràigh Hòmhstadh

fa chomhair farsaingeachd na h-ònrachd,

dh’fheithinn-sa an siud gu sìorraidh

braon air bhraon an cuan a’ sìoladh.

Agus nan robh mi air tràigh Mhùideart

còmhla riut, a nodhachd ùidhe,

chuirinn suas an co-chur gaoil dhut

an cuan ’s a’ ghaineamh, bruan air bhraon dhiubh.

’S nan robh sinn air Mol Steinnseil Stamhain

’s an fhairge neo-aoibhneach a’ tarraing

nan ulbhag is gan tilgeil tharainn,

thogainn-sa am balla daingeann

ro shìorraidheachd choimhich ’s i framhach.

If we were in Talisker on the shore

where the great white foaming mouth of water

opens between two jaws as hard as flint –

the Headland of Stones and the Red Point –

I’d stand forever by the waves

renewing love out of their crumpling graves

as long as the sea would be going over

the Bay of Talisker for ever;

I would stand thee by the filling tide

till Preshal bowed his stallion head.

And if the two of us were together

on the shores of Calgary in Mull

between Scotland and Tiree,

between this world and eternity,

I’d stand there till time was done

counting the sands grain by grain.

And also on Uist, on Hosta’s shore,

in the face of solitude’s fierce stare,

I’d remain standing, without sleep,

while sea were ebbing, drop by drop.

And if I were on Moidart’s shore

With you, my novelty of desire,

I’d offer this synthesis of love,

grain and water, sand and wave.

And were we by the shelves of Staffin

where the huge joyless sea is coughing

stones and boulders from its throat,

I’d build a fortified wall

Against eternity’s savage howl.

As well as Hallaig I enjoy listening to Somhairle by Niteworks, an Electronic Celtic fusion band from the Isle of Skye who put some of Sorley’s words to music. Listen to it below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PgWqrxa_-Y

#scotland #scottish #history #edinburgh #Hallaig #Hebrides #Raasay

[iwanttobepersephone]

Listen, I'm well aware I'm only 4 lessons into my Dutch course and it will probably get harder the longer I take it, but like. I find it so funny how my Japanese courses are like

"What does かっこいべんごしとやさしいいしゃ mean?"

And I'm like "A cool lawyer and a nice doctor, I learned these words like last year lol". And then my Irish courses are like

"What does 'oráiste agus ceapaire, le do thoil' mean?"

And I'm like "That means 'an orange and a sandwich please', strange request but ok"

And then Dutch is just like

"Je drinkt melk," "You drink milk"

Idk it just feels a little funny to me for some reason. It's a very different experience lol

#funny #duolingo #languages #dutch #irish #Japanese

[bonniethebun]

Im liking the hang of this so i present you the boys+

Latinx! Yuu and new years agüeros .

You wonder, since this world has Magic, does the agüeros or Lucky charms you do for the new years be more effective ? Would the boys like to do some ?.

____________

It was almost winter break, people were just waiting for the semesters notes to finally pack and go back home for the season.

For you holiday season meant partying in the frontyard of your house with your family, this year however you were without a home to go Back to, but didnt lose your costums and invited the people you talked the most with, 18 people where kinda of a lot, but you made It clear you"ll cover dinner and a round of drinks, that they should bring some appetizers or desserts.

Even if It took you all morning you made dinner in time, and even had time to groom yourself a bit more, the mini party was going great

_ So what are you all doing for the holidays and new years ? Asked Kalim.

Some were excited, some weren't the pleased with the idea of spending the vacations with family

_ First we gotta pass the semester tho

_ Aw common Ace, dont make our Dorm look bad

_ Im not ! Im just saying the truth, not that i rather stay here than with the fam toasting frot the new year

_ you actually drink ?

_ obviously not ,but you know, It' a new years and its the tradition

_ that's a weird tradition_ replied jack

_ what do you mean weird ?

_ he means its the that its not traditional at sunset savannah_ butted in ruggie _ we normally have some festivals for the new season

You came back from the kitchen and the topic perked Up your interest, so you asked while serving plates with some help

_ you guys have agüeros ?

The question left the room silent

_ ague what

_ agüeros, special thingies for new year or festivities

_ like i said we have sum at home

_ queendom May note have, but the winter parade is pretty good _ commented Trey

_ Briar valley May not be as vivid but we do have our special day back home_ added Lilia

_ that most be nice, new year IS not that Big a deal undewater

_ quite to contrary for us, underworld takes It seriously

_ same for scalding sands !!!

seen you kept being interrupted you raised the voice a bit

_That's not what i meant, agüeros are more like Lucky charms for festivities, like holding a Horseshoe upside down for good luck

_ we get It potato, but seems like we dont have any

_ That's a shame, that's what i love most about winter season, some are fun.

_ fun ?

_ yeah, in my home theres a lot to manifiest things for your new Up coming year

_ tell me more Prefect _ plead Kalim

_ Well, theres this one, if you run around your block with a suitcase when the clock hits 12'clock in new years, you may travel Next year

_ that's sounds tots awesome, i might steal that one.

_ theres the jar one, Maybe the sands boys know It, you take a jar and fill It with rice, beans, other grains and top It with a strand of wheat and leave It at the dinner table so theres prosperity and abundance for the home

_ sorry, havent Heard of it

_ but It sounds fun ! We should try It jamil

_ ooh my mom always did the twelve grapes

_ twelve ? As in the months ?

_ Yep, you have to eat them minutes before midnight and make whishes

_ i dont get it

_ Do i have to baby explain It to you Ace ?

_ EXPLAIN YOUSELF BETTER.

_Its not that hard !! You have 12 grapes for 12 months, in new years before minutes before midnight, you eat a grape and make a wish until you finish them

_ does It work ?

_ i mean i dont like grapes, but it has worked for my mama

_ you sure do a lot for just a day

_ that's not half of It, my favorite its the underwear one

The explanation guided them to a groupal reaction, It was priceless, now you really caught them offguard

_ WHAT DO YOU MEAN UNDERWEAR, HUMAN !

_ Why would tha be your favorite ?!

_ Who would have said you were so weird herbívore

_ y"all better chill It, its a harmless costume, the tradition says in the day of new year, you wear a specific color of underwear to call for different Lucks, i think White for peace, red for romance and Green for friendship ? The only one in 100 sure is yellow undies are for getting Lucky with money. The other one, actually i think i have It done upstairs, be back in a minute. You left for a second

_ i"ll not tolerate bad table manners, clean your plates ! Im talking to you Trapolla

_ what do you mean me ??

You quickly came down running with a medium size doll, dressed in clothes that seamed like the Headmage's but torn apart ?

_ Prefect, that would'nt be ... Voodoo... is It ?

_ nono these is a Año viejo, or old year

_ then what does It do

_ you dress up a doll in old clothes, then burn It, along all the hardships of the year you had so you can start the new one fresh as a Lettuce. Normally It would be scarecrow sized but this small one works

_ Why the headmages clothes tho ?

_ im not answering that.

By the end of the night, they left with something learned, and something in mind.

¿ Which one should they do ?

Heartslabyul

Riddle: he is not the type to believe or make use of charms, even if he did he was at home, WITH HIS MOTHER, none the less he wantend to try the old year one, he really wanted to be better year by year, so he made AN excuse to do an errand when he sneaked off with Trey to burn a little doll, Even Chenya tagged on

Trey: The bakery is usually busy around holiday season, since they were easy, he put Up with his siblings the little jar and met Up with riddle

Cate: when he's home he's more close Up, even if since their older her sister's doesnt bother him as much he still has the habit of not doing ANYTHING to give them a reason to ridicule him. Still if he did, he would do the suitcase one

Deuce: since its just his mom and him the festivities are not that Big, but dor that same reason, this year he went and ran around the block with a suitcase, his wish Being able to have a nice vacation trip with his mother.

Ace: he tought about doing one, but he couldn't decide and his parents put him on dinner duty, ended up using red underwear, just in case

Savannahclaw

Leona: He doesnt have the time nor he cares about this charms, but the idea of simply burning away your bad experiences of the whole year had such a good ring to It he kinda consider it

Ruggie: after your explanation he carefully rectify his closet for yellow underwear, It would be a shame if It worked and he missed the chance. When he got home he took would he could, a left over of a bag of beans full fist of rice, and layer It in a cup, his granny asked him what was that and after he told her, she went for a little bit more of rice, they both really wished for abundance in their little home

Jack: He didnt really had much to choose from, he didnt want to burn something, his sibling can get hurt, grapes kinda felt bad for canines, so he opted for the suitcase one, when her little sister's an brother Saw him take off they ran after him, then they asked what was that about they whinned for not being told, both took a backpack and ran again.

Octavinille

Azul: even if the tried to be sneak, the twins Saw him leave to a trip for the mall and come back with a box from a cloth store, he really did went and bought the yellow boxers first thing

Jade & Floyd: Floyd wanted to do the old year one for the sole porpuse of burnin something bu they didnt allow him to, since Jade wanted to travel more he did the suitcase one, Floyd joined him and made It a race

Scarabia

Kalim & Jamil: being in the same House hold they had to accompany eachother.

Kalim told this fam and they kinda like the idea, the rooms were with vases filled with dry beans and stuff, and the al sims ordered grapes of every one. Namja was weirded by the subtle frown his brother had while eating the grapes as he made his 12 wishes

Pomefiore:

Vil & Rook: the day after the party, Rook gave the idea that both of them sid the grape one, knowing that was the only one he would do

Epel: first thing he did was told his grandma about the old year one, since he explain It a bit diffrently she like It and did the scarecrow as Big s they could

Ignihyde

Ortho & Idia: the younger one right a away did calculations to do every single one, a bit heart broken Idia told him that they might have to Settle down to at least 1, so they both picked the grape one.

Diasomnia

All of them:

Malleus wanted to do as many as he could but knowing It was a bit difficult, Sebek wasnt a fan of a human tradition buy Lilia still encorage him to pick some

they started by burning a small doll in a part of the Castle where no one would notice, they ate the grapes

all It took was Malleus making a comment about how he would like to to the suitcase one Cuz he also wished to be able to travel more, Next thing you ser see is Sebek running around for him

____________

Dont know if any latines would se this but i know my fellow latinas would get these one, kida should have done It before new years but better late than never

#twisted wonderland #twst ortho #twst x reader #twst vil #twisted wonderlandxreader #heartslaybul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarabia #pomefiore #ignihyde #diasomnia

[kaushibael]

5 songs u actually listen to ? (+ tag 10 followers. sorry)

Hello late on answering this but heres my picks.. all songs i am quite fond of + i decided to go lighter than the last song meme i did whai nawt 1. palinoczka - orkiestra św. mikołaja

2. tinseltown in the rain - the blue nile (i really like this specific live version for the more upbeat tempo it takes but this song is just good no matter what)

3. emily - joanna newsom <- my current discord status is from this song also i heard jnew is performing new material so im praying for a new album please god

4. stone in focus - aphex twin (i think about this monkey always.)

5. acrophobia - penguin villa

tagging oh god ehm i will only do 5 because 10 is so many @northernwastes @meatshapes @skineruptions @pathogenic (<- retribution) agus @tthanatica . yeah !

#thank you for the tag B~)

[diamondtaem6v6]

✨ 190422 - Taemin’s interview for ‘Barks’

SHINee’s Taemin will hold a nationwide tour <TAEMIN ARENA TOUR 2019> from June. Following the <TAEMIN Japan 1st TOUR~SIRIUS~> held in 2018, the second solo nationwide tour for the second year in a row will expand the scale of the venue from the previous one, starting with the Makomanai Sekisui Heim Ice Arena in Hokkaido on June 8 and ending with Marine Messe Fukuoka in Fukuoka on August 7, visiting arena venues nationwide Japan. It should show us a scaled-up stage in an arena with 14 performances in 6 locations.

His impressions of appearing in “Shabekuri 007”, the secret story of shooting the first photo book “PORTRAIT”, the artist looking back on the previous tour <TAEMIN Japan 1st TOUR~SIRIUS~> Taemin’s current location, and his premonition for the arena tour <TAEMIN ARENA TOUR 2019> I would like to introduce the interview with the photos taken carefully.

— You will be making a guest appearance on the variety show “Shabekuri 007” (Nippon TV) which will be broadcasted on April 22, but when did you decide to appear on the program first?

Taemin: I was surprised. It’s a very powerful show, and Japanese people watch it a lot, so I was excited from the moment it was decided. I was nervous the whole time during the recording, and I don’t remember much of it (laughs).

— Have you been entertained by the host, Shinya Ueda, and other comedians?

Taemin: Yes. Moreover, everyone’s speaking speed is fast! I was nervous, and it was even more difficult because I couldn’t hear some things (laughs). However, I think this "Shabekuri 007" was a huge experience for me. It was a good opportunity to show myself to people who didn’t know me yet, and I’m sure the people who have been supporting me for a long time will be happy.

— I see. So, could you give a message to those who first got to know Taemin in "Shabekuri 007"?

Taemin: (Being shy) Well, nice to meet you. My name is Taemin and I’m active in a group called SHINee. I think you saw me solo this time, but I also want to be very proud of the team SHINee. We are an energetic group with distinct personalities, so if you know me this time, please watch SHINee's performance. Thank you in advance!

— I hope more people will learn about SHINee. By the way, Taemin's 1st solo photo book "PORTRAIT", which is on sale, debuted at No. 1 in the Oricon weekly book ranking "photo books" genre. That’s great!

Taemin: First of all, there were so many people who were waiting for my photo book. I couldn't believe it, and I was happy. I'm happy to show everyone pictures of a 25 year old with a lot of energy.

— Again, what is the concept of the photo book "PORTRAIT"?

Taemin: "Taemin running away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life" (laughs). But actually, rather than "running away," I think they were able to take pictures of my relaxed facial expressions with a little free time. It was impressive to eat delicious food for the first time in Okinawa, where it was shot, and I was really into the famous Soki soba* and Agu pork**. I used to eat it every night (laughs). I also experienced scuba diving, and even though I went there for shooting, I was quite refreshed.

*Soki soba: It’s a noodle soup typical from Okinawa (It’s also known as “Okinawa soba”)

**Agu pork: Black pig from Okinawa. Its meat is one of the most popular in the region.

— I heard that Okinawa was your own choice.

Taemin: That's right. I had been there before to shoot a music video for SHINee (“Boys Meet U”), and at that time I couldn't go sightseeing due to my schedule, but the view of the sea and nature I saw while traveling were wonderful. Even before I hearing about this photo book, I often told the staff that I wanted to go to Okinawa. So this time I made the request, and I was waiting for the day of the shoot with excitement.

— It was a long-cherished wish, wasn't it? What were the most impressive locations and shooting scenes?

Taemin: The whole thing was really good, but the shots taken on the cliffs in the sea are impressive. I could enjoy the view all the way to the other side and smell the scent of the sea. I was caught by the wonderful sight, so I was not afraid at all even in a place like a precipice.

— So, what is your favorite photo?

Taemin: I would like to say "all of them," but this photo was taken in a beautiful evening. It's very memorable. It's beautiful when you look at it in the photos, but I feel that there were some things that could only be felt there, such as colors and atmosphere. When I look at that photo, I can always remember how impressed I was when I saw the sunset.

— Throughout the entire photo collection, what kind of expressions do you expect us to see?

Taemin: I was on a solo tour last year, and all I had left (to finish the tour) was the last performance in Tokyo. That's why I think there are some resolute expressions. There are a lot of smiles in the photos during the day, but sentimental emotions naturally come out at night, so I want everyone to pay attention to such changes. Now that I'm 25 years old, there were moments when I was thinking about the future directions and was a little lost in thoughts.

— To celebrate the release of the photo book, an autograph session was held at Fukuya Bookstore Shinjuku Subnade. What was the reaction of the fans?

Taemin: I received "congratulations" from most people. Because of the release of the solo photo book, the arena tour , and the appearance of "Shabekuri 007". Since many people were saying "congratulations", it felt like it was my birthday (laughs).

— Ahahahaha. It was a valuable opportunity to meet the fans who have always supported you.

Taemin: Yes. It's hard to meet or talk that closely. Some people were nervous, and some people came full of energy saying: “I'll give Taemin-kun power!" and it was an important time where everyone's emotions were conveyed directly.

— A Blu-ray & DVD containing the final performance of your first nationwide solo tour <TAEMIN Japan 1st TOUR ~SIRIUS~> last year is also on sale now. Looking back, what kind of tour was it?

Taemin: There was a lot of tension and pressure that I won't forget, but the 32 performances were a very productive time for me to grow and experience. I feel that I learned again the importance of creating a stage with the fans and staff. When I performed with SHINee, in a sense, I was committed to doing my best and keep my role going, but in my solo performances, I began to see the people who supported me closer. I also communicated with the dancers and staff in my own way, and it was a time when strong bonds were formed.

— Starting with a fantastic production of the opening, the stage with various ideas is a masterpiece. Each song was so complete and artistic, breathtaking.

Taemin: Thank you very much. Since the hall tour is close to the audience, we made it with the intention of making everyone sympathize. Then, in order to properly express the concept and world view of each song, I challenged myself to dance a wide range of dances and played the piano. At first, I was so nervous about playing the piano that my hands were shaking, but as the performances progressed, I gradually got used to it, and I was able to see everyone's faces and expressions. That process was also fun for me.

— I think many fans are looking forward to your first arena tour starting in June. How are your enthusiasm for the second consecutive nationwide tour?

Taemin: I'm really grateful. Right now, while the other members of SHINee are a little bit away, I want to work hard and grow, so that I can “explode” even more when I get together with SHINee again. While each member is experiencing new things, I want to do what I can now and grow.

— It may be a little early, but have you decided on the contents of the arena tour?

Taemin: No, nothing has been decided yet (laughs). However, I hope everyone can enjoy Taemin, which can only be seen one day at a time (during the tour). At first, I might be nervous, but then I will gradually relax, make a little mistake and show an expression that tells that I’m in trouble... (laughs) That's the real thrill of live performances, and I hope it will be a special performance for everyone rather than doing it perfectly from start to finish. As an overall highlight, I would like to show you my new image as I have grown through the hall tour. Musically, I want to try a style that I've never done before, and I'm actually looking for that kind of music right now.

— Do you have any image of the stage set and outfits from now on?

Taemin: Yes. But somehow, I want to make the stage flashy and glamorous. I think the hall tour was a rather flashy performance, but it was a strong atmosphere that took it to the next level. It's more like an adult than a boyish image. Please look forward to it. I will deliver a wonderful stage!

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Credits: Barks

JPN - ENG translation: @DiamondTaem

#shinee #샤이니 #샤이니월드 #lee taemin #taemin #PORTRAIT #SHABEKURI007 #english translation

[the-clockwork-three]

Day 11: Simple Phrases

I have decided to read the lesson aloud so you can hear how the words are said as I do not know IPA and trying to spell the words out phonetically was not working. If you would prefer I used to format of "[Irish], [English], [Irish but slower]" for the words/phrases, just say so.

Tags: @bella-daonna @rusalkaandtheshepherdgirl @unseeliethot @charlataninred @grimalkinsquill (ask to be added or removed0

Written version below the cut

A short prologue: First of all, I am not a fluent speaker. Although I am not that bad at gaeilge, I am in no way, shape, or form a gaeilgeoir. This is all fairly basic information, but I am not completely immune from making mistakes. 

Second of all: Irish has three main dialects, Ulster, Munster, and Connacht. I was taught through the school system by people from all over the country, and my dialect is somewhat like patchwork. If you, or anyone else, pronounce words slightly differently than I do, it's probably because we’re speaking different dialects, and that's fine. 

Third of all: while Irish uses the latin alphabet, it is unfair to assume it obeys by the same phonics as English. The most glaring examples of this are fadá, or these things áéíóú. Fadá [lit. long] lengthen vowel sounds turning ah (a) to aw (á) and so on so forth. Also, if a consonant is followed by a h, then one exhales a little harder when saying the consonant, therefore softening it. The most obvious appearance of this is “bh” which makes a “v” sound. Or a “w” sound because most consonants make two different sounds depending on the vowels around it, which we shall not get into today. 

The first thing you need to know in any language is how to say hello. In Irish, the most common greeting is “Dia duit”, which is literally “God be with you”. However, if someone greets you with dia duit, the way you respond is “Dia is Muire duit” [lit. God and Mary be with you], and as the third person greeting you reply with “Dia is Muire is Padraig duit” or you can replace Padraig with any saint of your choosing. However if you are talking to a group larger than that you can use “Dia diaobh”. 

Some more informal greetings include “Haigh” which means hi, or “Aon sceal?” which means “any stories” and is basically what's up. You can also skip straight to asking how someone is.

“Conas atá tú?” is “how are you”, to which you can answer “Táim go maith,” or “Táim ceart go leor” which are “I’m well” and "I'm alright” respectively. You can reflect any question asked of you with a good “And you?” which is “Agus tusa?”

If you are asked your name with “Cad is ainm duit?” you can respond with “____ is ainm dom” for “my name is____”. If you are taking the initiative to introduce yourself without being asked, you can also use “Is mise ____” which is “I am ____”. 

The basis of saying goodbye is the word “Slán”, which is derived from sláinte (health), so it is wishing someone good health. However, most people either say “Slán leat” or “slán go fóil” which are “heath be with you,” and “goodbye for now”. Which variation you use is completely up to you. 

You probably already know that Éire is Ireland and gaeilge is the Irish language. So a Gaeilgeoir is someone who is fluent in Irish, a gaeltach is an area where people speak Irish in day to day life, and a gaelscoil is a school where everything is taught through Irish. It is also handy to know the word for English: bearla. So “As gaeilge” and “As bearla” are “in Irish'' and “in English” respectively. 

You will always need a few bits and bobs words when you’re starting out. “Agus” is “and”, “nó” is “or”, and “ach” is “but”. You can do a lot in this world with three good conjunctions. Please is “le do thoil”, and thank you is “go raibh maith agat”. You will see “Fáilte” in a lot of tourist destinations, as it means "welcome”. And “Slainte!” is “cheers,” which we saw above also means health. 

Finally, while you may be happy to tell people “Tá cupla focal agam” meaning “I have a few words (of Irish)”, there is no shame in saying “Ní thuigim” or “I don’t understand”, or asking them to repeat “as bearla, le do thoil”. Learning new skills is admirable and most people understand that. 

I want to also do a seanfhocail a day, for fancy points. Seanfhocail are idiomatic phrases, and literally means “old words”. Today’s seanfhocail is the classic: “Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin” which is “There’s not hearth like your own hearth” or “There's no place like home.”

See you tomorrow for everyone’s favourite: mutations (urú agus séimhiú)! Slán libh!

#Were in it properly now #is mise an crann #snag 2023 #scheduled post #gaeilge #hmmmm I should probably have a non-singing voice tag #egg kointa #<<< talking #sorry for talking really softly #it was late #also if can hear my dog im also really sorry #the stammering and umming and ahing is unavoidable

[digiweek]

Hello!

Digiweek 2022 starts tomorrow! And like you guys, we're extremely excited about going back to school and celebrating with you all!

However, we know that this year's been crazy. And 2021 was crazy as well. And 2020 was pure madness. We're all burnout, tired, and feel helpless as our "to do" lists keep growing and growing while our "done" ones seem to be stuck in the same place.

We also know that 2021 saw A LOT of events focused on Digi-couples. And that 2022 has had (and will have) a lot of celebrations focused on characters. And it's insane to try to keep track of all events and participate in all of them because... they're too many!

So we, the Digiweek team, want to tell you: relax. Take a sabbatical year if you need one. Skip Digiweek and don't submit content if you're burned out. Share content with tardiness. It's okay.

Digiweek was created as a celebration, and what we want is for you to celebrate, to feel joyful and enjoy the moment. So please remember this is not a mandatory lesson. Don't worry about skipping school. Do this at your own pace⁠—you don't have to participate every single day! And if life, work, school, or whatever, is just too much, don't feel pressured to submit anything. Just enjoy and share the contents you love.

Once again, please remember: this is a celebration. Do what you must to be safe and happy in your bodies.

We'll see you guys tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. Or in a week.

No matter what, we love you all.

Ciao, Agu-Doc on behalf of the Digiweek team

#digimon #digiweek2022 #announcement

[oathofpromises]

You've grown so much since we first started writing, bringing all your characters to life and giving them a voice when otherwise they wouldn't.

You've really stepped out of your comfort zone and attempt characters you were probably afraid to write and muse, thinking you weren't good enough. Your portrayals are unique to you and only you and you're growing and getting better grasping their voice in your heart each and every time you write them.

I'm so proud of you, I cherish the threads and drabbles we've written over the years and I can't wait to see what else you bring to the table

All this can be said right back to you honey, you do such incredible job writing all of your muses and I am so happy you are writing ones that you were nervous to try at first. You've really stepped out of your comfort zone and are trying new characters that you've wanted to write for so long.

I know in the past some people tried to make you feel like you should only write for one character but you possess so much creativity in your mind and heart. I know how rough it was before we started writing on here. Which I am so glad we did make jump here and that you decided to go to multi. I know how restricting a single muse can sometimes be..how much that can wear you out.

I do want to remind you that it's okay to take your time on things. That you and your work are always worth it. Your happiness and well being come first and foremost. I know sometimes our minds will make us feel like we aren't writing a character correctly but all of your characters incredibly written. I will remind you of that every single day because it's so true. We have written together for years now, and built so much with our muses together. It was because of you that I started writing for my warrior of light..I was honestly nervous to write for her at first. I didn't know how it would go but writing with your Data and G'raha..those two mean the world to her.

I'm so proud of you darling, not just in writing but everything you do. I know lately things been exhausting and you know that I love you and am always here for you. You have so much to bring..my best friend. If you all aren't following Artemis please give them a follow because they honestly pour so much love into all their babies.

Your portrayals are unique to you and I don't do mains usually due to past things but I honestly see you as a main. Anytime, I see any replies from you I start to slowly work on those first because you put so much emotions into each piece you write. Your babies, I can hear them in anything you write for each of them. It never sounds forced or not something the character would say. You got them down so well and even before you met the Crystal Exarch you already had his personality in Shadowbringers down beautifully. You pay attention to their actions and really think about how they would react in different situations.

This is love and appreciation for you, so I am going to gush more. I legit don't know where I would be without you. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. You were there when I went through so much...never gave up on me. Always had my back and that means so much to me. I hope you know the same goes for me. That I will always love you and be here for you. No Matter what. Meeting you was honestly one of the greatest things to happen in my life. I mean that because I have never had anyone that has truly cared about me. Trying not to cry while I write this but, you are incredible person even if that's sometimes hard for you to see yourself. I hope one day I can show you just how special you are to me. That you are truly a luminous start in my sky.

We may've started with Kingdom Hearts but since that time have bonded so much over other fandoms we love too. Anytime I get to talk to you or spend any time hanging out with you is something I treasure because you truly mean so so so much to me.

Is breá liom tú thar am agus spás, a stór.

[I love you beyond time and space, darling.]

I tried be cute there with old gaelic and 14 doing the thing where it translated the pixie language like that. I hope you know that you truly are a treasure.

#​— ❛❛ // HEART OF A PRINCESS ¦ Answered Memes・ #I legit cried multiple times trying type all of this up..but this is soft hours for you