Fumble And Mumble

Part-time writer, full-time procrastinator

[akitalepu]

Matthew actually wants a hat too, but Dream won’t make one for him :/

[akitalepu]

Chapter 7 of “What Comes in the Night”

Lyanna awoke, mournful. The snow in her dreamscape had not turned to greenery, symbolizing her inward turn and acceptance to Howland Green as a groom, as she’d hoped. The direwolf in her dreams had led her down a familiar path, paws crunching in the snow. They had walked a long while. It was a familiar dream, and would have brought her comfort, if not for…the wolf. In the dream, his inky-dark fur had changed to ravens’ feathers, to red scales, back to dark fur again, with a jeweled gleam underneath—as though he existed calmly as both—dragon skinned and wolf furred.

Strong and soft.

Sinew and scale.

Strong and soft.

Sinew and…

What on earth were her dreams trying to tell her?

Lyanna shook her head. She had to ready herself for the feast that was to take place that night. A pit of dread began in her stomach. Robert Baratheon was set to arrive that night, in time for the feast. He would most likely try to corner her and her father and begin speaking about wedding details. Her father would be more than happy to.

Lyanna laid flat against her bed, her long, dark hair fanning amongst the white of the bedspread. Hot tears pricked her eyes and ran in rivulets down her face.

It wasn’t as though she deeply hated Robert Baratheon, but she was terrified of a future with him. Before the marriage proposal, she had liked him well enough at a distance, as a friend of Ned’s. She was even glad for him to be friends with Ned—he brought Ned, the quiet wolf, out of his shell. So often, her lord father’s concerns lay with his wild eldest son, his volatile unpredictable daughter, and his youngest son, who often needed the most reassurance and attention since their mother had departed from this world. Poor Ned had oft been overlooked, or had played peacekeeper between his siblings and his father. Lyanna had missed him, but had been glad for Ned when he’d been fostered with Robert by Jon Arryn. But she did not want Robert for herself.

He saw only her outer beauty, not the fire that lay beneath. It was all well and good to admire the beauty of wolves from a distance, but few thought to get too close. Wolves’ jaws were powerful, and often incapacitated their prey—including stags—by utilizing the mighty muscles to crunch and splinter and spill the lifeblood from their victims.

Ned was certain, of course, that his best friend would come to treasure her as she deserved. But Lyanna knew the truth. The bonds between men made them blind to the reality of the women in their lives—even their little sisters. Once, she’d come upon a dead wolf in a trap while trailing Brandon as he searched the Starks’ snares in the forest. The poor beast must have been wounded from a fight with another wolf, battling for territory, when he’d had the bad luck to end up trapped in the Starks’ snare. He’d likely died of a combination of things. His death had been long and unpleasant.

Lyanna knew this was to be her fate if she wed Robert Baratheon.

Howland Reed had not gazed upon her with romantic intent, but rather with the weary appreciation a stranger on a road might have for their savior who protected them from thieves. A tentative friendship—or at least friendliness—seemed to have been extended between Howland and Lyanna in the short time since she’d saved him and nursed him back to health. He seemed open to a friendship with her brothers as well, though most cautious around Brandon. Lyanna supposed this was natural, however. Brandon would someday be the Lord of Winterfell, and Howland would be his banner man.

Exhausted from crying, Lyanna turned into her pillow and prayed to the gods for a dreamless sleep.

The gods answered her prayers, if only for a little while, before she was rudely roused by Old Nan to prepare for the feast.

As the old woman fussed over her mussed hair, Lyanna grimaced and gritted her teeth.

Lyanna was the she-wolf of Winterfell, and she would not let her father, Robert Baratheon, or even her brothers forget this.

She would not accept her fate.

—-

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11659941/chapters/170569351

[akitalepu]

“She had red hair, as fiery as her temper.”

-Hodari, about Leta

This is my interpretation of Leta Pavel! She’s Hodari Pavel’s wife and Najuma Pavel’s mother in the game Palia. Sadly, she passed away before the events of the game. We don’t have any in-game images of her, so I had to go off the descriptions of her from Hodari and Najuma. Najuma’s mentioned as being the spitting image of her, with similar red hair to her mother, so a lot of my inspiration came from her! I’m deeply entrenched in Palia lol and hope to cosplay Leta soon!

[akitalepu]

The Ruiner and her Conscience

[akitalepu]

Cheza || Lady Hamona

Relief and Acceptance

Wolf’s Rain was such a beautiful anime.

[akitalepu]

Just an FYI: Changed my name from “allayedchemistry” to “akitalepu” bc that’s my handle on Insta where I post my doodles too

[akitalepu]

Please, just let me sleep.

Let me go.

It’s ok if it ends with nothing in my hands.

-The Cat and God in the Zodiac

[akitalepu]

“I don't know what's scarier. The fact that everyone in this kingdom wants to run a sword through my heart... or that sometimes, I just wanna let 'em.”

-Nimona

[akitalepu]

The Lost

Ardun found her lying prone near the river.

Again.

He sighed, and nudged the human girl’s side with his boot. She moaned and struggled to snuggle closer to the crumbling log that had become her pillow last night.

“Laera, up. Up and at ‘em. I’ve got a mountain of scrolls waiting for you.” the goblin grumbled.

“Five more minutes,” Laera moaned.

“It’s almost dawn,” Ardun said. “When that sun comes up, I turn into a pumpkin. Or a glass slipper. Or a mouse? How does the silly human story go again?”

She signed impatiently and dragged herself unsteadily to her feet. She shot him an impatient look. “It’s not silly. You wouldn’t turn into anything. There are no goblins in that story, anyhow.”

He rolled his eyes. She was most ornery when she was hungover. Or, ornery-er. Laera was never really in a great mood. “Shall we go home then? I need to be back at the market by noon.” Ardun gestured grandly to the seemingly unremarkable thicket in front of them.

In the unremarkable thicket ahead there was an equally unremarkable clearing. There was a line, however, that was invisible to humans (well, most) and visible to goblins. Once crossed, one entered the realm of the goblins. Goblins could cross the line at any time, but it was easiest at dawn and dusk, when the lines between the worlds—human and magical, dream and waking life—were thin. Ardun supposed he should have come to collect her earlier, but that would have cost him more magic and more energy. And he was really tired.

Gods, he needed a vacation.

So did Laera, apparently. She looked more tired than usual. Her presence as a human in the goblin world lent to an uneasy truce between the local humans and the goblin community. Although, she didn’t see it that way. And neither did Ardun. Their business relationship had led way to a grudging respect and an unspoken friendship.

“So, what led you to the river this time? The midnight song of bats? The pleasant scurrying sound of rats? Perhaps—“

“ENOUGH, Ardun.” Laera groaned and fumbled for the doorknob to her small home, made in the hollow of one of the giant trees of the goblin’s forest. She’d once been awestruck by the might and beauty of the magical forest, but that had worn off long ago. Now, she needed—

“The brew. Give me the brew.” Laera moaned. Her head was throbbing. She sat down at the rickety kitchen table—more of a desk, really—and put her head in her hands. She laid her cheek against the warmth of the wood tabletop and closed her eyes.

The walls of her wooden home reverberated with the quiet sound of wind, somehow sympathetic.

“And what do we say?” Ardun asked in a singsong voice.

Mouthing a wordless curse, Laera slammed her fists against the table. The ground trembled, and books fell off their shelves. Loose leaflets and pamphlets fluttered nervously in the dusty corners of the kitchen.

Without making eye contact with the goblin, Laera laid her head back on the table.

“Please,” she whispered brokenly.

After a moment of heavy silence, she heard the telltale signs of Ardun mixing the special brew that would cure her mighty hangover.

The goblin cursed to himself as he mixed the liquid. He’d pushed her too far. Their usual bantering conversation had been too much. There was usually some gentle teasing and cajoling until he gave in and mixed the hangover cure for her.

Apparently, whatever had happened had been worse than he thought. Something from her human life had come back to haunt her. That’s what always drove her to drink by the river in the human world. She never crossed the line between worlds unless she was drunk.

Sighing heavily, he set the steaming mug on her rickety table and pushed it to her.

Laera gulped at it greedily, hissing at the heat. Ardun didn’t say anything. He’d long since given up trying to warn her to let it cool. Her impatience knew no bounds.

After another two mugs, Laera rubbed her eyes and sat back. Ardun brought the mug to the sink. He despised doing dishes but she was in no condition to do them. Plus, The silence gave her room to speak.

“Tell Luncan thanks. I’ll do his next advertisement for free.” Luncan was a giant who made some of the best brewed tea around. It was thrice as strong as human tea, but Laera loved the taste. She loved the fact that it cured her hangovers thrice as fast as human tea, too.

Ardun hummed in affirmation. Normally, he’d suggest she thank him herself. She’d throw some parchment at him half-heartedly and then he’d needle her about her deadlines. Not today.

“I got another message from Lael.” Laera whispered. Duncan paused. Lael was her brother, the only one from the human world she communicated with.

He would send Laera letters of the happenings in the human village where she grew up. She never sent any letters back, but sent little gifts and trinkets in return.

“Kira got married. Rob and Tabitha are having a little baby, a boy. Coren got another cat, and Sal started a new job. They met for midsummer wine at the well.”

Her tears fell slowly onto the parchment below, blessedly blurring her brother’s cheerful chicken scratch.

Ardun paused. His hands stopped moving in the soapy water of her sink—washing long overdue stained mugs and chipped dinnerware—when he asked gently, “Seven years?”

“Eight,” she whispered and closed her eyes as more hot tears rolled down her face.

Eight years since she’d seen a fellow human. They didn’t venture far enough into the wood where she drank.

Kira, Coren, Rob, Tabitha, and Sal. Her closest friends. The distance had started within herself, with her own depression. It had lengthened when she’d moved away to escape her family and hone her craft.

Ardun knew she and her friends had met twice a year at the well in their home village. They continued to share more in common, but Laera’s life had narrowed to her work, and she felt she couldn’t connect as easily to her home friends anymore.

Still, she went twice yearly and was happiest sitting amongst them, listening to Kira and Coren trade ribald jokes as Rob and Sal sang boisterous drinking songs and Tabitha gently braided her hair.

The problem was, Laera was not good at consistency. She left responding to their letters too long and felt that, once a season had passed, that she had missed her chance at responding. Still, she was invited to the well, and drank and drank. She was funnier when she drank. More sociable.

As a young girl, she’d been extremely shy. Then, as a young adult, she’d become extremely socially anxious. This was not a great mix.

Although not unusual for a young human coming into their own, a series of unfortunate events and social faux pas leveled what little confidence Laera did have in herself.

She was let go from a series of writing apprenticeships. Some were her fault, Ardun knew, and some were not. The problem was, Laera was absolutely certain they were all her fault. She contained some magic within her for creation, for writing, but not enough.

She insisted to Ardun the other humans saw that and created polite excuses to let her go. When he had pointed out how paranoid that sounded, she had refused to speak to him for a month.

Her magic and will dwindled. She’d meekly moved back home. All of her interactions with her once beloved friends felt strained. Their own magic—be it baking, farming, or alchemy—had grown in leaps and bounds. Laera tried to reach out and connect but all her efforts ended in more social disasters and blunders. She embarrassed herself and others. Her mere presence made things awkward and untenable. Eventually, they stopped inviting her to the well.

The night Laera had happened upon the well, her friends there without her, she’d turned on her heel and ran straight to the deep forests. She was so achingly, unbearably lonely. Her own mind scratched at the walls of her skull, begging to be let out and escape the tight noose of her thoughts.

Eventually, Laera had reached the river and gagged and on an empty stomach. She was hungry and tired, yes, but mostly so disgusted with herself that her innards turned and retched.

Exhausted, cold, and sick Laera had huddled up against a tree by the river and waited for dawn. She’s pulled out her flask and downed strong wine, the only thing that would come close to calming the ceaseless thoughts in her mind.

An incredulous Ardun had woken her up at dawn. Humans never came to this river, so close it was to the magical realm. She was passed out drunk, and worried she had poisoned herself with drink, he’d dragged her to the magical realm, for he knew no nearby human villages.

Laera woke confused but relieved in the goblin realm. She’d begged the goblin king and his court to let her stay in their realm. The human girl’s hatred for herself and her vitriolic account of her own life had stunned the king and his court. Her conviction of her own nature was concerning, but it was also impressively powerful

The poison from Laera’s own words about herself and the hatred she held in every fiber of her being caused the flowers and vines beneath her feet to dry and die. This was powerful magic to alter the physical layout of the goblins’ natural world.

The king ruled that, although her show of magic was impressive, it was not enough because it was the gift of destruction. Laera had fallen silent, terrified to go back to a life where she was reminded of her mistakes every day.

Luckily, Ardun argued on her behalf. The human girl’s power was not destruction or creation—but farther, reconstruction. He showed the goblin king the old scrolls the girl had edited that had been buried at the bottom of her bag. Though old and dusty,

the king and his court had been impressed with her restructuring and rewording. The stories she had edited glowed and sparkled, enchanting the king and drawing the

The goblin word for Laera was ‘illuminator’—although she thought this was too fancy. Laera would never be able to think of herself as a writer again. But, she was in a place now where she could concede her gift at reconstruction. Whether it was correcting simple grammar in advertisements, or adding illustrations and suggestions to new books and screenplays from goblins and other magical beings across the enchanted wood—Laera had never felt more contented.

As long as Laera operated as an illuminator for the goblins and magical beings of this world, the goblin king would let her stay. Laera had had only one request. Ardun would be her agent, facilitating all communications as a middle man. She spoke only to him. The thought of interacting with anyone else—be they human, goblin, or magical being—terrified her to the point of hives, a closed throat, and a mind thrown into an overdriven frenzy of panicked thoughts.

This setup suited Ardun just fine. He was one of a few goblins who operated as emissary and merchant to the human world. Humans would not cross into the goblins’ world, but they would buy potions, furniture, and other goods from Ardun and his associates. As a successful merchant, Ardun was silver-tongued and communicated easily with Laera’s clients. It was a mutually beneficial business relationship.

Ardun snapped back to the present. Laera stared into empty space, her mind full of memories and her hear full of pain. When she was in this state, the best thing to do was to leave her alone. She eventually came back to her senses and made her deadlines.

He put another mug on the table. Laera’s teardrops fell quietly into the steaming tea.

Ardun made his way to the door, and shut it, saying, “I’ll be back in three days for the new assignments.”

Laera’s tears fell for another few hours and stopped just as suddenly as they came on.

She pushed the memories away and began to work.

[akitalepu]

Mortenth and Siciliana: The Pretense to Personal History

A Pretense

“What did you see?!” Morty demanded.

Thalia could sense the vibrations around. The captain’s headquarters were crumbling around him. Still, the cop persisted with his line of questioning with dogged determination.

“I don’t know anything! I just want it all to stop.” Thalia sobbed. Although it was an act for the ‘ secret’ cameras in the interrogation room, she knew deep down her tears were real.

But she couldn’t think of them now. Her mom, her dad, her little sister, and friends. All dying as she sat in this tiny interrogation room in the middle-of-nowhere-America.

The earthquakes increased around the building, around them. Morty shifted slightly in his seat, the metal creaking with each minute turn.

The cop’s gaze softened, “I know. It’ll be over soon.” Thalia buried her head in her handcuffed hands now and let out a primal scream. The tears came unbidden, nearly hysterical with the the reality that shook around her.

The plaster began to loosen.

Morty’s heart lurched. He had heard of it before of course, but never heard Experienced it firsthand in one he loved. He took Thalia’s handcuffed fists in his.

In another room, one of Morty’s coworkers

switched the primitive recording device off.

“Are you ready?” Morty spoke softly. His human form evaporated slowly, silently. Unnaturally bright—but gentle—blue-grey eyes met Thalia’s human panicked brown ones.

Between gulps of air she nodded.

With a flash of light, both figures transported from the crumbling Earth to ‘Morty’s’ ship in the stars.

Mortenth—or ‘Morty’ as he went by in his human visage—had established his place

as a human police officer in rural America, just three years before the Earth ended.

His job was simple. Collect intel of the everyday inhabitants as their world collapsed around them.

Mortenth had completed these tasks, dutifully and on time before, in a dozen different worlds as they reached their respective crumbling point. Several of his co-workers had fallen in love with either planets or individuals before, and had left their note taking tasks unfinished.

In a few rare cases, his co workers had been able to take their cherished ones with them before their planets perished. Mortenth had heard how loud their screams and cries were as their worlds ended…but with rehabilitation and a slow, but complete, immersion into Morthenth’s peoples’ culture they eventually co-existed peacefully and their home planets became a fond—but distant—memory.

As they materialized on his ship, Mortenth hoped that his Thalia would eventually assimilate as well. His superiors had not been happy when he had announced that his new partner was a human, but they had permitted it. Mortenth had served his people faithfully and unfailingly for decades.

He and Thalia had fallen in love. It was not an experience unique to humans, but rare among Mortenth’s people. His people lived long and peacefully. Most partner arrangements were made through clan agreements that bettered the social standing of all.

All was what mattered. The individual was not guaranteed happiness simply because they were born into a peaceful world during a war-free time in the universe.

Thalia had agreed to the taped conversation. In the decades that followed, Earth’s ending would be discussed amongst the young pupils of Mortenth’s people. The video of Thalia and ‘Morty’s’ conversation would be discussed.

Human psychology, collective consciousness, power politics, and more would be discussed amongst classes of young people as Thalia played the hysterical human and Mortenth played the level-headed ‘alien’ sent by his people—sent to help the few humans left ‘adjust’ as Earth crumbled in on itself.

In the years that followed, Mortenth and Thalia would live a happy life, for the most part. Eventually, her form took on a less humanoid shape and she adapted to the form of her husband’s people.

Thalia became a guest speaker on human culture and the human mindset at the end of the world. The few human survivors that had also been rescued off Earth lead less public-facing lives than Thalia. They all passed away without much fanfare or celebration.

Thalia and Mortenth had children. Their children took the shape of their father Mortenth’s people, but their souls and minds were unnervingly human:

They wanted to know where their mother’s people came from.

Her children’s innate human curiosity unknowingly killed Thalia.

She had never seen the tape Mortenth had talked her into filming as her home planet crumbled around her.

When Thalia found out the truth—about humans being framed as the unworthy receivers of extraterrestrial help and Mortenth’s people framed as the outwardly peaceful helpers humanity found too late—she experienced a very human emotion and passed away in the night, one ship, in a dark, quiet void unpopulated by stars.

Thalia passed away from heartbreak.

Mortenth mourned but none wept more bitterly and freely than Thalia’s half-human children—for they mourned not only their mother, but the last living link to the legacy of a great blue Pearl, most commonly known as Earth.

[akitalepu]

Earth’s Armageddon, as told by Mortenth to Sciliana

Part 1

“It used to be so beautiful, Mortenth. What happened to it, exactly?”

Mortenth turned slowly to their new young recruit, Siciliana. She was the crew’s new intern, his latest mentee, and the youngest on the ship by thirty years. At fifty, she had just finished her studies at one of the most prestigious learning centers. Sciliana’s boundless energy came off her in waves.

“Well,” he started carefully, “Many things happened, at once. It was an amalgamation of things, really—“

“Like what, exactly?” Sciliana persisted energetically. Slight irritation began to bounce off her and the interest and intrigue grew until it reverberated against Mortenth’s mind and core. He suppressed a smile and sent back a gentle wave of patience.

The young girl’s shoulders drooped slightly. As a young person on her first adventure without clan or teacher supervision, her emotions and moods were all over the place. She was used to either having her vibrant energy matched by peers at her learning center or to the gentle, familiar waves of her clan and family when she went back to her home encampment at the end of the year.

“Well, as with most of the worlds we survey and try to help, there was a war. Multiple wars. They were at a critical point in their development. But their situation was unusual. And,” Mortenth paused, considering how to phrase this. Most of his peers on this particular ship felt more or less the same as he, but he didn’t know how much young people were told or taught about it today. He also wasn’t familiar with anyone from her clan’s encampment, either so he didn’t know what opinion she might have grown up knowing about. “Most…many of our kind believe that our initial reach out point was what tipped the humans over the edge. That our contact was what brought about what they called ‘Armageddon’ or the end times.”

Sciliana’s waves of comprehension collided with Mortenth, causing him to relax a bit. So, she’d at least heard this point of view before. It was generally accepted now that their kind had had a hand, however unintentional, in the destruction of what was once Earth. One hundred years after the fact, they were able to look past their own feelings and look at the facts. “Humans—at least, most of them, or the ones that were powerful enough—were not ready to handle extraterrestrial contact.”

Mortenth paused. Sciliana’s energy bubbled and she struggled to keep herself patient and calm. Mortenth grinned. His mentee relaxed, knowing he’d get to his explanation in due time.

“There circumstances were unusual…while they were progressing at an incredible rate as a species, they were also hurtling towards destruction at an equally fast pace.”

Sciliana frowned. “I don’t get it.”

Mortenth sighed, looking out the window of the ship as stars seemed to float idly by.

“They had reached the stars about sixty-one years before the beginning of their end…” he began.

Sciliana settled in, apprehensive and ready to hear about the beginning of the end of Earth.

[akitalepu]

Stand Before the Throne Chapter 4

Frigga smiled amusedly and burped Sigyn as Sada flitted from one end of her rooms to another. Sada, the maidservant, was trying to pack and choose the correct attire for the queen, for a last minute delegation of diplomats that would arrive tomorrow. The young child gurgled contentedly and grasped at the carefully coiffed golden coils atop Frigga’s head.

Sada stopped in her tracks and threw up her hands, exclaiming, “Sigyn! Honestly, darling—“ She rushed to untangle her child’s fists from Queen Frigga’s elaborate hairstyle—that Sada herself had worked so very carefully on!—but the Asgardian royal shook her head and laughed.

“It’s alright, I really don’t mind, do I? No, how could I mind a sweetling like you?” Frigga’s smile widened as she switched a giggling Sigyn to her other side. With a careful flick of her hand, the few loose strands the baby had managed to grasp free righted themselves. She was impeccable. Again.

Sada sighed, blowing a loose auburn strand from her own forehead. “And where was that magic this morning, as I strained for hours over that hairstyle, my queen?” The maidservant snickered at the end of her own sarcastic question. They were in the privacy of Frigga’s extended rooms. With no other maidservants or guards around, the two women, queen and maidservant, could speak freely and more relaxed, as they had in their girlhood. For all her sweet demeanor, Sada had a wry, sarcastic sense of humor that frequently made Frigga snort—no other servants, ladies in waiting, or diplomats had the deep friendship Queen Frigga and Sada had.

But, to Sada’s surprise, there was no laughter from her friend this time. She paused her tidying and picking the jewelry for Frigga’s welcoming dress, and turned around.

The queen was uncharacteristically quiet. She bounced Sigyn in her lap, her eyes downcast. Then, she spoke into existence what Sada had been dreading hearing, “I am drained…I awaken each morning increasingly tired from the messages I receive the night before.”

Sada sighed. Frigga closed her eyes, bring a hand to her forehead. Though powerful, and trained within many magic arts, Frigga’s talents had serious side effects—visions, particularly the ones that plagued her dreams during the night, could leave her bereft of energy for days. She often didn’t see anyone besides Odin and Sada during these times. Depending on the power of the visions, she would be bedridden for hours, or even days at a time.

For all that he toddled after Odin and pretended to be bigger and wiser than his threeish years, young Thor hated having his mother bedridden. He would often “help” Sada by bringing her rocks and assorted random leaves for her potions. Sada was always very gracious with the young prince’s “gifts” and made a show of displaying and praising the gifts when Frigga awakened.

She wasn’t bedridden yet, but Sada could tell it was taking all of the queen’s energy to stay focused on the arrival of this delegation.

Sensing that the mood was dampened, Frigga for example smile and bounced young Sigyn on her hip.

The queen smiled at giggling baby and said, “Well, at least little Sigyn will finally meet her father face-to-face! And,” she smiled coyly at Sada. “You’ll finally have some relief, as well.”

Sada’s face went crimson with heat. “My lady!” The maidservant busied herself brushing off imaginary dust off a Pearl necklace. “Honestly! I-“ she protested.

Frigga’s laughter echoed in the large room. Between quite unladylike chortles, the queen said, “All I meant is you’ll have some relief…what with Idun helping with Sigyn and all.”

Rolling her eyes and turning her back to her laughing friend once more, Sada murmured, “Yes, yes of course.”

Secretly, Sada was pleased. Idun, Sada’s husband, had had to leave Asgard for an emergency diplomacy mission on Jotunheim when she was four months along. He had felt terribly and almost didn’t go, but Sada, knowing how much it would tear Idun up inside of he didn’t go and do his duty gently encouraged him. His seriousness and commitment to his people and protecting them had been one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him.

Besides, they both knew how tenuous the situation with the Frost Giants was. Idun came from a long line of diplomats, and was well-versed in cultural affairs of the surrounding realms. More than once, his calm demeanor and knowledge of local customs had smoothed any bumps Odin’s ire and impatience might have caused.

Idun had tried his hardest to shield Sada from how dire the situation was, but she was too close to Frigga, and too attuned to the whispers of the court to be ignorant.

Turning away from her internal gloomy reverie, Sada smiled slightly at Frigga, “Well, I am looking forward to having him home.”

Frigga smiled warmly at her friend before turning her attention to Sigyn, “Did you hear that, darling? It sounds like you may have a sibling sooner rather than later!” To emphasize her point, the queen rotated her wrist and laid a palm out flat, miniature fireworks appearing.

Sada spluttered indignantly again, and Frigga’s laugh echoed merrily again as Sigyn tried to grab at the magic with her chubby fists.

Beyond the castle, beyond the mountains, ice crystals began forming like sharp fangs along the entrance to the Rainbow Bridge. A frozen gust of wind blew into the realm of Asgard.

The Frost Giants had arrived.

-

Read it on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660295/chapters/87590554

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[akitalepu]

Sugar Neighbors Chapter 2

Dane slogged his way back to Emily’s house, the sound of loud cursing fading slowly. Finally, he made his way back to the driveway. Startled by a sudden sound in the brush, he jumped.

It was the buck.

Dane stared. Could it be the same buck? From the night when he first met Luke? Pepper Heights had a fair amount of deer. The likelihood that this was the same buck from THAT night was slim.

Still, Dane stared. And the buck stared back.

The dark azure light from the new streetlights made it look alien—a beautiful, strange creature who didn’t have to deal with the problems of this world.

The buck must have heard some noise in the far-off distance, unheard by human ears, because his ears flicked and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

“Wait—“ Dane cried out softly, his voice coming out much hoarser than he’d expected. He sighed. He felt lonely—bereft. His gaze shifted to Luke’s house—all the lights were off. His Grindr location wasn’t on either. Dane turned into Emily’s house, groaning as he pulled off clothes dried in come, sweat and mud, leaving them flung over wilting plants in his journey to bed. All he wanted to was sleep, for a million years.

And he did. He was a fish, ancient, giant and lonely. Searching for someone.

But there were only inky depths around him.

He swam for a while, unaware of time or any other creature out there. There was only Dane, dreaming, swimming, and wishing.

After a long time, a light appeared in the distance. He swam towards it. But the light wasn’t just a light. It was someone else—another him: another fish, ancient, giant, and lonely. Dane wondered if he was searching too. What was he thinking about?

They swam closer to each other for what seemed like an eternity. When they were facing each other—lips an inch away from touching each other—the floor of the ocean rumbled. It opened up and a landslide opened up, entombing them, forever facing each other; they were two dreamboys, lost together in the dark.

Dane awoke, gasping in bright sunshine.

-

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23399524/chapters/78016877

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[akitalepu]

In Which Morgan Stark is Pizza Rat

Well, dragging a greasy slice of Sbarro’s cheese pizza down the Big Apple’s slate gray subway steps was not Morgan Stark’s idea of fun.

“Was it anyone’s, though?” Morgan thought wryly, as she dodged sneakers, sharp heels, and—in one instance—bare feet.

Gross.

She fought against the rat’s instinct to drag the greasy morsel to the nearest hides-hole, and focused on trying to find Frigga’s portal back to her world in 2023.

Alright, so shapeshifting wasn’t her strongest suit—hah—Frigga was right. Morgan needed more practice.

Was this her first time shapeshifting? No.

Was this her first time time traveling? Also no.

However, this was Morgan Stark’s first time shapeshifting and time traveling to a completely different universe altogether.

Oh, how Pep would scream at her when she found out. Inevitably, Pepper always found out.

Morgan’s mother hadn’t been exactly thrilled when Queen Frigga had told her Morgan possessed the strong witchy- magical powers Pepper’s maternal line had long held. In fact, Pepper had blanched white, then went a little green, and finally settled with her head i her hands, muttering to herself. (A regular Tuesday for young Morgan.)

Initialky, once Pepper realized that Queen Frigga was not only Thor and Loki’s mother—but also Loki’s mentor—she was dead set against the idea of the Asgardian Queen training her young daughter to control her powers. At that point, Frigga brought out her secret weapon—Asgardian mead.

An hour later, Queen Frigga was officially set to be Morgan’s mentor and Pepper was snoring loudly on the couch. Frigga made Morgan PopTarts for dinner that night.

Morgan had started calling her mother, Pepper Potts Stark, ‘Pep’ as a young teenager, just to annoy her. As a twenty-two (almost twenty-three year) old now, it was her way of showing affection while simultaneously needling her mother...just like he had.

Tony Stark. Ironman. Her Dad.

Dead.

He’d never know it...but the reason she was here, in some godforsaken unknown universe in 2015, desperately trying to haul a slice of pizza three times her rat-body size down a flight of filthy subway stairs...was to save her dad. And the rest of the universe.

No one would ever know, of course, besides her and Frigga, but Morgan was the first domino in the chain of events that would lead the Avengers rectifying Thanos’ Blip.

In her rat form, she’d be the one to scuttle across the hood of the van and activate the control panel, releasing Scott Lang from the Quantum Realm—leading Scott to reveal to the Avengers that they could rectify the Blip Thanos created.

No one would ever know, except Morgan and Frigga. The Queen had made that very clear. They were already walking a tightrope’s edge, playing so much with time travel, fate, and destiny.

But Morgan didn’t mind. It meant that she wouldn’t have to tell her Mom that she was responsible for her dad’s death. And the fact that her mother had to let Tony go, all by herself, watching him die.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Morgan squared her furry little shoulders, and focused on trying to find Frigga’s portal. An errant thought passed her

mind, definitely influenced by the rat instincts to hold onto the slice

and drag it through the portal with her.

“Well, even when I transform back, I could give it to Lucky,” Morgan mused. Lucky was Hawkeye’s garbage-enthusiast golden retriever. “That dog eats anything—AHA!” Morgan hopped down the last few grimy steps. She’d spotted Frigga’s portal, glinting slightly at the foot of the stairs; hidden from normal human eyes, the average passerby would think her just another rat scurrying into the bowels of New York’s subway system.

In her excitement at finally finding the portal, Morgan let go of the pizza slice. With two paws in the portal, she nearly jumped through—but the pizza! Morgan popped up out of the ground again, swiveling her head, looking for the slice. The portal tugged at her tail, and she felt the tell-tale tug of time travel zipping her through time and space to 2023.

In a matter of seconds, she was scurrying across the hood of a dusty van, her tail flicking the switch of the control panel to release Scott Lang from the Quantum Realm.

In a matter of hours, Scott would find his own daughter, safe, and plant the seed for the Time Heist that would return the half of lifE that Thanos stole back to the galaxy.

In a matter of days, In the quiet of his home shop, Tony Stark would figure out the secret to time travel, thus saving the universe.

On that night, Morgan knew (remeberedpredictedregrettedDadDadDaddon’t go) her dad would collapse in shock and disbelief at having solved. They would eat juice pops, and he’d kiss her goodnight, and she’d tell her him she loved him 3000.

A few universes away, unbeknownst to Morgan, the video of her rat self in 2015 would become a huge meme—her journey with the pizza slice would earn her the aptly named title “Pizza Rat.” The video would, in equal parts, entertain millions and simultaneously bring comfort to those who were reminded of the indomitable spirit of New York.

Or maybe people just liked to see rats carrying giant slices of pizza. Morgan didn’t know. But that was ok.

And if she took some time to cry in the same home shop Tony had created all those years ago, and if Lucky the dog brought his pizza to share with her as he comforted her and she wept...well, that was okay, too.

[akitalepu]

Sugar Neighbors: Chapter 1

It hadn’t even been ten years since that night, but, to Luke, it felt like an eon ago. He stopped under the azure blue lamplight.

That night, he’d learned the world looked the same at midnight as it did at midday.

He’d been fourteen—just before he, his mom, and his stepdad left Pepper Heights for good. His high school career had been off to a tentatively good start, until it wasn’t.

They’d broken the news to him that night—well, his mom had, over dinner. They were leaving Pepper Heights. His mom’s job was relocating her to Florida, of all places. Steven, his brand-spanking new stepdad, had his eyes glued to the baseball game all during dinner. Apparently, Steven’s cousin lived down there too, and he was going to help him open his own liquor store.

His mom, Celia, had spoken softly, hesitantly, laying a gentle hand on Luke’s trembling hand as his world crumbled around him.

Celia asked if he’d be okay, and he’d nodded and assured her he’d be fine.

He was always fine.

Luke had excused himself from the dinner table and sat in his room until it was late. Steven had fallen asleep on his beat-up recliner chair, an ugly thing he’d brought to Luke’s home from his sordid bachelor pad. He knew Steven had been drinking and would be dead asleep, but still tiptoed past his snoring form around midnight.

It wasn’t unusual for summer storms to break out in late September. He’d sat at the door to his porch, watching the rain for a long time.

Luke wished the lightning would strike him. Put him out of his misery.

Suddenly, a strike of lightning zapped close to the house.

In reality, it was an instant, but to Luke’s eyes, it lasted a lifetime. He was amazed, and a little saddened, to see it:

The world looked the exact same at midnight as it did at midday. The darkness of night was just a cover.

The world always looked the same.

[akitalepu]

What Comes in the Night: Chapter 3

The creature appeared most when she needed him.

Whenever Lyanna was frustrated or sad, she knew, without fail, the wolf creature would appear in her dreams that night.

It didn’t matter if her concern was trivial, like missing riding time with her brothers because she had to practice stupid embroidery instead—or if it was a growing concern, like when she heard her father and Maester Walys discussing her future. Her potential future spouses. Overhearing these conversations always left Lyanna with a cold, tense feeling in the pit of her stomach. Like she’d swallowed a snowball whole. (And yes, she was eavesdropping and Old Nan would’ve sent her to bed with no supper, had she caught her—but it was Lyanna’s own future and she deserved the right to know what was going on!)

The older she got, the more trapped she felt by the uncertainty of the future. Who would her future spouse be, and would he love her? Would she ever see her father and brothers again after marrying and moving away? Would she never see the blue winter roses bloom in snow again? She was terrified her future spouse would never let her see Winterfell. Lyanna was afraid her home would fade away, a hazy memory of a happy time. Like her mother.

And so the weirwood forest of her dreams was where she could be most free. She and her companion would run and hunt and sleep beneath a starry sky. Lyanna’s wolf creature would huff and encircle her as they fell asleep in her dream, his large, strange black crow’s wings enveloping her like a blanket. She always awoke soon after they fell asleep in her dream.

His paws still left red, bloody footprints in the crystalline snow, but it never seemed to bother him. And the wolf creature didn’t bled all the time. It was only when she drifted off, fraught with anxiety about her future, that he left red pawprints in his wake.

Lyanna took great comfort in the dreams, and in her wolf companion. With his black fur and deep grey eyes, he felt familiar, like a friend. Ned, her closest friend, was frequently gone for long stretches of time as he trained with Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End with Lord Arryn in the Vale.

The young wolf maiden depended on her dream direwolf, and the freedom her dreams gave her.

This is why Lyanna was so devastated when the dreams, the visits from the wolf creature in the weirwood stopped the morning after she received her first blood.

[akitalepu]

What Comes in the Night: Chapter 2

Lord Rickard Stark, Protector of the North, was rarely found to be at a loss as to what to do.

However, he was finding this to be an uncomfortably increasing occurrence the older his only daughter, Lyanna Stark, grew. The tiny girl stared up at him now in defiance, dark grey eyes ablaze with fury. She had her mother—Lyarra’s—eyes. Lyarra could make her husband feel as though he were facing a giant, instead of a petite woman, when they quarreled. He missed her dearly. She would have known what to do with their troublesome daughter.

“It’s not fair, Father! Brandon and Ned get to practice swordfighting all the time and Benjen and I were just playing!” she whined loudly. At eight, she was nearly a woman grown now. “Why shouldn’t I be training as Ned and Brandon do? I’m a Northerner, a Stark as much as they are! Father, I should be able to protect myself and the North, as well!”

Rickard resisted the intense urge to rub his eyes. He tried to speak evenly and softly.

“Lyanna, this is true. You are a Stark, a Northerner as much as your brothers. Be proud of your heritage. But you will also leave the North someday. I will find you a husband worthy of you, and with the Seven’s blessing, you will bear strong sons with Stark blood.” He saw she was quiet, listening even, and pushed forth.

“Your spirit is strong, but you must also learn to be a lady so you can fulfill your duty someday. Brandon, Ned, and Benji and I—and your husband, someday—will always be there to protect you. You don’t need to learn to swordfight. Do you understand?”

Lyanna thought a moment, her grey eyes thoughtful. She chewed her lip and then spat, “No! I will never leave the North. I wish to do more, Father. I don’t want to be a stupid lady with heavy jewelry and itchy dresses. I will learn to fight and you can’t stop me!”

Her tirade rushed out of her, ending in a shrill, angry finish. Lyanna turned on her heel and ran quickly over the packed snow. Her eyes blurred with hot tears, and she angrily pushed them aside. Dark strands of hair came loose from the careful braid old Nan had painstakingly made this morning.

Rickard sighed, running a hand over his mouth. She was probably headed towards the stables, one of her favorite hiding spots. How would Lyarra have handled this? It had been two years since she had passed in childbirth. He mourned her still, as did his sons and daughter. The common folk of Winterfell mourned her, as well. Lady Lyarra had been well loved by all she knew and encountered.

Would Lyarra have kept a tighter rein on their daughter? Would she have let Lyanna be, telling her husband that she’d grow out of it? Rickard didn’t know. Though a proponent for justice, Lyarra was the first to laugh at anything their children did.

When Brandon got into the flour and spread it around the whole kitchen in a joke gone wrong, she’d merely laughed until her sides were sore. Rickard had been growing red, ready to shout at their barely contrite eldest son, but his wife had merely put a hand on his. She had calmly told Brandon that the consequence would be to clean up all the flour—all of it.

Merely expecting to go to bed without dinner, Brandon had blanched as white as the flour. After that incident, he never tried to pull a prank in the kitchen again.

It was the same prankster son who pulled Rickard from his reverie.

“Father, let me speak to her. I know where she’s headed.” Brandon said, serious for once.

“Thank you, son.” Rickard sighed.

—

“Lyanna? Are you here?” Brandon called out. He heard sniffling from the loft and climbed up. His little sister’s face was streaked with tears, her grey eyes red-rimmed and puffy.

Lyanna rubbed a sleeve over her face to hide the evidence of her sorrow. “Go away, Brandon. I’m not in the mood to be teased.”

He settled in the hay pile next to her, sighing. “Father caught you practicing swordfighting with Benji again?”

“We weren’t even practicing! We were just playing,” she whined.

Brandon shook his head, smiling sadly. “You know Father does not see it that way. He’s just trying to prepare you to be the great lady you will be someday—“

“I don’t want to be a lady! I want to be strong. Like Father.”

Brandon raised a brow. “You don’t need to learn to fight to be strong Lyanna. Mother was one of the strongest people in the realm, and she never learned to fight. At least, not with swords or bows.”

“Really? Mother was?” Lyanna asked quietly.

“Yes. There are different types of strength. Father is a strong man, but a quiet one, like Ned. He would always ask Mother for her advice on different problems, be they small or large. She would give him the direction and words he needed to lead the North.” Brandon smiled fondly.

She was quiet for a moment. “Who helps Father now?”

Brandon sighed. “Well, the Maester does, the Reeds do, the Karstarks offer some sage advice...but no one’s quite as good at it as Mother was.”

An idea sparked in Lyanna’s mind. “I could be Father’s advisor! I could be just as good as Mother, I bet, if I learn enough, right Brandon?!”

Her older brother laughed and mussed her hair. “Of course you could, Lyanna. No one in this world or the next can stop you, not even old Nan.”

Lyanna giggled, “Not even Old Nan!” She surged to her feet, suddenly filled with energy and renewed verve. “Let’s go riding!”

“Alright. Promise you’ll—“

“Last one to the weirwood’s a stinky wildling!” she shouted and raced to her favorite horse.

Brandon snorted. This conversation certainly wouldn’t deter Lyanna completely from practicing sword-fighting completely.

But hopefully, probably, it meant fewer fights between his father and little sister. He grimaced as he heard Lyanna whooping downstairs. Perhaps not.