#and they want to actually kill all men + anyone whose not '''''''woman'''''''' enough effectively shooting down ppl like me who are afab

[lordiavolo22]

just an fyi though, even though i talk about my disdain for ***********cishet********** men, this is not a t*rf or r*dfem safe space or blog. i am trans. cishet men is not codeword for trans women (because theyre women), i say cishet men to make it abundantly clear that i mean cishet men, specifically white cishet men!

[writingpracticetime]

Interactions with other villains

From the notes of Mitchell Newman:

Let me set the scene.

First, the Discreet Entrepreneur’s Network, or the DEN as it is appropriately titled, is a loosely organized guild of sorts for villains to meet and exchange illegal goods and services. It’s members are vicious, super-powered criminals of all stripes--master thieves, serial killers, unethical scientists, the whole spectrum. They’re dangerous, violent, and not at all kind to non-members, or even new members.

Second, we have Constructor. A famous hero and  goody two shoes who only ended up in prison for protesting a mass eviction. More to the point, an (admittedly, not self described) pacifist who at the time was famously bad at combat.

The DEN should have torn Constructor to pieces, and this whole problem should have ended there. Instead our goody two shoes swipes dozens of members and eventually breaks the whole network into pieces.

How?

---

You have always been bad at public speaking.

You don’t stammer.  But seeing lots of eyes on you makes you freeze and all of the words you planned slip away. It doesn’t help that at least half of the people in this room are murderers, but they would have the same effect if they were third graders.

You wish Sandy was here again. She was always good at coaching you through these things. The only reason you ever made it through interviews or press talks was because of her prep work.

"The pipeline," you try again.

The Organizer quirks an eyebrow at you. For a second he looks to his assistant, a pale woman whose eyes are fixed on, and then he motions at you. "Go on."

"the pipeline they're building," you try again. "Its damaging to the environment. The people don’t want it there. And it’s. Illegal."

The crowd actually bursts into laughter.  You’re too used to talking to politicians.

---

Afterwards, Bonfire nods sympathetically at your grimace on your way out.

“There’s a reason I’m not a member,” she tells you.

“Did you hear? Did I…?”

Did I do good? It’s the sort of approval you used to seek from Sandy. You stop yourself, because you already know the answer regardless. Not a single person in that room approached you to join your next operation.

“There’s still the two of us,” Bonfire shrugs. “Best not to work with too many, anyway. That’s how snitches worm their way in.”

“Yes but…”

“Wait!”

A reedy voice calls after you. You don’t recognize the stick figure man who darts after you, eyes darting.

“Wait, okay okay okay okay,” he says, quickly. “Constructor. I’m--Cyberscout. I, your pitch, I mean--”

You wait. You hear a flare of irritation at your shoulder.

“Okay, your pitch sucked,” Cyberscout says. “Didn’t you used to go on TV? Man. N-not to down you or anything, what I mean to say is, just… I can help you with that. Not with your speaking skills, but getting the word out other ways, and doing some information gathering for you. So I’ll sign on. Pay back the favor.”

“Favor?”

“Yeah, uh. You jailbroke me,” he says. “I don’t work for nothing, normally I’d ask for a favor or cash but… since you already did me a solid… just this once.”

You hold out your hand, and like that you make your second ally.

---

Your second venture into the DEN goes better. You practice with Bonfire and Cyber ahead of time, so your voice is stronger. When you enter the latest venue, you nod at the Organizer and the silent pale woman next to him, taking a deep breath and refusing to feel intimidated.

Again, you  describe what you’re opposing as wrong. Again, you talk about the people’s wishes. Again, you call it illegal, and again there is snickering, but instead of falling silent your voice booms.

“Are you going to pretend you all don’t care?” you ask, and you hear yourself echo from the back of the hall. “How many of you have been thrown into solitary Akonite cells for store robbery, for having? How many of you got beaten by guards? Now CEOs are lining their pockets with medications they got from experimenting on prisoners just like you have been, and they go completely free. This is illegal, against the public good, all of the things they say about your own actions--and yet the men doing this go free.”

Dead silence.

“If the hypocrisy doesn’t make you furious,” you say. “That’s because you have no fight left in you.”

---

When you leave the conference, you know Bonfire heard because she’s smirking.

“Better?”

“Better,” she agrees. “Still no takers?”

“They’re probably worried about losing face,” Cyberscout says. “I mean, I was. But after a talk like that, just wait. They’ll trickle in.”

And they do. Days after, a greying old woman approaches you. She seems hesitant to meet your eyes or speak at first but when she does his tone is cold, brusque, and to the point.

“You may have heard of me, you may not have,” she says. “But to the point, I know a few things about unethical experiments, how they are run...and how to help the subj--victims. If you are willing to look past my past indiscretions, I can be an asset.”

“I care more about what you’re willing to do now than anything you’ve done in the past,” you tell her.

She holds out her hand stiffly.

“Call me Asag,” she says. “Dr. Asag.”

---

At your third DEN meeting, the Organizer’s lips thin as he sees you. He once again exchanges whispers with his assistant before glowering at you. You brush him off, and stand to explain your next venture.

“One more thing,” you say. “Before anyone here thinks of joining, this is going to be a no-kill operation.”

“What?” booms a hulking figure in the back. “Are you fucking serious?”

“No interrupting,” the Organizer drones, but you speak up.

“Wait,” you say. “Let him talk.”

The man steps forward, and you have an instant flash of recognition. It would be impossible not to recognize him, actually. You don’t think you've met anyone else that big.

“You don’t know shit about what it’s really like out there!” the giant says. “You really expect anyone to go out and not defend themselves?”

“I didn’t say you can’t defend yourselves,” you explain. “I said you can’t kill anyone.”

“You can’t get shit done if you’re not willing to kill,” the man says, darkly.

“Really. And how has that worked for you? Wait--” you make a show of trying to remember him. “Oh wait, I know. It got you in prison. Where I broke you out, without killing anyone.”

There is actually some laughter. In your favor this time. It makes you grin.

“Hobbes, right?” you ask. “It’s possible to fight and neutralize someone without killing them, and it’s usually better that way because then the feds can’t justify using as much force against you.”

“Then I’d like to see you try to neutralize a real super,” Hobbes spits.

“Alright,” you say. “Come at me then, and I’ll show you.”

“Absolutely not!” the Organizer shouts. “There will be no fights during conventions!”’

You don’t even spare him a glance. “Outside, then”

The Organizer hisses at the entire crowd follows you both, eager to see blood. “This isn’t--the rules--”

After a fight that admittedly takes a lot more out of you than your previous efforts neutralizing low ranking heroes, Hobbes grumpily becomes your next ally.

---

More and more come to you. Some asking for monetary compensation, some asking for prison breaks in the future, and some who seem to be as drawn to your ideals as you are, deep down.

With each venture, the Organizer seems less and less happy to have you appear, until one day when you are about to come to another gathering you find yourself barred.

“You’ve broken enough rules,” the Organizer says, darkly. “You aren’t welcome in the DEN anymore.”

“What rules?” you ask.

There are a few, of course. Some minor things here and there, but nothing that got anyone else banned. He tells you, and you are about to object but someone else cuts in first.

“You’ve been cutting into his profits.”

It’s the pale assistant. Her voice is weak and thready, like she can barely speak up.

“What are you talking about?” the Organizer sneers. “I never--”

“He’s been working with some of those corporations you’ve been undercutting with your, um, stuff,” she says, her voice getting higher. “B-both sides. Always got to work both sides, he thinks. Get some villains to help, sell out the others.”

Other people inside are listening, murmuring. The gathering of villains are getting agitated--clearly, this is news to all of them, as well.

“Please,” the assistant says. “I have proof. I’m a--I read minds. I can tell you everything, just get me away safely and I’ll--”

He turns on her and attacks, hands around her throat. You don’t even have to think about it. You slam concrete into the Organizer’s face, and all hell breaks loose. Someone grapples you--and then Hobbes wrings them off you. Bonfire, always drifting at the edge of the event, darts in and jerks the coughing assistant out of the fray. And with that, your last venture at the DEN becomes an all out brawl.

You decide it’s still better than public speaking.

---

---

MN: So, real talk for a moment. How did you do it? Money? Threats? Brainwashing? I know there were a few mind control types in your group.

#4598: Hm?

MN: How does a hero go to a bunch of violent crooks and end up leading them?

#4598: The only way you can. With their consent.

[n1kolaiz]

"You want to know what death is? I'll tell you. Death is the loss of life. Despite everything doctors like me attempt... a patient's life can still fall through our fingers. You think death lies in the apex of science? Anyone with such little regard for life will die by my hand."

Character Analysis: Yosano Akiko

Age: 25 || Ability: Thou Shalt Not Die

BSD CHAPTER CHAPTER 65-66 SPOILERS

table of contents:

1. Author counterpart.

2. Yosano's history.

3. 'Angel of Death' defined.

4. Yosano and Atsushi.

YOSANO BRAINROT!*(#&!*@#($

1. Author counterpart.

Having been given the “Sho Ho” at birth, Yosano Akiko’s counterpart—the real-life author—was known for her zealous take on both feminism and pacifism.

Side note: Once again, to avoid confusion, I will use the name Sho Ho in reference to the real-life author, and Yosano in reference to the BSD character.

Sho Ho's writings were pretty much out-of-the-ordinary in her time, and despite being suppressed by the social norms of gender hierarchy, she sought to reform society’s view on the cultural perspectives of women and their sexuality (She expressed her love for a woman in one of her poems, but many still argued on whether she identified herself as queer or not.)

"Thou Shalt Not Die," Yosano's ability, is actually named after one of Sho Ho's most famous, controversial poems. She wrote it for her brother, who was a soldier in the war between Russia and Japan (1904-1905). In her poem, she expressed her general distaste for war and how her brother was a part of it.

O my young brother, I cry for you Don't you understand you must not die! You who were born the last of all Command a special store of parents' love

Would parents place a blade in children's hands

Teaching them to murder other men Teaching them to kill and then to die? Have you so learned and grown to twenty-four?

- excerpt from Sho Ho's poem, "Kimi Shinitamou Koto Nakare"

Her words were blunt enough to inflict guilt on her brother's conscience, as she wasn't afraid to express her disapproval over how her brother took part in the typical violent bloodshed and manslaughter of war. Such opinions perturbed the authorities, and her work was eventually banned from the public for a period of time. Later on, it was used as an anti-war statement.

2. Yosano's history.

Now, as for the character in BSD, Yosano is seen to be generally strong-willed, and later on, we see that she is terrifyingly compassionately ambitious in the way she treats her patients. She treasured life itself, and hated the thought of losing a patient.

Yosano had developed her relations with Mori Ougai back in the Great War, when she was just 11 years old. Her ability was a great benefactor in saving lives. Realistically speaking, she was used for her ability to heal injured soldiers and diminish the effect of any casualty acquired.

Initially, she wasn't aware of this, until one of her close friends pointed it out by subtly accusing Mori of manipulating her to participate in the War under the close-to false pretence of 'saving lives.'

As much as her ability did save lives, it also forced soldiers to return to the frontlines and suffer injuries over and over again. The soldiers were never given the opportunity to return to their families because of her ability. This obliged them to carry on in the war without any excuse, inserting them into a vicious cycle they had no escape out of.

Metaphorically speaking, Yosano's hatred for Mori sort of mirrors Sho Ho's disdain for war and fighting, don't you think? The way Kafka materialised Yosano's past was quite interesting because he used chapters 65 and 66 to explain Yosano's dislike for Mori, reflecting how Sho Ho used her poem to explain why she condemned the idea of war and how her brother was part of it.

Before the effect of her ability was fully understood, however, every soldier praised and thanked her for what an angel she was. One of the soldiers she had befriended and gotten close to even kept a tally of the number of times she had saved him. He was the one who gifted her the butterfly hairpin she wore all the time.

The weight of the truth that her ability was a curse rather than a blessing fully dawned on her when her soldier friend ultimately committed suicide, because the fact of being indefinitely trapped in the throes of war agonised him until his spirit gave out. This drove Yosano to loathe her ability, or rather, how it was used.

In the time she participated in the War, Yosano was given the alias 'angel of death' due to the control she retained over the battlefield, but I thought that perhaps Kafka had a reason behind giving her this title, so I did my research.

3. 'Angel of Death' defined.

Side note: I wouldn't want to disrespect any culture or religion, so if my citations are inaccurate and/or disrespectful, do feel free to correct me/let me know! I did research out of pure curiosity, and I don't intend to twist the significance of any of the interpretations.

I had to grow up learning about the basics of religious stuff, so it's kind of nice to study something out of the box, and very much against my father's rigid belief system :D

ARCHANGEL ARIEL

(archangel: an angel of higher rank)

I came across the few characteristics of angels/goddesses and their roles, and the one which really caught my attention was the female archangel, Ariel, the angel of nature.

[ source ]

In Hebrew, the name Ariel means 'altar' or 'lioness of God,' and her role is to heal. In addition to that, she is also recognised as a helper to another one of the seven main archangels, Raphael, whose role is to provide physical and emotional healing, too.

She is the protecter of the environment and the animals therein, and is bestowed with the duty to oversee the order of heavenly bodies as well as earth's natural resources. She assures the sustenance of food, water, shelter, and supplies of human beings, much like how a nurse is to a patient I suppose.

In relation to Yosano, I think this part is pretty self-explanatory, or perhaps this is blown out of proportion HA, so take this as a suggestion rather than a fact, because I'd like to believe that Kafka had a reason for giving Yosano a title as such.

In the past, I've come across the angel of death only to perceive it as a female grim reaper of some sort, so it was pretty cool to find that the word 'angel' and 'death' made up a title of a someone like Ariel, one of the purest forms of humility and compassion.

GREEK GODDESS PANAKEIA

For my beloved (wannabe/or not) students of Greek mythology (much like myself, let's make a cult!), you've probably heard of Panakeia, the goddess of healing. Medicine finds most of its vital significance in Greek history, and in its mythology, Panakeia is actually known for her ability to heal any kind of sickness.

[ source ]

Her name means 'panacea,' which is actually defined as a remedy for all diseases. Terminal diseases and injuries lead to death, right? This would bring us back to Yosano's ability to nullify any injury's effects on a person, keeping them from death itself.

Now, we know that in order for Yosano's ability to work, her patient, or victim, has to be in a near-death condition in order for her treatment to take effect. This can't exactly fit into the description of resurrection, but it can be described as some sort of rebirth.

GREEK GODDESS PERSEPHONE

So another goddess which reminds me of Sho Ho/Yosano, is Persephone, the goddess of spring and rebirth. Before Hades, the god of the underworld, fell in love with Persephone to take her to live with him, Persephone lived a happy life.

Hades, with his nature of darkness and the like, was captivated by how pure Persephone was, and stole her away from her former life to live in an environment which differed sharply from her natural aura of purity.

[ source ]

Remember when Yosano's friend left a note behind before he killed himself? The note said nothing except for, "You are too righteous." Take that as you will, but figuratively speaking, you could say Mori takes the role of Hades in the story, while Yosano can be portrayed as Persephone.

Sho Ho can also be a parallel of Persephone, in that she had to adapt to the realities of war and disharmony, while Persephone had to adapt to the raw darkness of the underworld with Hades.

Sho Ho stood against society's norms and decided to reform it, making her one of the most well-known feministic pacifist in history, while Persephone managed to escape from the underworld to return to her former position, earning the title the 'Bringer of Life,' or the 'Destroyer of Death.'

Furthermore, the way Sho Ho's anti-war poem took its effect later on, reflects the way Persephone restored balance in the world after returning from the underworld.

4. Yosano and Atsushi.

chapter 66; Yosano: "It's my fault that those close to me died... Is there some place where it's okay for me to live?"

chapter 8; Atsushi: "If I have any chance of saving them all, of returning them home safely, would that mean it's okay for me to keep on living?"

I couldn't help but think of Dazai and Atsushi back when I was reading through these panels. Ranpo (my beloved), along with Fukuzawa, accepted Yosano as she was, despite how her ability was a cause of despair and misfortune.

Ranpo looked past her mistakes and the entirety of how dark her past was to welcome her into the Armed Detective Agency. Dazai, on the other hand, knew who Atsushi was and what his ability had made him do before anyone else, and still decided to provide a safe place for Atsushi to find his sense of belonging, journeying with him as he learned to use his ability properly.

For more info about Dazai and Atsushi's dynamic, you can check out the analysis I did for Dazai :D

Atsushi desired to save people to prove his right to live, while Yosano made her wish to achieve the recovery of all her patients the reason for her existence.

Others would prefer to accuse both Yosano and Atsushi of having a saviour complex, but the reason why they pursued to save people with utmost dedication, stems from the nature of what their past was like. You know the saying 'from broken to beautiful?' Yeah, it's something like that.

The way their pasts were written out gave them a desire to change, which was, I daresay, initiated by the people who took them in: Ranpo and Dazai. Their abilities were demonised because of how they were used, but once they broke from their abilities' effect over their lives, they honed their skills to control them for the right cause instead.

In a less cynical point of view, I believe both Yosano and Atsushi stood for what was right, and wanted nothing but to achieve peace and harmony in whatever way they could, even if it meant risking their own lives to save others.

So yeah, that's it for my rants today. Thank you for reading, and if you have anything to add, go ahead! I'm open to discussions ;)

[caranfindel]

Take these broken wings and learn to fly (15.20 coda)

het, but Wincest-compatible | about 2300 words | PG-13 for language | characters: sam winchester, sam’s blurry wife |

Julia has been widowed (God, what an awful word, widowed) for three years when she meets Sam. It’s a work-based friendship at first. She’s kind of lonely and sad, he’s kind of lonely and sad, and they gravitate toward each other. And then one evening they’re at a bar, the last ones left from an after-work happy hour, both of them drinking more than they should, and she thinks he’s kind and thoughtful and smart and he may be 10 years older than me but he’s still hot as hell and I enjoy being with him and I look forward to seeing him and maybe I should just… and she kisses him. He’s shocked; shocked enough to confirm that he wasn’t just hanging around hoping to make it out of the friendzone. And then he’s holding her face in his hands and he’s kissing her too.

It’s good. They’re good together. It’s not the earth-shattering, all-encompassing romance she had with Shaun. Julia knows she’ll never have anything like that again. Most people don’t even get one soulmate in their lives; no one gets two. And she knows Sam doesn’t have that same desperate love that Shaun had for her; she knows she’ll never have his whole heart. (She knows the woman he intended to marry was killed in a fire, she knows another woman he loved went back to her ex. She doesn’t know which of these women still owns that last piece of Sam’s heart.) But she loves Sam, and he loves her, and they get married.

(The sex is amazing. Sometimes he’s gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid he’ll break her, and other times he’s fierce and passionate and almost tries to break her, and she loves both ends of the spectrum.)

She suggests they melt down her old wedding band to make a new one. It was an heirloom from her grandmother, a plain wide band of yellow gold that she loves, that she thought she’d wear for the rest of her life. But Shaun is the one who put it on her finger the first time. It doesn’t seem right to ask Sam to accept it now. A new band from the old gold seems like a good compromise. No, Sam says, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I know a way we can make it ours. He has the inside of the band engraved with the same symbol he wears tattooed over his heart, and makes her promise to never take it off. Bad luck, he says.

He’s such a contradiction. Scary smart, but as superstitious as an Appalachian grandmother. Calm and unflappable, but with a weirdly hyperactive startle reflex. Kind and empathetic, but capable of extreme violence when pushed to his limits (seriously, don’t walk your drunk ass up to Sam Winchester’s wife and lay hands on her, and don’t get mouthy when she tells you to back off) and just really, frighteningly skilled at that violence.

(A little frightening and also very sexy. Julia’s always had a thing for the hero type.)

They both have nightmares. One night Julia watches Shaun’s face melting under his gear and wakes with a cry of horror. Sam holds her as she tearfully describes living on the knife edge of constant fear that comes with loving someone whose job is literally running into burning buildings. I know, he says, over and over, even though he can’t possibly know. The irony of their first loves both dying in flames is not lost on her, but it’s not like his college girlfriend was a firefighter. It’s not like he watched her go to work every day and prayed she’d make it home alive.

Julia’s pregnancy is a wonderful surprise. She and Shaun had tried for over a year before she was widowed, and she just didn’t count on it happening with Sam. They agree not to name the baby after anyone they’ve lost. Let’s not name him after our pain, she says, and Sam is okay with that. (Or he isn’t. But ever since she showed him the positive pregnancy test, she’s known she could ask him for anything. She’s known he would rip out his heart and serve it on a platter if she asked for it.)

But they haven’t decided on a name yet when her water breaks four weeks early. When their perfect baby boy is born at 12:10 a.m., the nurse announces the date and time and Sam looks up at her in shock and blinks away happy tears and says it’s the 24th. It’s my brother’s birthday. Julia is flying high on endorphins; she loves this baby and she loves this man and she even loves his dead brother she never got to meet, and she says it’s got to be a sign; let’s name him Dean.

She takes off her wedding ring, just this once, to have Dean’s birthdate engraved on the inside. Sam does the same with his own ring. He insists they go to a jeweler who will engrave while they wait, rather than leaving the rings there. She waves a hand at her lumpy postpartum body. You afraid someone’s gonna make a move on all this if you don’t keep a ring on it?

He laughs at her and says you’re onto me, even though he’s the one who needs to be locked away, still with that long lean runner’s body and the amazing shoulders and the goddamn dimples. I just don’t like us being without them, he says. He is a sweet, sentimental fool and she adores him. He bends down to kiss her, carefully maneuvering the baby he’s wearing in a sling, and Julia looks at this man and this baby and this life she didn’t think she was get to have and knows she’s happier than she has any right to be. And she’s relieved when Sam slips the ring back onto her finger, this ring imbued with the men she loves, so maybe he’s not the only sentimental fool.

(One thing she loves about Sam is that he understands why she feels guilty that Shaun didn’t get to share this life with her.)

In July they light a little candle for Dean’s six-month birthday. When Julia wakes the next morning, Sam’s side of the bed is empty and cold. She finds him cuddling their sleeping baby in the living room. I got up to give him a bottle, Sam says. I guess I just fell asleep out here. His red-rimmed eyes and empty coffee mug suggest he didn’t actually sleep at all, but, well. They’re both battling their own private demons. If a night cradling the baby gives Sam some peace for whatever reason, she’s glad of it.

Sam’s fierce love for their child takes her by surprise. If Julia has 90% of his heart, his son has 110%. He parents with a vengeance, is the only way she can think of to describe it. Like he’s making up for something. She doesn’t feel slighted, but it’s impossible to ignore that ever since Dean was born, Sam’s prime objective has been to make sure the boy is happy and safe. Everything else comes second.

(When she notices Sam has been carefully marking his tattoo symbol onto Dean’s clothing, hidden near seams and always in a color that almost matches the fabric, she decides not to say anything. He gets a little funny about his superstitions sometimes.)

Sam desperately wants Dean to have a sibling, and they try for another one, but it doesn’t happen. Julia reminds him that they’re lucky to have even one child. That having a sibling is not a lifetime guarantee of companionship and love. She should know, after all, since Stephanie cut her off after she married that asshole Scientologist and decided she couldn’t have a relationship with anyone who wasn’t also in their stupid cult.

Dean has plenty of friends and tons of activities, which Sam encourages with an almost religious fervor, but he never pulls away from his parents. They have so much in common, Sam and his son. Instead of rebelling as a teenager, Dean seems to grow even closer to his father. They spend hours together, paging through the ancient books in Sam’s study (she hates them, they smell musty and make her sneeze) or driving in the old Chevrolet. They even travel together sometimes, visiting those friends of Sam’s that live up north somewhere. Julia met them at the wedding and they were perfectly nice, thrilled to death that she and Sam had found each other. But she always feels like an outsider when they’re around, like they’re part of something she’ll never understand. So much history, with Sam and the brother she never got to meet. They absolutely dote on Dean though, and he seems to love them too, so the boys’ trip to Sioux Falls becomes an annual event.

(Dean is 14 years old when he comes home from one of these trips with his own version of the tattoo.)

When Julia is diagnosed with cancer, Dean is 16 years old. Sam does his best to ensure life goes on as normal for their son but somehow never neglects Julia’s needs. He throws himself into research and is always on top of the latest treatment, always at her elbow with the top internet-recommended remedy for her side effects, making sure both she and Dean have everything they want and need, all the attention and support they can tolerate. She doesn’t know when, or if, Sam actually sleeps. When she feels up for it, he arranges experiences for the three of them. A week lying on the beach, a weekend in New York City, a night in the mountains looking at the stars. When we look back on this time, he says, I don’t want us to only remember how much it sucked. I want us all to have good memories too.

(She doesn’t know why he’s concerned about her memories. There’s a good chance she won’t have much time to enjoy them. But it’s good for Dean. She doesn’t want this to ruin Dean’s childhood.)

Sam insists Dean go away to college as planned. Julia agrees, although she’s kind of surprised he’s willing to let the boy out of his sight. Aren’t you going to miss him? she asks.

So much, he answers. But this isn’t about me, and what I need. It’s about him. They drive Dean to school in the ancient Chevrolet. Supposedly because the trunk has room for all of his stuff, but Julia is pretty sure it’s just one last sentimental road trip in the old thing before Sam retires it. When they pick Dean up at the end of the school year, it’s in her SUV. Dean promises his father, more than once, that he’ll restore the Chevy someday.

Five years after Julia’s diagnosis, she’s sitting in the doctor’s office learning that her last remission was her last remission. There are no more options. She has months, not years. Sam clutches her hand and nods, once, as if to say I should have known this would happen; I should have expected something like this. Then he takes her home.

It’s a blessing in a way, he says late that night, after a little too much to drink. Knowing what’s coming. Having time to say goodbye. You don’t always get that. And yes, she knows this as well as anybody does.

Sam has always been supportive of her choice not to contact Stephanie, but one day he says Jules, I promise I’ll never bring it up again. It’s just that I don’t want you to have any regrets. I don’t want you miss the opportunity to say things that you’ll wish you’d said. Julia isn’t sure Steph will speak to her. She’s not even sure she’ll have the same phone number — they haven’t spoken since Dad’s funeral, a year after she was widowed — but she makes the call. And Steph answers. And cries. And comes to visit, where she hugs and cries some more. Sam watches it all with a sad smile for a while, then disappears into the garage to sit in the old Chevy.

When Julia takes her last conscious breaths, Dean is holding one hand and Sam is holding the other. She squeezes her son’s hand and thinks I love you, dear boy, and I’m sorry I have to leave you. She squeezes her husband’s hand and thinks thank you for giving me this, thank you for taking care of me, thank you for loving me and letting me love you. Then she closes her eyes and lets the soft, warm darkness take over.

And then. Then she wakes to a cool breeze and the sound of chirping birds. She’s standing at a lake she recognizes. It’s Shaun’s favorite fishing spot. And Shaun is there, waiting for her. And everything is okay.

Sam does show up eventually. Julia’s sitting on the porch of the cabin with Shaun, enjoying the perpetual nice day (sometimes a spring morning, sometimes a fall afternoon, but always nice) when she hears the familiar rumble. It cant be, she thinks. It can’t be that old car. But it is.

I’m glad you found someone with good taste in cars, Shaun says, as Sam unfolds himself from the driver’s seat. He looks exactly as he did the day she met him; no glasses, only a little grey at his temples. Still tall and strong and beautiful. She runs to meet him and embraces him as Shaun watches from the porch.

You found Shaun, Sam says. I’m so happy for you, Jules. I really am. He doesn’t seem to have any intention of joining her (their) Heaven permanently, but he doesn’t seem to have anyone else with him either. Where is the dead girlfriend? How is this fair?

They talk about Dean, and Julia’s heart swells with pride over her strong, smart, kind, brave son. He’s like you, she says. He’s just like you.

Sam shrugs. He’s a Winchester.

But what about you? she says. You’re not — you’re not alone here, are you?

Nah, he says. I’m good. I promise.

(Eventually Julia meets the first Dean, and she understands.)

===

I know a lot of people have mocked Sam's blurry wife, but I actually have grown to love the concept. Because it means she can be anything we want her to be. And yeah, initially I liked the idea of her being Dr. Cara, or Eileen. But now I don't think that would happen. I think Sam would have to start fresh to have that kind of relationship. And I also like the idea of Sam's wife having her own soulmate somewhere, waiting for her, so she's not a huge part of Sam and Dean's shared Heaven. I mean, they're gonna visit, obviously. And then they'll go home to their soulmates.

The title is from "Blackbird" by the Beatles.

[flowervolcano]

It’s finally time I sat down and just wrote this whole thing so I can get it off my chest and maybe help flesh things out for the majority of the fanbase.

Black Widow Spoilers are upcoming, scroll past if ya don’t wanna be spoiled.

Let’s start with “Hello, I am a Tony Masters fan, I adore him and his personality and generally everything about him, of course I am going to be upset that his character suffered such poor writing and adaptation, because it was insulting and gut punching to see a character you love be poorly executed.“

continue reading please because I’m trying to be reasonable here and share what a majority felt when viewing Black Widow (it may differ from yours but I hope it enlightens a few who may be confused or whatnot about this topic, generally it’s how I feel the fanbase as a whole had been handling it poorly)

quick side note, no one wants to feel their opinion doesn‘t matter, so be mindful the next time you fight someone just because you disagree, I love debating and talking so you can come at me if you disagree, I like educating myself on these things too in case someone can bring up actual arguments that prove their side and reasoning, on the other hand if I hear one more “it’s because she’s a girl huh?” I might very well scream.

Is it bad because he turned out to be a woman? Why is this the first thing that gets debated??

Let me explain just how annoying it is that this is the debate whenever it cuts down to it.

The answer is yes and no, I will explain why, because I don’t believe the gender should always matter to a character.

Although everything great about Tony was stripped from him, all of it, only the title “Taskmaster“ and I guess the color scheme if you will, stayed the same, it would’ve been the same trash written character even if he wasn’t a girl, because they had no personality no resemblance of the beloved character in the first place, which is why it is a bad idea to have changed him into a woman, why you may ask?

it’s the image, it creates an idea that women cannot be as great as men, that a female version of Taskmaster would just suck, be terrible and useless, it paints Antonia to be bland plot device character to show Black Widow‘s pain and suffering. The character herself has no substantial personality or drive, nothing, she’s just a victim. And yeah it is a tragic story I won’t say it isn‘t but it didn‘t work for me, and for a lot of fans as I’ve witnessed.

It would’ve been more effective to had foreshadowed the possibility of her being alive only to find that she had died and Natasha would then have to live with the fact that she murdered her for ”nothing” but no instead we decided that she would survive, only she was brainwashed, so there’s no real vendetta or motive as to why she tried to kill Natasha, it would’ve been more impactful if Antonia was angry with her attempt to kill her, wanting to show she could best her in every well possible. Like trying to tarnish her Avenger status.

There were variables on how to make Taskmaster a better written character, there is potential but I personally would like the Mandarin effect (which I love the comic Mandarin I was so mad in IM3 so I can’t believe they did it x2)

On top of it the fact that the plot twist you could see coming a mile away also felt like the biggest after thought in the whole movie, it felt like they had a different direction they were originally going to go, but they took the easy bait of “we need a big twist” which Marvel has suffered for years on, always with some twist and it’s getting sickening to see it happen every movie.

Besides the point, it doesn’t go over well a lot of the fanbase is conflicted, angry and there are actual debates, which it happens we have differing opinions, its hard to find a thing we all agree on… and yet the only defense I’m seeing is “it’s because she’s a girl now?“ “you just hate women.” I’m tired of being told it’s sexism when it’s not, this version of Taskmaster was already doomed, they didn’t wanna go a comic accurate to begin with, you can tell by how ugly the suit was. (no cape?? not even the mask was cool)

I had already suspected from the beginning of the first trailer that was NOT Tony Masters, something about it just felt like Blindstrike from Stretch Armstrong to me (they kept making it seem like a dude only to reveal it was a woman, although they executed that perfectly please give it a watch)

I had already called it, we barely even met Taskmaster yet I knew it from the trailer, I didn’t enjoy the movie it played out exactly how I expected (which my expectations were low)

I found it insulting for a few reasons, it made it seem like Black Widow is either too good or not good enough to fight a man, it felt like they wanted to push how powerful women are, which I’m all for, women are very powerful I would know because I am one.

But it rubbed me the wrong way that she can’t have an enemy go toe to toe with her unless it’s a woman?? It didn’t sit right with me, is this meaning she can’t have a rival that’s a man because men or stronger or weaker… that’s where my head went, the gender shouldn’t matter to her ever, we know Natasha can take out anyone, so why the sudden change of a character whose always been a male?

I understand the MCU wants to be diverse, but there are more female characters than a lot of the fanbase realize, the MCU has barely scratched the surface, instead of changing other characters drastically in the name of “diversity” they should just pull actual diverse characters, or create some, this version of Taskmaster doesn’t feel anything like Tony Masters, they lacked all flair, the fact that it’s just Winter Soldier and Ghost from AMATW 2.0 is just lacking.

it’s something we have seen before, and this wasn’t needed to “full circle” Natasha‘s story.

It’s not because Taskmaster is a girl that is the problem it’s the general writing that felt like they didn’t really care about the character and changing it to be a girl was like leading a lamb to the slaughter, so many fans were going to be enraged because they ruined everything about the character, so you should be mad they put the actress in this position, they chose to do that to the character and it feels like it was done on purpose, just for the reaction.

The character was already bad making it a girl just made it worse because it just felt bad. It gave me the impression that a female version of Anthony Masters is just boring, that is not what we should think but so many are, and yes a lot of people are mad just because it’s a woman because they might get the idea that the character would’ve been better if he was written to be a male, but what we all really want is just a good adaption of the character, that’s all, he very well could’ve been a woman and everyone might’ve been alright (some might be iffy or mad you cannot avoid this) but I know with good writing I would’ve been fine if it was Toni Masters, not this Antonia Dreykov.

And that is what I really could not tolerate and handle with what they did to Taskmaster.

It didn’t feel like they had plans to flesh the character out they were just marking boxes on “what comic character can we use for Black Widow” checklist.

I freaking love Tony Masters and he (and she) deserved better writing all around than what the MCU gave them (and us)

There was more I was going to add on but in my frustration I began to forget where I was going with this and didn’t get to properly express my feelings.

Now next time you see someone complaining over Taskmaster don’t just assume they are sexist, there’s so much more depth to the character which is why we’re so angry over this iteration, and the fact that people defend the character just because it’s a girl doesn’t go well for me, that’s a poor excuse for people who had more pressing reasons why the character was a failure, not because they’re a woman but because it feels like we can’t dislike them because they’re a woman.

Imagine if your favorite suffered the poor writing just for a different characters development, it is a terrible feeling and having people tell you not to be upset or say you’re sexist for being upset is so invalidating.

Not to mention that the MCU continues to erase many traits and personalities of characters and on top of that, their sexualities (where is that diversity??) is already frustrating but it’s starting to feel like the writers don’t even value the characters they have.

[agwitow]

(Inspired by this prompt, and a quasi sequel to my laundress fic...)

There were vague rumours about the Duke --mostly mutterings from the elderly in town-- though the few times he had visited Fallholt, he had seemed to be a quiet but kind lord. Younger than expected, given the elders mutterings, though most assumed whatever dark rumours were half-remembered had been about the Duke's father or grandfather.

Those who worked at the Duke's castle had little more information about him. He mostly kept to himself, only interacting with a few elderly servants who had to have started working for his grandparents. Rarely did he even entertain other nobles.

Some said he was nursing a broken heart. That the one he'd intended to make his Duchess had left one day, without so much as a farewell. But no one had any recollections of such a person. Perhaps, like the other odd rumours, it was a story about a previous Duke. Perhaps it was just a fanciful tale invented by bored maids wanting to cast the Duke as some sort of tragic prince.

Whatever the truth, the invitations received by each family were met with a mix of excitement, confusion, and more than a little bit of suspicion.

His Grace, Lord Robyn de Nikoi, Duke of Fallholt, requests the presence of one person from each household for an evening of celebration and entertainment.

Those accepting, must be above the age of majority, and should be in good health.

The seal at the bottom of the letter depicted a stag with brambles wreathed around its neck. This, too, added to the confusion since the Duke's flag was a black rose against a field of green and yellow.

Some chose not to attend, even going so far as to offer their invitations to those houses where they couldn't settle on who would go. In the end, almost 150 people attended the Duke's celebration.

Distant though the castle was, lights and faint strains of music lingered long into the night. So long that no one was too surprised that none of the attendees had returned by morning.

By that evening though, with still no sign of their loved ones, the townsfolk began to whisper the old rumours to each other. Those who worked at the castle were questioned as soon as they returned to their homes that night.

Yes, there had been a grand party with much food and drink. No, they hadn't seen any of the missing townsfolk. No, there hadn't been anything strange about the post-party mess they'd had to clean. Yes, they would look around the castle the next day for some sign or clue about what might have happened.

The entire next day was full of worry and tension, as everyone waited for their loved ones to return, or for some answers from the castle servants.

At long last, the servants returned, though they had little enough to report.

There was still no sign of the missing people, but there was also no sign of the Duke. The elderly steward had seemed unconcerned when questioned, though he'd had no answers either.

The townsfolk decided enough was enough. They would march to the castle at first light and demand answers. Were their loved ones still alive? Where were they? Why were they being kept away?

Though it wasn't ever discussed, each person who volunteered to go on that march made sure to find a weapon and ready it for the morning. Just in case the worst had come to pass.

Whether word of the impending mob had reached the Duke, or if it was simply a coincidence, the missing townsfolk slipped back into town in the pre-dawn haze. Screams and shouts of joy, surprise, and fear rang in the new day as the townsfolk found their missing loved ones sleeping in their beds as if nothing had been amiss.

There was much rejoicing, though by midday it had died back into confusion.

The missing men, women, and people had very little memory beyond enjoying rich food and drink. They hadn't even realized that they'd been gone for more than a single evening.

Worse, still, was that not everyone who'd gone had returned. Eight people never came home.

When asked, the returned ones couldn't say what had happened, or where they might be, but each knew that those eight would never return.

This only fed the reinvigorated rumours about the Duke.

Slowly, life settled back into its old routine.

So what if, on occasion, one of those who'd gone would stop and stare off into the distance with a frown? Or be unable to sleep for days at a time? Was it really so strange that they were changed somehow?

Not until the blacksmith pulled a white-hot iron from the forge with her bare hands, did anyone say anything about the changes.

How the baker's son had broken a solid oak table while kneading bread. Or how one of the clerks had eyes which glowed a soft amber I'm the dark. How a cleric's skin had become rough and cold, like stone. Or a tailor's skin glittered like scales whenever wet.

Suddenly, the changes were the only thing everyone could talk about.

Some thought it a sign of evil magic and wanted to drive those affected out of town, before the corruption could spread.

Others worried that their loved ones had never actually returned and these people who looked and sounded and acted like them were little more than constructs.

A few wondered just how far the changes went.

But everyone agreed it was the Duke's fault.

He had done something to them. Something they hadn't asked for, or agreed to. Something beyond their control.

None were more angry than those affected.

They decided the Duke owed them answers, and a few volunteered to go to the castle and get them. One way or another.

The next day, the blacksmith, baker's son, a trapper whose touch could burn, and the stone-skinned cleric returned to the castle.

The elderly steward met them at the gates. "His Grace has been expecting you. Follow me, please."

They exchanged looks, but followed along to a small audience room. An oval table with twelve chairs took up much of the space, and tapestries depicting a variety of forest scenes covered most of the walls.

The Duke was already seated at the head of the table, with a banner on the wall behind his chair displaying the stag-and-brambles. In colour, and with carefully embroidered detail, it became clear that each thorn on the bramble wreath had drawn blood.

"I was beginning to wonder if any of you would ever come back," he said. "It would have been better if you'd come sooner, but we will make do. Ask your questions."

This was certainly not what any of them had expected, and it took a moment before the cleric asked, "What did you do to us?"

"Straight to the complicated ones, I see." He gave them a small smile before gesturing for them to take a seat. "Allow me to tell you a story about a young girl and a magic pond."

The baker's son frowned. "You mean the old fairy tale where she wishes to be a princess and the pond summons a fairy prince who kidnaps her?"

"Is that the version being told now? Fascinating how it changes over the years. Yes. That story. Though my version is... rather different from what you know."

"We didn't come here for bedtime stories," the trapper grumbled.

"Humour me, please. It will all make sense after."

When there were no other objections, the Duke began his tale.

"Once upon a time, there was a young girl. The daughter of a minor lord with no money and no land. She traveled from one place to another with her father, who was forever looking for a way to rise in wealth and status.

"Though there was no money for a dowry, the lord made a deal with a Duke. In exchange for his daughter, he would be given a bit of land to oversee. The Duke was old and cruel, and none of his previous wives had provided him with an heir. Most were rescued by family when his temper left bruises that couldn't be hidden. The others had died.

"A father who cared more for status than his daughter's wellbeing was the type of inlaw who suited the Duke best. So a date was set and the girl --a young woman, by this point-- was sent to the Duke's castle.

"Her life was not pleasant, in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and her only solace was in exploring the untamed woods around the castle. Whether through luck, fate, or mischief, she found a hidden pond deep within the forest.

"Things might have gone very differently if she hadn't seen the Duke before he saw her.

"She hid and watched as he stripped his clothes off and waded into the pool. Red, angry looking sores covered much of his flesh, and they spread further as the water touched them.

"The Duke called out, demanding fair trade.

"'Fair trade?' a fae said with a laugh, appearing at the other end of the pond. 'You have traded virility for strength, the life of one of your wives for money and power, and now think to bargain for your virility back without giving up your strength. That is no fair trade.'

"'I will not be weak. Name another price,' he demanded.

"The fae shook its head. 'You must trade something of equal, or greater value, to receive my gifts.'

"'The life of my next bride,' the Duke offered. 'Or my best hunting hound.'

"'I will not be fooled by you again. You place no value on the lives of your wives, and you are no hunter. Both a wife and a hound are no more than accessories to you. Neither is a fair trade.'

"The Duke raged and screamed, but his anger had no effect.

"When his tirade ended, the fae yawned. 'How many more times do you think you can enter my waters with ill-intent in your heart? Soon you will have little flesh untouched by the mark of your greed.'

"The Duke didn't bother to answer. He simply climbed out and put his clothes back on. Though the sores would have hurt a lot, the young woman had no sympathy for him.

"Once he was gone, the fae called for her. She crept out and stood at the edge of the pool.

"'Hello, young one,' they said. 'There is much you wish for. Would you care to make a deal?'

"She shook her head.

"'Come now. Surely there is something you wouldn't mind giving up in exchange to be free of the Duke? Even if he doesn't spill your blood as payment, he will kill you in some other way.'

"She shook her head again. 'I will not trade away my future or memories simply to be free of my present.'

"The fae nodded. 'Perhaps a different sort of deal would suit you then? And before you shake your head at me, let me show you what the future holds.'

"They swept their hand through the water and as the ripples spread, images formed depicting war, chaos, and death. In many, the Duke laughed as the ground turned dark with the blood of innocents.

"'What trickery is this?' she asked.

"The fae sighed, sounding tired. 'No trickery. This is the most likely future, as things stand right now. While the squabbles of mortals would not normally concern me, the consequences of this... it will drain the magic from the land.'

"'What does that have to do with me?'

"'I need a champion. Someone who can change the course of things.'

"'Why me?'

"The fae sighed again, this time in frustration. 'I am bound to this forest, and this pond. I can not leave, and the Duke has made sure most people avoid the forest. You are the first person, other than the Duke, I have spoke to in more than a decade.'

"'And what would being your champion mean?' she asked, still wary.

"The fae grinned. 'A bit of skill, a dash of luck, and a vow to protect the magic of the forest.'

"'Where is the trick? The part that makes the hero regret such a hasty bargain in all the stories.'

"They shrugged. 'Not much of a trick. If you fail to keep the magic strong, your life is forfeit. Though I suspect if that happens, you will be dead already.'

"Perhaps it was arrogance, or desperation to avoid marrying the Duke, but the young woman agreed. And true to their word, the fae provided skill and luck. Enough to rescue a kidnapped princess. Enough to stop an assassin. Enough to replace the Duke."

As the Duke's words faded into silence, the four townspeople frowned.

The cleric shook his head. "The first Duke of Fallholt was given this land after rescuing the Emperor's daughter and uncovering a plot against him by several of his nobles --one of whom had been the Duke ruling these lands before."

"Yes."

"But you're claiming it was a young woman who did those things."

The Duke scratched his chin. "Shortly after rescuing the princess, I realized that despite being born a 'girl,' I was not actually one. People were more willing to believe it was a young man doing all the heroics anyway."

"Wait. What? No. That doesn't make sense," the blacksmith said. "You can't have done any of those things. They happened over a hundred years ago."

The Duke laughed, sharp teeth flashing for a moment. "Yes, they did. And perhaps ten years after them, I met a peculiar laundress who offered my a unique gift."

The trapper's fists clenched, tiny flames licking across their knuckles. "What does all that have to do with us?"

The Duke sighed. "The war Vyrnaed saw was only delayed by my actions. It is still coming. And this time I cannot prevent it from starting. But, with help, I can keep these lands safe."

"What did you do to us?" the cleric repeated.

"I took you to see Vyrnaed. They showed each of you what the future holds and offered a choice. Be slaughtered as the war rolls over us, or be changed so that we can defend our homes." He grimaced and glanced down. "I had expected them to grant you all skills and luck, like they did for me, but... I suppose they thought it fitting that I should lead non-humans, since I haven't been one in a very long time."

The baker's son shook his head vehemently. "No. We should remember it, if what you're saying is true. We remember nothing. And what of the eight who didn't return home? What did you do to them?"

The Duke shrugged helplessly. "As powerful as Vyrnaed is, there is a limit to how much they can do in a night. In order to have enough power to affect all of you a trade had to be made."

"You traded our memories of the evening." The blacksmith's voice was cold and flat.

"No," the Duke said gently. "Each of you agreed. It was your trade to make."

"And the others?"

"I had specified in good health... they did not survive the change."

The four townsfolk stared. It was too fantastical. But they couldn't deny that none of them were quite human anymore.

The cleric broke the silence. "When is this war supposedly coming?"

"If Vyrnaed is right, we have a fortnight."

[jedimaesteryoda]

Asha snatched the axe from the air and slammed it down into the table, splitting his trencher in two and splattering his mantle with drippings. "There's my lord husband." His sister reached down inside her gown and drew a dirk from between her breasts. "And here's my sweet suckling babe."

-A Clash of Kings, Theon II

Asha Greyjoy is very much the Action Girl trope. She commands a ship, fights and never shies from battle, living up to the idealized image of men in Ironborn culture, a misogynistic society whose designations for women are usually only stone wives (traditional wives) and salt wives (concubines and sex slaves).  She embraced the martial ethos of the Ironborn to the point of naming her weapons as her family, and even won the admiration of her father Balon, himself an Ironborn revanchist. 

"Do you want to die old and craven in your bed?"

"How else? Though not till I'm done reading." Lord Rodrik went to the window. 

"You have not asked about your lady mother."

-A Feast for Crows, The Kraken’s Daughter

Of course, Balon’s hardcore embrace of the Old Way ultimately proved to be his undoing. His ill-fated rebellion resulted in his fleet being smashed, his isles scoured, his two eldest sons killed and his youngest son taken as a hostage. His second rebellion was doomed to failure as Tywin wasn’t going to accept his offer since he made the concession before he started bargaining given as @poorquentyn​ pointed out, the Old Way never taught him diplomacy.

Even Asha herself admits “Balon had been blind in some respects. A brave man but a bad lord,” but still insists “Does that mean we must live and die as thralls to the Iron Throne?”  

She is given a choice of going to the kingsmoot to press her claim despite her uncle, the Reader, stating that a woman can never win the kingsmoot, and offers to make her heir to Ten Towers as an alternative. Asha turns that offer down, and goes to the kingsmoot to press her claim. Even with all her skills and accomplishments, she isn’t considered worthy enough to wear the driftwood crown in a heavily male chauvinist culture. 

The result: she loses the kingsmoot, Euron marries her off to Erik Ironmaker and she is forced to leave in exile from the Iron Islands. 

Afterwards, at Deepwood Motte in exile Asha is contemplating what to do. After the news of the fall of Moat Cailin, her male admirer Trisitifer speaks with her. 

"Asha, it is time to go. Moat Cailin was the only thing holding back the tide. If we remain here, the northmen will kill us all, you know that."

"Would you have me run?"

"I would have you live. I love you."

No, she thought, you love some innocent maiden who lives only in your head, a frightened child in need of your protection. "I do not love you," she said bluntly, "and I do not run."

"What's here that you should hold so tight to it but pine and mud and foes? We have our ships. Sail away with me, and we'll make new lives upon the sea."

"As pirates?" It was almost tempting. Let the wolves have back their gloomy woods and retake the open sea.

"As traders," he insisted. "We'll voyage east as the Crow's Eye did, but we'll come back with silks and spices instead of a dragon's horn. One voyage to the Jade Sea and we'll be as rich as gods. We can have a manse in Oldtown or one of the Free Cities."

"You and me and Qarl?" She saw him flinch at the mention of Qarl's name. "Hagen's girl might like to sail the Jade Sea with you. I am still the kraken's daughter. My place is—"

"—where? You cannot return to the isles. Not unless you mean to submit to your lord husband."

. . .

"I have hostages, on Harlaw," she reminded him. "And there is still Sea Dragon Point … if I cannot have my father's kingdom, why not make one of my own?"

"You are clinging to Sea Dragon Point the way a drowning man clings to a bit of wreckage. What does Sea Dragon have that anyone could ever want? There are no mines, no gold, no silver, not even tin or iron. The land is too wet for wheat or corn."

I do not plan on planting wheat or corn. "What's there? I'll tell you. Two long coastlines, a hundred hidden coves, otters in the lakes, salmon in the rivers, clams along the shore, colonies of seals offshore, tall pines for building ships."

"Who will build these ships, my queen? Where will Your Grace find subjects for her kingdom if the northmen let you have it? Or do you mean to rule over a realm of seals and otters?"

-A Dance with Dragons, The Wayward Bride

Asha states her desire to make her own kingdom in the North to which Tristifer gives her the brutally honest truth that her aspiration is a pipe dream. Sea Dragon is thinly peopled and doesn’t have much in the way of resources. That’s not even taking account that the Northmen would never let her carve off a section of the North, and are coming to fight her. She actually proves to be not too far from the tree in that like her father, brother and uncles, she makes an ill-fated and ultimately doomed attempt at a crown, and insists on staying at a castle she cannot hold much like her brother Theon did at Winterfell for which she criticized him. 

Tristifer offers an alternative to her: make life as a trader. This alternative isn’t unusual to the Iron Isles as after the Famine War “Merchants and traders sailing from Lordsport on Pyke and the harbors of Great Wyk, Harlaw, and Orkmont spread out across the seas, calling at Lannisport, Oldtown, and the Free Cities, and returning with treasures their forebears had never dreamed of.” Tristifer actually offers her a viable alternative. 

Of course, Tristifer arguably didn’t need to make the offer to her. The alternative was always there in front of her. By the time they have their talk, Stannis and the mountain clans launch their attack on Deepwood Motte. Outnumbered and taken by surprise, Asha's ships are taken or burned, practically her entire army slain and she is taken prisoner.

We start to see a pattern. Asha is faced with a choice: answering the Call to Adventure or rejecting the Call and choosing a more peaceful, nonconfrontational path. Asha of course chooses the former, and it ultimately just ends up making her situation worse. The first time it results in her losing her bid for the Seastone Chair and being exiled. The second time, it results in her being made a prisoner with her military power destroyed.  

The third and last time might potentially be the Battle of Ice, and she chooses to stay and fight despite a wounded ankle. She could end up getting herself killed. 

She fails to learn from both her father and brother’s experiences that taking the more bold, adventurous path usually ends in disaster, or rather she acknowledges that it did in their cases but fails to apply it to her own situation. Like with Quentyn, it is the case where rejecting the Call is actually the smarter, more preferable thing to do. Asha’s story is effectively a deconstruction of the Action Girl trope.  

[justlightlysedated]

for @zuluoscarecho​ 🥰🥰

-

Michael is in the middle of changing the oil on Mr. Jameson’s ancient Chevy, when there are hands wrapped around his ankles rolling him out on the creeper from beneath the hood of the car.

Michael takes in the military uniforms, tactical gear, and the fact that they all have their faces completely covered and is immediately on guard, trying to figure out how to get out of this without actually revealing his secret.

"Are you Michael Guerin?" One of them asks, voice muffled by their masks, but the command in their tone is unmistakable.

"Who's asking?" Michael asks instead, not wanting to give an inch.

"His face matches the picture, Number Two," another voice pipes up. "We can just take him and confirm once-"

The voice is cut off with a painful sounding hiss, but Michael's eyes are narrowed and on the person who seems to be in charge here.

"What are the charges?" He asks, pushing himself up to his feet, and letting the creeper slide back underneath the car. "Because I know you can't arrest me without a warrant."

The group of four soldiers are all pointing their guns at him, except the one called Number Two, whose eyes look too amused for Michaels liking.

"Who says we're here to arrest you?" They ask, and before Michael can think of something to say to that, one of the soldiers closest to him moves, swinging his gun and catching Michael right on the side of the head.

Fuck, Michael thinks as everything goes black.

-

Michael comes back to consciousness violently, fists swinging and feet kicking, his knuckles smart when he actually comes into contact with someone, who grunts in pain.

"Calm down, Mr. Guerin," the same commanding voice from before says. "We're not going to hurt you."

The only difference in the voice is that it's not muffled anymore, which is the only reason that Michael opens his eyes and gives them a pointed look in answer.

The woman in question is standing in the middle of the room, she's tall and regal looking, blonde hair kept away from her face by a braid. The other three soldiers are sitting on the opposite side of the small room, two more women, one wearing a hijab, the other a brunette with her hair cut short and severe aligning with her chin and a blonde guy, built like a linebacker, hair buzzed on the sides and cropped short on top, rubbing a red spot on his cheek and glaring at Michael, all of them looking around the same age, which is not any much older than he is.

“The fact that you knocked me out and then brought me here, wherever here is says pretty much otherwise, so excuse me for not actually believing that,” Michael says, ignoring the pounding in his head to sit up, not really liking being in a vulnerable position around so many people, especially considering these people were soldiers.

The woman, who he figures is Number Two, straightens up even more, tucking her hands behind her back, and she somehow looks even taller than before as she starts to speak.

“Our apologies, but we need your help,” she says, and keeps speaking before Michael can ask what exactly they need him for.

“We are Troop Eleven-Zero-Six of the USAF, in charge of infiltrating and retrieving. I am First Lieutenant, Barbara Wilson, but everyone calls me Number Two. My team,” she motions over to them and they all introduce themselves, but Michael is still caught back a couple of sentences before when she said they were part of the USAF, the Air Force, meaning that this was either his one way ticket to a dissection table or this had to do with Alex.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, interrupting the guy who’d been rubbing his cheek earlier. “But I don’t really care who you are. What do you want with me?”

The guy opens his mouth, probably to argue, but Number Two steps up, holding a hand out to stop him before he can say anything.

“As of 0600 hours yesterday morning, our Captain, Alexander Manes was reported MIA, during what was supposed to be a simple routine pick up. Our assumption is that he’s been abducted and is being kept somewhere outside of our jurisdiction. My team has been put on the sidelines and told to wait, while inexperienced older men debate whether or not it would be worth it to use the resources to find him.”

Michael had always known that the Air Force was going to get Alex killed. 

Even though it’s been weeks since the last time that he reached out to Alex, the distance making their connection waver and spotty most of the time, like an old radio trying to pick up radio signals that are out of range, Michael reaches out for him almost subconsciously, and he is marginally relieved to feel a sharp irritated nudge back, even if it’s Alex Code for leave me alone.

“What do you need from me then?” he asks, partially because he thinks he already knows what. But at the same time, their soulmate status is something that they never actually discuss with each other, so Michael had assumed that Alex had never told anyone else.

“You are his soulmate, aren’t you?” The girl in the hijab, who Michael vaguely remembers, had introduced herself as Carter, no first name, asks stepping away from the wall she’d been propped up against.

“He’s obviously not,” the guy who he’d interrupted before, and is now labeling, Blonde Asshole, says, a sneer on his face. “There is no way some backwards cowboy hick from Roswell is the Captain’s soulmate. I told you we should’ve checked his mark while he was unconscious.”

“That is an invasion of privacy,” Carter says, sounding disappointed.

Blonde Asshole scoffs, “We’re in the middle of an unsanctioned mission.”

The woman with short hair sends a truly impressive bitch face to the Blonde Asshole, and Michael thinks she introduced herself as Sabrina, “That doesn’t give you the sanction to act like such an asshole. Oh, wait, that’s just a delightful part of your personality.”

Blonde Asshole makes a mocking face at her, “It would’ve saved us the trip. The Captain’s life is in danger. We don’t have time to-”

Michael gets to his feet, effectively shutting him up and turns to Number Two, who stares right back at him. 

“Alex is in danger?” he questions, sending a wave of worry to Alex, which is immediately cut off with a stone cold icy wall, like Alex doesn’t want to give him even an inkling of what he could possibly be feeling right now, which usually would make Michael scoff and roll his eyes and go to the bar and drink until he can dull the awareness of Alex in his head.

“Yes,” she says, simply and effectively changing the mood inside of the room. “Our mission before he went missing was highly classified, and it’s entirely possible that it pissed off the wrong type of people, and this is their way of getting revenge. They’ll interrogate him to get as much information out of him first, and then they’ll kill him. And the Captain is a hard nut to crack. He’ll withstand the torture for a long time. But I wouldn’t put it past the Commander to just drop a bomb instead of risking a rescue mission.”

“So we’re not only on a time limit, but we’re also risking possible dishonorable discharge, not to mention actual prison time, so if you’re not going to be any help, you may as well tell us now so that we can find another way to save him,” Blonde Asshole says, and he potentially sounds worried, but Michael ignores him and keeps looking at Number Two.

“So what are we waiting for?” he asks, not caring that he hasn’t confirmed that he is Alex’s soulmate. 

He is, which is all that matters. He doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone right now. They’ll get their proof soon enough.

“For the plane to land,” Number Two says, and the plane hits a spot of turbulence on an otherwise completely still flight, and Michael drops down back to the row of seats that he’d woken up on, feeling a little dizzy. He has never been on a plane, and he doesn't understand why knowing he's actually in one, makes him feel worse than not knowing.

Number Two just reaches out and pats his shoulder, “Rest up. Once we hit the ground, there’s going to be no time for that.”

Michael nods his head, thinking that that is easier said than done, but as soon as he leans back against the seat, he feels his eyes flutter close, exhaustion hitting him like a wave,  dragging him under and before he knows it, Michael falls asleep.

-

After the plane lands, he gets shuffled into a standard armored vehicle, squeezed between Blonde Asshole and Sabrina, who asks him if he's an actual cowboy or if he just wears the hat.

Michael doesn't really answer because since the moment he touched the ground, wherever they are, since he didn't exactly get an itinerary before he'd been kidnapped, he could feel his awareness of Alex coming back in full force, and now that he was closer, he could tell exactly why Alex had been pushing and putting up walls, and trying to keep him away.

Their bond was bright hot red with his pain, and not only was he going through whatever it was causing him pain, torture being the likely candidate, but he was also actively trying to keep their bond blocked.

Michael closes his eyes and concentrates fully on the piece of Alex that he had inside of him, feeling it light up in the back of his head, and right on the center of his chest, warm and pulsing.

Alex sends out a drowsy question, probably wondering what the hell Michael is doing, and Michael sends back an image of getting pulled out from beneath the hood of Mr. Jameson's Chevy by his team.

He feels Alex’s alarm sweeping through him, and before he can say or think anything else, Alex drags him out of his head.

Michael gasps as he feels overwhelmed with pain, stinging from the tips of his fingers to an ache in his chest that makes it hard to breathe to the excruciating pain of what he’s pretty sure is at least one broken leg.

Michael opens his eyes with difficulty and takes a look around the cell that they have him in, but there are no windows, and even if he could find it in himself to move, whoever took Alex has his hands cuffed together and tied to his cuffed feet.

If Michael concentrates, he'll be able to tug against the bond and use his powers even while in Alex's body, but before he can, Alex is dragging him out of his head and into their mindscape, a phenomenon that only seems to be possible when an alien is your soulmate since it's one of the many strange things about their bond that isn't like anyone else's.

Michael lets Alex tug him forward and check him over, asking about a million questions, but he can barely hear any of that.

His entire focus is taken up by Alex. Even though he knows that in the mindscape he's nothing more than a projection of his subconscious, which is why he looks all of seventeen years old, the same exact age they were when they fell in love and formed their bond. Michael can't help but be relieved at the sight.

He misses Alex so much while he's away, even more when he's overseas and he can't even get this.

Alex stops speaking, probably noting the lovesick look on his face, and he sighs, but Michael can feel the swell of affection pulsing through him.

"Guerin, focus," Alex requests, snapping his fingers in Michael's face.

Michael blinks a few times before he nods his head, “I’m here.”

Alex nods his head, “Good, now tell me. What do they have on you? Because I can convince Wilson to get lost while I figure out how to get out of here.”

Michael is too charmed by the way he puts air quotes around lost and forgets to actually pay attention to what Alex is saying.

Alex shakes him a little, and Michael blinks a few times before he realizes what Alex is saying.

“Oh,” he says, shaking his head. “This isn’t about me. Well, not about the alien thing. It’s about our soulbond. They think I can help find you.”

Alex furrows his brow and shakes his head, “Tell them no.”

“It’s already a little late for that,” Michael says a little sheepishly, pushing his recent memories towards him.

Alex just inhales deeply and closes his eyes.

"Fine, okay," he says, sounding defeated. "My team is good at extraction, and having a direct line to me through you should get the job done, but-"

He stops himself and turns to Michael, looking at him with a pleading expression, "But you have to promise me that you're not going to do something reckless and dangerous and expose yourself."

Michael wants to tell him that he will do anything if it meant getting him back safely, but he also knows that it's probably a declaration that Alex doesn't want to hear.

"I'll just lead them to where you are and stay out of the actual fight, you don't have to worry about that,” Michael says, and Alex gives him a look like that’s asking for him to do something impossible.

Before either of them can say anything else, Michael feels a jolt of pain coming from Alex’s side of the bond.

Alex grits his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly and shaking his head.

“Is that why you push me away sometimes, because you’re trying to protect me from this?” Michael asks without actually meaning to.

Alex blinks his eyes open, and just looks at him, and Michael can tell that he’s on the right track, but now isn’t the time to be discussing this.

Alex just breathes in deeply, and then narrows his eyes at Michael, and Michael feels a deluge of memories, scents and sounds and limited vision, of the drive to wherever it was that they took Alex.

It’s not a lot, but it’s enough for Michael to piece it together.

“We’re going to find you,” he tells Alex, infusing the words with as much conviction as he can.

Alex gives him a wan smile in return. “I know.”

Michael just nods his head and Alex closes his eyes, and then Michael drops back into his body like he’s been dropped from a great height.

He jolts and his eyes snap open, and he sees Number Two and Carter, turned around looking back at him.

He can feel Sabrina’s hands on his neck, and wrist checking his pulse.

“Is everything okay?” Number Two asks slowly, eyes darting all over him, probably worried that they’d concussed him earlier.

Michael nods his head, “Just conferring with Alex. I know how to find him.”

Number Two looks at him for a long moment, scrutinizing, before she nods her head sharply, "Alright then."

She turns towards the front starting the truck up again while Carter hands him her tablet with their location and the map pulled up, showing real time images.

Michael grabs it gratefully and starts looking for something that matches the memories that Alex gave him.

"Let's go get our boy back."

[nowoyas]

Floriography 4

First - Previous - Next (Coming soon!)

A/N: DID Y’ALL THINK THE PRO GAMER MOVE WAS A NORMAL UPDATE? PSYCHE! DOUBLE UPDATE TIME! I’ll hopefully end up with a banner for this fic I actually like soon so I can start using that instead. It’s slow going, but I’m toying with a few ideas. In the meantime, a precious fantasy Izu gif will have to do uwu The most important part is that I named both kingdoms now <3

Chapter Summary: Day one of the trip. It Begins.

Warnings: none, I don’t think!

Word count: 3600+

"That was very courageous of you," a voice greets you as you take a moment to breathe, "though I have to say that, were I anyone else, I'd be terrified for you right now."

Your eyes snap to the voice's source, not finding a servant like you'd sort of been expecting. Instead, Queen Inko herself stands before you, looking you over with concerned eyes.

"I can lead you back to where your party is preparing if you'd like, dear. You were probably planning to seek out Izuku again, but it's best that you save your energy, and I'd like to speak with you, if that's all right."

"Oh, um, yes, I'd like that. Thank you, your Majesty." You're careful to soothe yourself back into Proper Mode™ as you speak. "I... apologize that you've overheard me acting so disgraceful. To your husband, no less."

"You don't need to apologize, Princess. Not to me or to anyone, regardless of what my husband thinks. I actually wanted to apologize for his behavior. I know my husband can be a bit... demanding."

You nod. "You don't need to apologize to me, ma'am."

"Please, call me Inko. You're going to be like my daughter soon enough, there's no need to be so formal with me when we're alone."

"R-right. Of course... Inko... Y-you can call me by my name as well, not that you needed my permission."

Moons, she's such a stark contrast to her husband that you have to wonder how they ever married. This woman has the sweetest, kindest smiles and looks so much like her son that you have to relax around her.

"That's kind of you, [name]. Have you been getting on well with Izuku?"

You nod slowly. "Yes, I have. We write each other letters every day, and he's been very sweet to me. Of all the men my parents could have chosen to force me to marry, I'm glad it was him."

Inko smiles sweetly. She doesn’t seem to pay any mind to your comment about your coming marriage. "I'm glad to hear that, dear."

"Um... Inko, you're... A seer, correct?"

"That's right. You're wondering why I told my husband that you would make our son into a more... ruthless king, as it were?"

"Yes, actually. As I'm sure you must have heard me say, I want no part in changing my fiancé, especially not in a way that he begins treating others poorly or exerts excessive power. He wouldn't be Izuku anymore."

"Hisashi and I happen to have... Differing opinions on what makes someone a good king."

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. "So you didn't lie, but you also forewent the truth."

"I told him Izuku would be a wonderful king with you by his side. I did not tell him by whose standards. That's all." Inko smiles softly–every time she does, you swear you can see Izuku in her smile. "I’ve always known that no matter what, my son would go on to do wonderful things. But listen to me carry on—you and the others should be off soon. Thank you for chatting with me, dear."

You curtsy lightly, the movement almost uncomfortably easy in your travel clothes compared to what you’ve grown used to. "Thank you for helping me find my way back, Inko. It was a pleasure speaking with you."

She waves you off with a smile, and you scamper up to Izuku and the knights. "My apologies for the wait."

"It's not an issue, your Highness," Eijirou says, beaming. "We've just finished up the final preparations, so we're ready to go whenever!"

"Great! We should leave early, yes?"

Izuku nods as he approaches. "If you're ready, then we're all set to set off!"

You nod your affirmation, following as the group sets out. The knights are careful to center you and Izuku, and it doesn't take long for Izuku to strike up a conversation. "So, how did your talk with my father go, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, I don't mind!" you chirp. "Actually, I–" You freeze, nearly stumbling as the realization of what you just did finally sinks in properly. "–oh moons, your father is going to have me killed–"

"Woah, what?" Izuku carefully steadies you before you can hit the ground. "A-are you alright? You're white as a sheet all of the sudden."

"It's a little embarrassing to admit, but..." You chew the inside of your lip. You don't want to tell Izuku what his father thinks of him—if he's anything like your own father, Izuku probably already knows, but... "I… I may have, um..." You wring your hands together as you search for the words to convey exactly just how much you’ve messed up.

"My father always did say I needed to learn my place and I think perhaps allowing myself to get properly mad and tell King Hisashi that I wouldn't ever require his approval on how I carried myself as a wife or eventually as queen might be considered strictly within the realm of 'not acting within my place'." Your lips press into a thin smile, eyes blank as you begin to truly comprehend your fate.

Eijirou, walking on the other side of you as protection, promptly bursts into laughter, clutching his sides.

"H-hey!" you squeak. "Don't laugh at me, Ei! Have you no loyalty? I just told the Demon King of Elysia that he had no authority to tell me how I would treat his son!"

"Oh, trust me, your Highness, I'm plenty loyal, but this is easily the funniest thing you've done, maybe ever." 

"I'm going to die,” you whine. “His Majesty is going to kill me, and then because I didn't come back from the trip, my father's going to have Izuku killed, and then King Hisashi will declare war against Flumeria and I'm going to go down in history as the princess who single-handedly kicked off a hundred years of war and ended two lines of royal succession, eventually resulting in the destabilization of the continent as nearby kingdoms battle to claim the land and the deaths of countless.”

"You're probably not going to be killed," Izuku reassures you gently. "At least my father has two weeks to cool down before he does anything rash?"

The fact that it’s a question, rather than a statement, doesn’t reassure you at all. "Two weeks to plot my very public assassination." You drop your head into your hands. "Two weeks to get all my affairs in order. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but perhaps my father was right."

"I don't think you'll be assassinated!" Izuku's hand rests on your shoulder in a meek attempt to comfort you. "We don't even have any royal assassins!"

"So I'm not even going to be killed by a professional? The disrespect..."

His hand smooths over your back slowly. "Seriously, you'll be fine. I'm not about to let my dad kill you before I get to see you in your wedding gown."

You freeze, face going red in record time. "O-oh, that’s comforting.”

Izuku either doesn't notice or blessedly chooses to ignore just how effective his casual comment was on you. Instead, he changes the subject. Soon, you're falling into a rhythm, walking along while talking with Izuku and the knights. It's casual, fun even. Privately, you even think that maybe you could get used to this lifestyle.

~

When you stop to rest and eat a light lunch, you're utterly exhausted. Come to think of it, you don't recall the last time you properly sweat like this. It's midsummer, and moons can you feel the heat. With a wave of your hand, you're quick to remove the layer of sweat sticking to your skin as you rest in the shade of a tree.

Eijirou approaches, holding out a flask that you gratefully accept. "Are you holding up okay, your highness?" he asks as you gulp down the proffered water.

You nod when you pause to catch your breath. "Yes, I think so. It's a little embarrassing how unused to exercise I am."

He takes a seat beside you, resting an arm on one bent knee as he grins. "Nah, it's to be expected, given you aren't exactly allowed to spend your time like this normally. You're doing great so far, just be sure to keep drinking water. His Majesty will have me hanged if I let you suffer a heat stroke out here."

Thumbing the side of the flask, you giggle at his comment. "Thank you, Ei. How do you find the other knights accompanying us?"

"Oh, they're great, your highness! Super manly, too. I'm hoping I can learn a few things from them while we're out here. King Hisashi is really strict with the knights he allows to join these trips, so I'm sure they can teach me a few new tricks!"

"Well," you start, returning the flask with a wry grin, "in the interest of 'owning my responsibility', as my dear father puts it, try not to get too carried away learning new tricks."

"Of course, your Highness! I wouldn't dream of doing something that would let you get hurt."

"Speaking of getting carried away, Princess..." The hilt of a wooden sword hovers in your field of vision. You follow it to its source to find Izuku holding it out to you, one hand behind his back as he grins. "If you're feeling refreshed, I'd be happy to assess where you are in your swordplay and begin teaching you properly."

You reach up with a grin, taking the hilt in one hand. He doesn't let go of the "blade", instead planting his feet and pulling you up to yours. "Let's start by seeing where you are. Show me your stance like you're going to fight against that tree."

You nod, placing both hands on the hilt of the sword and shifting into an approximation of a combat stance, your feet planted. Izuku nods after a minute, stepping up and gently re-adjusting you. "You need to be lighter on your feet, and loosen up your stance. In a sword fight, mobility is everything. You want to be able to turn on your feet easily so you can dodge if your opponent makes a move and counter them, but we’ll get to that later. Ideally, you’d have a shield, but for now it’s best that you just get used to the training sword.”

You hum as you let him adjust your stance. "What should I do with my other hand in the meantime?"

"Keep it tucked away whenever you don't have a shield; you don't want your opponent to go for your other arm."

The rest of your lunch break is spent under Izuku’s teaching gaze and guiding hands as he teaches you the very basics of a sword-fighting stance. Before too long, your group sets out again. There’s plenty more walking ahead of you still.

~

Travelling is hard. Izuku makes it easier, you think—when you're being asked a million questions about how you train your runic abilities and how you manage to execute an idea so effortlessly with your magic, it's hard to think about how your feet ache, how you're thirsty and tired and keep having to magic your own sweat off you so you don't feel sticky and gross. By the end of the first day of travel, you've come to love the sound of his voice as a distraction from thinking so damn much.

You almost consider sitting directly in the dirt when it's finally proposed that you all set up camp for the night to sleep. Laying in it, even. Your mother would be scandalized if she could hear how you're thinking. A wave of your hand removes another layer of sweat, and you eventually give in and sit down with a thump.

You nearly slump into the dirt as you catch your breath. Around you, the knights and Izuku are busily setting up camp. The firewood being collected is piled nearby, and you watch for a long moment before moving to heave yourself back to your feet. "I'm not sure how I can help," you admit. "This is my first time even being outside for so long."

"We need a clear area with no plants or grass to build the fire on," one of the knights says. "But I'm not sure how I feel about asking you to..."

"If it's simply a matter of me not knowing how to prepare the area correctly, I understand, but please don't try to prevent me from helping simply because of my station. I'm not here simply to make your jobs more difficult."

A knight—a woman knight, no less—crouches beside you, offering a container of water with a kind smile. You accept it gratefully. "If you'd like, your Highness, I can show you how we normally set up the fire tonight, and once you've learned how to do it, we can assign that as your job for the rest of the nights that we camp outdoors."

You nod, sighing in relief at the cold water washing down your throat. "I would appreciate that, miss knight. Do you mind if I ask several questions? I'm afraid I'm not exactly educated on matters like these."

"Not at all, your Highness. Ask as many questions as you'd like."

"Well..." You falter immediately. What if the question on your mind is actually really stupid? It wouldn't do to embarrass yourself so heavily, but... "What is the point of setting up a fire when it's already so hot out?"

She gives you a kind smile as she clears away some leaves and twigs from the dirt. "It may be summertime, but we still need to cook our meal for the night, and the smoke from the flames drives away insects that may bite or sting us while we rest. There's plenty of uses for the fire that have nothing to do with its warmth, though you may find it gets much colder once it's dark."

You nod, watching her as she flattens a palm against the dirt. "I see! It's a little embarrassing to admit, but I hadn't thought about the fact that we'd be taking care of our own meals while out here." 

"All of this must be very new to you, your Highness."

"Regrettably, yes. I'm afraid the rules I've grown up under have led me to a very sheltered worldview."

"Well, that's the point of these trips, I imagine. His Highness has been making excursions like this for a few years now, and while he does get to speak to the leaders of towns and cities under his rule, I think it's more useful that he learns about life outside the palace. You can't learn humanity if you spend every day amid stone walls." Stones begin to rise up from the ground, accompanied by the distinct scent of a library. Once she's collected a pile of them, he directs her runes to draw a large circle in the dirt.

You contemplate her words as you watch her work, taking careful mental notes on what she's doing.

"We need to create a ring of stones to make the fire in, about the size of the circle I've just drawn," she explains. "If you'd like, your Highness, you can get started on arranging the stones while I collect some of the wood for the fire."

You nod, turning your attention to the pile and grabbing the first rock to set down on the ring drawn for you. It's easy work, but you take it seriously right up until you reach for the last rock and are greeted with a blast of heat that causes you to yelp and pull your hand back.

You retrace the scent of gunpowder to its source—the knight Kacchan, who typically stays by Izuku's side. He's leaned up against a tree, glaring at you with crossed arms. "Pay more attention."

You glare, affronted. "Excuse me?"

He points at the rock you'd been about to grab, where some... creature with far too many legs now lays dead. "That thing can't cause any serious health issues, but I doubt you would have been very happy with the pain its bite puts you in. Highness."

You brush it away with your runes, not wishing to touch it bare-handed. "Well, thank you for assisting me. If I hadn't known better I'd have thought you were attacking me, though."

He clicks his tongue, turning burning red eyes away from you. Is he not going to help? It looks like he just set up a pair of tents and then decided to kick back and watch you set rings around a fire.

"Is there something you need to be doing, or...?"

"It'd be stupid of us to leave you without one person watching you at all times. You're not used to being outside as it is, and if someone tries some strange magic on you, someone has to be there to save you from getting killed. Or bit by one of the most painful centipedes in Elysia because her Highness can't pay attention."

You try not to let show just how irritating his comments are. Instead, you get back to work on arranging your rocks just in time for Momo's return. 

She continues to walk you through the process—you wave a hand to take notes as she teaches you the different types of firewood, things you shouldn't do, and so on. Before long, you have a pretty decent fire set up, with the help of some magic, and the other knights have returned from their various duties. Still only two tents are set up, and honestly, you're a little afraid to question it.

You do anyway.

"Why are there only two tents, if you don't mind my asking? Surely those two aren't large enough to house everyone for the night."

A broad-shouldered night with dark hair answers your query, waving his hands about as he speaks. "The knights will be resting outside the tents, your Highness! It's not proper for a lady to share such close sleeping quarters with a man she is not yet married to, and it would be unseemly for you to change where anyone could see you. To keep carrying burdens low, only our more royal travelers will be sleeping in tents."

You frown. "I see. Thank you for your explanation, sir..."

"Ah! My sincerest apologies, your Highness. I am Tenya of the Iida family. We have a long lineage of successfully keeping royalty, such as yourself, safe. It was dishonorable of me not to introduce myself sooner, ma'am."

"Oh, you needn't worry yourself so, Sir Tenya. I've taken no offense." Besides, it's not as if anyone could offend you next to Kacchan's attitude towards you and seemingly everything in existence. "Though, I am a little worried at the prospect of all of you sleeping outdoors with no covering. Aren't we at risk of animals or attack?"

"Only slightly more so than the protection a tent affords, your Highness. All of us will be cycling through staying awake for part of the night and staying on guard against that very threat. The weather is a greater threat than any person or animal could be to you, ma'am."

"The weather?"

"Yes. If it rains, even in the heat of summer, it could cause someone's body temperature to drop to dangerous rates if we can't find a place where we can start a fire."

You hum, making a mental note of the information. As the meal carries on and things are handled, you continue to ask questions and receive answers, and before long, you're retiring for the night, more than grateful to finally, finally lay down and get some rest.

Successfully dressed in your nightclothes, you're greeted with the scent of peaches and lemongrass for only a moment before a folded letter lands in front of you, accompanied by a single yellow lily.

You can't help but smile. He sent me a letter when I'm sleeping only a tent away?

As you lay down to sleep, you call forth just enough runes to light your tent for reading. They float overhead, casting a gentle glow as you twirl the lily between two fingers.

My Highness,

Being able to travel with you today and truly speak was a gift. The lily is a thank you for accompanying me on this trip—the long treks are much more enjoyable with you at my side. I know these are all things I could have said to you in person for once, but honestly, [name], I find it easier to sleep when I have written to you. I hope you'll forgive that I don't recount to you the day's events in tonight's letter—I spent the day thinking about the beautiful princess walking at my side, so I have forgotten most of it.

It's said that, and my experiences and reading have both confirmed, one cannot smell their own magic at work. In a literal sense, this makes me slightly sad for you—will you truly never be able to smell the scent of fresh bread and warm vanilla when you work with your runes? Your runes, your soul smells like home in a way you and I have not known, and I pity everyone who will not get to spend their lives smelling it. I imagine love smells quite like the air around you—warm, safe, and inviting.

I hope you rest well and dream of me.

Your Prince,

Izuku

The letter is safely tucked away in your bag, the lily rested on the opposite side of the tent so you don't accidentally crush it. With a few waves of your hand, you acquire the paper necessary to pen the morning's response and rest it next to the lily, to be dealt with in the morning.

For now, you dismiss your light and fall into sleep. Tomorrow is another exhausting day.

Tags: @tooloudarts​ @sapid-rose​ @xxangelpridexx​ @birds-have-teeth​ @icythotsenpai​ @warmchoccymilk​ @wesparklebitch​ @izoodles​ @fujimoribaby​ @my-bnha-things​ @denise-the-death-goddess​ @themerpenguin​  @dragonempress123​ @imabootywarrior​ @the-secret-thief​ @venusianpink​ @chickynn​ @lianatriestosurvive​ @frog-face-wolfhard​ @akariblue​

[dwellordream]

“If any character in English popular culture stands for the sheep, it is Griselda. Her chief detractor is, not surprisingly, the shrew. In Robert Snawsel's A Looking Glass for Married Folks, Eulalie preaches the Griselda gospel to Xanthippe and Margery, urging them to bear their husbands' blows and drunkenness with meek loving kindness. This is too much for Margery: "Are you a woman, and make them such dish-clouts and slaves to their husbands? Came you of a woman, that you should give them no prerogative, but make them altogether underlings?" Margery's scornful reference to slavery goes to the dark heart of the Griselda myth. Folklorists have argued about the ancestry of the famous tale for more than a century. 

William Edwin Bettridge and Francis Lee Utley have made a strong case that Griselda owes her features to a folktale from medieval Smyrna called "the Patience of the Princess." A prince buys a poor girl from her father and lays a wager with her that she will not be able to submit to all his demands with utter composure. The prince shuts her in a tower alone and tests her for twenty years, repeatedly impregnating her and then taking away her newborn infants, telling her that he is going to kill them. She builds a mother doll out of clay to talk to and cry to but never loses her patience, and in this way she wins the bet. 

The tale, which matches the European narrative more closely than any other yet found, throws into stark relief the specter of female sexual slavery that haunts Griselda's story. The most striking variance between them is that the girl from Smyrna is sold into involuntary servitude by her father, whereas Griselda has a choice and agrees to voluntary and total obedience. Passing into European culture, the story came to Boccaccio. In reworking it for the Decameron he reclothed it in local garb, fashioning his novella partly in terms of Italian wedding and dowry customs that were sharply weighted against brides and wives. Boccaccio thought Griselda's story significant enough to give it pride of place as the last tale on the book's final day of storytelling. 

Petrarch read the novella and converted it to an exemplum in Latin for male scholars. Griselda entered English culture through Chaucer's "Clerk's Tale," which is largely based on Petrarch's version. Plays, ballads, and pamphlets on Griselda issued forth on the continent and in England throughout the early modern period, with a cluster of publications and performances in the mid- to late sixteenth century. Arguably the most radical change between versions occurred when Petrarch reworked Boccaccio. The Decameron's final tale is told by the satirist Dioneo, a crucial choice by Boccaccio. Refusing to let the happy ending stay happy, Dioneo spells out the political import of the story and caps it off with a horn joke against the marquis: 

Everyone was very happy with the way everything had turned out ....Gualtieri was judged to be the wisest of men (although the tests to which he had subjected his wife were regarded as harsh and intolerable), and Griselda the wisest of them all ....What more can be said here, except that godlike spirits do sometimes rain down from heaven into poor homes, just as those more suited to governing pigs than to ruling over men make their appearances in royal palaces? 

Who besides Griselda could have endured the severe and unheard-of trials that Gualtieri imposed upon her and remained with a not only tearless but happy face? It might have served Gualtieri right if he had run into the kind of woman who, once driven out of her home in nothing but a shift, would have allowed another man to shake her fur to the point of getting herself a nice-looking dress out of the affair. 

Scholars often downplay Dioneo's bitter words about pig-tending and his final putdown of Gualtieri, attributing it to his cynicism; but their labors to match the tale's disturbing sadism with an uplifting exemplary meaning are less than persuasive. The passage is much more than a glib throwaway, as Edward Fechter points out: "the climax angrily repudiates theological allegory and exemplum." Certainly, it seems fitting that the last lines of the last tale in the Decameron should recapitulate the Boccaccian theme of cuckoldry as female revenge. Dioneo's parting shot about "the shaking of the fur" is also an invitation to his listeners and the book's readers to come up with better interpretations than do the silly sheeplike courtiers of the tale, who judge "Walter wise and Griselda the wisest of all." 

Furthermore, it is a jest that asks for scornful laughter, especially from listeners who have grutched throughout the tale at Walter's arrogance, egotism, and sadism. Petrarch told Boccaccio that the story so fascinated him that he decided to spread the tale to scholars abroad. So "snatching up my pen, I attacked this story of yours." The angle of Petrarch's attack on the novella (which he termed "a little too free at times") becomes manifest at the cuckoldry-free conclusion of "A Fable of Wifely Obedience and Devotion," in which he erases Boccaccio's satire and his bawdy call for female revenge: 

This story it has seemed good to me to weave anew, in another tongue, not so much that it might stir the matrons of our times to imitate the patience of this wife-who seems to me scarcely imitable-as that it might stir all those who read it to imitate the woman's steadfastness, at least; so that they may have the resolution to perform for God what this woman performed for her husband ...Therefore I would assuredly enter on the list of steadfast men the name of anyone who endured for his God, without a murmur, what this obscure peasant woman endured for her mortal husband.

Petrarch's straight-faced version has none of Dioneo's political satire or irony. He is writing in Latin to male scholars, not in vernacular Italian to women and men, as Boccaccio had done. Nonetheless, it is Petrarch that Chaucer credits by name in the vernacular, mixed-audience "Clerk's Tale," although he departs from Petrarch in crucial ways. The Clerk does follow his source in insisting that his moral applies not to wives but to all humankind: This storie is seyd, nat for that wyves sholde Folwen Grisilde as in humilytee, For it were inportable, though they wolde; But for every wight, in his degree, Should be constant in adversitee As was Grisilde .... (I 142-47)

Chaucer actually intensifies Petrarch's warning that wives should not try to imitate Griselda, calling her example "inportable," or unbearable. (The Merchant, whose turn comes next, blatantly ignores this caveat, complaining "Ther is a long and large difference I Bitwix Grisildis grete pacience I And my wyf the passyng crueltee.") Still, scholarly attempts to align Chaucer's Walter with God do not work because Walter is described as "tempting" his wife, a word almost always associated with sin and vice. In another departure from Petrarch, Chaucer's Clerk breaks in several times to condemn the marquis. After Walter first decides to try his wife, the Clerk interjects hotly what neded it Hir for to tempte, and alwey moore and moore, Thogh som men preyse it for a subtill wit? But as for me, I seye that yvele it sit T'assaye a wyf whan that it is no nede, And putten hire in angwysshe and in drede. (45?-62) 

Chaucer's version subtly calls Grisildis's ovine quality into question. The lamb of God is Christ, of course, and Grisildis' meekness when her daughter is taken away resembles his suffering: "Grisildis moot al suffre and al consente, I And as a lambe she sitteth meke and stille" But "moot" she? Within English popular culture, sheep and lambs do sometimes stand for the positive values of resignation and endurance-for example, in emblems on patience. But there is no doubt that sheep generally connote passivity, cowardice, and stupidity. In terms of sheer frequency, the negative secular connotation overwhelms the positive religious one.

 A related complicating effect is the criticism leveled at "the unsad" (that is, fickle and sheeplike) people of the realm, who at first deplore Walter's acts but change their minds when they see the pretty new queen (actually his daughter), leading "sadde folk" to exclaim: "0 stormy people! unsad and evere untrewe!" As the Clerk finishes his tale, he shows that he is fully aware that not all his listeners will appreciate Griselda's virtues. With teasing wit he acknowledges the Wife of Bath, who has been called the tale's motivating force and dialogic counterpart. Just before the comic envoy he promises "for the Wyves love of Bathe" to gladden her "and al hire secte" with a song urging them to ignore Grisildis and revel in shrewdam (rr69-74). 

By shifting the Clerk's role from that of the preacher of a pious exemplum to a merry jester-singer, Chaucer undercuts his clerkly authority and blurs the moral legibility of his tale, already obscured by Griselda's lack of moral agency and her husband's viciousness. Nonetheless, Griselda quickly proved alluring to husbands, and she retained that allure despite proving highly problematic as a pattern for wives. Like the new husband in the jest about the pottage, men who wanted very much to promote Griselda as a model found her too hot to handle. 

In the training manual he prepared for his young wife in the 1390s, the Menagier de Paris offers a confused and troubled account of why he wants her to learn about Griselda. He rushes to assure his wife that he'll never torment her "beyond reason" as the "foolish, arrogant" Walter does Griselda, nor does he expect such obedience: I have set down this story here only in order to instruct you, not to apply it directly to you, and not because I wish such obedience from you. I am in no way worthy of it. I am not a marquis, nor have I taken in you a shepherdess as my wife. Nor am I so foolish, arrogant, or immature in judgment as not to know that I may not properly assault or assay you thus, nor in any such fashion. 

God keep me from testing you in this way or any other, under color of lies or dissimulations …I apologize if this story deals with too great cruelty-cruelty, in my view, beyond reason. Do not credit it as having really happened; but the story has it so, and I ought not to change it nor invent another, since someone wiser than I composed it and set it down. Because other people have seen it, I want you to see it too, so that you may be able to talk about everything just as they do.

What he really wants, it seems, is for his wife to be au courant. Griselda had "much currency off the page as a talking point in the late fourteenth century" and was "a subject about which wives might be expected to have an opinion." Codified as a way to get women talking (instead of shutting them up), the narrative about testing is itself a means of testing a woman's opinions and conduct. Is Griselda sick or stoic? Enslaved or free? Is hers a saint's tale, with Walter an abstract tool in the central mystery of her endurance, or is it as much a story about Walter and his court? Is he a cruel tyrant or a stern but loving husband with every right to test his wife? Is Walter God and Griselda a female Christ or Abraham or Job? All these positions have been argued during the six centuries of the debate.

Some recent readers still find Griselda admirable and even question whether she should be regarded as a passive victim. Harriet Hawkins has argued that Chaucer's tale should be read as a criticism of unquestioning obedience to authority, even divine authority, while Lars Engle hears "an implicit voice of sane moral protest" in Grisildis's mild objections to her husband. Such strained attempts at recuperation show that Griselda disturbs more than she edifies, raising but failing to answer questions about the limits of obedience in the face of tyranny and the conflict between Christian duty and wifely subjection.”

- Pamela Allen Brown, “Griselda the Fool.” in Better a Shrew than a Sheep: Women, Drama, and the Culture of Jest in Early Modern England

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2020 Day 5: Case Fic

Fearful | @deansrightfulangerissue

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1430 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, IT Crossover, Angst Summary: It comes for children, it feeds on their fears. Dean and Cas arrive to end its reign of terror.

He Wanted More (WIP) | @becky-srs

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1621 Main Tags/Warnings: #HeWantedMore #Destiel Summary: After years of self-denying and depressing Dean realized he's in love with Cas. Cas loves him too but this two morons won't see it, until Sam takes of with Eileen to a romantic vacation and put Dean and Cas on a case with a monster who kills gay couples what takes them to be an undercover couple... may the cover fall and revel their true feelings?

Curse me | @notfunnydean

Rating: General Word Count: 3099 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean loves balett!! Summary: Dean had always loved ballet, even though he never told anyone about that. When he and Sam find cursed ballet shoes, Dean can’t resist and tries them on anyway. He gets surprised in more than just one way.

Lost and Found | @unforth & @deansrightfulangerissue

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4885 Main Tags/Warnings: Horror, Ambiguous Ending, Memory Alteration Summary: Dean and Sam's hunt in a haunted forest was bullshit from the moment the fog rolled in. And then the ghost silenced the world.

On This Night | @mittensmorgul

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5688 Main Tags/Warnings: case fic, djinn, fluff, dean knows his tropes Summary: Something goes terribly wrong while hunting a djinn. Newly-human Cas had never considered what the effects of djinn poison could be for a human, and struggles to remember why everything seems just so slightly off when he wakes up back at the cabin he and Dean had been staying in during the hunt. The cabin has been transformed with holiday decorations, and Cas wonders just how long he'd been unconscious. Only when he tries to get answers from Dean, reality comes crashing back in on them both, in the best of all possible ways.

Heavenly Flavor | @songbird211

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7190 Main Tags/Warnings: First Time/Fluff/lust monster/Sam Ships It/Anal/Blowjobs/Nipple Play/Top Dean/Top Cas/Bottom Dean/Bottom Cas/Voyeurism/Wing Kink/Love Confession Summary: During a case involving college men going missing Dean and Cas are taken by the creature responsible. This creature loves having sex with humans, hence the kidnappings, but this time she wants to fulfill her fantasy of watching two men have sex and she thinks Dean and Cas will do nicely.

The Unexpected Consequences of Amnesia | @pray4jensen

Rating: Mature Word Count: 10539 Main Tags/Warnings: Casefic, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, Secret Relationship, Miscommunication, Dubious Consent Summary: When a spell backfires and results in Sam losing a year’s worth of memories, Sam’s really not that worried. After all, Dean reassures him that he hasn’t missed much and for the first time in a long time, the supernatural world’s at peace. Except then Dean and Cas exchange a look. Except then Sam keeps seeing them sneak around at night, into each other’s bedrooms, or whispering stealthily into each other’s ears whenever they think that he’s not looking. So naturally, Sam just has to investigate. Or the one where Sam obliviously and almost single-handedly brings about the collapse of Dean and Cas’ marriage in the span of one week.

Angeleech | @noiproksa

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 14457 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Compliant, Team Free Will, Hugs, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Castiel, Banter, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, Case Fic Summary: It was supposed to be an easy hunt, but then everything goes sideways. Dean and Sam have to take care of an injured Cas and find out what is going on with the angel before it is too late. (Intended as gen, but can be read as Destiel pre-slash.)

Ten Inch Hero | @banshee1013

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 16689 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Witch Curses, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Researching Sam Winchester, No Archive Warnings Summary: After returning from Purgatory the second time, Castiel and Dean were just beginning to explore the new direction of their relationship, when on a case involving missing hunters, Dean is struck by a witch's curse and turned into a ten-inch plastic figurine. Can Sam find a way to revert the effects of the curse and return Dean to himself before the tiny spark of life Cas detects in him fades away? Or will Cas lose Dean just as their relationship has begun?

Trouble in Paradise | @its-funnier-in-klingon

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1746 Main Tags/Warnings: canon divergence, human!Cas, post 14x09, Hawaii, case fic, bed-sharing, ghosts, mutual pining Summary: Sam finds a case where gay couples are being tormented by a ghost in a resort in Kauai, Hawaii. Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack embark to the resort where Dean and Cas must go undercover to take down the ghost, all while trying to sort through all their own personal issues.

Unthought Known | @noiproksa

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 18337 Main Tags/Warnings: Temporary Amnesia, Profound Bond, Team Free Will, Banter, Canon Compliant, Hugs, Case Fic, Soul Bond Summary: Dean wakes up in an abandoned mental institution with no memories and two strange guys, ‘Sam’ and ‘Castiel.’ They have to work together if they want to find out who they are and what happened to them. And what the hell is this profound bond he seems to share with Castiel? * Dean woke up with a pounding headache on the floor of a bright white, windowless room and no recollection of how he got there. What the hell was he doing in what looked like some sort of psych ward? Before he could get his bearings, he heard moaning coming from behind him and got to his feet, swiveling around, ready to fight whoever was in the room with him. ‘Whoever’ turned out to be two someones. One man with abnormally long hair and one guy in a trench coat who had a ‘tax accountant’ vibe to him. Who were these clowns? (Intended as gen, but can be read as Destiel pre-slash.)

Suck It, Judy Garland | @midrashic

Rating: Mature Word Count: 20116 Main Tags/Warnings: N/A Summary: It had to be St. Louis. Or, the one where Sam and Cas get fake married for a case, and Dean loses his mind.

Making it Up as We Go | @Foxymoley

Rating: Mature Word Count: 24439 Main Tags/Warnings: Case fic, ghost, Angel!Cas, choose your own adventure Summary: A choose your own adventure story! The Winchester's catch a case—an ordinary salt and burn—but Dean's decisions along the way are up to you!

The Memory Remains | FriendofCarlotta (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 28408 Main Tags/Warnings: Case fic, post-canon, POV Dean Winchester Summary: With Chuck defeated, Dean's trying hard to get his head back in the game. What he needs is a bit of peace and quiet, and maybe a nice, straightforward hunt. What he most definitely doesn't need is this thing about monsters trying to summon some kind of hermaphroditic goat person. Or dealing with Cas, whose powers are still failing and who is acting more human in increasingly disconcerting ways.

Human Error | @jemariel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 33435 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate season 9, case fic, wendigos, human Castiel, Cas in the bunker, miscommunication, drunk sex, top!Dean, bottom!Cas, 69 (sex position), bedsharing Summary: Cas is human now, and things aren't going to plan. (Not that Dean had a plan. Nope. No plans of any kind.) Anyway, what's a Winchester to do when everything he tries seems to blow up in his face? Go hunting. Obviously.

Fade to Hell | @alisuwink **Also in English**

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 37549 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester,Alastair (Supernatural), Bobby Singer, Slow Burn, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Universe, Season/Series 05, Fanart, Action/Adventure, Violence, Dark, Humor, Hell, Tortured Dean Winchester, Madness, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester Summary: It didn’t seem to be enough with Lucifer wandering free and the Apocalypse up our asses. Of course not! Now, Sammy’s soul has ended in fucking Hell, and I have no choice but to go down to that fucking hole with Castiel. When we rescue Sam, he is going to be buying me beers for the rest of his damn life. *Note: the fic is finished in Spanish, I'll have it in English by June.

Highway 9 | @ellis-park

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 38909 Main Tags/Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, suicide attempt Summary: Dean Winchester is a private investigator working what should be an open-and-shut vandalism case on an isolated stretch of rural highway. Except it’s not an open-and-shut case, because whatever is happening on Highway 9 isn’t vandalism — it’s something far more sinister and unnatural. And if Dean is going to get to the bottom of this case, he’s going to have to rely on the one person he’s learned he can’t rely on for anything — his ex-best friend, Cas Novak.

Someone Who’s Feeling for Me | @ellis-park

Rating: Mature Word Count: 45876 Main Tags/Warnings: Mutual pining, case fic, canon universe Summary: Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight. Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away. Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

Silver and Cold | @pomegranatedaffodil

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 64851 Main Tags/Warnings: Case Fic, Hunter Castiel, Small Town Setting, Religious Themes, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Injuries, Minor Character Death,Tragic Backstory, Nightmares, Angst with a Happy Ending, Switching Summary: The death of a young man in an apparent animal attack brings hunter Cas Novak to the small town of Sydnam, Maine. It doesn’t take long for him to realize he’s tracking a werewolf, but discovering the killer’s identity is no easy task. All signs point towards Dean Winchester, a lonely recluse who lives in the middle of the woods and whose antagonistic behaviour does little to lessen Cas’ suspicions. As the investigation drags on, their mutual distrust gives way to a wary alliance. Cas’ instincts warn him that Dean is hiding something, but as he uncovers the man beneath the mystery, his professional interest becomes far more personal. Praying his faith in Dean isn’t misplaced, Cas races to catch the killer before the next full moon rises and another life is abruptly cut short.

[laryna6]

Thinking about the title of Magician in Xanth - 

Magicians are supposed to go to war for the crown, so you’d think you’d get Goku power level stuff.

In actuality, only one Magician with a talent that was ‘cast on the battlefield’ ever managed to become king, and when Trent went to war for the crown he got his ass handed to him because having an OP talent meant he hadn’t learned the concept of ‘when people are trying to kill you set a watch’ which should have been a basic ‘how to not die’ strategy for someone growing up in a death world. He was later granted the crown because the previous king had died of old age, he’d spared the life of the son of the head of the council, and the other options were extremely annoying. (Like, there was a speech re ‘you’ve earned this’ but like, the council didn’t know about any of the stuff Trent had done that made him actually qualified, all they saw was that at least he wasn’t stupid enough to underestimate someone w/o magic anymore. I’m betting that before Trent showed up Roland’s Plan A was to ask Iris to illusion herself a beard bc Xanth would not have survived a second Humphrey reign - now I want that AU. Bonus if there is Queen Totally-Not-Evil-Magician-Trent). 

Every single other person who won the crown up until series start had a talent good on the strategic/logistical/troop-generating/medical level, not direct combat. Trent with his six foot instant death radius couldn’t win the throne but a woman whose talent was ‘longevity’ took it and held it for almost seventy years. Her successor was an actual ghost who died before her reign began, so she may have stepped down on deciding he’d make for an even more stable-longlasting reign, since the dude wasn’t the type to have challenged her for the throne.

A magician who is next to unbeatable in direct combat didn’t challenge Trent for the crown bc by that point Trent had the powers of ‘understanding demographics,’ ablity to organize supplies and logistics for a small army, etc. Stuff actually useful in being king of Xanth.

The ways someone can qualify as a magician, and therefore be eligible to become king, and the tradition of competition for the throne, make sense given the context of the founding of the line of kings and what the kings are actually for.

Every human born in Xanth has a magic talent - originally it’s thought that if someone is a magical being, they can’t have a talent in addition to that but that’s found to be incorrect.

Being a magician and what qualifies someone as one is a Big Deal that becomes important and gets dug into in the sixth book, because they’re getting invaded and someone’s taking out their kings - anyone who can take out magicians is qualified as a magician and that means that if the defenders can’t keep the throne filled, they’ll have to cede the crown to the invaders’ assassin. 

The strength/amount of magic tied up in someone’s talent can be assessed and is a way to qualify for magicianhood - Magician Trent knows that Bink has to either be a magical being like Chameleon or have a magician-level talent when it’s revealed Bink contains more magic than Trent does. (It can’t be that Bink has a spell on him and that’s what’s being detected bc they just got back from the mundane world and spells go poof without magic to draw on.)

Meta-magic also qualifies someone as a magician - not all magicians have meta-magic, a talent that lets them control magic other than that of their own talent, but anyone who has meta-magic is a Magician - this is discussed explicitly when a centaur is labeled a magician for his talent which lets him create an area around him with a higher magic level than that outside the area - he’s moving around/controlling magic. 

‘Versatility’ is a means of qualifying - Irene originally fails to qualify as a Sorceress because her talent of rapid plant growth isn’t versatile enough, but over time she’s able to gather an arsenal of plants with specific effects. It’s not meta-magic since she can’t control the magic of the plants, just use her own talent to make them grow, but she use the talent-grown plants for a wide enough variety of different effects she qualifies on versatility - she doesn’t have raw power or metamagic, but she can get the same level of shit done as someone who does. In fact one of the things noted as the Main Achievement of one of the Kings is something that Irene could make happen. 

To answer the question of ‘why do those things qualify you’ you have to look at ‘what magicians are for’ and the job of Magicians is to go to war with each other for the crown. In the modern era, most people consider Magicians like Murphey and Trent who incited wars to try to take the crown villains, which makes sense because Xanth is a death world as it is, the cause of human survival does not need that shit, but the Council of North Village (largest human settlement) and King Roogna (the king Murphey was going after) consider that complete bullshit and approve of Trent and Murphey’s actions. 

If the purpose of a Magician is to become king or die trying, proving the victor is the one most qualified for the job, what makes that a role vital enough it’s worth killing off members of a small population? What makes the kings so important?

Well, what was going on in the 6th book that made having a king so important they were desperate for Magicians? 

A Wave.

Xanth was periodically discovered and invaded by armies from our world. Like in the Irish Book of Invasions, most of those invaders have committed genocides of the people already living in Xanth 

The Third Wave left the women already living in Xanth alive. The first Magician King was instrumental in helping those women organize to kill their ‘husbands,’ free themselves, and find and bring in men who could be trusted to not pull that shit - his talent was recorded as knowledge, which, yeah. He ended up moving to our world and entering folklore for helping an island nation resist invasion...

King Roogna was the child-by-rape of one of those women. Murphey, if not a child by rape, would also have been born to a mother who went through that. This may explain why both of them were so determined to become the one in charge of Xanth’s defense that neither would concede to the other, but they both liked the other and respected their drive to be king (to protect their families...). 

So what ‘are you a magician’ really means is, ‘can your talent fight off an invading army/help the citizens fight off an invading army,’ and yeah, a small civil war would be the best way to put that to the test. 

Interestingly, while having a talent that’s good in a fight/on a battlefield can qualify you as a magician, that type of power is discussed as ‘really fucking useless’ for winning the crown, much less being king, in Book 1. 

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Who you should fight: Game of Thrones Edition

Your wish is my command, Anon.

JON: Damn, you really do aim high. If you want to fight Jon Snow, there's nothing really stopping you. He wouldn't want to fight you, but he would accept your challenge honorably. Perhaps you would win, perhaps you wouldn't. Jon doesn't really like violence. He was victorious in the battle of the bastards, but only with the Knights of the Vale showing up at the eleventh hour. And he would have given his life to the Army of the Dead if Benjen hadn't shown up to save him. So you might win, it's possible. Just be prepared for the Starks to send their regards if you do. With Bran's visions, there would be nowhere you could hide. With Arya's faces, you'd never know she was coming.

SANSA: Look, it's not exactly wise to fight a Queen. Something to keep in mind going forward. You would almost certainly defeat Sansa, since she has almost no experience in actual fighting, but that doesn't mean your troubles would be over. Expect the Starks, the Northerners, the Knights of the Vale, and Brienne to rise up and hunt you down. So if you want to fight her, be prepared to run for the rest of your life. But really, why would you ever want to fight her in the first place? Between Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, and Littlefinger, hasn't the poor woman been through enough? If you go through with this, you'll be fighting a sexual assault survivor. Think about that for a second. And then don't fight Sansa. 

BRAN: Okay, okay, how about you just don't? This isn't about whether or not you should fight Bran, because to be honest - you can't. Bran is gone. Everybody forgets this but Bran is effectively dead by Season 7. So no, you couldn't fight Bran if you tried. All you could do is fight the Three Eyed Raven, and seven hells, why would you ever want to do that? Could you kill him? Maybe. He can always see you coming, but he doesn't carry weapons and he's paralyzed from the waist down. But who are you, the Night King? If you kill Bran, the world ends and the long night begins. Don't be The Night King. Don't fight Bran. 

ARYA: Ahahaha...sure, go ahead. If you've got some sort of death wish, feel free to try and fight Arya Stark. I'd give some line about how the Starks would come after you but frankly, it wouldn't come to that. Arya wouldn't be in any danger and they'd be well aware. You do know this is the girl who slayed the Night King, right? The one who single-handedly wiped out House Frey? Realistically, the fight isn't even going to happen unless she's in the mood. If she is, expect her to toy with you for about ten minutes before running you through with Needle. If she isn't, then you won't ever even see her. You'll just get a knife in the back from whatever face she's wearing.

DAVOS: Seriously? You're going to fight an innocent old man who doesn't even have all his fingers? What are you hoping to gain from doing so? Does beating up old men give you satisfaction? Well, it shouldn't - unless we're talking about Pycelle. But we're not, so put those weapons away! Look, if you choose to fight Davos, you're very likely to win the fight. And in doing so, I suppose you could reunite him with his son and his surrogate daughter in the afterlife. But just do not fight Davos under any circumstances. For goodness' sake, what did he ever do to you? 

THEON: In terms of physical combat, you could probably win this fight. Theon isn't shown to be nearly as strong as his sister, and he's also suffering from PTSD. So there's a very good chance that you could defeat him. But Yara is going to literally cut you into pieces if you do. With everything Theon has been through, don't you think he's suffered enough for his actions? Ramsay tortured him so much that he forgot who he was for a while. He castrated and flayed Theon. Kept him as a slave for three years. And even now, Theon is still recovering from what he went through. He still hates himself for betraying Robb. Just let the poor man heal in peace, won't you? 

YARA: Go ahead, fight Yara. She's not exactly the nicest person, so she could use a good wake-up call or two. Her only real redeeming quality is that she loves her brother. On the other hand, she's Ironborn so she might just enjoy the fight. There's also the question of whether or not you would win, or even escape with your life. To which I say - don't expect anything. Yara is ruthless, and she doesn't play fair. She commands the Iron Fleet and they're loyal to her. This woman was her Uncle's prisoner. I think it goes without saying that she's tough. I doubt you could win the fight, but feel free to try.

SANDOR: This is the only character that would probably enjoy the fight, so go ahead and spar a little with Sandor Clegane. Don't actually hurt him, because he's obviously been through enough. But enjoy a nice, friendly bout with the guy and let him get off some steam. Of course, I say that under the assumption that you COULD harm Sandor. The guy came close to beating Brienne, and his final Clegane Bowl with Gregor ended in a draw. Plus he's like...huge. So not a good chance at winning. Even if you use his weakness, fire...well, he's won a trial by combat where fire was involved. Don't be a jerk, don't kill Sandor. You'll wind up on Arya's list for sure. 

BRIENNE: To be honest, you aren't going to defeat Brienne unless you have exceptional skill and training in combat, and even then. The odds aren't in your favor. She's packing Valyrian Steel, and some heavy armor as well. Has Brienne ever lost a fight onscreen? I don't believe she has. Her weaknesses are emotional, not physical. In a fight, you don't stand much of a chance. Especially if she's trying to protect someone she cares about or honor a vow. That's her berserk button, so don't mention oaths. Or Jaime. Or Sansa. Really, Brienne is one of the most wonderful people in this entire series so why would you want to? Hang out with her instead. 

GENDRY: This one is just a bad idea overall. The dude has all the skills of Sandor, without any of the discipline that Brienne has. Remember how the Rebellion was what Robert referred to as his glory days? How he ousted an entire dynasty because they had offended him? The Baratheons are known for their uncontrollable tempers, and we haven't seen much of this in Gendry, but it's there. Put a war-hammer in his hands, and you will never be safe. Just look at the guy. Have you seen how buff he is? Besides, Arya would definitely kill you, even if Gendry doesn't. He's such a sweet, upstanding guy to begin with. I don't understand why you would even want to. Don't fight Gendry.

JAIME: I suppose you could. The guy only has one hand now, so in terms of combat prowess, you would probably win the fight itself. Assuming Brienne doesn't get to you first. Either way, expect to deal with Brienne, and that's not someone you want coming after you with a vengeance. Even if you defeat Brienne, you still aren't in the clear. Tyrion may not be one for physical fights, but rest assured the man will make you pay for harming his brother. Someday, when you least expect it, you will pay. To be fair, Jaime does have some crimes he needs to answer for, but he also saved King's Landing. Really, just don't fight him. He already feels badly enough about his past.

CERSEI: Always fight Cersei. Always fight Cersei.  This shouldn't need to be explained. Think about everything that she's done. All the people whose lives she ruined. Whatever terrible fate you can inflict is one that she deserves. Yes, she's pregnant, but don't forget - the witch in Season 5 warned her that she would only ever have three children. That baby isn't going to live no matter what happens. I suppose you'd have to get rid of Gregor Clegane first, so bring Sandor with you for a double knock-out. Other than that, I don't see anyone coming to Cersei's defense. That's just how awful she is. Jaime might try, but I think Brienne and Tyrion would be able to restrain him. Yeah, just. Just fight Cersei. 

TYRION: Damn, why would you want to fight Tyrion? So he made a few judgment calls that turned out poorly. He was always trying to do the right thing, and all of his decisions were well-reasoned. His entire life has been constant suffering. Do you really want to add onto that? Well, if you insist, you'll almost certainly win the fight. Being half the size of the average man and consuming alcohol on a daily basis would render Tyrion one of the physically weakest characters on the show. You could probably get away with it as well. I mean, Jaime would come after you, and hell hath no fury like a Lannister scorned. But like I said, he's not the strongest either. Just watch out for that golden hand.

DAENERYS: Should you fight Dany? I suppose it depends on your point of view. She's definitely committed monumental crimes, but she's also saved countless people. You have to ask yourself if such a divisive person deserves to live or not. Really, we could argue that point until the cows come home. The real question is - could you fight her? Ultimately, the answer is yes...if you get close enough. You'd have to get past her armies first, but once you do, she has no experience in direct combat whatsoever. An easy kill. That you could celebrate for ten seconds before Grey Worm or Drogon rip you apart. You can only ever tie with Daenerys, there's no winning.

MISSANDEI: Stop, stop right there. What are you thinking? You know this is how we got S8E5, right? This is what pushed Dany over the edge, so, just consider that for a moment. What would possess you to ever wish pain on such an innocent soul? Missandei deserves the world. She deserves to be free and happy. And you want to fight her? Go ahead. If you could actually land a blow or two, you might win rather quickly. But Grey Worm will rip you limb from limb before that happens, if Dany doesn't issue an angry "Dracarys" first. Actually, if they don't get there, then I will personally climb through the screen myself and fight you for threatening her. She is the purest of cinnamon rolls.

EURON: I will literally pay you to fight him. The man is begging for a punch in the face.

[chikkou]

Will you talk more about Lisa?? Lisa the character specifically but also your feelings on his feelings about Buddy? I just thought your analysis was so good and I want to hear other thoughts you have on her.

yall are honestly spoiling me rn sdhkfdjfks this is like a dream come true 

i already got into the stuff with buddy in this ask here but i have a LOT to say about lisa and the connection between her and buddy so u better settle in!

ok so firstly ill start with lisa. i played the original lisa game (lisa the first) not long after it first dropped in 2012, and im not even kidding when i said it changed me LMAO.... seeing a story about a girl suffering is nothing new, but austin jorgensens approach to it was so fucking unique. you dont just witness it, you get to EXPERIENCE it right along with her. many stories that involve sexual abuse/rape show or otherwise depict it explicitly for the shock value, which is both disgusting and, in my opinion, extremely fucking exploitative. i feel that it is horrific to dignify an act so deeply evil with screentime. but lisa stood out to me immediately because, even though you know exactly whats going on, the game NEVER shows anything explicit. everything is layered in subtext and symbolism, and austin is fantastic with indirect storytelling, so you learn so much from just a little drop of information. this applies not just to the game proper, but to the character as well.

in case its not clear: i absolutely ADORE lisa. she is my favorite character in all of the games, bar none. its going to sound kind of fucked up, but as a kid around her age going through some fucked up shit, her committing suicide at the end felt like a sort of victory to me. she knew she could never escape from marty or what he was doing to her. he leaks into every single part of her psyche, everything she ever cared about or loved is ruined because of him, and even the vague memory of her mother is completely corrupted, and turned into a muddled version of him. lisa the first also had the added benefit of some religious commentary, as there are crosses all over their home and marty is characterized as an extremely religious man, which i fucking LOVE and wish had come back in the painful, but its an acceptable loss. anyway, lisa committing suicide at the end was an act of defiance against not just marty, but martys god, as suicide is considered a mortal sin in catholicism. lisa knew she’d never be free of marty in life, so she escaped the only way she could; she was defiant to the end.

ive seen people complain that the painful has a bit of a “lost lenore” thing going on, since lisas death seems to fuel the Manpain of both brad and buzzo, but i actually disagree. on the contrary, its just like austin himself said - lisa will never be gone. lisa is ALWAYS there, with brad, and buzzo, and buddy, and marty, and yado, and the ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD. i dont necessarily think that there is something paranormal going on in the game, but i AM going to say that, unlike other cases of a girl/woman dying for a mans backstory, lisa isnt just a bittersweet memory they can reflect on and then put away when its convenient for them. she is a presence that is felt throughout the entire game. brad sees her more than once, sometimes watching, sometimes reprimanding him. buzzo is clearly haunted by her, as he cries out to her a few times in the joyful. every character who was directly touched by lisa - brad, marty, and buzzo - calls out to lisa as they die. call it their guilt or call it her actions, but in either case, it is clear that lisa just as significant of a character in the painful as she was in the first, even if she cant always be seen. even in a meta-sense, every game in the series - even the joyful, whose protagonist doesnt even know who she is - is named after her. she is at the center of everything that happens in them. 

that actually brings me to buddy, because i find the dynamic between her and lisa fucking fascinating. as i previously mentioned, brad never talked about his past with buddy, and snaps at her for bringing up his adoptive son dusty (rando), so it goes without saying that she definitely doesnt know who lisa is. in spite of that, though, lisa is a fucking massive part of buddys life, and while she may not know the person herself, i think she is aware that when people (and brad especially) look at her, they arent seeing HER. 

i mentioned it in another post, but even though brad takes it upon himself to raise and “protect” buddy, he seems to almost unwittingly recreate lisas appearance, primarily by allowing her hair to grow long even though he knows what a risk that is to her safety. he also treats buddy in a manner thats incredibly similar to how marty treated lisa (sans sexual abuse, of course) - he insults her, does not let her leave the house at all, and forces her to do unsavory things that no one should ever have to do (in buddys case, this means killing at least two innocent people because brad doesnt want a “weak” daughter). the most literal comparison between buddy and lisa is the fact that they are both very young girls being essentially held captive by their father figures, albeit for different reasons, and both long for freedom from their captors. 

theres also the fact that both buddy and lisa have to deal with misogyny and the effects of rape culture firsthand; they both battle against men who feel entitled to do with them whatever they please, and the threat of ongoing sexual abuse looms heavy over both of their heads. neither one can seek help from anyone; the neighbors in brad and lisas town seem complacent at best, if they even know what is happening to lisa at all, and buddys only allies (sans rando) are long dead by the start of the joyful. this is not just a hypothetical or a distant possibility. this is the real, tangible fate that will befall them if they cant somehow secure their safety.

sadly, because lisa wasnt playable in either of the rpgs, we dont know if she was able to fight as brad was, but it is highly probable that she had the innate skill but was never able to learn it (as marty highly discouraged them from learning “their grandfathers karate,” and seemed disgusted whenever brad did so). however, she did have ONE weapon she could make use of, and this is a weapon buddy ends up using, as well - her femininity. she became close to bernard (aka buzzo), made him fall in love with her, and then used him as a last ditch effort to stop martys abuse by having him mutilate her face. im not saying lisa never cared about bernard - in fact, i think she DID really love and care for him - but her own fucked up experiences with “love” meant she really couldnt understand what it was supposed to be like, or that it was wrong to manipulate the people you care about. lisa did very few things wrong - it pretty much just stops at the maiming of the cat and her manipulation of bernard - but she knew that she would never get away from marty without some kind of drastic action being taken, and scarring herself was her last ditch effort before ultimately committing suicide.

buddy ends up taking a somewhat similar tack in the joyful, and like in lisas case, its simultaneously resourceful and horrific. one of buddys key moves in the joyful is to flash the enemy (which the player obviously doesnt see) in order to distract them long enough to get the kill. its fucking horrible and disgusting and makes you feel so dirty, but then, how must buddy feel having to do something like that just to survive? shes just a child, but in a world where almost every man is out to get you, she knows this has to be done to save herself, very much like lisa. unlike in lisas case, though, buddy is successful in securing her safety in this way - lisas effort is for naught, and leads to her committing suicide not very long after. 

in a way, i sort of attribute buddys brutality to lisas omnipresence; all of the men pursuing buddy are just like marty, monsters who would harm a fucking child for their own disgusting ends, and i think that when buzzo said that lisa wouldve loved olathe, what he means is that she would have loved seeing so many horrible men being punished for what theyd done. so in my opinion, buddy carving out a place for herself in olathe by killing all those who would subjugate her seems very much in the mentality lisa would have had. sure, there are some innocents who sadly get roped into it, but that would definitely not be her intention; for example, if buzzo could have practiced amputation without harming a living thing, i dont think lisa would have asked him to practice on the cat. note the LACK of brutality at the beehive and the swamp bar, two of the few peaceful places in the painful and both devoid of predatory men hunting for buddy - lisa has no qualm with any of them. but marty? brad could hardly even get a full sentence out before killing him on the spot. i dont doubt that that has a great deal to do with lisas presence. 

ok i talked for a while LMAO but basically i think that, in a more metatextual sense, lisa and buddys relationship really strikes me as an accurate depiction of generational trauma. of course it was intentional with the more obvious trauma chain (marty to brad to buddy), but the trauma chain of marty to lisa to buddy is rarely ever addressed due to lisa not physically appearing in the painful. however, i believe it may inform buddys actions a great deal more than people realize - after all, buddys experience is unique, but who could understand it better than lisa? who knows that sort of pain, of being alone on an island, the lone woman trapped with a man (or men) who want nothing more than to cause you harm? even without her realizing it, lisa is guiding buddy, encouraging her to take back what is hers no matter the cost, to punish those who would try to take what they want from her. lisa might be dead, but she is a vengeful presence throughout every game, and buddys actions feel like theyre meant not only to save herself, but to avenge lisa, even if she doesnt realize it. at the end of the day, buddy and lisa both get to exact revenge against all the men who have wronged them, and they succeed. they are aggressive, and violent, and selfish, and ANGRY - and they have every fucking right to be. 

[sketchy-saram]

Hello! This is Chapter 2 of a Kiwren (Kiran/Wren) story I wrote a while back, although you can find it in their tag if you want to read part one! For anyone who is new, Kiran is @lazyvoyager​‘s fan kid of Illain and Muriel, and Wren is the adopted kid of my Celeste and Julian.

Summary: After seeing her crush with someone else, Wren goes to drink her sorrows away at the Rowdy Raven...after hatching a plot to leave Vesuvia, fate has other plans, and she is rescued just in time to throw up on her rescuer and pass out. xD

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

KIWREN CHAPTER 2

     Wren stood in the middle of a beautiful meadow. Dappled sunlight shone through the cherry blossom trees, petals gently floating down to the ground and forming a pillowy, light-pink carpet under her feet. She was barefoot--oh, no, she was actually wearing extremely cute slippers, with ribbons that tied up the length of her calves, meeting with the frothy hem of her skirt. It was a dress she had been toying with, beautifully tailored, and now she was wearing it here--wherever here was--and the scene was absolutely perfect. She reached for her braid, only to realize her hair was already loose and in gorgeous honey-amber waves, and had grown a foot or two as well, adorned with a cherry-blossom crown at the top.

     Everything was adorable and elegant, and the warm glow she felt wasn’t only from the sun, especially when she glanced across the field and saw the love of her life standing there. He was tall and svelte; that scar across his face adding such character; the dark lines of the tattoo on his chest just peeking out from underneath a billowing white linen shirt. The sight of it had Wren feeling weak in the knees; her stomach trembled, her heart fluttered.

     Giddy, she began to run through the petals towards him, in what felt like slow-motion...or, maybe she was running in slow motion? Weird...and he turned to look at her fully, a smile spreading across his face, his arms opening wide in preparation for her. Any confusion she felt was forgotten. 

     Perfect.

     And then there was the oddest sensation of falling. A sudden drop. Everything around her darkened to the black of deadest night. She was barely able to catch herself...except, wait, she hadn’t caught herself at all. She was in a firm grip, surrounded by muscle. Her stomach pitched; this time uncomfortably. Wren’s eyes wildly rolled, trying to find where he had gone...only to see him, walking away, his arm around a beautiful woman with curves everywhere and ever-expanding breasts…

     With a jolt, Wren sat up in bed, sweat covering her face and neck, what was left in her stomach threatening to come up. With a heroic amount of effort, she choked it back down, although it was touch-and-go for a few seconds. When at last she could open her eyes without the room spinning, it was with no small amount of consternation.

     While she was pretty sure she was no longer dreaming, this was not  the room she remembered. It wasn’t her room, and, she was fairly certain, it wasn’t ANY room in her house. She wasn’t even sure it was a room, if she was being honest. Was that...a tree root? Was this house built into a tree? Was that sanitary? Didn’t bugs live in trees? Squirrels? Birds? 

     Were there birds in this house??

     Her mind whirled, and she had to press her hand to her mouth again and stop all thought in order not to be sick. The strange musty smell surrounding her didn’t help, and when she looked down at the blanket that had pooled around her waist, she realized it was some sort of pelt. 

     Opening one eye, she tried again to take stock of where she was, and to remember what had happened. Why couldn’t she remember? What did she do last night??

     And then the last part of the dream flashed before her eyes in stark relief. 

     Oh. That’s right. That part...wasn’t a dream. Well, the enormous breasts part might have been, but the rest wasn’t. Her chest seized in pain before she could stop herself from thinking about it. She didn’t want to think about it, and luckily for her, there were other pressing matters to focus on. Wren could recall walking through town, dwelling on her misery, and then…

     She groaned.

     The Raven.

     Yes, that was where it had all gone south, so to speak. She had a vague recollection of leaving, and something about her sketchbook…?

     Ugh. Her mouth was like cotton, every part of her face felt puffy and blotchy from yesterday’s crying, and she desperately wanted to curl under a blanket that wasn’t made from animals and pretend not to exist for at least a day. Maybe a couple months. If she could, she would hibernate this whole heartache away. But, it seemed, that was never going to be her luck, so instead, she had to figure out what to do next.

     Gingerly, Wren threw back the rest of the hide with her forefinger and thumb, revealing with relief that she was still wearing everything from the day before...with a few new, dubious stains. She added fresh clothes and a shower to the list of things she would have killed for right about then. Instead, she got her feet planted on the roughly-hewn wooden floor, just about ready to try standing…

     When the door of the hut? room? crashed open to reveal one of the biggest men she’d ever seen.

     Reflexively, she grabbed the hide again, yanking it up to her chin to cover herself despite being fully clothed. The stranger didn’t seem to notice as he looked towards her, his face a mess of freckles and beaming smile in dark, sun-tanned skin. The visage looked vaguely familiar, but the pounding of her heart stopped Wren’s mind from being able to place it. 

     “You’re awake!” he said, voice booming cheerfully around the homely abode. It was not as deep as she might have expected from someone so...well...built. “I wasn’t sure what we were going to do with you if you didn’t wake up, honestly.”

     That statement had the hairs on Wren’s neck bristling, and instead of staring at this newcomer, she remembered that all else aside, she was in a dangerous situation. A woman, alone with an extremely burly man, in a strange place, unsure of what was happening. 

     Well, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight, that was for sure.

     She screamed, and the sound seemed to have the desired effect--the stranger froze, and it gave her enough time to scramble up, her entire attention only on reaching the door he’d left open in his wake. She could see the outside through it--if she got there, she was free.

      “Wait!” The man’s face was creased in confusion, and his eyebrows rose almost comically. In fact, watching the series of expressions was almost interesting--Wren had never seen someone with such an openly expressive face. Every thought seemed to cross its deep-set, rugged expanse.

     Is he simple? Wren thought. She didn’t know if that would help or hurt her situation. So far, nothing seemed to have happened to her, but she didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary to find out. Glancing to her side, she saw she was next to a low-banked fireplace...and right by her hand was a cast-iron skillet. Grabbing it, she held it out in front of her like a sword.

     To her surprise, the man actually took a step back, his green eyes widening.

     “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.” 

     Slowly, she crept her way along the floor, her eyes firmly held on the stranger, whose face was now comically torn between concern and confusion.

     “Listen, I didn’t mean--”

     “Nope. Don’t say anything.”

     “But I--”

     “Shoosh.”

     “You really should just--”

     “You have the wrong girl, buddy.”

     At last, Wren reached the door he had come in through, and risking a look back at it, saw that it wasn’t locked. She brandished the skillet at him once more, then tossed it on a nearby table and swiftly turned, slipping through as quickly as her still-wobbly legs would carry her.

     Finally! Freedom!

     Outside, bright noon-time sun was filtered through a thick layer of forest vegetation, and Wren realized with a start that she was in the middle of the woods. Her stomach, still in a bad way, tied itself into further knots. She could be almost anywhere, although the Dark Forest seemed the most likely answer. Now, from outside the hut, she could see that it was indeed built into the roots of the nearby trees, and a newer addition looked like it had been added onto the original one-room home haphazardly. Maybe by magic? It honestly did not look architecturally sound.

     Here in the yard there seemed to be a host of various animals roaming, cultivated in a miniature forest farm--chickens pecked the ground around Wren’s feet, and she had to jump back to avoid one that was aiming for her toes.

     Now even chickens are trying to get me? Could I catch a break for one freaking second?!

     Wren sucked in a deep breath, trying to center herself, her eyes nervously trained on the door. She could vaguely tell which way the sun had risen from, which meant she knew which way Vesuvia was. You didn’t learn nothing about wayfinding growing up on a ship, after all. Her house sat beyond the Vesuvian walls to the west of South End, which was the complete opposite of town from the Dark Forest. Great. She was tired before she even started, but with a groan, Wren set off into the woods.

     She hated the woods. They were full of bugs and dirt and rocks and...nature. Honestly, nothing good came out of the woods, of that she was sure. Still, the fresh air was nice for her queasy hangover stomach, and it seemed to jog awake her half-asleep brain at last as the adrenaline faded away. She had time to think about that man, who had seemed vaguely familiar, although she was sure they’d never met before…

     And then something from her dream-that-wasn’t-a-dream dawned on her. Falling, and strong arms catching her like a doll from thin air. It certainly could have been him...he looked like he probably snapped tree trunks over his knees for fun. Arms strapped with muscle every which-way. At the time, trapped in a room with him, that had been unsettling, but now…

     Wren coughed, shaking away the thought. His outfit, on the other hand, was an absolute tragedy. With that build, she thought, there were a few styles she could imagine that would better suit--

     My sketchbook! 

     With absolute horror, Wren realized she no longer had possession of her sketches, even as her hands patted her down to be sure. Had they been left behind in South End? Or were they… She turned to look back over her shoulder, where the hut had already vanished, but a faint puff of smoke from the chimney still gave away its location. 

     I can’t go back there for my sketchbook. That’s crazy. That man could be an axe-murderer you surprised before he had time to murder you.

     But...that book had all of my most recent designs. A month of work, gone. I’ll never remember all the details exactly as they were. I don’t want to have to start them from scratch again…

     After a brief mental struggle, Wren finally turned on her heels with a sigh, begrudgingly headed back in the direction she came.

     There was still no sign of anyone when Wren quietly snuck back into the clearing, chewing her thumbnail as she thought about how to proceed. The man hadn’t actually done anything to her...maybe if she just...asked him about the sketchbook, he would answer her? It was so crazy, it just might work. So, sucking up her courage and trying to pull her flyaway mane of hair from her face, Wren stomped across the grounds and back to the door of the hut.

     Just as she was wondering whether or not to knock, it swung open, revealing the stranger again. They blinked at each other, unsure who was the more surprised.

     “You!” he began, obvious surprise in his tone. It was startlingly loud--did he ever just say anything without shouting?

Wren glanced around, wishing she had brought the skillet with her. Instead, she bent down and grabbed the best thing she could find--which happened to be a nearby roosting chicken, who clucked indignantly in her grasp.

     It was probably a poor choice of weapon, she thought, but hoped it might at least stop him from attacking her outright. What she hadn’t expected was this tree-trunk of a man to suddenly look so panicked and fretful.

     “Wait wait! Just...wait!”

     “You. I don’t know who you are, or what I’m doing here, but if you don’t want this...chicken...harmed…”

     “No, not Mr. Cluckers!”

     “...” Wren blinked, then shook her head. “...Yes, if you don’t want Mr. Cluckers harmed, then listen to me and answer my question. Do you have my sketchbook?!”

     “Your what? Be careful with her, she’s old!”

     Mr. Cluckers let out another string of cries from under Wren’s arm.

     “Why did you name your chicken Mr. Cluckers if it’s a girl chicken??”

     “We never name them, my dad does!”

     “That’s not--okay, whatever, that doesn’t matter. My sketchbook! Do you have it?”

     The man stood with his arms raised, large hands that looked like they were more callous than skin, and Wren couldn’t help being struck by the absurdity of this situation. He was actually, really and truly scared for the chicken, and it was beginning to make her feel bad as he struggled to think around his fear.

     “I...maybe? Was that all those papers you had? Yeah, I have them in the house! I made you breakfast! Can we just...could we talk about this?”

     After a tense moment where Wren looked between the man and Mr. Cluckers, she finally let out a huge sigh, holding the chicken in both hands and tossing it out into the yard, where it flapped its wings and came to an awkward landing amongst its fellows. Visibly, the large stranger relaxed, wiping the sweat off his forehead and running a hand over his short brown hair.

     “Fine. Talk.” Wren ground out grumpily.

     He opened his mouth. Instead, an extremely loud grumble practically rattled the leaves on the trees around them, and Wren felt her face flame as she realized the sound had come from her stomach. She closed her eyes and grimaced. Was there a chance that the Dark Forest would swallow her whole? At this point, she wasn’t even sure why she was worried about what this man might do to her--her entire life was nothing but a string of misery and embarrassment, anyway.

     When she opened her eyes, to her surprise, he was grinning, and it made him seem more youthful, somehow. In fact, despite his hulking size, she would have almost wagered he wasn’t too much older than her--maybe Felix’s age.

     “Are you sure you don’t want to come in? I made eggs,” he said, gesturing towards the door and holding it open.

With a flick of her messy braid and a loud ‘harrumph’, Wren stomped past him and entered the hut again, avoiding his mirthful eyes.

Well, she was hungry, anyway. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.

[brandyovereager]

The Phoenix Effect - pt. 5

It’s finally finished! Hope you all love it!

On ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195906/chapters/59090404

Summary: Rowan is in Rifthold with Dorian when a strange phenomenon sweeps the land. Those once dead are popping up alive. Everyday, more and more are Reborn. One day Rowan encounters a Reborn young man who refuses to give his name, only asking to know the whereabouts of Celaena Sardothien.

-

Rowan stared at the doors to the Assassin’s Keep, watching with a soldier’s eye for any sign of trouble. Nearly half an hour in, and he had not heard a single sound. The Keep was still, betraying no signs of motion inside, leaving the Fae to wonder if anyone was even in there. This was certainly not what he had expected.

The door to the Keep opened, and out walked the young Reborn. There was no sign of struggle or stealth to his exit, which piqued Rowan’s interest. He was walking unabashedly out the front door in full view. What had happened inside the Keep?

Rowan might have asked the young man as much if he hadn’t approach the male and immediately doled out instruction.

“Can you get me an audience with the King of Adarlan?” Well, that just exponentially increased the number of questions Rowan had.

This kid was deep in some weird shit.

————

Sam was still reeling from what Tern had told him.

Celaena had not died in Endovier, she got out. The Crown Prince at the time (now the King) had freed her and brought her back to work for his father. He couldn’t believe the odds. Nobody lasted as long as she had in the mines, let alone left there alive.

They had tried to smother the great Celaena Sardothien, but she had emerged unbroken. She was magnificent.

Sam could tell that Tern was still playing mind games when he’d told him about Celaena, but Sam didn’t care enough to waste time forcing it all out of him. Tern had given him information enough to do what he needed, Dorian Havilliard could fill in any holes.

It made sense, what Tern had told him. In all the seedy taverns Sam had sat in listening for word of Celaena, there was not even a whisper of the assassin’s name. It had puzzled and concerned Sam, but now knowing she was covertly employed by the King, it fit that she would not be able to identify herself as Adarlan’s Assassin. The King couldn’t very well let it get out that he was employing a supposedly imprisoned criminal to do his dirty work.

Was the new king just like his father? In the time since his rebirth, Sam had seen a good portion of Rifthold and heard much about King Dorian. The country was still rebuilding from the war, but otherwise the people seemed more prosperous and happy than they’d been before his death. King Dorian had ended many of his father’s evil practices, and from what Sam could tell, had significantly improved international relations. What would a king like that do with Celaena?

Sam had been reluctant to take on help with his search at first, but now it seemed like a miracle that he had the King of Terrasen on his side. Before, in order to see Dorian Havilliard he would’ve had to infiltrate the most secure structure in Rifthold, and somehow manage to get the most guarded man inside at his mercy. With Rowan, they could just walk into the castle and have the Fae pull his friend aside for a chat.

At least, the Kings of Adarlan and Terrasen seemed to be friends. Terrasen’s Queen had sent her Fae husband to help the King, so they must have been at least cordial. Sam wondered how much of Dorian Havilliard’s business Rowan was privy too. Maybe the male helping him had known the entire time where Celaena was?

Did he dare ask? If the Fae did know, he might be able to take him to Celaena without having to see the King. However, if he didn’t, Sam could expose Celaena even more. Rowan had proven himself trustworthy and discreet so far, but the Fae’s past was still a mystery, and one Sam was exceptionally curious about.

“You were trained by Arobynn Hammel?” Sam was shocked, partly by Rowan breaking their silence, but more so by the words he spoke. The male knew, he knew far more than what Sam had revealed to him. A royal from Terrasen should not have such knowledge of Arobynn Hammel. The mystery of Rowan’s past was becoming increasingly concerning.

Sam stopped walking and turned to face Rowan, making sure to look him dead in the eye as he spoke.

“That sounded less like a question and more like an observation.” Rowan was unshaken, persisting with the topic.

“You move like an assassin and, considering we were just at the Assassin’s Keep, it didn’t seem like a stretch to assume you worked there.” It was understandable that a warrior male could identify him as an assassin, but the fact that this Fae recognized the doors to the Keep was unusual.

“You’re familiar with the Keep and its inhabitants?” Not only had he recognized the Keep, but he knew who had led it.

“I think you’ll find I know quite a bit more about the Assassin’s Guild than most.” There was no reason the King should, and it was unsettling.

“What business would a Terrasen royal have with assassins in Rifthold?” Even if he had travelled to Adarlan before, why would he have been at the Keep?

“My mate has some bad history with Hammel. We actually visited the Keep just before he was killed. It was the first and only time I set foot in that place.” Arobynn had known Aelin Galathynius?

“You saw him just before he died?” Sam’s voice was beyond incredulous. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on him. “Arobynn Hammel met with the King and Queen of Terrasen hours before his murder?” Rowan let out a sound that might have been a chuckle.

“It does sound somewhat unbelievable, doesn’t it?” That was an understatement, and not as amusing to Sam as it seemed to be to the Fae. “I was not King at the time, though, simply a devoted member of her court. I was there for the selfish purpose of glowering at the self-appointed King of Assassins whenever he upset my Queen.” His smile as he spoke grew wicked.

“Do you know who killed him? Did something happen when you were there?” It was difficult to believe they had left mere hours before Arobynn’s death and didn’t know anything about the circumstances surrounding it. While his main goal was to find Celaena, there was a sick satisfaction in learning more about the death of Arobynn Hammel.

“His murderess is a member of my Queen’s court. They came up with the plan together. Aelin wanted to face him one last time before her lady took a knife to his skin.” Perhaps choosing the King of Terrasen to assist him was a smart move. He and his Queen seemed to have no great love for Arobynn Hammel. They could be good allies to have.

“Of all the people who wanted Arobynn Hammel dead, I did not expect Aelin Galathynius to have been involved.” Arobynn had a long list of enemies who wished him dead, one of which was likely Celaena herself.

“Aelin had a life before she finally took back her throne. There was a reason it took her so many years to do so, and Arobynn Hammel was a great part of that.” It would seem not only the King of Terrasen had an interesting past, but his Queen as well. What a curious pair of royals.

“I suppose you may have been right then, you do know quite a bit more about the Assassin’s Guild than most.”

The rest of their walk to the castle was silent.

————

This young man had worked for Arobynn Hammel. The Guild was likely who he had been hiding from, probably who had killed him. He was so young, just on the cusp from boy to man, but Rowan knew Hammel had ruined the lives of far younger.

He was looking for someone, a woman he wanted to protect. Some part of Rowan that remembered the young man’s question about Endovier twisted with the thought that he might know who that woman is.

They turned down the hallway to Dorian’s chambers and found Chaol standing outside talking to another man whose face was obscured from Rowan’s view.

“Rowan, we were just about to send for you.” At Chaol’s words the man he’d been speaking to turned around.

“Aedion,” the aforementioned male met Rowan in an embrace, “what are you doing in Adarlan?” When they first met, Rowan and Aedion had harbored some animosity for each other. Now, however, just the sight of the Demi-Fae made him happy in a way he never would have imagined. Rowan missed Terrasen, but he missed his family most of all, and Aedion was a part of that. Not to mention that Aedion bore such a resemblance to Aelin that just looking at him made Rowan feel closer to her.

“Aelin sent me to fetch you, she wants her mate back. It’s time for you to come home.” He’d been waiting for this news to come. His work in Rifthold was mostly complete and he would be needed back in Terrasen. If he could, he’d start the journey back right this second, but his work with the assassin boy was not complete.

“How soon must we leave? I need to finish up some things before I can go.” Chaol seemed a bit puzzled at that, but Aedion accepted it with ease.

“We can depart at your discretion, I’m more than happy to abuse Dorian’s hospitality.” With the smirk now gracing his face, Rowan didn’t doubt Aedion one bit. He was sure Aedion would be making the most of whatever time they spent here.

The young man Rowan had been assisting stepped forward and made himself known to the group. Chaol and Aedion seemed quite surprised when they finally took note of the man Rowan had entered with.

“Excuse me, who are you?” The hulking Demi-Fae towered over the young assassin, but he questioned the men with confidence and a sense of entitlement Rowan often saw in his Queen.

“I could ask you the same question, boy.” Aedion’s posture had shifted, he was now on his guard against the unknown young man.

“I’m a reborn, King Rowan is helping me locate a loved one from before my death.” Rowan had been helping the boy all day and still had not been told even a first name, Aedion wasn’t going to get a straight answer.

“That’s what you’re doing here, but it’s not a name.” The young man did not open his mouth.

“Well, I am Aedion Ashryver, and I don’t appreciate anonymous strangers hanging around members of my court.” The Ashryver male seemed very peeved with the young man. Perhaps some better conversation skills would’ve extended his life.

“The Wolf of the North? You’re from Terrasen?” The young man looked very puzzled, as if the information didn’t fit his expectations.

“Smart kid.” The Ashryver attitude was activated, but the kid didn’t seem fazed, Rowan respected him more for it.

“Do you have family here?” What in hell? Rowan had not anticipated a line of questioning for his cousin.

“The only blood I have left is in Terrasen. What’s it to you?” Yes, please explain what you are thinking here, kid.

“You just,” the young man examined Aedion closer, “you look like,” he trailed off again, lost in thought. Finally, the words that he settled on were, “do you have a sister?”

Chaol, Aedion, and Rowan all froze where they stood. The question’s answer was a definitive no, but it was not entirely unfounded. It could not be ignored that Aedion and Aelin shared so many similar features that they were often assumed to be siblings.

If this young man recalled a female resembling Aedion, it was likely that he had met Aelin—especially given his connection to Arobynn Hammel. That nagging part of Rowan’s mind made itself known again.

Aedion narrowed his eyes at the young man.

“You have met a female who looks like me?” Things were starting to fall into place, and they might have a long time ago if Rowan had bothered to entertain his nagging thoughts.

“Is that possible? You say you come from Terrasen, I spent my life in Adarlan. The woman I knew lived in Rifthold since she was a girl.” It was more possible than he knew.

“The woman you’re looking for, is she Celaena Sardothien?” The young man hadn’t been expecting Rowan’s question, but he now seemed aware that there was something more going on than he knew.

“Yes. You all know her?” The three males nodded. Rowan met the young man’s eyes and spoke evenly.

“I think the time has come to share our secrets, amongst us, they are safe.” Hidden information would only hinder them now. The young man seemed to agree.

“Alright. I will tell mine, and you will tell me yours?” The three nodded again.

“You knew Celaena Sardothien?” a nod “and that would make you…?” Rowan let the question trail off.

“Sam Cortland.”

The nagging part of his brain sat back smugly, as if to say I told you so.

@rowaelinforeverworld @flowersinvegas @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @camixd93 @lord-douglas-the-third @montse121296 @dank-queen7 @slytheringalathynius