#but i wish historians who write about these things

[madtomedgar]

I don't get the like "it only stopped because men decided they didn't like it, meaning the women liked the thing and were the main forces behind it" about body modifications for women. Like. If the *point* of those body modifications is to ensure a good marriage and desirability, and essentially your market decides they don't like the product anymore, then yes, it will stop. It stops when men decide they don't like it because they are the ones with societal power, and their interest or disinterest determines the entire trajectory of women's lives in these societies. Kind of like how if colleges stopped asking for SAT scores and in fact looked down on students who took it, parents would stop pushing their kids to do well on the SAT because the point of it is to set you up for a successful position for the rest of your life, not because they think the thing itself is inherently good or fun.

[wishesofeternity]

“Throughout Henry’s exile, Margaret (Beaufort) seems to have been a faithful correspondent, keeping her son abreast of affairs in England. Though none of their letters from this period have survived, it is highly probable that they contained sentiments similar to those she expressed in her later letters to him: she often gave him her blessing, and on one occasion, in a reflection of her affection towards him, she assured Henry that ‘I trust you shall well perceive I shall deal towards you as a kind, loving mother’. At this time, however, Margaret was clearly considering the possibility of bringing about his return, though she also recognised that this would take time. As her standing with Edward IV improved, so too did her confidence to effect a reconciliation. If she could continue to win the king’s trust, Henry’s foreign exile could potentially be brought to an end.

By the beginning of June 1482, her efforts appear to have produced some results when Edward agreed that Henry could receive a share of his grandmother the dowager Duchess of Somerset’s lands to the value of £400 (£276,500) if he were to return ‘to be in the grace and favour of the king’s highness’. Edward signed the agreement on 3 June, attaching his official seal. A draft still survives and can be found among Margaret’s papers. The groundwork for Henry to return home had been laid. Edward’s grip on the reins of power was unchallenged, and with two surviving sons, his dynasty appeared to be assured—Margaret’s son was no longer a threat. Thus it was that, on an unknown date, Edward—curiously, using the same piece of paper on which Margaret’s second husband had been created Earl of Richmond—drafted a pardon for her son. Margaret began to hope that she and Henry would soon be reunited.”  

- Nicola Tallis, “The Uncrowned Queen: The Fateful Life of Margaret Beaufort, Tudor Matriarch”

[chimaerakitten]

Literally the whole time I was reading the Temeraire series I was constantly thinking about how history is going to view some of the events, most of which must look absolutely wild from the outside.

And anyway I’ve lately come to the conclusion that despite Laurence’s many, many frustrations with the inaccuracies in the way his contemporaries view events that happen around him, he’s going to have the last word in the end because nobody else is writing shit down.

Like, Laurence is a very good corespondent who writes letters constantly and reports diligently, which is not true of most aviators. And considering how much of the series is just Tem&Co traveling all over the place there’s huge swathes of the story for which Laurence’s reports would be the only English-language primary source. Sipho will almost certainly be the one who writes the interesting, descriptive, polished versions, (the ones people actually want to read 200 years later) but he’ll be writing them years after the fact so Laurence’s reports will be the thing to check everything else against.

Which is going to mean there’s a lot of things that will eventually go down in history accurately despite several major colonial powers wishing it otherwise, but it will also make it hilariously difficult puzzle out anything about Laurence’s temperament etc. because the image of his personality that emerges from his oft-cited extremely dry reports and the image that emerges from every outside source is going to just be wildly different. Which will only increase the likelihood that he’s going to be one of those “ask six historians from six countries about him and you’ll get seven answers” historical figures despite the fact that in the English-speaking world at least he’s one of the people with the greatest control over the historical narrative.

[actualmermaid]

It's been three months since I made this post about Saints Sergius and Bacchus, John Boswell, classical Western homoeroticism, and Christian homophobia.

Since then I have read both of Boswell's books on the history of gay/queer people in premodern Christianity (Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality and Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe), familiarized myself more fully with the spectrum of charges against Boswell and his scholarship, and realized that he's been the subject of ideologically-motivated smear campaigns by just about every political/religious/academic faction you can imagine. My conclusion: Professor Boswell is a saint, martyr, and important queer elder who does not get the respect that he deserves, and I'm in awe of the sheer volume of the massive genius brain that was somehow crammed into his little blond head.

ANYWAY. This is an official followup to my original post, now that I've read Boswell's work.

I take back my hunch that Boswell's work was not intersectional. He was, in fact, a pioneer in the field of medieval social history, and utilized a wide range of critical lenses in his work. He was inhibited by the lack of documented evidence about some groups (for example, he was frequently criticized for not writing more about lesbians, but he was open about the difficulties of researching lesbians in history and explained what he was doing as a scholar and as a teacher to mitigate this) but he constantly called attention to issues of class, gender, and other social factors wherever they were relevant.

I was RIGHT in noticing that the slight difference in rank between Sergius and Bacchus seems to be an erastes/eromenos indicator! Boswell spoke at greater length and with greater sensitivity about erastes/eromenos dynamics in history, so if you want a deeper look into that, you should read his books.

I was also probably right in noticing that the legend of Sergius and Bacchus is seeded with various forms of Byzantine propaganda! I really wish that I could talk to him about it. :(

Both secular queer theorists and religious queer theologians seem to be most uncomfortable with the fact that Boswell was reporting on historical facts and observable social forces, not idealized concepts of queer people as somehow being more ethical or spiritual than the straight majority. He included evidence of things like abuse, prostitution, and exploitation not because he thought they were cool, but because they were part of the material reality of queer people's existence in the past, just like they were part of the material reality of his own 70s-80s gay subculture.

That was his bottom line: gay/queer people are a normal human variation, and as a historian, he could provide hard proof of their existence and what their lives might have been like. If his work seems "shallow" or "dated" to some more modern queer researchers, it's only because so many people were willing to dismiss his scholarship, reject his work, and abandon his research leads after he died. But, he was actually super smart and his scholarship was actually meticulous, so even his most dedicated critics have been unable to "debunk" him. Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality most recently had a 35th-anniversary reprinting, and he is still being cited as an authority by more recent scholars.

Even though the full strength of the Church and the Academy were leveled against him, his work has proven its own worth. He still deserves to be read and discussed by both professional scholars and enthusiastic hobbyists. And, the Open and Affirming movement in Christianity wouldn't be as strong as it is without his confirmation that "gays and lesbians are normal," as he put it, and not simply a construct of modern society.

Rest in power, Professor Boswell. We won't forget you.

Since I made that post, I have also opened a sticker shop with a bunch of queer Christian saint icons, including Boswell and some of the queer saints he discovered/wrote about. They're pretty cool. You should buy one.

[quotevarchive]

hey! hope this ask finds you well. so, im a bit of an amateur digital historian (in that i take internet history seriously) and i like to write casual essays about websites from time to time. quotev flew up on my radar when i saw some yall on cohost, and ive been reading everything i can about it for the last several days. from what i've gathered, nobody really knew quotev's double life except for q users themselves. in fact, it's been such a well-guarded secret that most are unaware of quotev's existence, much less that it was a quiz site with a secret component to it. so i am putting out a call to you and any quotevians reading: would any yall be open to contributing to a quotev post-mortem? it seems like it was a pretty monumental site to many users, and as for the pain of its loss, i understand it myself: the website i consider basically 'my highschool years' went dark just last year, and knowing that it's essentially lost to everyone but those who were there for it bums me out. BUT quotev is still fresh in the minds of the people who called it home, and i'd love a chance to learn more about its unique culture and what made it so special to its users, even if many users now feel betrayed by it. if you do publish this ask (which you are under no obligation to do so), anyone reading it is free to send me an ask directly and i'll make sure my anon is on in case anybody wants to remain anonymous. also just in case i need to clarify, i'm not trying to write a smear piece or anything tabloidesque involving individual users - i want to know quotev as users knew it, whatever was loved and hated and why it will be bitterly missed.

yes hi!!! This ask is so exciting to me because I have been a little too into quotev history and dynamics and social interaction (hence the blog) for a few years now. I only started “archiving” in late 2022, but feel free to look through my older posts for any info. everything's a bit clogged up with the “quotev death” posts but back in the archive there’s a decent amount of stuff. I collect whatever i can. also feel free to hmu if you have any specific questions.

the hidden social media of quotev was always such a funny thing to me. Even older users who used to roleplay or make quizzes and fanfics there didn’t seem to be quite aware that it had become so centered around the activity feed, and of course any mentions of it on bigger platforms like youtube were always like “cringe 12y/o fanfic haha.” (Not that anything we actually did was any less silly.) anyway, i was always torn about this because i did NOT want quotev to become more popular, but i wished people knew about the crazy shit that really went down there. Your post-mortem is a great idea because you’ll be telling the story of social quotev with no worry of sending new users to the site…because he is already dead

I highly encourage any followers who have fond memories or stupid stories to submit them!

[thebadboyfanclub]

A Risk Taker (Daemon x Reader)

This is my first time writing something like this which was challenging but very entertaining, also I left a little detail that I really hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think by commenting. Enjoy!

“And right over here we have the iron throne, historians reported that it was created by hot steel and its rightful place was in what we now know as London, over here we have-“

(Y/n) stood dumbfounded at the sight of the throne in a result she tuned out what the woman was saying or explaining. She was in amazement at it, it was entirely made of swords, she came to wonder who came up with the idea of such a thing, who was the first to sit upon it, and who was the last. So many questions raced through her brain as she instinctively took a few steps to approach it.

(Y/n) was always interested in what historians call “the time of dragons” Some say it is just silly little stories or just tales of the church that wished to demonize the time before Christ.

“Miss you can’t touch that”

Before the security guard could stop her (y/n)s fingers grazed over the arm of the chair, goosebumps went over her entire body before she gripped it firmly and then everything went black.

“A witch! Protect the king! Disarm her”

“What?”

Before she could react or comprehend what was going on around her someone forced her hands behind her back earning a grunt from her.

“Ouch you asshole let me go”

“How dare you command anything you Bitch let go! I swear to god if I fucking bruise”

“Ser Criston, the lady is clearly in distress and pain, I believe it is best if you release her”

“Yeah that, manners much?”

Daemon had to refrain from laughing at her odd way of phrasing her thoughts. Everyone was on edge at someone that just simply appeared in front of the king and the iron throne just from thin air, her clothing was something no one had ever seen and her face was painted, Daemon carefully walked up the stairs who was rubbing her wrists to relieve herself from the discomfort.

“It is alright my lady, I am Prince Daemon of house Targaryen and you are?”

(Y/n) looked around the room, everyone was dressed in posh clothing that was decorating the museum hours ago and the man that was standing in front of her was the same person that she saw from the portrait when she walked in, also he resembled a lot the actor that played prince Philip at “the crown”.

“I… am (y/n) of house…. (Y/l/n) I guess”

“There is no such thing as house (y/l/n) she is lying, we must throw her in the dungeons”

“I fucking dare you”

“You will do no such thing Ser Criston, the lady isn’t dangerous, she is just as puzzled as we are, do you remember anything before this my lady?”

“I was visiting the Museum of Old England, I believe you guys call it Westeros”

“What was the year?”

“2023”

“So you mean to tell us all this just turns to…”

“History, books and movies”

“What are movies?”

“How do I explain, there is a machine that captures a scene like this for example and then it plays for an audience, like theatre but not really”

“The girl is in hysteria and probably lying, we cannot believe her words and prophecies stand true”

(Y/n) turned her head to eye the man that was talking, a man in his mid-40s she guessed that was dressed in all green and had a little pin with a golden hand, her eyes lit up at the realization of who this man was, and her mind could not comprehend what was going on yet she desperately wanted to prove herself she was being honest, probably because her life was at risk.

“Otto Hightower”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh I know a lot about you, you served the king, and has the king already married your daughter Alicent? Or is Aemma still alive?”

Silence fell over everyone, and looks of concern were being exchanged amongst the people, the lady that spoke knew everything about everyone, there was no way she could create the clothing she was wearing or whatever was on her face, could it be that she was actually from the future?

Frantically (y/n) started to search in her pockets for anything until she thankfully found her phone, she held it up in triumph before she pressed the button to open her screen

“There, see! I have pictures of the stuff that you use! Here is a portrait of one of my favorites from your family, Rhaenyra”

“Me?”

(Y/n)s eyes laid upon the young Targaryen, god the casting of her movie did such a great job the actress looked like the girl that was standing in front of her. (Y/n) smiled brightly at the princess before she took an awkward bow to the princess making her stumble on her way up.

“Princess Rhaenyra, an Oh my gosh pleasure to meet you, huge fan by the way, have you married Laenor yet?”

“We are betrothed”

“Well that is surely something ummm, excuse my weird stance but I feel like I will piss on myself from anxiety”

“Mayhaps it would be best if the princess escorted the young lady to one of the chambers, and found something more appropriate for her to wear”

Daemon chimed in, to save the poor lady from embarrassing herself or worst passing out in front of them. (Y/n) who grew self-conscious of her looks rubbed the material of her jeans as she looked down at her outfit, it was pretty stylish for a museum who would have known to dress appropriately for teleporting?

“These are my nice jeans”

“Ladies wear this?”

“Yes Otto they do, ladies also have rights which is a concept you would surely hate”

(Y/n) could feel her heart beat fast at the realization that all eyes are on her, she was someone that no one could vouch for, a girl that just stood there with no background, no title, they could behead her before the sun goes down and then what? Is death the way to go back? Or would she just die and leave everything behind?

She turned to the king to approach him once again, she swallowed the lump in her throat whilst she kneeled in a sign of respect, the instinct of survival had started to make her entire body shake at the fear of the unknown, she must come out of this unharmed.

“King Viserys, I am as shocked as you are still I ask for just some time, I can show you that I speak in all transparency, I can help you, use my knowledge to your advantage until I find a way to go home”

-

(Y/n) had become King Visery's closest advisor they were a good handful of times that Viserys specifically summoned her, he was always infatuated with dreamers so to have a woman with such power was his biggest asset.

Otto was naturally displeased and somewhat furious at her demeanor, her entire personality was just baffling to him, (y/n) interrupted him whenever he tried to offer his piece of mind to the king, (y/n) had taken away the power he had worked tirelessly to create.

(Y/n) was now lady (y/n), alongside Rhaenyra had to earn a seat at the small council which of course Queen Alicent had as well, (y/n) would of course try to stir Viserys in the right direction however a dilemma stuck in her consciousness like a thorn, she was well aware of how this would go, the dance of dragons, the war that will kick off in a few years, the hatred that was brewing between the greens and blacks, the burden fell on her chest like a pile of bricks, if she were to twist the future would the entire world become something different? Or would she save a thousand lives?

They were times that (y/n) could not have foreseen an event, Rhaenyras tragic wedding feast for example did not quite describe the death of a man, even if it did (y/n) could not have prevented it from occurring mind the fact that she was rather busy, Daemon had asked to have a minute… alone with Lady (y/n).

Daemon was always intrigued by her presence, her sharp tongue, and her reluctance to step back when it comes to an argument, she had the fire of a dragon in her, to Daemon it was evidently clear specifically when she was bare, she had confidence, experience, shameless passion, her touch did not tremble nor did she question herself, she took the reigns from him and showed him how they do it in her time.

“Lady (y/n) can I ask you a question?”

“Of course my prince”

“Father says you know the future, will I get a dragon?”

(Y/n) froze, on the morrow of Laenas funeral what would be the odds for meek Aemond to ask such a question? Today is the grim day that Aemond would lose his eye in a squabble between him and his nephews.

All color drained from (y/n)s face although she desperately attempted to keep her composure in front of an impatient Aemond who was looking up at her with eyes full of hope, all he ever wanted was to fit in, to have what everyone else had, though the cost he must pay was a rather painful one. (Y/n) reached to caress the young prince’s soft cheek and create a circle with her thumb on his soft skin.

“You will, my prince, speaking of such how would you like for us to go for a walk later? I would love to speak to you about it”

“Thank you, lady (y/n), I will be waiting for you”

“Promise me you will wait before you go anywhere”

“I promise”

“Pinky swear?”

“What?”

“It’s a tradition from my childhood, just hook your pinky to mine, like so”

Aemonds pinky intertwined with (y/n)s who was smiling brightly at him, she could not let the poor boy lose his eye over a dumb argument between children, all of the families fought but when you add dragons into the mix it can get messy extremely quick.

“May I ask what is this odd choice of a handshake about?”

“Well Otto it is something from my home, know there is where women can show cleavage and their legs and fathers do not marry their daughters to men that are twice their age”

“Yes you have been rather descriptive of the shameful customs your people hold”

“I know, a woman having an orgasm must be such a baffling concept to you or is it the fact that some of us do not wish to have children and there are actually safe ways of protecting us from conceiving that disgusts you?”

“Hold your tongue in front of the prince”

“You do not command me and you do not scare me, Otto, so I suggest you back off and let me be”

“Lady (y/n), may I have a moment alone with you?”

Daemon interrupted the conversation that was getting quite heated, to be discussing with such temper in public was something that was out of character for Otto but there was just something about her that pushed him beyond himself, to vocally express the urge of sexual desires and taunt it so freely, Parading her flesh like a succubus, no Otto refused to give in.

“Of course, my prince, remember our promise sweetling”

She whispered to Aemond before she raffled his head and winked at him playfully, all of the playfulness was gone when she diverted her eyes to Otto, a frown swiftly appeared as she eyed him from head to toe with utter disgust.

“Asshole”

She hissed making Prince Daemon choke on his laugh from being taken by surprise by her choice of words. (Y/n) walked with Daemon side by side but in utter silence, she just silently followed him waiting for Daemon to let her know what he wished to say in private.

She did as such until they reached the shore, her patience had run thin and her shoes were filled with sand, she just plopped down and took off the shoes to properly feel the sand and enjoyed the sensation of direct contact with nature.

“What is it Daemon, spit it out”

“I thought you would be gone by now”

“So did I but I have yet to figure out the way to go home”

“Perhaps you are not supposed to go home”

“Daemon we have discussed this”

“I left because you send me away, even then I send for you, asked for you and you denied me”

“I had a reason and you were married”

“You send me away”

“Are we going to reminisce about what I did the night we fucked at Laenas funeral?”

Daemon came to a halt at her question. Nobody was more embarrassed by his neediness than him, Daemon was a good-looking man and a prince, he never had any trouble with a lady he yearned for, except (y/n).

After the exceptional time they had together he could still vividly describe how she patted him on the shoulder and told him that she should walk into the feast first so they don’t look suspicious, the coldness in her voice after such a steamy affair left him with countless questions.

Daemon sat next to her and just stared at the horizon, he wanted to hug her, tell her how much he missed her, confess to her exactly the amount of letters he had to send asking about her, (y/n) made him feel weak.

“I wanted to come, I often yearned to relive our moment but I cannot offer what you are craving. I could leave at any time just like a came”

“I have always been a risk taker”

“Your end goal is marriage Daemon, I understand that my age here means I am an old maid but where I grew up I am young, I do not wish to be wed nor have children and you do”

“I have children”

“And I am sure you love them and you love being a father because that is who you are, I am simply not”

“Isn’t this lovely, you have me all figured out”

Daemon spitted with sadness dripping at every word, he could not say that she did not have a point, still, at the end of the day he wanted her, he wanted to burn himself alive in her fire just to feel her warmth.

Daemon got up to leave when he was forced to stop by someone holding him by the wrist, once he looked back to find (y/n) on her feet and had latched her fingers on his wrist.

“Daemon don’t be like this”

“Well, what do you suggest then?”

(Y/n) did not know what to say for the first time in forever, she acted on instinct when she hugged him, her head went on his chest and his heartbeat was picking up at the beat that caused a smile to decorate her lips. Daemon hesitated though he gave in and pulled her tightly.

“This is not fair, you are playing dirty”

“I never had you for a man that is afraid to get in the mud”

They both giggled and (y/n) lifted her head to take a proper look at the prince who was smiling down at her. His index finger and thumb found their way to her chin, after all these years she had frozen in time, still as breathtaking and agitating as he left her.

Daemon was taking too long for her liking so she took initiative and collided her lips to his while being on her toes which did not last long since Daemon was always quick on his feet and pulled her up for her to wrap her legs around his torso, both of them moaned in each other's mouths from the anticipation, Daemon could feel the harsh licks of her fire surrounding him an experience that was so sweet yet deadly.

Daemon made the mistake of laying her on her back which only resorted in (y/n) putting her entire weight on her legs to flip him over in an instant, she never really liked allowing someone to lay on top of her.

Their movements were messy and rushed, and both of them could not contain themselves, they wanted to see one another naked, feel their skin bare as they caressed one another, her moans were animalistic, and the way she moved was like a conqueror that raced into a battle, Daemon was left defenseless and became a mere puppet to her game of sex, he did not complain of course this was what he loved about her, this was (y/n)s favorite part of sex, the feeling of it, the urge of it, the realization that you want someone’s body, that it’s yours for the taking.

Daemon gripped her hips so harshly that he left marks behind, secretly he thought that he was being greedy by being the only one to experience such a show, (y/n) at her natural habitat, what a foolish fantasy, to have an audience in their beddings, he shoved that idea at the very back of his head when it dawned on him that other men would see her naked, would listen to her moans, they would know her magic.

Daemon was utterly unaware that his fantasy was becoming reality at this very moment, both of them blinded by passion to the point that none of them looked around, they focused on each other's eyes, the eyes that whispered everything that was left unsaid between them.

Once their connection came to its very peak (y/n) left her body to lay on top of his as she desperately worked to catch her breath, it was then that a man dressed in green decided to leave the scenery, a man that had spied on them and had frozen to his spot at the sight that had unfolded in front of him had come out of his trance to scatter away before he gets discovered.

“Was it worth waiting all these years?”

“Definitely”

(Y/n) placed another kiss on Daemon's lips at his answer, his strong body was the best bed after such an intense workout, her legs had already started to shake and she imagined this is what it felt like riding a dragon for hours on end.

The world is funny because when (y/n) went to vocalize her thought she heard a dragon approaching, once she fixed her focus on the sky she could see the humungous dragon that was heading back to land, its size was frightening, she could not remember which one was it, it wasn’t syrax and not Vermax, who could be riding at the such hour?

“Someone claimed Vhagar”

“Oh no, oh shit, fuck no”

Requests are open!

[batsplat]

Oh im obses whit your blog like you are such a great historian on vale and love the way you analys stuff admire the way of writing all of your toughs in such a corent way 🩷🩷🐹

this is so nice, thank you!! okay so this ask was initially sent in response to this post about how marc knew what a dick valentino was to his rivals and appreciated/wished to emulate that side of him, in particular in the context of copying the jerez pass. and... well, there is one more follow-up post to that I did want to make. it didn't really work within that post because it's pretty speculative, but I think it's fun! here goes

so you know argentina 2018, right, big drama, reconciliation over, bla bla (I promise this is going in a more fun direction, stick with me here). there's a bit of marc's post-race media scrum that I am a wee bit obsessed with. or well, two specific lines, one in english (0:00) and one in spanish (1:02) - I've included the full responses for context, but in this post I'm really only interested in those two lines

in english:

But he was in the past also 25 years old, and will remember, everybody.

and in spanish:

He has also been 25 years old and, well, I hope that people also remember.

... 25 years old, did you say?

okay, look, fair warning. the rest of this post is going to be reading too much into what was probably an off-handed comment - even if, I'd just like to point out, it is something he felt the need to say twice. but let's just have some fun here, and read too much into it. as a treat

so obviously the most generic way to read this is him saying 'well valentino used to be really aggressive on-track too, so people shouldn't be criticising me more than they did him'. thing is, I wouldn't say there was that much of a noticeable decline in how aggressive valentino was being, and 2017 did still feature some major scraps where valentino very much got his elbows out (cf assen and phillip island, I included a bit more detail on this in the marc race rec post). sure, valentino did increasingly have his reservations about some of the behaviour of younger riders, so maybe he was less aggressive now relative to the field... but I just don't feel like that's quite what this line is implying. it's also not about valentino making 'mistakes' in general, because there would have been no reason to refer back to past-valentino in that regard... the 25 year old version of valentino was considerably more error-free than the 39 year old

so then, my theory is that it's about valentino's controversies! that's what people "will remember", right - it's not the general style of riding, not just innocent mistakes, it's the times when valentino caused a bit of a stir on and off the race track. now, again, you could go the generic route here and say 'ah well maybe marc is just thinking of all the mess valentino got himself involved in when he was younger, from getting into a fist fight with max biaggi at age 22 to pissing off casey stoner through his aggressive riding at laguna at age 29'. but let's say for a moment that marc was thinking a bit more specifically than that... after all, if we're just talking about valentino controversies in general, surely marc should be able to think of a rather more recent example where valentino, like marc at argentina 2018, caused another rider to crash and was subsequently penalised for his riding? of course, marc probably didn't want to bring up that particular controversy - but it's still interesting he feels the need to refer back to a younger version of valentino at all, the fact that this crossed his mind in the first place to make him bring it up unprompted while making his case. so maybe when marc, who is after all a known valentino rossi fan, refers twice to what valentino was like at "25 years old"... he is in fact thinking of what valentino was like when he was 25 years old. and in what year would that be? well, here's the thing. it would be 2004

readers of the sete post can probably guess where I'm going with this, but let's just take a moment to review what specific on-track incidents marc could be thinking of here. let's give him a little bit of extra leeway in terms of the age, even though I trust marc to be more on top of the exact age gap than valentino was in times past. let's throw in one year either way, so 2003 to 2005, and draw up a list of any particularly controversial races valentino was involved in. here's what I've got:

assen 2004 - valentino executed a hard overtake for the win on the last lap on sete gibernau. he's not in complete control and almost loses the front at the next corner, which would have taken them both out

qatar 2004 - after his team rubber up his grid slot the night before, valentino gets slapped with a back-of-the-grid penalty. he ends up crashing out of the race and burns his relationship with sete in the aftermath

jerez 2005 - at a time when their relationship is already very chilly, valentino and sete engage in another duel. valentino executes a block pass with contact at the final corner and is booed by the crowd

motegi 2005 - the first chance to seal that year's title, and one valentino would very much have liked to take to spite honda. an unwise overtaking attempt on melandri leaves both on the ground

so, my guess is that neither assen nor motegi were really big enough controversies to fit the bill, though maybe they stuck in marc's mind as instances of 'reckless riding' that he includes in a more generic internal understanding of young valentino rossi. we do of course know for a fact that marc was more than aware of what happened at jerez 2005, not least because he, you know, directly copied that move twelve years later (again, link to the relevant post). like marc in argentina 2018, valentino barged into a rival in rather controversial fashion, and obviously it also made the relationship between him and said rival deteriorate still further. sure, you can't really argue the move was 'as bad' as argentina 2018, but as far as I'm concerned it has the same general vibe

you know what else has the same general vibe? here's a race description for you:

a 25 year old rider is sent to the back of the grid for a reason they consider unfair

they proceed to deliver a phenomenal performance even by their lofty standards, quickly working their way up to a position that seemed unattainable to them

they barge a rival out of the way in their impatience, reaching back to apologise for the move

the race ends poorly for them and they fail to score any points

afterwards, their relationship with a rival is ruined as a result of the events of the race, and the whole thing remains a lingering controversy for years to come

one race that fits this description is, of course, argentina 2018. the other is qatar 2004. there's obviously plenty of details that are significantly different - valentino's move on barros is less egregious and far less controversial, and his race ends in the gravel rather than with a post-race time penalty. still, that start of valentino's? the impatience? the post-race fury? the repercussions this race had? come on, look at the race footage I included in the qatar post and tell me there's not a little bit of a shadow of that qatar fury to the argentina recklessness

this is a point I snuck into the marc race recs post, where I included this excerpt from a post-argentina 2018 write-up:

phillip island 2003, hm? as it happens, in the qatar post, I did include a bit of the autobiography that compares those two specific races:

so, phillip island 2003: a performance that made everyone wonder just how much valentino had left in reserve to draw on whenever he needed it. what valentino is saying here is that this performance wasn't a result of him holding back in all the other races that year - this was speed that was accessible to him only in that moment because he was so angry. so yes, maybe it's a valid question to wonder what would have happened at phillip island 2003 if it hadn't just been the ghost of his bike that had to pick its way through the stragglers. then again, valentino says it's not just rage that does the trick for him - it's controlled rage... which is all well and good, except when you lose control

and see also:

that's what argentina 2018 is all about, isn't it? it's a performance that's rooted in impatience, in restlessness, in frustration - where marc tuns his "rage into pure speed", as valentino would put it, in a hubristic dismissal of the rest of the field. ideally, the two of them channel those emotions to spur themselves on to special, signature performances... but sometimes, it gets the better of them. it got the better of marc that day in argentina and cost him the tentative peace with valentino. at qatar, it could have cost valentino the title

(also shades of this in jerez 2020 - an error sets the stage for some extraordinary pace before it all goes wrong) (catalunya 2003 is a fun more compact nephew to that race without the unhappy ending)

now, look, am I saying that marc was really referring back to qatar 2004 specifically, a race that had happened fourteen years earlier, when making an off-hand remark in a post-race media scrum as he tried to do some damage control in the wake of one of the most controversial races of his career? well, no. he could have been! but it's unlikely. maybe he's shit at maths and was actually thinking about laguna 2008 after all. still, I would like to once again point out that he felt the need to mention valentino's behaviour at age twenty five not once but twice. he's telling us that he wants people to remember what valentino was like at that age, and in the most literal sense I am doing what he's asking for. surely it's worth at least noting that there just happens to be a race where valentino was at that exact age and his temper overcame his rationality, leading to him making a costly error... surely it's worth acknowledging this...

even if marc wasn't actually obliquely referring back to that race or indeed any of the races I mentioned above, of course the parallels between valentino's foibles and marc's are in any case interesting. it speaks to how they get those special performances out of themselves, the similarities in how they operate in that regard... but of course also in how they both sometimes stray rather close to the limit, how they repeatedly flirt with crossing the line. a stubbornness and a hubris and a rage that can sometimes lead to disaster for the both of them. and another thing - who knows if marc was thinking about qatar 2004, but he must have been thinking about something. that's the point of that jerez post, right... marc is valentino's successor in so many ways, he has fashioned himself in valentino's image - and he keenly grasps and remains aware of all the different aspects of that legacy. he's the most accomplished of valentino's students and he felt strongly that what he did in that race in argentina was in some way comparable to what valentino himself had been doing at his age, part of the same tradition even. yes, to some extent marc is obviously accusing valentino of hypocrisy here: how can you judge me when you were once young and foolish too? his tone isn't exactly filled with remorse either, is it, he's pretty feisty in that media scrum! still, there's something more to it... something almost poetic to the whole thing, wouldn't you say? valentino had just accused marc of ruining the sport - and in response marc wants people to remember that they are just the same

[the---hermit]

Babel by R.F. Kuang

I got this book last year, and then procrastinated picking it up for months. I don't know what made me feel intimidated, but I was a bit blocked. And then I decided to finally give it a try. I spent a whole month on it and though my reading was slow I loved this book. I was a bit unsure about the historical fantasy before reading the novel, because I know that as an historian historical fiction doesn't alwasy work for me. But it worked so well, the author did an amazing job and I loved the setting. The fantasy element was so clever and flowed perfectly with the story providing a lot of thought provoking conversations and reflections. It is definitely a dark academia book but to be honest that was not what stayed with me at all. Its themes of language and translation as well as colonialism and racism are at the core of this novel, academia is the setting and it is very much influential but it's not the first thing that will come to my mind when thinking about Babel in the future, and belive me I will be thinking about this book a lot. I really like R.F. Kuang's writing and I will be keeping an eye out for more of her fantasy in the future. I have finished this book over a week ago and I am still unable to for coherent thoughts on it, simply because I have too many thoughts. I truly adored it, the ending was very good, though if I could change something I would have the epilogue moved before the last scene of the last chapter as I think that was a stronger ending. Aside this, my only other negative thought is that the pacing felt a bit weird at times, but it's really not a big deal. I definitely do recommend reading this novel. And I think it could work even for people who don't normally read a lot of fantasy, so don't let intimidate you. I wish this book had been published when I was in high school studying languages I think it would have been even more influential for me at that time of my life. I have also been going insane over the subtitle of the book "the necessity of violence". Talking about it would mean a lot of spoilers so I won't get into deep, but after finishing the novel that in particular really stayed with me and it's been at the core of most of my thoughts about the book. I do wonder why the Italian translation didn't keep it, as the only subtitle in this edition is "an arcane history". This review feels more like a post-reading rant, but this is everything my brain can produce at the moment. Hopefully it was enough to convince a few people to add this novel to their tbr pile.

[supernaturalscribe67]

Just Like Mama Used to Make

Words: 6,178

POV: 1st & 3rd Person

Pairing: John x Son!Reader - Dean/Sam x Brother!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, John Winchester, Fluff, Mention of Childhood Trauma, Mention of Death, I think that's it??

Summary: Taking inspiration from his father, the reader starts his very own journal. For his first entry, he recalls some of the memories that shaped him into the hunter that he has become.

Request:

Hello, hope you are having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request John/Dean/Sam Winchester reaction to having a brother who looks like their mother and picked up hunting like breathing?

@xweirdo101x

A/N: My very first request! It kind of got away from me, but I really hope that I was able to do your request justice. Hope you like it!~

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Hello

Hey!

Dear Diary

SEPTEMBER 2014

To be honest, I have no idea how to start something like this. I was never one for writing, nor have I been one who can easily express my emotions. I guess I got that trait from the Winchester side of my family. Still, I have thought a lot about Dad’s journal lately. The things that he wrote down. It’s not detailed. It’s nowhere near what it was like growing up with him, but it still provides Dean, Sammy, and me with some information and nostalgia from time to time.

So, I figured ‘Why the Hell not’, I might as well write down some things in my own journal. I’m going to die someday anyway, and I want people to read this and be able to see what my life was like. From the good times that I spent with my family to the bad times when I lost my family. Hell, maybe this journal will get me into a history book someday when someone else discovers the Men of Letters Bunker. Who knows. Maybe I’ll be famous after I die, or perhaps it’s just wishful thinking. 

This journal has already turned into a clusterfuck. I don’t even know what to write about. I can’t even think of things to write about. Should I say things about my life? Should I just write down random things I think of throughout the day? I don’t know how to do it. Even when I look at Dad’s journal for inspiration, there’s nothing to inspire in it. A lot of it is notes on how to kill monsters and other stuff is just a bunch of personal bullshit he was going through. 

Well, we were all going through it.

I guess I’ll start by writing down some of the memories I’ve had. If I don’t like it, then I’ll throw this journal away and start another one. I don’t want future historians to think of me as some scatterbrained moron, despite what Sammy and Dean say at times. If you’re reading this now, I’m actually the smartest Winchester brother. Don’t believe a thing Sam and Dean say. I’m the brains of the operations and our day-to-day lives. I’ve saved them more times than I could count. 

Then again, they’ve probably saved me just as much. 

Alright, I’m getting side-tracked. I guess I’ll just start writing. 

Should I introduce myself first before I do so? 

My name is (Y/N) Winchester. I’m a hunter. 

This is my story (God, that was terrible)

AUGUST 1991

I remember the first time I mentioned to my father that I wanted to be a hunter, just like him. I was six years old. Dad didn’t take it very kindly. He yelled, a lot. Screamed sometimes. I never truly understood why he would always get so upset whenever I would ask him to teach me how to hunt. 

It wasn’t until I was a man that I understood why. 

I look just like my mother. 

I don’t know how I could have been so blind all those years. I have her hair. I have her face. I have her smile. All of these things have been said by my father before. Not necessarily when he was sober. I was always the one person that reminded my Dad of his wife. Of my mother. I think a part of him wanted to keep me safe, just so he could always look at me and remember what she looked like. Even when I was a child, though, I could see the hurt behind his eyes every once in a while when he would look at me. It made me feel guilty. 

Still does. 

I know that none of it is my fault, that he made himself hurt. 

Still… 

For months, I would ask my Dad to teach me about hunting. To teach me about the monsters that crept through the darkness. Each time I asked, he would reject my request and I would get scolded for asking such a stupid question. 

So, one night, around the age of seven or eight (one of the two, I can’t remember exactly), I decided that school wasn’t very important. There were occasions when I snuck out of classes to go to the library of whatever town we were in at the time to search the limited amount of lore books that they had. There were times when I got caught by Dean before I was able to sneak out. Other times it was by Sammy. Sometimes, my father would get a call from the school because I had been reported missing. 

I was a problem child, as you could tell. 

It’s not that I hated school. 

It just wasn’t my favorite. 

And I wanted to hunt. 

So, anyway…from town to town, I would skip class, go to the library, and learn everything that I could learn about hunting if there was anything to learn. Sometimes, I would ask Dean questions. Sometimes he would answer, other times he told me to not worry about it and to mind my own business. It used to hurt whenever Dean would reject any of the questions that I would ask, but I know now that it was so he didn’t get in trouble with Dad. I remember giving him a hard time about it, about not answering me. Dean, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry for being a jerk. 

Then again, Dean, if you’re reading this, you shouldn’t be reading this and expect some glitter to appear in your body wash. 

No one knew about my secret research. No one knew the reason behind my skipping classes. I would constantly make up lies, most of them being about how much I hated moving around and just wanted to rebel against my father. Typical kid stuff. 

It wasn’t until August of 1991, when I was ten years old, that I was finally able to put that research to use.

(Y/N) stared down at the paper that rested on a notebook in his lap. His eyes were wide and filled with stress, fingers tangled in his short hair, his back slouched ever so slightly. Dean sat a couple of inches away from him near the end of the bed, his homework in his lap, while Sam leaned against the headboard, a book in his hands that he had gotten from the school library. Dean looked up from his work, noticing the look of despair on his brother’s face before he glanced down at his worksheet. Dean grimaced and let out a hiss. 

“Multiplying fractions?” He asked, a hint of sympathy in his tone. 

Without looking up, (Y/N) gave a short nod. Dean pressed his lips together in a thin line before he set his pencil down beside him. 

“Do you need help?” Dean offered. 

(Y/N) lifted his head and looked at his older brother, giving a small, soundless nod. Dean offered a smile as he moved closer to him so that they were sitting next to one another. Dean craned his neck to be able to look at the paper, tilting his head as he studied the equations. 

“Which one are you having problems with?” He asked. 

“All of them,” (Y/N) answered. 

Dean snorted. “Okay, so, it’s easy-” 

“Wow, Dean thinks math is easy?” Sam mumbled, a smirk playing on his lips. 

Dean lifted his head and glared at Sam. “Shut up, bitch,” 

Sam shot a bitch-face towards Dean. “You shut up, jerk,” he retorted. 

(Y/N) let out a frustrated grunt. “Will both of you assholes shut up!? I don’t understand this!” His voice was filled with annoyance and desperation. 

Dean and Sam shot their brother a look. Sam rolled his eyes as he returned to the book. Dean looked back down at the paper, mumbling an apology under his breath. He then began to help (Y/N) with his homework, walking him through all of the problems that he had. (Y/N) still felt as if Dean was speaking in a foreign language, but he could understand the homework a little easier. 

When the paper was halfway finished, the door to the motel room suddenly burst open, causing the three brothers to jump, their eyes wide as they turned and looked at the person who had just entered. John stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him. He stomped over to the couch that sat in front of the small television set and plopped down on it. He ran his hands down his face and let a small growl emit from his throat. 

Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) shared a glance, almost as if they were communicating telepathically. After a while, Dean and Sam both turned their attention toward their brother, their eyes locked on his. After looking back and forth between the two, (Y/N) let out a soundless sigh as he set his homework beside him. He moved off of the bed and padded across the aged carpet to the couch. Slowly, he walked around the sofa so that he could see his father. 

John looked tired. Dark circles were prominent underneath his eyes. One of his legs was propped up on the couch while the other lay bent in front of him. His elbow rested on the arm of the sofa, his cheek placed against his right hand as he stared at the television in front of him. Nothing played. When (Y/N) came into view, John glanced at him out of the corner of his eye for a brief moment. He said nothing. 

“Hey, Dad,” (Y/N) greeted. “Um…how were the, uh, interviews with the victims’ families?” 

John shook his head. “Not great, kid,” he grumbled. 

“No?” 

“No.” 

As (Y/N) stared at his father, he timidly moved over to the couch. John hesitantly moved his leg as (Y/N) sat down next to him. 

“Did you…learn anything?” 

“Why aren’t you boys in bed?” John grunted. 

“We’re finishing our homework.” 

“Then shouldn’t you be working on it?”

(Y/N)’s shoulders slouched. “I just…wanted to see how it went is all…” 

“You want to know how it went?” John’s voice got deeper. “You really want to know how it went? Fucking terrible. That’s how it went,” John straightened himself out on the couch before he stood up. He began to pace around the room, his tone of voice getting more and more irritable. “I thought I had a good fucking lead going. All of the victims went to the same fucking bookstore a couple of days before their deaths and got the same book. Seems like a fucking coincidence, right? Then I go to the goddamn bookstore to see what the book was and all it was was something called Aradia or some shit like that. Some type of foreign book bullshit, I don’t fucking know.” 

(Y/N) furrowed his brows as John continued to rant. He looked down and away from his father. He got lost, deep in thought, the words that John was speaking irrelevant to him now. Finally, he turned back to him, kneeling on the couch as he raised his brows. 

“Did you say Aradia?” He questioned in the middle of John’s rant. 

John stopped pacing around the room as he looked back at (Y/N). Dean and Sam’s attention immediately turned to him, their eyes wide. John’s jaw was clenched, the anger and irritation still emanating from him. “Yeah,” he replied deeply. 

“Aradia…” (Y/N) trailed before he shook his head. “That’s not a foreign book, Dad! That’s only the first half of the title. The full title is Aradia or the Gospel of the Witches. It was one of the most influential pieces of literature in the nineteenth century to witches! You’re dealing with a witch!” (Y/N)’s eyes widened as a smile appeared on his face. 

John’s expression went from furious to confusion. He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know about that book?” He questioned. 

“I read about it in a library a little bit ago.” (Y/N) answered quickly. 

John pressed his tongue into his cheek as he slowly nodded his head. He looked at Sam and Dean, who were still staring with wide eyes at their brother, and then back at (Y/N). He ran a hand down his face stressfully. 

“You boys finish your homework,” he mumbled as he walked towards the door. “I have to make a call.” 

Without allowing anyone to respond, John left the motel room, closing the door behind him a little gentler than when he entered. (Y/N)’s smile faded as he watched his father leave, his shoulders dropping. The three brothers sat in silence for a minute before they looked at one another. 

“Come on,” Dean said as he patted the spot on the bed next to him. “Let’s finish these math problems.” 

Even though Dad never told me, I knew I was right. I knew it was a witch that he had dealt with. We didn’t even get to go to school the next day. He had found and killed her before I was able to turn in that math homework. What a waste of time. 

I would like to think that Dad was proud of me in that situation, but he never said anything. He never brought it up again as far as I can remember. It was something that he had put in the past, along with all of the other hunts that we had been on. However, even if he wasn’t proud of me back then, I was proud of myself. Proud that I was able to help my Dad even if I wasn’t beside him when he took that bitch down. 

God, I hate witches. 

MAY 1993

I didn’t touch a gun until I was twelve years old. By that point, I had stopped begging Dad to teach me how to hunt, because it seemed that the only answer I was going to be getting was ‘No’. I figured that I would go to the next best person for the job. 

I had to ask Dean. 

Dean was very protective of Sammy and me when we were younger. He still is super protective of us, even in our ripe old ages. But because of how protective he could get, he was very hesitant about teaching me how to shoot a gun. However, with Dad talking about Dean going on hunts with him more and more by then, I knew that I would be left alone with Sammy. I used the excuse that I needed to learn how to shoot a gun eventually so that I could protect the two of us when we were by ourselves. I couldn’t be expected to be safe when the only two people who knew how to shoot were away. 

That reasoning caught Dean’s attention. 

After the fifth or sixth time asking him, Dean had finally agreed. A couple of days passed and, when Dad was a couple of towns away gathering information for a hunt, Dean and I skipped school. Shocking, right? I think Dean used the excuse that I hadn’t been feeling well and he had to take care of me. He even wrote out a fake doctor’s note and everything. Back then, you could get away with a handwritten note. I’m not too sure if you could now. 

Once Sammy had been dropped off at school that day, Dean and I walked to a creek a couple of miles away from the school. He had set up a couple of cans on a log, some recycled stuff that he had picked up along the way. He had brought one of Dad’s small handguns with him. When he gave it to me, it felt so surreal. So different. 

I never really understood what the big fuss was about, though. 

Shooting a gun was easy. 

“No, you can’t have your hand that low! You have it that low and the gun is going to come out of your hand when you shoot it,” Dean grumbled. 

Dean took (Y/N)’s hand in his and adjusted it so that it fits perfectly onto the grip of the handgun. He then took his other hand and placed it on top of the one that was already on the gun. (Y/N) furrowed his brows as he looked at the way his hands nestled against one another. 

“This doesn’t feel right.” He said. “Why can’t I just hold it with one hand like the cops do in the movies?” 

“Because you’re twelve, dummy. You’re not in your forties and have years of experience under your belt,” Dean rolled his eyes. “And that is exactly how you should hold it if you don’t want to get hit in the face with your weapon after you fire it.” 

(Y/N) listened intently to what his brother was saying, giving him a small nod before he straightened his back up. 

“Stop.” Dean held up a hand. 

(Y/N) shot Dean a confused look. “What?” 

“You’re standing wrong.” 

“I’m standing wrong…” 

“Yeah, here,” Dean walked over, pressing his hand against the top of (Y/N)’s back ever so slightly, leaning him forward. “If you have your back too straight, then you’re more likely to fall backward. You also,” Dean kicked (Y/N)’s feet apart. “Need to have your feet apart. Keeps you more ground.”

(Y/N) looked down at the ground for a moment, taking in the appearance and feel of his stance. The way his back leaned forward and the way his legs were spread. He nodded. 

“Okay, now I shoot?” 

“Is your safety off?” 

“Safety?” 

Dean sighed, moving back over to him. He took the gun from (Y/N)’s grasp and flashed the left side of the gun. “You see this little trigger?” When Dean received a nod from his brother, he continued. “If it’s facing side-to-side, that means the safety is on. That means the gun won’t fire. All you have to do is flick this little switch,” Dean turned the safety off. “Once it’s up and down, then that means it’s ready to fire.” He handed the gun back to (Y/N). “Now, get back into position.” 

(Y/N) glanced down at the safety mechanism on the gun for a moment before he nodded. He got back into the position that he was in, spreading his legs apart the same length Dean had and slouching his back forward ever so slightly. Once he received a nod of approval from Dean, (Y/N) lifted his arms, cocking his head to the side. He aimed at the can farthest to the left. He closed his left eye and placed his finger on the trigger. 

“Stop!” Dean said more abruptly. 

(Y/N) jumped and moved his finger off the trigger, standing up straighter to face Dean. “What!?” He asked exasperatedly. 

Dean shook his head. “You can’t have one eye closed.” 

“Why not? Snipers do it!” 

“Because snipers are far enough away from combat. They need to look through a scope to get a good shot. You, on the other hand, are feet away from whatever monster you’re dealing with. What happens when you’re facing more than one monster? You leave yourself open to being taken out on your left.” Dean’s tone was stern, yet calm. His arms were crossed over his chest. 

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded as he grasped an understanding of Dean’s thinking. “Both eyes open?” 

“Both eyes open.” Dean backed up a bit. “Back into position.” 

(Y/N) let out a shaky breath before resuming his position. Legs spread, back bent, arms up, head tilted, both eyes open. His goal was to hit the used can of peaches that sat on the outside of the log. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest from anxiousness and anticipation. He was surprised the gun wasn’t shaking in his grasp. 

His eyes were on the cartoon peaches that were etched onto the label of the can. More specifically, the pit that sat in the center of the peach. He wanted to hit the pit. He never moved his eyes from the pit as he took a deep breath, his shoulders rising. Finally, as he exhaled, his shoulders dropping, he pulled the trigger. 

The can flew into the air and seemed to dramatically and unceremoniously fall into the creek. A small splash echoed in (Y/N)’s ears, accompanied by the ringing of the gunshot. 

One thing that (Y/N) noted was that his hands ached, both from the vice grip he had on the gun and the recoil that he hadn’t expected. Sure, Dean had informed him about it before, but he wasn’t sure how it would feel. His hands would definitely bruise. 

(Y/N) lowered the gun, looking over at his brother to see that Dean wore a stunned expression on his face. Dean’s mouth hung open as his eyes were glued to the can that lay in the flowing water. (Y/N) watched in silence as Dean walked over to the can. He reached down and picked it up by the opening, wincing from the heat of the bullet hole before he swapped hands. He studied the can. It seemed like too much time had passed before he turned the can so (Y/N) could see. 

(Y/N) had gotten it on his first try. 

The bullet hole? 

Right in the pit. 

(Y/N) raised his brows, a mixture of pride and surprise coursing through him. A wide smile appeared on his face. Similarly, a smirk appeared on Dean’s lips. Dean chuckled before he tossed the can into the water. 

“Beginner’s luck,” he said, brushing his hands onto his jeans. “Let’s see if you can hit the other ones.” 

I shot through the rest of the cans, the same as I had done for that can of peaches. Not to toot my own horn, but I was a natural when it came to a pistol. I don’t mean to sound egotistic about this, but Dean can back up any statement that I’m making about this story. 

I could tell that Dean was proud of me that day. He never said he was, but the way he looked at me and the way he treated me afterward told me things that words couldn’t. It’s hard to describe, but it almost felt like he had gained some respect for me that day. It felt good. Even as I am writing about this story, I can’t keep the smile off my face. I always looked up at Dean, so it feels great to think that I had done something to bring a smile to his stupid face. 

My hands hurt like hell after it was all said and done. I had gotten a couple of bruises near the thumb on my right hand that I brushed off to my Dad as something that I had picked up when I got into a fight at school. Dean had backed me up when Dad got on my ass about it. Dad told me that I had to get along with the other kids so I didn’t give the wrong impression at the schools I went to. It wasn’t like they would remember me anyway. Of course, I didn’t tell him that. I knew when to bite my tongue. 

Dad never found out about the shooting practice. I get a feeling that he had a sneaking suspicion as soon as he took me to practice himself years later, but I never told him about it. I never told him that Dean had been the one to teach me how to stand correctly, or where to find the safety of a gun. I know that he knew it was Dean. A part of me wonders if Dean ever got in trouble for it, or if it was something that Dad even brought up. I would never ask Dean about it now, though. 

Some things are best to be left in the past.

 

NOVEMBER 1999

By the time I turned eighteen, I had already been on several hunts with Dad and Dean. The majority of the time, though, I would stay back and watch Sammy. Even though he was a teenager and had the capability of taking care of himself, Dad expressed that he was still a kid and needed to be looked after. A part of me thought it was bullshit at the time, but another part of me was glad that I was able to spend time with my younger brother. 

Now, I know the real reason behind my staying with Sammy was because some of the hunts that Dad and Dean went on were ‘rough’. A little ‘too hard’ for me. 

Dad didn’t want to lose the son that reminded him of his wife. 

At least, that was what Dean told me, and I believe him. 

It was a blessing and a curse, come to think of it. There were times that I stayed behind and Dad called me up, needing me to do some research for the case that they were working on. He had said it would be faster if someone was working on the research while he and Dean were out taking interviews. In the end, it was more efficient. I would gather the necessary information and hand it off to him and they would be back at the motel a lot quicker than if they had been the ones to look up the information. 

That was the system that we worked with for a while. After a couple of months, Dad informed me that he didn’t want me to do the research anymore. He wanted Sammy to be the one to do it. I remember him saying that Sammy needed to focus more on the hunting aspect of his life. That school was just a waste of time at that point. He was old enough to get into it. 

Sammy hated the idea when I told him. He loved school. He was always such a nerd. Still is. An even bigger nerd if you can believe it. I knew how much school meant to him, and I didn’t want him to be discouraged from doing his schoolwork. He shouldn’t have been forced to do anything that he didn’t want to. So, I decided that I was going to do the research and just tell Dad that he had been the one to do it. Sammy was thankful. 

That was until Dad called. 

Dad wasn't as stupid as I took him for most of the time. He knew that Sammy hadn’t done any of the research, that I was the one that did it all. By the time he and Dean got back, he gave Sammy a verbal lashing. I tried to defend him, but nothing worked. In the end, Sammy gave in. He would do the research for the next hunt. 

Like clockwork, when the next hunt rolled around, with Sammy and I staying back at the motel, Dad had called. He had given Sammy the information that he needed to research and we headed off to the local library. Once we got the necessary books, we took them back to the motel and he began to work. 

I could tell that it wasn’t going well.

Sam sat at the small table near the motel room door, two books placed in front of him. His back was slouched as he looked from one book to another, flipping through pages frantically. He had been going at it for several hours by then, evident by the bags that were present underneath his eyes and the redness around his pupils. (Y/N) sat on the couch, watching some old western show. Now and then he would look at his little brother. He could see how tired and stressed he was about the entire situation. (Y/N) had never seen Sam that stressed out before, even when he was studying for a test in one of his AP classes. 

Eventually, Sam pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, lowering his head, as if accepting defeat. (Y/N) studied his movements, and, after he saw that he had not moved in a while, he decided the best thing to do was to help him out. He picked up the remote and turned off the television before tossing it aside. He stood from his spot on the couch and walked over to the table. He grabbed the spare chair, pulled it beside Sam, and sat down. 

“Having some trouble?” He questioned. 

Sam’s shoulders rose and fell as a sigh escaped his lips. He removed his hands from his face and placed them into his lengthy hair. His eyes were cast down towards the table. He stayed in the same position for some time before he looked up at (Y/N). 

“No,” he answered, pulling the books towards him. “I’m fine.” 

“You don’t look fine.” 

“I said ‘I’m fine’,” Sam repeated through gritted teeth. 

(Y/N) studied him with an expressionless face. Sam kept his eyes down, looking from one book to another. (Y/N) was able to see the stress that was emitted from his brother even better with how close he was sitting. He took one look at the books before he shook his head. 

“I’m sorry Dad’s making you do this.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“No, it’s not. You shouldn’t be doing this alone the first time…” he trailed. “But if Dad found out I helped you-” 

“You’d get in trouble, and so would I. Yeah, I know.” 

(Y/N) pursed his lips. “You know, it took me a little over a year to get comfortable with translating Latin. I sometimes screw up from time to time.” 

“Still?” 

“Yeah, still,” he chuckled. “That’s why I got something that helps me out now and again.” 

With that, (Y/N) stood from his spot on the chair and waltzed over to the bed in the far corner of the room. Beside the bed sat his black duffel bag. He picked it up and placed it on the bed. He began to rummage through it, sorting through clothes and weapons that rested at the bottom. Wedged into the corner of his bag sat a book. He picked it up and brought it over to the table. He took a seat next to Sam once more and placed the book in front of him. 

Sam furrowed his brows as he studied the cover. It was a Latin-English translation book. It looked rather similar to the one that he had picked up at the library. The only difference was the color of the cover was a little faded and, along the outside of the book, between all of the pages, were multi-colored Post-it notes. Each Post-it note had different letter combinations on it, as well as notes written on some of them. Sam opened the cover and he raised his brows when he saw that the first page was replaced by a notebook-sized piece of paper, taped to the front page. There were multiple words in English on the left side with their corresponding Latin translation on the right. 

“What’s this?” Sam asked. 

“It’s a translation book I picked up a couple of years back at a bookstore. I figured since there were going to be a lot of things that needed translating, then I was going to have to make it easier for myself to find the words. The only problem is that most of these translation books are so damn compressed that it’s hard to find certain words without getting blurry vision. So, I took the liberty to mark down all of the times when the letters change in the words. For example, when the words that start with ‘AB’ transfer to words that start with ‘AC’. It always made it easier to find. Plus, I made a page at the beginning about common words that I have found in my research so that it would be easier to translate them.” 

As (Y/N) explained, he gestured with his hand toward the book. Sam listened intently, taking in all of the information that he was given, nodding his head. Once (Y/N) was done talking, Sam looked down at the book and then back up at him. 

“You did all this?” 

“Yeah,” (Y/N) chuckled. “Crazy, right?” 

Sam snorted. “Yeah. Wish you put that much effort into your homework when you were still in school.” 

“Hey,” (Y/N) leaned back in his chair and lifted his hands in mock surrender. “School was fine and all, but this is something I enjoy, and I’m good at it. I’m good at hunting research and you’re good in school.” 

“And what’s Dean good at?” 

“Being a pain in the ass.” 

Sam smiled widely, his dimples more prominent than (Y/N) had seen in a while. After a beat or two of silence, the smile faded as he looked down.

“I wish Dad could see that I’m good at school.” 

The corner of (Y/N)’s mouth curved downward. It was his turn to look down at the table. He reached over and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder comfortingly. “I know, kiddo,” he mumbled. “But Dean and I both see how much of a nerd you are. Don’t worry.” 

A smile returned to Sam’s face, but it wasn’t as happy as the last one. They sat in silence for a little bit before (Y/N) lowered his hand and Sam moved back to the books. 

“You got it from here?” (Y/N) questioned. 

“Yeah, I got it,” 

“Great,” (Y/N) said as he stood from his seat and patted Sam on the back. “Call me over if you need anything.” 

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to call you over when I get to the part about multiplying fractions.” 

(Y/N) glared at Sam and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” 

“No, no I’m not.” 

Sammy still teases me to this day about not knowing how to multiply fractions. Even though it was decades ago at this point, he still likes to tease me about it. Little shit. 

With my help, Sammy was able to get the translations done a lot faster than he expected. I remember seeing the relief on his face when he had finished. Poor kid was so exhausted. Dad was more than pleased when he called and asked about it. Dad never found out that I had helped him out a bit, and neither Sammy nor I were planning on telling him. I just wanted Sammy to have an easier time than I did when I was first learning about research, specifically translations. 

In the end, I would have to say that Sammy is better than me when it comes to research. He’s taken the reigns on many different hunts because of how proficient he is with technology. I’m good with old-fashioned ways of research, but Sammy’s the nerd when it comes to computers. 

Sammy has told me once or twice, though, that I was the one that helped him the most when it came to his knowledge of research. That, without my help, he wouldn’t have been as good at it as he is now. 

I call bullshit. Sammy has always been a smart kid. 

He could do anything he put his mind to. 

SEPTEMBER 2014

This is all I can write at the moment. Dean called me to the kitchen a couple of minutes ago saying that dinner was ready. I need to wrap this up before he or Sammy comes in here and sees what I’m doing. I know that I would get endlessly teased about keeping a ‘diary’. I need to make sure to hide this in a good enough place where neither of them will find it if they go snooping through my room. 

Sam, Dean, if you guys are reading this, I’ll get you back. 

But if you’re going to read it, I just want to let you know that I love you guys. 

Not that I’m into chick-flick moments or anything. 

I’m just glad that I have you guys as my brothers. No one could ask for a better family than you two. 

Okay, that was cheesy. I wish I wasn’t writing this in pen so I could erase it. 

Dammit. 

I’m not too sure how to end this, so I guess I’ll just write again sometime when I can. Perhaps I could do like Dad did in his journal and write about all of the new monsters we have discovered over the years. Or maybe write more memories down. This journal is going to be so cluttered that no one is going to want to read it. There’s no way I’m going to get famous from this. 

Dean just called me to the kitchen again. 

Until next time. 

Happy hunting. (That was stupid, think of something better).

WE LOVE YOU TOO - SAM + DEAN

[blackswaneuroparedux]

So recently I was listening to one of my favourite podcasts while on a business trip by train through the Swiss Alps to Zurich. 'The Rest Is History' hosted historians Dominic Sandbrook and Tom Holland were quite topical talking about France under de Gaulle and the student riots of 1968 as well as its legacy towards France’s current troubles with civil disorder.

The recent riots starting in Nanterre and beyond were troubling and significant. However outsiders not knowing the French or their culture and history thought it was either the fall of the Fifth Republic or start of the collapse of Western civilisation itself. It was nothing of the sort. For the most part the French think it healthy to blow off steam and have a jolly good riot in the same way people in England blow off steam by writing an angry letter to the editor of the Times. It’s just how things are. As predicted, things have gotten quiet now.

In their podcast Sandbrook and Holland cheekily suggested that the fizzling out of les evénéments – the student protests of 1968, during which it seemed that another of France’s periodic revolutions might ignite - had something to do with the Whitsun holidays. Realising that their Parisian parents were setting off for their holiday homes in the French countryside or the southern coast, the elitist student leaders put down their high minded revolutionary leftist philosophical slogans aside for the bourgeois comfort of vacances en famille. There is a lot of truth to that.

All this is to say les grandes vacancies have already begun in France. The grand vacation of July and August is an entrenched tradition in the French psyche. So ingrained is this tradition that until 2015 there were regulations still in place dating back to the French revolution that governed when bakers in Paris could take their holidays, so as not to deprive the city’s populace of their daily bread (not quite baguette, because that was invented later by the Austrians camped out in the Champs de Mars after the fall of Napoleon - but that’s another story).  

That France is in the middle of les grandes vacances can be seen here in Paris. Parisians are leaving their apartments and heading out to the countryside or down south to the Med - to be offfeeling handedly rude and entitled towards the locals. Schools have been closed since June. Many shops are closed or not nearly as crowded as usual, most of the people wandering the streets have cameras around their necks. Of course not everyone goes and those that stay can feel freer until the first glut of tourists arrive.

For many France in August is definitely their favourite time of the year. And every summer I’m reminded just how much French language and culture are inseparable by the fact that there are words for people who take their annual vacation in July, les juillettistes, or in August, les aoûtiens.

Most French people have 5 weeks of paid vacation per year, and some have even more time off with the inclusion of their RTTs (essentially, personal days) for those who work more than 35 hours per week. I work close to 80 hours a week, so I'm ready for my break from the corporate treadmill.

So my blog will be shut down for the rest of the summer as I go away on vacation. I’ll be back in early September.

I use this time to switch off my phone and strictly no social media as I go off grid. It's a question of valuing one's mental health. I hope you can do the same.

Thank you for following my blog and appreciating my eclectic posts.

I wish you all the best.

Have a great summer!

[recreationalfanfics]

Yandere! Adventurer x Fem! Reader HCs

I do not condone this behavior in real life. If you or someone close to you has a partner who displays any of these unhealthy behaviors, please contact the Domestic Abuse Hotline: 800-799-7233. If you wish to message, text "START" to 88788. If you believe your messages or calls are being monitored, then use contact: 800.799.SAFE (7233)

- OKAY, SO THIS IDEA CAME TO ME DURING A CREATIVE WRITING CLASS SINCE WE'RE WATCHING INDIANNA JONES BUT IMAGINE SOMEONE LIKE THAT BEING A YANDERE?? LIKE, SOMEONE KINDA BASED OFF OF HIM.

- Yandere Adventurer is someone who knows how to do very thorough research on anyone and any artifact in the world. Someone whose learned various different methods to subtly knock someone out, someone who has found even the most magical relics and prevented the wrong people from getting their hands on it.

- Yandere Adventurer is highly notorious in the rings of archeologists and historians but not in a good way. All of them sticking their nose up at him because of his "juvenile methods" and because he's so "young and impulsive". He knows they're just a bunch of uptight old men but it really gets him pressed when they talk shit behind his back after he went through all the trouble to bring them back a LONG LOST ARTIFACT.

- Yandere Adventurer who isn't really appreciated by anyone, all of them thinking he's just so arrogant upstart whose allowed to galavant all over the world whenever he wishes. Effortlessly fighting off armed men, beasts, and other threats. As if he hadn't sustained nearly serious injuries, as if he wasn't fighting for his life. But he won't tell them about that, they didn't deserve to know that. They could talk all they wanted too for all he cares.

- Yandere Adventurer who nearly thinks about giving up. No one respects him, no one appreciates the thing he does for the sake of preserving the past, and no one can get passed the glamour of his lifestyle to see he faces actual danger everyday. That is, until, he met you.

Maybe you're a museum curator, maybe you're a new historian who started working at the same university as him, or maybe you're just a big fan. Either way, you both meet at a grand opening to display his most recent adventure and you just had been working ALL night to try and talk to him but you were too shy, favoring to just look at the giant bone display of an undiscovered dinosaur species and feeling small. What on earth were you thinking? You couldn't possibly have anything interesting to say to a person like him, you were ridiculous for thinking you could approach him.

- Yandere Adventurer who has a strained smile as the owner of the museum, aka the person who simply owns the building, takes great pride on having such a ground breaking discovery in his museum and not even crediting the Adventurer who STOOD RIGHT NEXT TO HIM. However, he was too tired by the uncomfy suit to say anything so he just rolls his eyes and downs his glass of wine before looking over at the dinosaur display. His eyes landing on you immediately.

- Yandere Adventurer who does have a bit of a reputation of being a flirt, charming women no matter where he went. Hopefully talking to a pretty thing like you would get his mind off of his exaughstion and near burn out. So he just walks next to you, you didn't even notice until he spoke up.

"Quite the specimen, ain't he? Won't believe how many black market dealers were after this thing."

"O-Oh, it's you!"

- Yandere Adventurer who smiles softly as you try to stammer and introduce yourself. You tell him how you absolutely loved his work and his dedication and how you were a big fan. His heart leaps in his chest in a way no other woman has done before but he brushes it aside. Of course you know who he is, everyone knows who he is, he's just lucky that you're not one of those people who act like they can do his job.

"Sure is, darlin'." He says suavely before kissing your hand. You're very clearly flustered as your eyes can no longer make eye contact with his and you give him a shy smile.

Fuck, you're cute.

"And may I get to know yer name, ma'am?" He asked politely, his hand still still holding yours.

"(Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n)." You say timidly.

- Yandere Adventurer who spends the entire night regaling you with his stories. His hand somehow made its way to your waist and you stare at him with such adoration in your eyes with each exciting detail. Not to mention when he mentioned any parts of him getting hurt on these adventures, you'd show some kind of concern for him.

"Ah, it happened a while ago. M'all better now~" He snickered. Your brows furrowed, concerned, as you tell him: "But it must've been so scary to deal with by yourself. Don't get me wrong, it was very brave of you, but I also can't help but feel concerned.

- Yandere Adventurer who starts to think that maybe he won't stop adventuring yet when you exchange numbers after talking and it soon gets late. He offers to walk you to your car and as he watches you leave, he feels like you took a part of him with you. Of course, he wasn't one who thought too much about love at first sight. It didn't exist. His past lovers are a testament to that but even when driving home, you're still on his man. After he showers off the gross smell of rich old people, your smile still plagues his mind and the last thing he thinks about is your face as he goes to sleep.

- Yandere Adventurer who sees that you've been transferred to a position or job that is coincidentally right near him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was fate, but he knew such a thing didn't exist. He isn't complaining though, he loves about around you. Despite not having a super cool job like his, you always seem ready to brighten up his day. Making a habit to chat with him in the morning and, once you figured out how he liked it, bringing him coffee since you knew he had a tendency to pull all nighters to find leads on a new relic.

- Yandere Adventure who grows closer to you. Both of ranting about the men who are as old as the fossils in the archive, snickering to each other like little kids when one of them scolds you two for not being more formal with each other, and just opening up with conversation. You actually make him look forward to working. Usually most of the day, he'd be praying and hoping someone needed his assistance finding something or another hitman attack that'd send him around the world, but now his eyes eagerly flick to the door. Waiting for when you walked in to start your shift.

- Yandere Adventurer who goes on another adventure, not as long as his other ones, but during the entire time he can't stop thinking about you. Man, he can imagine how excited you'd get over the architecture. How you'd be so enchanted by the various different foods and eat yourself silly. How you would be infodumping random information about the region, the people, the culture, the clothing- anything. Honestly...maybe he should bring you back a souvenir or something. It's hard choosing one since he can't really find anything that would fit you. Like yeah maybe you'd find the bobble head cute but he wants to get you something a bit...more. Like, I don't know, maybe a necklace worn by a royal princess that was in an old jewlery box he discovered along with a lot of other hidden treasure.

- Yandere Adventurer who comes back, eager to show you his gift when he goes back to the University the next day, only to see that you were waiting for him at the airport. His heart stops when you make eye contact. Why were you here? More importantly, why did he feel so goddamn happy that you were? At least until your face contorts into one of annoyance and he knows he's in trouble.

"I understand what you do but I thought we were friends!" You scold, "Do you know how worried sick I was when you didn't show up for four days!? Then one of those uptight archivists told me you were halfway around the world!? Without giving me a heads up or saying: "bye!?"

Ah, thats right. He left without saying bye...

"Aw, shucks, m'sorry, darlin'" He frowned, his southern drawl becoming sad and dejected. You were gonna continue to pout until he gave you a sheepish smile, "I guess I just never had anyone care enough about me to give 'em a heads up."

Your angry expressions turns into a shocked one and soon, you can't find it in yourself to be angry anymore.

"O-Oh, then...I guess I understand. I'm sorry...But don't you dare ever do that again, okay!?"

"S'a deal, (Y/n)...Oh, by the way, I got ya something!

- Yandere Adventurer who never asked to keep any portion of the relics he brought back but he made an exception for you and it was so worth it to see your face. The way it lit up as he put the necklace around you and you checked yourself in the mirror, fawning over it. When he says you can keep it, you grow timid. After all, should you really keep it? It is a historical artifact! But he insists. Telling you that: "Pretty ladies should have pretty things." like the flirty friend he is.

- Yandere Adventurer who is no longer easily tricked by femme fatales or women who flirted with him because they just weren't you. He used to love the thrill but it was nothing compared to the feeling of his hand touching yours when you both went to grab a history book or when you had eaten so much at his house that you fell asleep on his couch and he got admire your cute little face and make you breakfast.

- Yandere Adventurer who begins to write letters and send messages and call you during his trip sometimes and who doesn't hesitaite to answer when you call him. He could literally be in South America jumping across snapping crocodiles to get across the river when he hears his phone ring.

"(Y/n)!! Huh? Aw, don't worry you didn't catch me at a bad time!"

*Croc nearly bites his leg off*

- Yandere Adventure when he's excited to come home, his newest prize now in his hands. He's exuaghsted and tired but is so excited when he hears from a hotel staff that someone had sent him a letter. He doesn't snatch it fast enough as he runs into his hotel room and rip it open, his smile bright but soon fading as he reads the letter. Don't get him wrong, he loves hearing from you and he was happy to know you were getting a promotion. However, he wasn't happy when he read a certain part of your letter.

"The university hired someone to help me whenever you're gone so you don't have to worry about dumping the workload on me anymore. I actually think you guys would get along really well together, he's just as much of a fan of you as I am and he's so excited to meet you when you come back!"

- Yandere Adventurer who has to reread the letter to make sure he read it right. Beg his pardon but HE!? WHEN DID THE UNIVERSITY SUDDENLY NEED SOMEONE TO HELP YOU? THEY BARELY CARED WHEN HE TOOK OFF FOR A FEW MONTHS AS LONG AS HE GOT MUSEUMS TO FUND THEM. WHERE WAS THIS WORKLOAD AND MORE IMPORTANTLY, WHY WASN'T HE NOTIFIED!? Until he looked at his notifications on his phone, which didn't get the best wifi or data in the heart of a lost forest and saw that he was, in fact, notified about the new guy. Ah...

- Yandere Adventurer who packs his stuff then and there, he's going home as soon as possible. When someone is concerned and tells him he should rest, he assured them that he's fine. Absolutely fine! Everything is fine! In fact, he's fine enough to go home, back to where you are! Fine enough to excite you with his newest gift, which he'll make sure to give in front of the new guy so they know EXACTLY whose the more impressive man, and fine enough to strangle the mystery bastard who snuck in while he was gone!

- Yandere Adventurer who shows up at his usual early time at work to get things prepared and situated. However when he walks in, he sees a stranger organizing the papers and archives and his mouth just grows into a frown. So this was the new guy? Bet he couldn't even stop multiple Japanese Triad members armed with katannas. The new guy lights up when he sees him and immediately gets excited and maybe Adventurer would've been flattered, if it didn't feel like that prick was mocking him. Talking nonsense about how he made sure everything was organized everything while he was away and how you were a good guide. OF COURSE YOU WERE, you were good at a lot of things.

- Yandere Adventurer who finds himself acting like his Aunt Darlene whenever she got jealous, putting on a fake venomous smile and using that southern charm to cover up her passive-agressiveness. The new guy either is ignoring it or too star struck by Adventurer to care, which really annoys him. His hatred only grows when you finally come in at your normal time, two coffees in your hand.

"YOU'RE BACK!" You cheered.

Adventurer's smile grew, more genuine and softer. You hand one of the coffees over to the new guy and then go to hug him.

"I'm so glad you're here! You're so early, though! If I had known you were coming back today, I would've gotten you one too!"

Adventurer hugs you, a bit tighter than usual but you don't notice. The new guy, however, notices the way that the Adventurer is giving him such a brutal death glare.

"Ain't nuthin' to worry about, sweetheart."

- Yandere Adventurer who hates seeing you both have inside jokes. Who hates the way you treat the intruder so gently when he can't do his job right. Who hates it that whenever he tries to give his gift to you, the new guy immediately can recognize the ancient carvings on the gift and starts info dumping about its history, your eyes now looking at him with intruige while Adventurer just briefly scrunches his nose. He already knew that stuff, he was going to tell you about it, so why did that disgusting worm steal his thunder!?

- Yandere Adventurer who starts comparing himself to this guy. This guy can't ever measure up to Adventurer. Not when he's fought warriors that came back from the dead, escaped ancient death mazes hidden inside temples, been hunted down by various crime syndicates, so why...why is he so jealous of this guy? This awkward, ordinary guy. Was it because of you? Well, he knew he liked you a bit more than a friend and he knew that you had a thing for him...but what if you wanted someone who wasn't always half way across the world? Someone who wouldn't worry you about being in life threatening danger.

- As far Adventurer sees it, he has three options:

1. Be straight up and tell you about his feelings and then work out your relationship from there because he's willing to compromise.

2. Invite you with him on his next adventure while somehow keeping you safe. who knows, you guys might have to share a tent

3. Get rid of the new guy.

- Yandere Adventurer who decides to try and text you to meet up but you apologized since you had to help the new guy reorganize everything because he messed up. Adventurer them shoots a text saying he'll come over and help and grabs his keys, a dark glint in his eyes.

- Nevermind, he only had two options because he was getting rid of that man one way or another.

[aveline-amelia]

So I literally just came across a dumb homophobic (actually anti gay men) post, so... a rant

So I ran across a post about the Original Holmes ACD canon - not BBC Sherlock. I was not even looking up Sherlock related stuff.

This is mainly a BBC Sherlock blog, so felt the need to make clear. Not about BBC Sherlock this time.

I have not read the ACD Canon. It is very hard for me to pay attention for more than 5 minutes. (It's not a TikTok thing, I promise). Also if anyone is a queer Holmes historian/academic, please feel free to join in. Or just if someone has better knowledge than me. This is all second hand information but I stand behind the message nonetheless. You decide how credible this makes me.

Arthur Conan Doyle couldn't have written Sherlock Holmes as gay even if he wanted to.

He couldn't have written Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson as a same sex couple even if he wanted to.

He would have gotten arrested. He would have been imprisoned or sent to a labor camp.

It's what happened to Oscar Wilde, who he was friends with. Wilde's writing was used as evidence against him. Namely, The Picture of Dorian Grey.

No, claiming Sherlock Holmes is gay and was in a relationship with Dr Watson is not erasing asexuality. If the books were written today and the author said Holmes is ace, then yes, that could be seen as erasure.

Claiming Sherlock Holmes is gay is not disrespectful to ACD.

Claming Holmes and Watson were a couple who were hiding the truth from the readers due to a fear of persecution in not disrespectful to ACD. It has actual backing in Canon (them fleeing the same year as Wilde's trial). It's about playing the Game and treating Watson as an unreliable narrator.

If you believe claiming a character of a certain an author is gay is disrespectful to them, ask yourself why. Check yourself.

ACD can't tell us what his intentions were is because he is deceased. He's passed away. Unfortunately that means he will never be able to tell us the truth. Now, if you believe in The Death of The Author, authorial intent might not matter to you anyway.

Also, the people claiming this are in large part queer women, not gay men. So no, gay men aren't making it all about themselves. But nice try. ;)

Also I really wish asexual people would stop using the same rethoric as right wing Christian conservatives (why does everything have to be GAY! Gays are everywhere and I am sick of hearing about them!!!). As a bi ace woman, stop using as a shield, and if you are ace yourself, you're making us all look bad. Just stop.

[frankendykes-monster]

Jilian Kirby, Jack Kirby's granddaughter, posted this writing by Neil Kirby (father/son respectively) in which he responds to the new Stan Lee documentary currently available to view on Disney+:

"The 13th century Islamic poet/scholar Rumi said, "The Ego is a veil between humans and God." In the Disney+ documentary bio of Stan Lee, the veil is lifted. Presented in the first person with Lee's voice providing a running narrative, it is Stan Lee's greatest tribute to himself. The literary expression of ego is the personal pronoun "I." Any decent English or Journalism teacher would admonish their students not to overuse it. So, the challenge is extended to anyone who wishes to count the number of "I's" during the 86-minute running time of Stan Lee.

I (oooops!) understand that, as a "documentary about Stan Lee," most of the narrative is in his voice, literally and figuratively. It's not any big secret that there has always been controversy over the parts that were played in the creation and success of Marvel's characters. Stan Lee had the fortunate circumstance to have access to the corporate megaphone and media, and he used these to create his own mythos as to the creation of the Marvel character pantheon. He made himself the voice of Marvel. So, for several decades he was the "only" man standing, and blessed with a long life, the last man standing (my father died in 1994). It should also be noted and is generally accepted that Stan Lee had a limited knowledge of history, mythology, or science. On the other hand, my father's knowledge of these subjects, to which I and many others can personally attest, was extensive, was extensive. Einstein summed it up better; "More the knowledge, lesser the ego. Lesser the knowledge, more the ego."

If you were to look at a list and timeline of Marvel's characters from 1960 through 1966, the period in which the vast majority of Marvel's major characters were created during Lee's tenure, you will see Lee's named as a co-creator on every character, with the exception of the Silver Surfer, solely created by my father. Are we to assume Lee had a hand in creating every Marvel character? Are we to assume that it was never the other co-creator that walked into Lee's office and said, "Stan, I have a great idea for a character!" According to Lee, it was always his idea. Lee spends a fair amount of time talking about how and why he created the Fantastic Four, with only one fleeting reference to my father. Indeed, most comics historians recognize that my father based the Fantastic Four on a 1957 comic he created for DC, "Challengers of the Unknown," even naming Ben Grimm (The Thing) after his father Benjamin, and Sue Storm after my older sister Susan.

Through the conflict between Lee and my father concerning creator credit gets glanced over with little mention, there is more attention paid to the strife between Lee and Steve Ditko, with Lee's voice proclaiming, "it was my idea*, therefore I created the character," Spiderman [sic]. In 1501, the Opera del Duomo commissioned a 26-year-old Michelangelo to sculpt a statue of David for the Cathedral of Florence - their idea, their money. The statue is called Michelangelo's David - his genius, his vision, his creativity.

I was very fortunate. My father worked at home in his Long Island basement studio we referred to as "The Dungeon," usually 14 - 16 hours a day, seven days a week. Most of the artists, writers, inkers, etc. worked at home, not in the Marvel offices as depicted in the program. Through middle and high school, I was able to stand at my father's left shoulder, peer through a cloud of cigar smoke, and witness the Marvel Universe being created. I am by no means a comics historian, but there are few, if any, that have personally seen or experienced what I have, and know the truth with first-hand knowledge.

My father retired from comic books in the early 1980's, and of course passed away in 1994. Lee had over 35 years of uncontested publicity, much, naturally, with the backing and blessing of Marvel as he boosted the Marvel brand as a side effect of boosting himself. The decades of Lee's self-promotion culminated with his cameo appearances in over 35 Marvel films starting with "X-Men" in 2000, thus cementing his status as the creator of all things Marvel to an otherwise unknowing movie audience of millions, unfamiliar with the true history of Marvel comics. My father's first screen credit didn't appear until the closing crawl at the end of the film adaptation of Iron Man in 2008**, after Stan Lee, Don Heck, and Larry Lieber. The battle for creator's rights has been around since the first inscribed Babylonian tablet. It's way past time to at least get this one chapter of literary/art history right. 'Nuff said.

Comparison of the origins for The Challengers of The Unknown and The Fantastic Four, both involving the teams coming together in an altruistic fashion after a near death experience in a plane/ship crash, as presented in Showcase #6 (1957) and The Fantastic Four #1 (1961) respectively:

*Spider-Man is a Jack Kirby concept that originated between Joe Simon and C.C. Beck named "Silver Spider." Ditko has commonly stated that it bared too much similarity to The Fly, a character Kirby previously worked on at Archie, hence the change of hands on the project to Ditko. So far the presentation page and six page story Kirby did have been hidden by Marvel, with this Ditko drawing being our closest approximate:

**Kirby is credited in X-Men (2000) under "The Producers wish to thank the following for their assistance:"

[minihotdog]

Fearless Magazine

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

Prompt:

When you dreamed of becoming a television writer, you never expected you’d end up wasting your time writing for a vapid dating quiz show, but a job’s a job. One night, your very charming, very single boss asks why you’re working late; you mumble something about new truth-or-dare questions. “Great,” he replies with a smile. “Ask me one.”

Notes: I wrote this on my phone and hope that it formats not like hell. Might make this into a series because I like this one. Accidentally made the reader come off snooty :/

***

“That is enough,” Max’s voice booms through the room. “We will not be having this discussion again until you have earned to work under the Historian.”

“Have I not proven myself enough!” I argue desperately.

“Y/n, you are too young. You still have so much to learn and skills to continue developing before I can appoint you. Please, if you want the position you will continue working towards it.”

I drop my head in defeat, my head pulsating with frustration, stress, and disappointment. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, Max. I understand.” He sighs, sitting back in his chair.

“In the meantime, you will be working with the rest of the second-year writers on Fearless magazine. Do not disappoint me.” He warns me while motioning to the doors of his office, ending the argument. I drag my feet through the halls heading towards my room.

“Y/n!” Tris catches up to me. “How did the talk with Max go?”

“He told me that I haven't earned the position as historian apprentice. I have to keep writing raunchy garbage for the magazine instead.” I roll my eyes at the thought of wasting my effort and passion on meaningless assignments and ‘What you’re favorite takedown says about you’ type quizzes that are plastered on the back of each issue.

“I told you he wouldn’t budge.” She puts her hand on my shoulder, “You are talented but, hey, historian is a very important position and one that takes a lot of time to earn and train for. You’ll get it eventually, but right now, please, don’t beat yourself up. Ok?”

“Ok,” I sigh.

“I got to get back to the initiates, but you hang in there!” Tris runs off towards the training area leaving me alone wishing I had her resilience.

I walk through the kitchen I share with three other roommates before reaching my door.

I look around not knowing what to do with myself for the next three hours before work. I guess I’ll just get ready.

I take a quick shower and throw on a dark green t-shirt over a black long-sleeve and a knee-length skirt matching to match the shirt. The one nice thing about working in an office is getting to have a more diverse wardrobe rather than looking like I’m going to war all the time.

I grab the backpack I take to work with me, inside my laptop, snacks, and possibly a hundred papers scattered inside from countless projects. I make my way toward the office to see no one else has shown up yet. I open my laptop on my desk and begin typing away, working on an old document about the history of the factions.

I hear the door behind me open and I turn my head to see which of my coworkers walked in only to do a double take. Why the hell is he here?!

“No way,” I say, dumbfounded. Eric leans against the wall next to the door with a crutch under one arm and a cast on his right leg.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite former initiate.” His evil smirk sparks rage inside of me.

“Who let you out of your cage?” I spit at him, he rolls his eyes at me.

“I just thought you missed me so I decided to drop by,”

“Eric don’t do sarcasm, it totally doesn’t suit you.”

He rests his head against the wall looking up at the ceiling as if it’s killing him to be here.

“I’m your new boss.” He says smugly. I sit there looking at him, mouth agape at the horrific news.

“Oh, that’s terrible news.” I hold my head in my hands.

Little by little people begin pouring into the office and finding their desks. The sound of typing begins as everyone gets a head start on the day.

“Good morning everyone!” Our lead editor, Jacob, stands at the front of the room. Eric leans against the wall behind him listening to the whispers.

“Why is he here,” my best friend Lynn asks me quietly. “To kill us all,” I snark.

“I have some news in regards to who’ll be filling in for Jade while she recovers.” He motions toward the brooding man to his left. “Eric will be taking her place for the time being. If you guys didn’t know, Eric was the lead writer for the issue a few years ago on the Economic Relations Between the Factions. He’s an extremely talented writer and someone all of you can learn a lot from.”

Everyone turns to look at each other. Since when did he write? I didn’t think that brute could even read.

“Now, this upcoming issue is going to feature a rapid dating segment that will be done in the pit next Friday, we have the contestants in the shared drive.” I roll my eyes at the stupid idea. Another raunchy issue. One or two would have been fine but every publication is littered with nonsense. My eyes meet Eric’s and he smirks. Shit, he saw that.

Jacob grabs a folder from the desk in front of him. He opens it and flips through the pages before reading from one.

“The assignments will be… Lynn, you are in charge of contestant introductions for the magazine.” He goes on listing off names and whatnot as I get lost in thought staring at my screen. “And, finally. Y/n, you’ll be coming up with insight questions for the contestants to answer on stage.”

I snap back to reality and purse my lips at my assignment. “Any questions?” He looks around the room before heading back to his office, leaving us to begin our work. Eric takes the secondary editor's desk at the front of the room.

I flip through my tabs looking for the work center to begin brainstorming what to write. I run my hands over my face and huff before getting up and making my way toward the coffee maker. This is gonna be a long night.

hours later

Everyone starts packing up and leaving one by one. Only a few remain at their desks typing away.

“How’s it going,” Lynn peers over at my screen reading through the bulleted list of questions.

“I hit a block, I can’t think of anything else and they all suck,” I whine.

“They can’t be that bad,” she says before reading one out loud. “Tell us one time you pretended to like someone but actually couldn’t stand them…” She gives me a weird look, “Girl, what’s wrong with you today? These are boring.”

I snort at her. One thing she never lost when she chose Dauntless was her candor.

“Are you gonna stay late today?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna try to spice up my boring questions,” I drag out the boooring and she laughs.

“Alright, I’m gonna head on home. Good luck.”

Time passes and I’m the only one left, at least I think.

“Y/n, what are you still doing here?”

Dear god, not him.

“I’m still working on my questions.”

“Great!” He uses his crutch to balance as he moves a chair closer to me and sits down. The knee of his good leg almost touches mine.

“Ask me one.”

I look at him nervously. “A-ask you one?” I stutter, fearful of the wave of criticism he’d unleash on me like he did in my initiate days.

I sit there looking at him before he shoots me one of his famous glares.

“Uh… Ok then.”

I look back at the screen scrolling through trying to find the best one I had.

“If you met a genie, what would your three wishes be?”

“Not bad,” he says before thinking for a second. “I would wish for better initiates, more hair gel, and for my leg to heal instantly so I can go back to the gym.”

I laugh briefly before feeling stunned. Did he just make me laugh?

“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, princess.” I scowl at him for bringing up the nickname given to me in training when blood got on my favorite gray top.

“That was forever ago!”

“Doesn't matter, you’re still a little princess at heart.” He shoots back before demanding another question.

“What’s the cheapest gift you’ve ever gotten someone?”

“Boooring, take that one out.”

I suck my teeth at him.

“Next,” he demands.

We sat there for what felt like hours. He even began asking me questions, every once in a while striking through one that he didn’t like.

“What are you thinking?” He pulls me back into reality. “Huh?” “You looked like you were thinking really hard… Didn’t know you could do that.”

“Ugh! You’re insufferable.” I say with a smile on my lips. I’d never tell him that I was thinking about how lovely he really was when he wasn’t being an ass. For the first time I was seeing a side of him I liked.

“Alright, last one. We’ve been here for ages,” he looks down at his watch. His perfect lips still curved upwards, his baby blue eyes look back at me - what the hell is wrong with me?

“Dauntless or Candor: kiss the person nearest to you or tell us where you’re the most ticklish. I like this one because all the dudes are gonna sit-”

He pulls my chair closer to him and plants his lips on mine. I feel his heavy hand on the small of my back. His soft lips send sparks through my body and my hands slide up his chest, resting behind his head. He pulls away, “That’s a great one.”

Part 2

[ricardian-werewolf]

Grishaverse rant: First Army.

(Dominik the Bold in a field dress uniform and Sobachka in... an enlistment's uniform? Bubby, you're a major, what's up, Lapushka?) Sometimes, now that I'm part of the Grishaverse fandom, I wish I was old enough to have been around when It first started. it's all great, but it's So big, sometimes I feel like I'm screaming into a void. Plus, since Leigh Bardugo is so big as an author, I can't just send her an ask anymore about the size of Ravka's armies, which has been a particularly meddlesome problem with regards to my fanfic I've been writing. With history being my major backbone to any work, I always love to situate my works in a period, and annoyingly, Ravka would work for Napoleonic Era Russia, which means I can haul out my giant Oxford History of Russia (on pdf), and go to work. But, the line of reality and fiction blurs, and as someone who's a very linear and realistic thinker... it's difficult. Especially with the Nikolai duology and the sudden leap from 1800 to... 1940ish with the usage of rockets which should more closely resemble V1/V2s then what I assumed - IBCMs.

“In the distance, I saw Os Alta, the Dream City, its spires white and jagged against the cloudless sky. But between us and the capital, arrayed in perfect military formation, stood row after row of armed men. Hundreds of soldiers of the First Army, maybe a thousand—infantry, cavalry, officers, and grunts. Sunlight glittered off the hilts of their swords, and their backs bristled with rifles.”

(hmmm). LB, where's the artillery?! Also why does no one in this book series wear helmets when going into combat?? Basically, I feel like LB should have put more energy into the makeup of First and Second Army. As a historian in training, where are the calvary beyond this one mention, where's the heavy and light artillery? She says regiments? Give me corps, give me battalions! where are the battle-honors, the Colors of regiments? I know First Army is stretched thin and they fight for the king, but I want regimental colors! I want Nikolai pouring over the regimental histories! Give me more than two Generals, Grishaverse wiki! Give me battle stories. Give me a history of regiments who're disbanded in times of peace and risen in times of war. We know Ravka has a draft and they're constantly in active border skirmishes with Fjerda/Shu Han, but I want to see the machinery and guts of a Ravka constantly in a state of ever-active militarism. Give me proper technological advancement by non-grisha, and for saint's sake, give me a reason why LB hasn't thought of this before Nikolai's Nolniki. It can't be Just Nikolai thinking of these things. Nor just Grisha hoarding all their tech!

[perdicinae-observer]

Title.

Urgh, how do people normally start this... Fancy greetings? Right, right. Hm...

Afternoon. (That was not fancy at all.)

This is Marshal Louis Nicolas Davout writing. Or...well, typing.

I've decided to finally excuse myself from my moping session solitude and venture into unknown territory that is this strange platform. (Which I have been...observing from a distance.)

Seeing as my late colleagues have been up to some...shenanigans on this platform, I might as well find something to amuse myself with the ample time I'm given and do some...[*grimaces*]...socialising.

[*sigh*] I'm going to regret this...

So, to whoever may see this and care; you are free to send me your questions, letters, and queries regarding whichever subject you wish. I will be reading through and answering them accordingly when I am not busy tending to domestic matters around the painfully quiet estate.

However, do be mindful of the things you send. Respect goes both ways and I do not like to squabble. Unless it's against certain bastards.

Unsavoury comments regarding my hair will swiftly be ignored and used as fuel for the fireplace.

...Don't expect me to initiate interactions much.

Regards,

L Davout.

——————————•

!! This is a joke RP account run by @mbenguin, a guy who is in no way shape or form a bona fide historian-- just really enthusiastic about balding dead nerds and French history! This is in no way meant to be accurate, analytical, or faithful 100% to reality despite being based on actual historical facts to a certain degree. This is a fictionalised parody that is meant to be in-character as possible to my interpretation of the man himself and I'm doing it for shits and giggles !!

Handy list of folks participating in this madness (whose exchanges will be tagged separately!)

Events (chronological, sometimes) ──

[✓ — Finished , ✗ — Ongoing]

Birth of "Lenoir", Hell's cutest ink demon chick

Local Old Man Turned Cutest Owl Ever, More On Page 2

Princess of Eckmühl(?)

⇲ Swedish Home Invasion

⇲ Catgirl Madness (ft. The Ass Boys)

The Ginger Rescue Expedition

⇲ Lenoir took over correspondence!

⇲ Party ADCs in the house tonight

Epilogue (1,2)

He's back!

Swedish Home Invasion 2 Dinner?

Waterloo 2: Electric Boogaloo

The Gasconious Wedding

Eagle sitter

Tags ──

#correspondance de Savigny-sur-Orge -- The marshal's replies to his letters- sent straight from his humble, lonely manor. Could both be written and spoken answers.

#dépêches personnelles -- General responses/exchanges (hilarity ensues)

#proclamations du Prince d'Eckmühl -- Important announcements/event messages

#représentations par le petit gardien -- Drawn visual representation by the marshal's mysterious companion...whose text will be in purple!

#la réponse du petit gardien -- Said mysterious companion's answering his letters, if there are any directed towards him.

#galerie d'oiseaux -- Collection of bird images that 'ruffled his feathers.' With positive connotations.

Be careful when asking questions regarding Aimée or his family!

——————————•