#combat summer learning loss

[azrielsmommy]

Dark Paradise (Part 2)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem! Reader

Summary: Never in the existence of Prythian had there been a rightful heir to two courts, much less a female, but there you are, in the flesh. With war upon the lands, and questionable family dynamics, a certain shadowsinger takes it upon himself to make your life just a little bit more interesting.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: sexual themes, mentions of assault (not towards reader)

a/n: Hey y'all just an fyi this is set right after the end of a court of mist and fury, like where Hybern sends Feyre back to the spring court with Tamlin after the failed attempt of destroying the cauldron, and she's now like plotting an escape. But Prythian is still like at war with Hybern. So shits going down, but she still hasn't made her way back to Rhys and the night court yet.

Cold sweat slid down your body, forcing you to readjust your grip on the broadswords, one in each hand. Licking your dry lips, the saltiness from the sweat coated your tongue. As you twirls the swords, their flared tips catch the suns rays. You huff out a breathe as you keep your eyes locked on your swordmaster.

He has trained you since you were a mere child, claiming that both you and your brother required proper combat training, rather than rotting away at a desk learning about the lords and ladies of Prythian. Over the years you had mastered a variety of weapons, swords, spears, bows, the list just goes on.

Yet you found yourself to be pushed just a bit more harder than your brother, and you wondered for many years why that was. How come Neo had it easier than me, while I was left to endure more? Learn to fight against harsher odds. The swordmaster never answered any of the questions, he didn't have to.

When you killed your first male, that's when you finally understood why. Understood how much physically stronger the average male is compared to a female. Understood that being a female, no matter the the social status was dangerous, you could be nobility or a librarian, males stop at nothing. And in that moment, drenched in blood, you vowed to never let yourself feel weak ever again.

But here you are, panting as you watch the swordmaster stand seemingly unphased. He stands tall, chin held high with unwavering confidence. It pisses you off. Holding a wooden staff, tip coated in metal, sharpened neatly to a jagged point, he gives it a quick lookover.

"Old man," you twist your blades around, getting a proper grip on them hoping the sweat pooling in your palms wouldn't affect the grip on the weathered hilts.

He smiles at that before lunging at you, swiftly swinging his staff down in a wide arch, you managed to avoid the metal tip by rolling out of it's path. Seamlessly getting up on your feet once more, you waste no time in returning the favour as you released a flurry of attacks, swinging your swords in such fervor even he had some difficulty blocking and dodging.

You must've lost track of time as you sparred, the midday sun beginning to set, bathing the sparring ring in pink and orange hues. Exchanging blows back and forth, neither of you sparing each other any leniency. Just as you were to deliver a heavy blow, the sound of your father voice echoed throughout the room.

"Y/n my dear, that should be enough fighting for today, don't you think?" Barely having enough time, you stop your arm mid-motion, gritting your teeth at the abruptness of the action. Blowing a loose piece of hair that had slipped out of your ponytail from your face, you spin around to face your father. "I suppose so." Your words uneven from your panting.

"As much as I relish in seeing you fight with the strength of a thousand suns," he teases as he playfully pushes against your forehead, causing your face to scrunch as you stumble a few steps back. "I'm off to visit the Summer Court." You raise an eyebrow as you stare at him, waiting for him to continue.

"The loss of alliance with that idiotic beast Tamlin, I've decided to gain the support of the Summer Court before Hybern can wrap his filthy hands around them," Helion reaches a patch of sunlight and outstretches his hands towards the light. The warm rays caressing his tan skin in glimmering beauty. "So to not waste time, you will be meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court." He rolls his neck back, enjoying the warm touch of the sun.

You swerve your head around, searching for your swordmaster, taken aback at how openly your father is discussing sensitive information, but he's nowhere to be seen. You snort, surprised you didn't hear his old bones squeaking as he left.

You walk over to the water station by where your father stands and pour yourself a cup of once ice cold water, but now room temperature due to the blistering heat. "When does he arrive?" You take a swig of water, soothing your dry throat as it slides down. "Tonight."

It takes all of your willpower to not spit out the water. Tonight?! What does he mean tonight, you haven't prepared whatsoever. "How soon is 'tonight'?" You ask wiping away excess water from your mouth.

"Eh, in an hour give or take." He nonchalantly responds with the flick of his hand. Without even a second thought you burst out of the sparring ring and run to your room. You clash into many employees, throwing several 'sorry's' over your shoulder as you sprint down the halls. Finally you make it to your room, drenched in sweat, eyes immediately fly to the bath. Practically ripping your clothes off, you wash yourself, scrubbing your skin with lavender milk soap until there was no chance for any remaining grime to be left.

Letting your hair fall in soft waves, you wear a white top, held up by one shoulder, dipping down to slightly show off your cleavage, wearing a matching white skirt, a slit in it's side to show off your leg. Finishing your outfit you don your neck and fingers with intricate gold jewelry that swirl and loop in all sorts of patterns.

Taking a final look in the mirror you place a gold crown on your head, the small spikes protruding out of your head, the sun reflecting off of the tiny gems in the crown. Taking a couple of deep breaths you waltz your way to the throne room, playing with the rings on your fingers as you anticipate your meeting with the High Lord.

As you enter the throne room and approach your seat, a fleeting thought slips past your mind. Wouldn't it be funny if that man from your dreams accompanied Rhysand here, tonight. You snort to yourself as you ungracefully take a seat in the middle throne.

But for now you wait.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ticking of the clock was driving you mad, it felt as though years had gone by, but reality crushingly sunk in when you checked the clock, and only mere minutes had passed by. You had taken it upon yourself to cure your boredom, passing the time by with checking how many cartwheels you could do in a row without throwing up. Which ended up being 57, a new record!

You had even tried to pick up a new skill by attempting to juggle the rings from your fingers, albeit you weren't very good. Loosing one of them as it ended up in some unseen corner. Now here you sit waiting, with a sour expression on your face, and hair in slight disarray.

Before you could even begin to think of abandoning this meeting, the menacingly large white doors begin to open, groaning as they grated against the floor. A male strolls into your view, yet you can't quite make out his face clearly, the sun doing little to illuminate the darkness that surrounds him. It's as if he's made of the very night sky, soaking up that onyx beauty and releasing it with each breath. The heavy thrum of his power reaches you before he does, it takes you aback, having never felt such raw power. Quickly you send back waves of your own powers, both sun and fire emitting from your very being. If he wants to have a pissing contest then so be it.

He stops before the dais, now fully visible as the shadows dissipate in the light, you catch the look in his eyes immediately, those violet hues capturing you, an amused look swirling in them. Besides his eyes, his beauty was striking, you're certain that he's had many lovers in his lifetime, without a doubt. Yup, that's definitely Rhysand.

Rhysand slyly spoke, voice like a cold drink on a hot summer day, smoothly, enticingly. "You aren't Helion."

"Really, and what makes you say that?" Sarcasm dripped from your voice as you propped your chin on a hand.

"You're much to young to be a...high lady." Rhysand carefully crafts his words, but his eyes speak his true thoughts. "My mind is well beyond my years Rhysand," flicking a hand in the air dismissingly "besides am I not just as capable as my father? Or do you wish to speak to a male rather than a female on such matters?" Raising a brow at him.

Slowly but surely a cheeky grin finds a way onto his face, as he raises his hand towards you. "Not at all, I actually find that I prefer you instead of your overzealous father, quite the lovely change of pace really."

A hum of approval leaves your throat after digesting his words, and the insinuation behind them. You begin to descend down the stairs to meet him, eye to eye, on common ground. Yet try as you might, you can't deny that view, having the most powerful High Lord of Prythian by your feet, it's a rare sight. You're feet land on the floor of the throne room, finally being able to see Rhysand up close. Just as you were about to suggest moving your conversation to one of the study rooms a cluster of shadows spiraled together behind him, forming a portal of sorts as a male steps out into view. Your mind short-circuits as you realize who stands before you, clad in swarming shadows.

It's the man from your dreams. Well you're certainly not laughing, as you recall the silly thoughts you had earlier, thinking about what ifs. Instead there you stand, eyes large like saucers, your mouth probably would've been opening and closing like a fish if you hadn't controlled yourself.

There he stands in all his glory, devastatingly beautiful, just one look at his face makes you want to dance. The planes of his face are elegant and chiseled, strong eyebrows furrowed as he stares back at you, seemingly having his own mixed thoughts. His dark hair falls gracefully over his face, curling away as a result from the heat, some strands sticking to his sweat slicked skin. His eyes are nothing like you've ever seen before. Not just green and brown, no. They are breathtaking, shinning brighter than all the stars combined, the calculated coldness at the center drew you in, yet they teem with emotion. His sparkling eyes are irresistibly charming, your skin growing hot wherever he glanced, feeling as if you were bathed in sunlight.

He was clad in battle leathers, leaving nothing to the imagination as they clung to his body so desperately you thought that they would pop just right off if he breathed too deeply. You completely ignored Rhysand as he spoke to you both, bouncing between waving his hand in front of your faces and loudly speaking to you. You paid him no attention as you watched the man before you, studying the way his eyes roved over every inch of your face.

You shoot out a hand towards him, voice coming out strained, "I'm y/n." You watch as his eyes flicker to your outstretched hand, softly he places his hand in yours. It's callused, rough skin squeezes yours as he shakes your hand ever so gently, like he's afraid that if he grips too harshly you'll shatter like glass. The azure siphon rings cool against your heated skin.

"Azriel." His voice rich and sweet like honey, sending a chill down your spine. He holds on for a little longer before dropping his grip, hand returning to his side. Realizing quickly that you've been ignoring the reason of this meeting you quickly clear your throat before turning to face Rhysand, "Where are my manners, I'm y/n, heir to Autumn and Day Court, anyways enough of the overbearing pleasantries, I'm sure you'd be more comfortable in one of our study rooms." Ushering the two of them out you lead the group towards the nearest study room, as you walk you feel Azriel's eyes burning into the back of your head, it takes all of your willpower to not look behind you and meet those intense eyes.

You barely register the sound of the slap followed with a pained grunt as you lose yourself in your thoughts. This time you look back over your shoulder. You're met with a rather strange scene, Rhysand's clutching his chest as he directs Azriel with a shit-eating grin, the latter remains unphased as he ignores Rhysands pointed looks.

You finally arrive to the study room, closing the doors as the three of you enter. You gesture to the two cream sofa chairs that sit across the matching sofa, a coffee table separating you from them. Taking your seat on the sofa, you use your magic to summon refreshments to the table. You watch carefully as Rhysand and Azriel settle into their seats before Rhysand finally speaks.

"Hybern's attacking Prythian, but I'm sure you already knew that," you nod as sip at your water, "we need as many alliances as we can get, without it Prythian will succumb to defeat, cities and fae of all kind will be pillaged and destroyed. I refuse to stand by and watch as everything we have built become nothing but dust, not after her." His voice laced with pure disgust as he sneered. You knew about the stories that were whispered about him and Amarantha, how he had to please her, you felt his pain and sorrow, making the decision to stay silent you urged him on.

"Helion already agreed to unify with us, but we are spread thin, not enough agreements being made, we came to ask Helion to reach out to other courts and see their stances, but we seem to have missed him." Setting down your glass you catch Azriel, from your peripheral, staring at your fingers, fixating onto your rings.

"Summer Court." You quickly respond as you lounge back into your seat. Rhysand gives you a confused look. "He's in the Summer Court smoothing things over, which I recall was your doing." You smirk at him, the High Lord sending you back a comical look, not too amused by your slight jab at his all too recent activities in the Summer Court.

"Well isn't he just a sweetheart," you chuckle at his comment, "since your father is being sooo helpful with the Summer Court, maybe you can too." "How so?" You question.

"Go to the Autumn Court." Your heart drops to your stomach. You haven't been there in over a century, just the idea of entering that cursed land and seeing that swine Beron along with your treacherous half-siblings sends your head spinning in all directions.

"I have no business there, how do you think Beron will take it if his wife's living proof of adultery comes back after decades? It will raise all hell." You seethe through gritted teeth, body tensing up at the image of Berons face.

"If I had anyone else to turn to for this matter, I would, but we have to know whether we have Autumn Court's support or not, and quickly." You huff, not only in annoyance at having to visit your other "home" but also because Rhys's right. We are running on short time, not much wiggle room left. "Fine." So you oblige, agree to attempt to make a pact with the Autumn Court, or at least you finally get to visit your mother after all these years.

Rhys tells you to pack your belongings as you will be staying in the House of Wind, with the rest of his Inner Circle for the remainder of the war. Claiming it's more convenient for you to be close, he winked before winnowing back to the Night Court, leaving you and Azriel alone to get ready to leave.

As you gather your belongings in your room, bringing what you thought was necessary, along with your twin blades, you feel cool whisps by your ankles. You look down and see that some of Azriel shadows are slinking around your legs, some making it up to your waist as they circle playfully.

"Sorry they sometimes don't listen to me." Azriel rumbles from behind you, as he watches you from the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. Eyebrows pulled together in annoyance at the rare un-behaved nature of his shadows.

You giggle at the chilly feeling of them sliding along your skin, "It's alright really, I think they're quite adorable." You throw a quick smile behind you, showing how easily entertained you are by the shadows.

They continue to swirl around you, even as you finally finish packing the last piece of clothing you deemed absolutely necessary. The sound of heavy footsteps behind you draw your attention towards Azriel. He stops mere centimeters from you, so close you could see freckles that dotted his skin that are easily missed if you don't pay attention. Your breath hitches as he grabs your hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out your ring that you lost earlier this evening. "How did you find that?" You question, your voice coming out just above a whisper.

He ever so carefully slides the ring onto your index finger, it slides on smoothly, but he holds your hand for just a bit longer, almost like he yearns for it. "My shadows have an eye for shiny, pretty things, they bring them to me." His voice low, making your stomach do somersaults as he gently lowers your hand, before making his way over to your bags. Silently letting out a shuddered breath you pick up your twin swords and securely strap them onto your back.

You stick out your hand, preparing yourself him to winnow the both of you to the House of Wind, but his hand doesn't meet yours. Glancing into his direction you open your mouth to ask what was wrong, but were immediately met with a jacket flying towards your head. Yelping you just manage to catch it before it smacks you square in the head.

"You'll freeze if you walk around the streets dressed like that." He gestures to your outfit, the thin material of the skirt wouldn't even stand a chance at keeping you even remotely warm. Rolling your eyes you slip the large jacket on, the material engulfing you in cocoon of heat. You catch a whiff of remnant notes cedar and lavender from the jacket. Wrapping yourself up tightly you stretch your hand out. "Thank you." You gently smile, he nods back and accepts your hand, gripping it softly he begins to winnow you to the House of Wind.

Darkness surrounds you, as wind rushes around you, blowing your hair around. As the darkness dissipates, and light filters through the remaining shadows you squint your eyes to get a better view of the city.

There you stand, in Velaris, the city of starlight.

tag list: @dr4g0ngirl @tothestarsandwhateverend

[zylphiacrowley]

X'VAHL TIA

✧ ✦ ✧ Basics ✧ ✦ ✧

Nickname: Vahl is technically not a nickname since it's his actual given name but he only lets a handful of people call him by it. Age: 32 Nameday: 15th Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon (June 14th... it's my birthday because I didn't want to have to remember it). Race: Seeker of the Sun Miqo'te Gender: Male Orientation: Bisexual. No clear preference Profession: Officially registered as a bard.

✧ ✦ ✧ PHYSICAL ASPECTS ✧ ✦ ✧

Hair: Strawberry blonde, typically worn swept back and held in place with pomade. Eyes: Odd eyes; Right: teal green, Left: purple. Skin: Varying degrees of tan depending on how much sun he's gotten. Tattoos/Scars: Trademark miqo'te markings around his eyes and on his cheeks. No tattoos. Slightly noticeable scar on the left side of his chin and a sizeable gash on the back of his upper left thigh from getting caught by Zenos' blade in Rhalgr's Reach.

✧ ✦ ✧ FAMILY ✧ ✦ ✧

Parents: Mother (deceased): X'rennia Reht. A frail woman in life who was unable to provide in any meaningful way to the tribe which was cause for her and her son to be heavily ostracized by many other members of the tribe. Any friends X'vahl made as a child he lost just as quickly when they learned who his mother was. She would lightly chide him whenever he came home covered in bruises and blood after getting into another fight with one of the other children for defending her. "They're not your battles to fight my dear." She would tell him while wiping the blood from his forehead and petting his ears to calm his anger. Father (deceased): X'laenn Nunh. Deeply in love with X'rennia but unable to stay with her due to his duty to the tribe. Instead he chose to do what he could to be a good parent to X'vahl when he could and spent much of his free time teaching him survival skills; such as how to make camp as well as how to hunt and fish and to prepare his catch. X'laenn also had a strong proclivity for music which he shared with his son and even gifted him a handmade instrument for his 12th nameday. Siblings: Elder brother (deceased): X'nez Tia. He only knew X'nez by name and from stories since he passed away before X'vahl was born, having drown while playing in a river one day while X'rennia had glanced away. Stricken with grief from the loss of her first child, X'rennia instilled a deep-seated fear of water and drowning in her second son. Grandparents: Unknown. Others: Children (alive): Twins; a daughter, M'vahren and a son, M'raiel, 13 summers old. Their mother was an M tribe scout and hunter named M'likki Trais who he thought he had fallen in love with at the time. He has not seen them since they were infants and is not allowed to see them for everyone's safety as M'likki hails from a satellite tribe to the main M tribe and the satellite tribe's Nunh was not known for his benevolence to others who would encroach on his tribe's territory or members. Pets: A young fawn who was given the name Flag before he came to care for her. He has yet to decide if he wants to change her name.

✧ ✦ ✧ SKILLS ✧ ✦ ✧

Abilities: Archery, Combat dancing, Gunblade combat, Astromancy. Hobbies: Music (both singing and playing), fishing (despite the fear of water), hunting, cooking.

✧ ✦ ✧ TRAITS ✧ ✦ ✧

Most positive trait: Tries his best to be a calming presence, which has gotten increasingly harder to maintain since becoming the Warrior of Light (the reputation of a godslayer and savior of the star doesn't typically paint one as "calm, warm, and inviting"). His peers however, see him as a lighthearted and sincere person who wears his heart on his sleeve. Most negative trait: Has trouble telling people no when they ask for his help. Also has a tendency to mask his own negative feelings in favor of maintaining his calm veneer for others much to his own detriment. This habit has only become worse since gaining the title of Warrior of Light and becoming publicly recognized almost everywhere he goes.

✧ ✦ ✧ LIKES ✧ ✦ ✧

Colours: Deep greens and browns. Smells: Soil after a heavy rainfall, pine, a campfire after it's just been put out. Textures: Wood grain, the feeling when you run your fingers over the flat side of a feather. Drinks: warm drinks like chai and matcha, sometimes ciders.

✧ ✦ ✧ OTHER DETAILS ✧ ✦ ✧

Smokes: Never Drinks: Rarely, only socially. Drugs: Never Mount Issuance: Not so much issued, as requested himself; a white chocobo. Her name is Lumi. He found her as a chick and brought her to a farm since he wouldn't be able to care for her at the time as he was set to board a vessel in Limsa headed to Thavnair and he didn't know if or when he'd be back. When he did eventually find himself back in the area, he sought out the farm to check on her. She seemed to remember him and he asked if he could take her back, to which the farm allowed under the condition that she be officially registered with a Grand Company. Been arrested: Arrested once for piracy (by association), detained once in Radz-at-Han during his first visit in his 20s for disturbing the peace.

Relationships || X'vahl x Erenville || Address: Primal > Exodus > Lavender Beds > Ward 10 > Plot 31

Tagged by: @gatheredfates Thank you so much! I've been wanting to do a bio for him for a while but haven't been able to find a format I was happy with. Tagging (if you want to do it and/or if you haven't done it already): @ambalambs @uldahstreetrat @airis-ray @shamelessdisplay @lilvulpix-alex and @ishgard

[xxanaduwrites]

much ado about nothing, major

THE PROLOGUE

pairing: john “bucky” egan x (ofc) maude “blue” bluell

warnings: this story will contain mature themes, descriptions of injury, blood, sexual content, swearing, as well as, physical and mental illness. proceed with caution.

there must be something or nothing at all

in which a delightful duet devoured turns rather sour between one maude "blue" bluell & one major john "bucky" egan.

Everything starts with something.

That something could be the break of a new day, eyes peeling back out of the darkest slumbers, the shuffling of cards before an intense gamble of win or loss, or the tickling of one's throat, signaling the beginning of a newfound illness.

Maude Bluell wasn't sure if she could consider feeling fortunate to wake up to such a day, when all days nowadays were filled in such deep darkness. But, she tried her best to hold onto those traces of light, finding solace in the fates of the gamblers who won — who proved they could not only fight a war but for their survival. And she too had to try to survive under the pretenses placed upon her. She knew she couldn't just sit around and let the tickle win — let the illness of her country's enemies spread like a disease.

She needed to fight for what was right just as much, and she fought alright through the Red Cross. She figured it wouldn't hurt, signing up for the war effort — serving some sort of support. But the person who signed up for such a fleet in 1940, definitely wasn't the same person who had found herself stationed at Thorpe Abbotts, England in 1943. Working as a nurse with concentrated care for the men who mastered the air, she respected their bravery in risking their lives as they combated through the sky. The pilots that resided on this particular base were formally known as the 100th Bomb Group, informally known as the Bloody 100th.

Because of this, loss became a regular part of everyday life — a routine for Nurse Bluell as the numbers of documented casualties raised on her chart. She learned to grow a thicker skin as the men she cared for left as fast as they came, blurring into the lines of her vision and burning deeply into the cusp of her memory.

Yet, that very first week in the hospital of Thorpe Abbots proved to be clear — clearer than the skies above that had ripped her men from the air and left the ones who remained grasping onto it as they struggled to take in the simplest of breaths.

She could recall every miniscule feature of the very first man to die in her arms.. The way her fingers had been so deeply coated in his blood, traces remained under her fingernails in passing days.  Like a broken record, the image of his eyes bulging out of his head during his final breath, played over and over in her head, taking up every remnant of space in her mind and leaving her in a trance.

So much so, that her colleagues grew concerned when they found her lost in the wall in front of her, still as a statue, as the water ran hard against her skin for longer than it should have.

The remedy for such a state was a recommended night out on the town, which really consisted of a gathering on base. A social event amongst the many factions, men and women alike, letting loose and having fun.

But who could find a sense of enjoyment after watching a man die?

Maude Bluell sure couldn't.

To her dismay, Nurse Charlotte "Lottie" Reign and Nurse Susan "Susie Q" Quinn — Bluell's colleagues and quarter mates — did not take no for an answer, dragging Miss. Bluell out of the safe haven of their room to sulk to the boistorous function of the night.

Little did Nurse Bluell know that something would in fact start that very same night. Something she'd find to be just that, only for it to become nothing — nothing at all?

And as it is told — on a hot summer's night in 1943 — one Nurse Maude "Blue" Bluell would bump into one Major John "Bucky" Egan.

And the rest would very well be something...

——

where it all begins.... ;)

— xanadu

tag list:

@precious-little-scoundrel @rubberpsyche @blurredcolour @major-mads

if you would like to be added or taken out — please comment below <3

[scotianostra]

August 5th 1388 saw the Battle of Otterburn.

Some sources say the battle happened on 19 August, well the English versions do but we Scots won this battle so we are going with today’s date!

Now the Scots here were led by James Douglas, 2nd Earl of Douglas, this was a descendent of the Good Sir James through an Uncle, The Black Douglas himself had died at the Battle of Teba, throwing the Bruce’s heart while charging towards the moors, his son William IV, Lord of Douglas died at a young age at the Battle of Halidon Hill in 1333 and the line passed to his Uncle “Hugh the Dull”,don’t you love these nicknames! Anyway that’s the lineage that this James became Earl of Douglas, he had obviously learned a lot through his. family ties as you will hear in the story about the Battle.

Following the end of a truce with the English, Scottish forces began raiding across the border in the summer of 1388, Douglas led a Scottish force of around 6,000 men across the border into Northumbria, burning and pillaging as they progressed, the Scots advanced on Newcastle.

Douglas decided to lead a raid which was timed to take advantage of divisions on the English side between Lord Neville and Henry Percy, 1st Earl of Northumberland who had just taken over defence of the border.

The Scots divided their forces with the main force and their baggage train heading towards Carlisle while a raiding party including Earl Douglas ravaged the countryside around Durham and Newcastle. Henry Percy sent his two sons Henry “Hotspur” Percy and Ralph to engage while he stayed at Alnwick to cut off the marauders’ retreat.

Froissart’s Chronicles says that the first fighting included a meeting of the Earl Douglas and Henry Percy in hand to hand combat, in which Percy’s pennon was captured. Douglas announced that he would “carry [the pennon] to Scotland and hoist it on my tower, where it may be seen from afar”, to which Hotspur retorted “By God! You will never leave Northumberland alive with that.”

This was a big thing back then, the Pennon was a flag on a large pole and it bore the crest of the commander of the army on either side, it was carried by a rider who stayed close to the commander and it let their troops know his position, with it being captured, mayhem must have ensued and honour was lost.

Douglas then moved off destroying the castle at Ponteland and besieging Otterburn castle. Percy attacked Douglas’ encampment with a surprise attack in the late afternoon but first encountered the Earl’s serving men, giving the bulk of the forces time to muster and attack them on their flank.

During the battle on a moon-lit night Douglas was killed and the Percys were both captured, with the remaining English force retreating to Newcastle. Despite Percy’s force having an estimated three to one advantage over the Scots one set of records show 1040 English were captured and 1860 killed whereas 200 Scots were captured and 100 were killed. The Westminster Chronicle gives a more reliable estimate of Scottish casualties as being around 500 or so.

Douglas’ body was found on the field the following day. The Scots, albeit saddened by the loss of their leader, were heartened enough by the victory, to frighten off English reinforcements. When the Bishop of Durham advanced from Newcastle with 10,000 men he was so impressed by the ordered appearance of the Scottish force, the din they set up with their horns, and their seemingly unassailable position, that he declined to attack.

So there you go another of the great Douglas’s who gave his life fighting for his country.

The first two photos are depictions of the battle, the second shows the Earl of Douglas's body being removed from the battlefield, pic three is a monument, now called The Percy Cross, that commemorates the battle.

[writingisawildride]

Hello

I know I'm barely here anymore

But unfortunately the Ritalin shortage in Summer caused me to become hyperfixation on Overwatch, Gabriel Reyes/Reaper in particular (AGAIN), against my very will.

But I'm here to make it everyone else's problem again and have been challenged by @wildissylupus to post my Martina Reyes HCs (or basically character summary at this point)!!!

So

Here

We

GOOOOOO

(Please note I am Filipina, not Mexican or Latine at all, I'm trying my best to research, but please correct me if I'm wrong)

- 1st of all, for me it is Dr. Martina Nuñez-Reyes, women in STEM, iconic

- Born and raised in San Diego, in particular in or by Barrio Logan!

- She is specifically Nahua Mexican with family in Guerrero, Mexico. She has learned a lot of Precolonial History and mythology, both in school and from her family. She also speaks Nahuatl fluently, as well as Spanish and ASL.

- Sweet, nurturing, professional, good tempered, graceful, makes lots of bad puns (she and Winston got along great), but occasionally slips in some "joking" sadism and morbid curiosity.

- Loves perfume even though she can't wear it often due to her work in laboratories and hospitals, will wear even just a little bit even at home to enjoy it.

- joined a ballet folklorico troupe up until High School, but still remembers the moves well. Specializes in Guerrero style folklorico!

- Excellent cook, amazing baker. Loves to adapt recipes to include lots of spices. (This will come back later)

- Interested in the medical field, specifically medicine itself, after learning about how advanced Mesoamerican civilizations were medically.

- Martina was a regular prodigy, attending an advanced secondary school academy in Mexico City, before continuing on to get PhDs in Medicine, Chemistry, and Pharmaceutical Science by age 24.

- By age 26 she had already made strides by synthesizing and creating medicine that was able to do things like naturally accelerate healing in the body.

- That's also when the Omnic Crisis began. She was inducted by the United States Military among swathes of other skilled doctors to create the Super Soldier Serum for the Soldier Enhancement Program (SEP) at a hidden facility.

- Six months, they managed to get it to an acceptable loss rate of 25%, and test it on 100 Soldiers. She was in charge of overseeing the injections of 20 of the 100 randomly assigned under her, which included Soldier 24, Gabriel Reyes, and Soldier 76, Jack Morrison. It was also done in doses, not all at once.

- She and Gabriel were attracted to each other but didn't act on it for quite a bit, due to the taboo nature of a doctor and a patient. They didn't flirt either, but had moments of "Oh fuck they're hot" before shaking it off.

- After the second round of doses, she lost her first soldier, which made the risk of SEP all the more apparent to her.

- Remember when I mentioned she's good at baking? She stress bakes because it helps make a zen sort of ritual of following steps/regaining a small sense of control. The reason Gabriel loves cookies? It's because he woke up at 2AM catching her stress baking a batch of Chili Chocolate Chip Cookies. It's where they had a heart to heart about Gabriel and the other Enhanced Soldiers trusting Martina and the doctors no matter the risk because they know they're liable to die in the Crisis anyway if they can't make headway.

- As the Crisis gets more dire, the General orders the doctors at the SEP facility to also go through basic military training, which Martina disliked, so she never really went past a machine pistol.

- 33 Soldiers make it out, and she sent with them on missions to retake cities across America. She wouldn't always be an active combatant, but she could hold her own if she had to.

- When Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison were selected to the elite Overwatch core team, she helped lead their medical support team. Also yes during this whole time, Gabriel and Martina still were attracted to each other but still sort of afraid to act because not only is she still his Doctor, he's now her commanding officer.

- Also during this period she helps treat a young Angela Ziegler during the bombing of Zurich.

- After fighting alongside Inti Warriors (Specifically Illari's dad) to help retake part of Central and South America, Gabriel almost died, which caused her to go full BAMF, and save him.

(Jack: "... can someone please tell me why our medic is rushing in alone, guns blazing?")

- They have to repair ships and stuff, so they decide to take R&R in reclaimed Guerrero, where Martina shows Gabriel around, and they end up dancing together. It's where they finally give in and end up in a relationship.

- Get married the last year of the Omnic Crisis, and have a son a few years later named Izel (who is the grown man with a family in my heart and soul in the Reflections Comic)

- Dr. Martina Nuñez-Reyes is the first Head of Medicine in Overwatch's Golden Age because goddamnit someone had to have that position before Angela.

- She's also Angela's mentor and sort of like an adoptive mom, Angela absolutely idolized her

Here's where my Canon deviates hard, because Blizzard's timeline makes no sense

(Fun fact this next part exists because I misread Code of Violence and thought that the ash and burning was from Gabriel's memories of Echo Park and not where he was so I straight up thought Martina was fridged a whole ass year before I heard the voicelines and reread it for clarity, but she's not fridged. Just stay with me.)

- On Izel's 6th birthday in Echo Park, there was an attempted assassination via explosions that caused Izel to lose his left arm and replace it with a prosthetic (the man in the Reflections comic has his left arm in his pocket)

- It also very nearly kills Martina, who is 6 MONTHS PREGNANT WITH THEIR DAUGHTER, Graciela

- The family lives, and Graciela has to be c-section delivered prematurely

- This ofc enrages Martina and Gabriel who, after recovery, hunt the motherfucker down to kill.

- It is not a quick death. Martina synthesizes POISON to make that fucker die screaming. (Basically I wanted to flip the Dead Wife trope where the wife lives and is FUCKING PISSED AND JOINS HER HUSBAND ON A ROARING RAMPAGE OF REVENGE)

- Oh yeah and that triggers the birth of Blackwatch lmao.

- Gabriel brought Cole Cassidy home for Christmas where she immediately enfolds Cole into the family.

- Martina and Gabriel also help Cole get his GED.

- Oh yeah Blackwatch

- So Martina supplies the poisons for coercion, torture, and assassination (and torture) to Blackwatch under the table for super covert missions, basically even people at Blackwatch didn't even know about. Ma'am was committing war crimes to keep the world and her babies safe. All while keeping up the sweet, dedicated, professional facade for like 14 years.

- Gabriel tries to get her to make another super soldier serum so he can be stronger, she refuses, they argue, him calling her a hypocrite, and it looks bad, UNTIL

- Shit happens and she accidentally lets a poison slip that gets reverse engineered and kills a lot of people, causing her to retire and Mercy steps up. Gabriel keeps her secret and they end up staying together

- HOWEVER, once the Venice Incident happens and Izel disowns his father, she chooses to not back up Gabriel's choices, whereas their daughter Graciela does, causing them to be separated but still married.

- Gabriel considers leaking her secret, but loves her too much to/wants the kids to have at least one parent they don't detest

- After the Swiss Explosion, Martina and Graciela mourn very badly, Izel rekindled his relationship with his mother but not Graciela

(Izel needs his own post probably lmao)

- Martina tries to move on, but finds she can't.

- listen once a man is willing to cover up war crimes for you, it's a very hard standard to meet

- She rejects the recall initially but to avoid this post from being even longer REASONS, Graciela goes with/gets kidnapped by (it's complicated) Talon, which is how Cole finds out Gabriel is Reaper

- Joins in to get her daughter back, and to redeem herself because she realizes how much destruction she caused even if people deserved it... lowkey she even doesn't fully regret it depending on the person she killed

- Her abilities are she got a CPR glove that can shock people in one hand that can pull Medicated/poison grenades out of a storage and a Pistol in the other and she can inject peeps with medication close quarters.

- She's like 63 currently also (in my Canon, Gabriel got a significant age bump with a bunch of other characters, he is 67 but is technically frozen at age 58)

- blizzard if you read this and wonder why I turned this nameless, possibly faceless character into someone that's committed war crimes, I don't got a fucking clue either

- wildissylupus I'm so sorry for subjecting you to this, like how I will subject my friends to a PowerPoint presentation about my character lore and alternate overwatch timeline on my birthday

[readingsquotes]

"

The state of Israel is the purveyor not only of a settler-colonial project but also of one that actively continues its violent expansion in the 21st century. Over the past months we have witnessed widespread, unnecessary death and extraordinary devastation that has led to the uprooting of practically the entire population of Gaza. Massive demonstrations all over the planet and deep collective grief about the conditions in Gaza have turned my attention back to the emotion-laden political mobilizations during the summer of 2020. People everywhere, including in Palestine, felt both rage and profound sadness at the racist police lynching of George Floyd. Some might say that the issues driving the George Floyd mobilizations and the current protests against the war on Gaza are different. But are they?

The collective mourning elicited by the racist violence that claimed the lives of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and so many others galvanized demonstrations aimed at the systems, structures, and histories that enabled such racist state violence. And those demonstrations were implicitly directed at the global imperialism that furthers the proliferation of racial capitalist strategies. Some of the protests also highlighted the lessons the U.S. has learned as a direct result of its close alliance with Israel, which has included trainings offered by the Israel Defense Forces to U.S. police departments all over the country. Whether or not the Minnesota police ever directly learned combat moves from the IDF, the increased militarization of policing here is directly related to global capitalism, including the economic and military ties between Israel and the U.S."

.....

It was clear then that the Zionist lobby was stepping up its offensive because it had been losing ground. .....I see a direct line connecting this recent history — and, of course, all the history linking Black and Palestinian movements since the Nakba in 1948 — with the rising numbers of Black people who now refuse to toe the Democratic Party line on support for Israel.

....

Today the unceasing military assaults on Gaza are reason for deep despair, especially as we learn every day about a loss of life and community destruction that is unprecedented in comparison to all recent wars. Despite the obvious need for a cease-fire — a permanent cease-fire — the U.S. government continues to lend aid and support to Israel. Young activists today are trying to unravel this conundrum, even as the government and both major political parties remain in thrall to Zionism. Despite efforts to persuade the public that any critique or even questioning of the state of Israelis equivalent to antisemitism, astute young people, including radical Jewish activists, are pointing out that the most effective struggles against antisemitism are necessarily linked to opposition to racism, Islamophobia, and other modes of repression and discrimination. This is the first time in my own political memory that the Palestine solidarity movement is experiencing such broad support both throughout the U.S. and all over the world. Here in the United States, despite the McCarthyist strategies employed against those who call for freedom and justice for Palestine on campuses, in the entertainment industry, and elsewhere, we are in a new political moment, and we cannot — we must not — capitulate to those who represent the interests of racial capitalism and the legacies of colonialism."

[welcome-to-green-hills]

What do you think that sonic 3 will be about?

Hello, my dear!❤️✨

I’m terribly sorry for taking so long to answer your ask. I wanted to make sure that my thoughts were clear and reflected what I felt. I feel that quite a few themes and ideas will be explored through the third Sonic film. I don’t necessarily believe that it’s once singular concept. I also feel that the film could, potentially, take on a darker and more serious tone than the first and second films. (This is only a gut feeling with what the writers for Sonic 3 have stated in the summer 2022).

Down below I’ve shared a couple of the main themes/ideas that I believe will be explored the most:

Teamwork:

Since the dawn of Sonic’s existence, we’ve become very educated in the power of teamwork. This ranges from Sonic learning the values of working in team to him being a major advocate of teamwork. (It varies between alternate universes, such as games and TV show, and soft “reboots” of the series).

Towards the end of Sonic 2, we see the Wachowski siblings team up in an epic showdown against Dr. Robotnik and his Eggman Robot. We can see that each of them are highly skilled in various forms of combat. That is of no question. What should be empathized is them being in sync with one another. This was empathized by Sonic before he created a distraction (Sonic’s Speech). Seeing the interactions between Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles during the Battle of Greenhills, I firmly believe that the theme of teamwork will be explored. However, it will be Sonic that voices the need of teamwork and not him learning how to work in a team.

When the three of them work together, they become a heroic dynamic. Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles are able to understand each other without the need of redirection. This is a form of trust and equal opportunity for them to fight. If a team is good, then it doesn’t necessarily need a leader either. A team and their members know how to communicate with one another and encourage each other to become the best versions of themselves.

I feel—and this is strictly my opinion—that the power of teamwork will be explored with Sonic being the advocate for it. I do hope that this makes sense. If not, I’m more than happy to clarify!😊

Grief/Acceptance:

One of the hardest concepts to grasp in life is that not everyone can be saved… even if they are deserving of a second chance. No matter how hard one may try, it doesn’t always happen. There is also the notion of feeling guilt and grievance towards what was lost as well. All of these emotions rolled into one are facts that one must learn how to live with and come to accept it. I can completely understand that this may feel like a darker and grim tone. (That, and I feel like I can hear some of y’all saying “damn Mystery that’s pretty dark.” Well, Shadow has a pretty tragic backstory). I propose that this concept will be explored: Shadow coping with the loss of his friend/sister and Sonic being made aware of the darker reality of heroic actions. Both of these actions will have our characters become aware of losing something that was loved and accepting that it’s gone.

Here’s the thing: we can infer that the third film will be heavily influenced by Sonic Adventure 2 and Shadow the Hedgehog (2005) (Casey & Miller, 2022). The problem here is that we don’t know how much will be used. We don’t even know if Maria Robotnik will be a character in the film. This is a bold claim to make, I completely understand. I express this concept because of how the adaptation of the films are compared to games and interpretations. Concept art from the second film depicts the corpse of Gerald Robotnik leaning against Shadow’s stasis pod, indicating that this was a potential character (Hesse, 2022) However, this is concept art… we don’t have enough evidence to support the claim that he’ll be referenced in the third film. What do know is that Shadow will be one of the main characters and center of attention.

If anything, we could understand grief and loss the most through Shadow. And in order to approach the situation, Sonic might have to dig deep within himself to express how he felt when he lost Longclaw (and the need for self-isolation for ten years). I will not lie to you: having these conversations are tough. It’s uncomfortable to share feelings deep down and to talk about events that changed us negatively. I feel that having a conversation about losing someone that one loved will be talked about tenderly. With Sonic, I feel that we may see him not only express his feelings of losing Longclaw, but also experience him losing Shadow. Again, there isn’t enough evidence to support that the third film may 100% be a reflection of Sonic Adventure 2. All that we know is that there will be heavy inspiration. Trusting another person to share personal grievances may help other come to terms with loss.

I am not saying that people heal 100% when having these conversations, I am trying to say that it’s a starting point that leads to progress.

Hope✨:

Throughout everything, there is hope. No matter how hard the situation gets, no matter the outcome, there is still a sliver of hope that everything will be alright in the end. And despite everything, that hope is what inspires others to keep going. I feel that hope will be a big theme for the film as well.

And if y’all have any thoughts, please share them! I love to hear concepts and ideas!

[jackoshadows]

I don't know if anyone else has thought of it but remember how when bran brought up the idea of using a poleaxe while hodor is his legs and luwin dismissed it saying when a man fights his arms, legs and thoughts must be as one. I thought as bran gets better with his powers, he can eventually warg into something while controlling his physical body, for example warging into a horse while still being able to swing a sword, unlikely but a cool concept imo

That would indeed be cool to see!

But again, I remain confused as to the whole concept of warging perhaps because GRRM has deliberately vaguely defined it. When Arya skinchanges the cat while awake, how exactly did that work? Did Arya's consciousness split into two before some of it went into the cat and the other half remained in her? Would a person be able to function properly when some of who they are as a person is in something else?

Or is it specific senses only? So when Arya is blind, she is using the conscious thought generated by part of the brain that is involved in sight from the cat rather than her own. So here blind Arya is sensing and using the cat's consciousness.

For Bran it's the loss of use of his legs. So Bran skinchanges into someone for using their legs - which is why he wargs into Hodor. Or if he wants to enjoy the rush of running fast - could explain if and when he wargs into the horses. Skinchanging the ravens helps him cover vast distances. I suspect this is what he will learn to do while awake. Warg into animals that will help him travel. Hell, I wouldn't mind seeing him ride his direwolf Summer.

I don't think we will see Bran and Arya use their sword in combat. It's a hard thing to do for two children their size to wield swords against adults in combat. Even if they have training. There's a reason the lightweight Needle is specially made for a skinny 8 year old. I guess that's where Arya and Bran's warging/skinchanging and control of these powerful direwolves come into the picture.

Forgive me for talking about another book series, but the Wheel of Time does 'warging' with the Wolfbrother Perrin Aybara and the way that magical system is used is soooo good. Like when Perrin calls the wolves to help him in battle. The battle of Dumai's wells in WOT is epic for a reason!

Perrin had just time to seize hold of Dobraine’s stirrup before the Cairhienin were thundering forward. Loial’s long legs matched the horses pace for pace. Loping along, letting the horse pull him in long leaping strides, Perrin sent his mind out. Come.

Ground covered with brown grass, seemingly empty, suddenly gave birth to a thousand wolves, lean brown plains wolves, and some of their darker, heavier forest cousins, running low to hurl themselves into the backs of the Shaido with snapping jaws just as the first long Two Rivers shafts rained out of the sky beyond them. A second flight already arched high. New lightnings fell with the arrows, new fires bloomed. Veiled Shaido turning to fight wolves had only moments to realize they were not the only threat before a solid spear of Aiel stabbed into them alongside a hammer of Cairhienin lancers.

In WOT there is actually a world of dreams called Tel'aran'rhiod and wolves live partly in this world where they can talk to each other and to the men who have the ability to be a wolf brother. The wolf dreams in WOT is Perrin communicating with wolves. In WOT, the wolves have their own thoughts and consciousness and communicate to Perrin Aybarra.

I can only hope GRRM spends more time on developing the fantasy aspects of ASoIaF as we get closer to the end and looming confrontation with the Others.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Hail Hydra - Chapter Three “In the Depth of Winter, I Finally Learned That There Was in Me an Invincible Summer.”

When Sergeant Barnes starts to recover from his illness, he’s given other things to worry about. If you look at the CW and still decide to read, it’s on you ❤️ CW: illness recovery, temperature torture, hypothermia, loss of consciousness. Prompts filled: ‘Home’, December 3rd prompt, Dead Dove December ‘Hypothermia’, December 3rd Prompt, Whumpcember ‘Fainting, December 3rd prompt, Hurtcember 2023 ‘I’m Cold… So Cold’, Multifandom Flash Beehive Bingo ‘Losing Time’, Halloween Horror Bingo.

Check it out on AO3 here, or below the KR with the boards!

It only took a few days for the throbbing pain in my arm to begin to subside, with the gruesome streaks staining my skin receding slowly. As much as I was reluctant to admit it, it seemed that this scrawny Russian really was trying to help me. There was a chance – however slim – that I would actually survive this imprisonment.

When my symptoms started to clear, and I was eating and drinking everything they were offering without complaint, the bespectacled man who butchered me came back. I was held fast by Little and Large, pinned to the wall as I snarled, stomach aching from a well-placed punch as I was assessed, cold fingers probing my rapidly-healing stump. I’d known, ever since the time I spent strapped to the sadistic German’s table, that something he’d done to me had changed me somehow. I couldn’t remember most of it – the memories lost to me, buried beneath needles and restraints and metal pressing bruises into my face. But I moved faster, threw further, healed quicker than I ever had before. I was… Not unlike Steve, in some ways. Like how I survived a 400-foot fall and only lost an arm. “You heal quickly, but the arm does not grow back. Интересный… Interesting.” I thrashed once more as he half bent, unbuttoning my combat pants, stained with blood and dust from the concrete ground and splattered with bodily fluids from my using a bucket in the dark. But they were the only comfort I had in my dank cell, and I would not be parted with them easily, my feet lashing out automatically, kicking off the wall to propel myself further. He growled an order, and another fist slammed into my guts, making me retch and slump, sufficiently weakened by my days in captivity that Large’s heavy blow drained my fight, letting the doctor shed first my trousers, then my shorts, leaving me exposed and trembling. Bile rose in my throat at the thought, fingers clenching into a fist where it was pinned to the rough bricks. I will not have the first time a man touches me be this. I’ll die first. But he did nothing – only cast an eye over me before stepping back, nodding at the men either side of me. Little squatted to picked up my dropped clothes, pausing infinitesimally when his hand skimmed the rough edge of my carefully shaped plastic before burying the makeshift shiv amongst the layers, not meeting my eye as he rose once more. I was left to sink to my knees, shivering at the cold air washing over my bare skin, balling up against the wall in some desperate attempt to preserve my body heat. It was bad enough before, but at least my pants were built for cold weather, and I could tuck my fingers into my waistband to stop them freezing. Now, there was no barrier between my body and the cold.

By the time the door reopened, the light beneath the door had receded, plunging me into darkness and lowering the temperature ever further. I was trembling in the corner, creased into myself in a useless motion, hand tucked into my armpit in an effort to preserve my fingers. I scrambled forward desperately at the faint sight of the slender silhouette, trembling desperately. “Please- fuck, please say you’ve got some clothes, I’m freezing my ass off-” He shushed me quickly, kneeling on the floor before me. “I cannot do that. How could I explain that to Ivan?” “Ivan?” “The other guard,” he offered, rubbing my arms roughly. “They are testing to see how cold you can get before you lose consciousness. It will not be pleasant. The more I try to help you, the longer this will last.” “Then knock me out,” I growled, grasping his arm hard and leaning closer. “Please. We both know I’ll last too long even without your help. I can’t do it. Just knock me out.” I can’t lose my other hand to the cold. Please. He hesitated, then shook his head. “I cannot. Not yet, at least. They will be suspicious if you succumb so easily.” Burning acid rose in my throat – the only part of me that felt any warmth. “How long?” “Hm?” “How long do I have to last before you’ll help me?” He hummed thoughtfully, grimacing. “… A week, at least. You survived in the snow for hours before we found you, with no ill effects. They expect you to reach at least ten days before you cannot be woken. Much shorter, and there will be suspicion.” “A week,” I breathed, shivering at the thought, despite his hands still rubbing warmth into my biceps. “I will help you as much as I can.” He reached into his jacket, pulling out a flask and offering it to me. “It is whiskey,” he offered when I hesitated, unscrewing the cap and taking a pointed sip. “Safe. It will warm you.” I took a long, grateful gulp, trembling as the heat spread through my bones. “… I don’t understand why you’re helping me.” “I told you; I have no fight with you, Американский. I-” “No,” I interrupted quietly, shaking my head. “No, you wouldn’t risk your life for me, not for that.” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, watching me closely. “… You remind me of a man I knew.” Snorting in disbelief, I shook my head. “I do?” “Yes. A… A friend of mine.” He blushed minutely, and my eyebrow arched. “… A good friend.” “Ah. You-” “No, no. He… No.” I winced sympathetically, inundated with flashes of home, of a sweet boy I grew up with who had no idea how I felt for him. “… I know what that’s like.” “You do?” he clarified in surprise, hands stuttering on my arms. “You remind me of him, actually,” I chuckled, shaking my head in disbelief. “Or- well, who he used to be, I suppose. He’s been through some… Changes, recently.” “I do?” he pressed, head cocked, those pale eyes locked on me, smiling softly. “I…” Despite myself, I licked my lips nervously, moving just a little closer. Oh, Steve… Shaking my head sharply, I drew back, snapping the illusion and breathing deeply as the cold settled over me once more. “Yes. You do. You… Look quite similar.” He nodded once, a hint of colour shading his cheeks as he removed his hands from me. “Yes, well… I-I will be back tomorrow evening. Just hold on, Американский… They say the war will be over soon. The prisoners will be released. You can go home to the man you know.” Offering him a weak smile, I nodded once. “So can you.” His face fell, and I winced. “…You can’t?” “No,” he replied quietly, eyes diverted. “No, I cannot. He was killed four months ago. By Germans,” he added, turning a startlingly angry gaze to me. “And yet it is Americans we keep in cells.” I blinked in surprise at his unexpected venom, silent until he stood. “… I never asked your name.” He offered me a shaky grin, pale in the dim light. “Aleksandr. Aleksi. And you, Американский? What do they call you?” “James. Bucky, to my friends.” He extended a hand, and I slid mine into his warm embrace hesitantly. “Pад встрече. It is nice to know you, James.” “Bucky,” I corrected softly. “Call me Bucky. It’s nice to know you too, Aleksi.”

He was right; it wasn’t pleasant. Each morning, when the larger man – Ivan – dropped off my meagre rations, he doused my trembling, naked body in icy water, my jaw juddering so fiercely that my teeth ached and I bit my tongue into rapidly-healing ribbons. My fingers and toes survived only by the Aleksi’s grace, an hour spent with my feet tucked beneath him, my body slowly but surely pressing closer to his as he warmed my fingers between his own, never complaining about my freezing skin. By the fourth night, he offered me his shirt while he sat with me, but I could only scoff weakly. “I don’t think it would fit over one of my arms. But thank you.” By the sixth, my vision was blurring, and the idea of another morning doused in water brought tears to my eyes as I cowered against him, his arms tight around me to keep me as warm as he could. I hated this weakness, but I had no choice but to accept it; I knew the likelihood of me surviving without the kind Soviet’s assistance was significantly slimmer. “I’m cold… So c-cold…” I stammered, trembling violently. Despite his best efforts, the numbness was beginning to settle irreversibly into my bones, the relief I found in his warmth dwindling each evening.

I knew I had reason to worry when even the cold water thrown over my body barely elicited a response. I was too tired to raise my head – too tired even to tremble any longer, between the cold keeping me awake and the shivering strapping my strength, my body’s desperate attempt to keep myself going depleting the last of my reserves. A foot found my ribs, and I could only moan weakly, eyes flickering as I sunk into unconsciousness, darkness overwhelming me even before my half-raised head met the ground.

@halloweenhorrorbingo @multifandom-flash @whumpcember @hurtcember @deaddovedec

[onewomancitadel]

I’m curious as to how you think Cinder would react to Jaune being the Rusted Knight, because I assume she read the story at some point or at least knows of its existence.

Cinder doesn't buy that stuff. Her story is ostensibly a broken fairytale. I doubt she'd much care for childish stories (whom unlike Ruby and Yang she never had someone to read those to her - and this is in Cinder's view of the matter on fairytales, not mine). Summer is equivalent to Rhodes in this scenario, and the only things he's teaching her are the practicalities of the world (learn to fight, bear it and suffer, and if you don't - you'll be punished).

What I really personally feel is meant to be conveyed is not really that Cinder's going to learn he's the Rusted Knight (this would not be relevant or interesting information to her, she would roll her eyes) but rather I would be asking why I'm being told that symbolically, Jaune is a fairytale hero, but he's an imperfect yet real one. What am I supposed to do with that information lol. Precisely whose story is he going to figure into where sayyyyy there is a certain other wounded idealist.

I think it's really interesting that he's a sort of cynical character (he literally cheats into Beacon and breaks the rules), he's got a chip on his shoulder about both Ozma and Salem and also Qrow (I don't know where some people got the idea they'd be bros from, because Jaune has so many issues with him), and then also lol when I was rewatching V7/V8 he is spending like every other scene glaring at Ironwood if you're paying attention. There's a lot of other stuff (like just trying to replicate team RWBY's combat moves without understanding the point of it) up to and including the most recent volume, where he understands the practical rules of the world, is literally practically and physically empowered, but is completely switched off emotionally and spiritually to the actual purpose of something like the crossroads or Ever After itself.

The context of his character brings a type of cynic's bent to the Side of Good, which is why I think he's really fucking weird, because Cinder does the effective opposite to the Side of Evil. If Salem is a consequence of technical absurdity, a cynical and anti-story breakage of her fairytale, and her story is just endless, endless suffering, Cinder's trying to make meaning of it. She herself is a wounded idealist, the most interesting thing about her is that she does have ideals, and does to some degree understand that there are emotional lessons in the world and that there are ideas and beliefs that matter, those are the things which drive her (it's just contrary to the heroes - she wants to tear down the academies and all that rot), and she's a deep, deep fatalist. She's not someone who just believes bad things arbitrarily happen and I think this is how she's internalised her lessons from Madame and Salem.

If she's Salem's subordinate - if she's controlled on the leash of a Dark Curse - then that is at least some sort of effective, tangible control of the bad things in the world which have hurt her (and story-wise, she's a narrative agent of this). It's very easy to see how she's prefigured this into her evolving belief system. She has absolutely no reason to believe in the ~power of friendship~ because that stuff is bullshit to her, it's papering over her experiences - no one is coming and no one actually fundamentally cares - and this is why I find, say, the little best friend speeches of let's stick together yayyyyy in need of refutation (aka this volume) because it's never going to touch someone like Cinder (and this is what Ruby needs to experience). It doesn't speak to any of her knowledge of failure and loss and the reality of suffering and that actually the good guys don't win, you'll never really be free (and bearing that responsibility is so hard), so pick the winning the side.

This is why she's wounded, because it's not like her character has ever fundamentally left idealism behind, because she brings this emotional justification to the Side of Evil. Her and Jaune are really contrasting in this sense, and that's why their potential relationship is so fucking weird, because they'd meet in the middle. That you've got what effectively amounts to a cynical hero - like, he sucks, he's the non-ideal Huntsman that even when he's physically empowered he still fails, so what is he supposed to do - who potentially has the role of deeply and profoundly emotionally touching the wounded idealist who is like ummmmm actually all you good guys suck I hate your friendship speeches and I hope everything burns. Jaune could or would cut through the bullshit (even having known her at her most monstrous). That's fucking nuts. That is like, the central conceit to the pairing for me. They both bring such interesting relief to their respective sides and then when they meet in the middle, there is your 'answer' to this conflict - you're not fighting the evil and you're not running from suffering, you're actually redeeming her and by virtue yourself. There is intelligible pain and suffering and loss but you can never have that without joy, and I enjoy the idea that Cinder's story is not 'a broken fairytale', per se; it's not finished yet. It's the long way home.

So I think the Rusted Knight element actually speaks to something I've felt to be true to the Knightfall pairing for a while. I think there's something very profound here going on. I really enjoy the idea of the most 'imperfect' Fall Maiden (who is also a fire-breathing dragon) in the story paired with the Rusted Knight. Lol.

The Fall Maiden and the Rusted Knight. Oh, that's cute. You don't kill this dragon to free the maiden, you've gotta fall in love with her.

[mariacallous]

As we enter fall, children across the country have headed back to school. For decades, researchers have investigated the “summer slide—when children’s achievement scores are lower in the fall than they were at the end of the previous school year. Since the COVID-19 pandemic disrupted in-person learning, fears about children’s “learning loss” are of great concern for parents, practitioners, and policymakers. Children from low-income families are disproportionately impacted by COVID-related challenges, further exacerbating pre-existing inequities across socioeconomic lines.

Most solutions to address summer learning loss focus on formal schooling, tutoring, or other structured enrichment programs. However, such activities are themselves often limited in scope and duration and may not be easily accessible to many children and their families, especially those from low-income backgrounds. Because children spend only 20 percent of their waking time in school, efforts focused solely on traditional educational practice are insufficient, and overlook other ”everyday” opportunities to support learning.

Playful Learning Landscapes, an initiative of the Playful Learning Landscapes Action Network and the Center for Universal Education at the Brookings Institution, offers thoughtfully designed playful learning activities—in everyday spaces like bus stops, grocery stores, and parks—that can joyfully extend children’s learning outside of a school-based environment. Philadelphia’s Playstreets program provides an example of what can happen when city streets themselves became learning playgrounds that help students retain or even advance their math and reading skills during the summer months—while having fun in the process.

The scourge of the summer slide

In Philadelphia, almost 40 percent of children live below the federal poverty line, and many low income families are concentrated in neighborhoods long-challenged by racial segregation, disinvestment, and limited access to green space and recreational opportunities. Such inequities, coupled with public safety concerns in many of these communities, restrict children’s opportunities to engage in play activities that can support learning and skill development—and help to put them behind peers from more resourced communities when they reenter the classroom at summer’s end.

In the short term, summer learning loss increases the amount of time teachers spend repeating the previous year’s content—time that could otherwise be spent building on existing skills and engaging in new subjects. Over the long term, these disparities manifest in Philadelphia children’s achievement scores. In 2022, the percentage of students in Philadelphia who performed at or above the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) Basic level was 38 percent, lower than the average score for students in most large U.S. cities.

Typical solutions for combating the summer slide include summer school, summer homework assignments, tutoring, and public or philanthropically supported programming such as library-sponsored reading challenges. For example, programs like Philadelphia school district’s Summer School/Credit Recovery and Extended School Year (ESY) are designed to maintain the progress students make on their most critical goals during the academic year. Extra-curricular programming during the school year can also help to support and advance children’s learning, helping them stay ahead of the curve before summer begins. Such efforts should continue to be employed, evaluated, and expanded. But there are other ways to engage children in summertime learning activities that literally meet children and families on the streets where they live and travel.

Playful learning on Philadelphia Playstreets

Even when school is in session, children spend most of their waking hours outside of the classroom. During this time, cities themselves can become the playgrounds that encourage fun and learning. Playful Learning Landscapes (PLL) in public spaces make use of this informal learning time, and by engaging caregivers and children in everyday spaces, these opportunities are made accessible to all. Initiatives led by Temple Infant and Child Lab, KABOOM!, the Playful Learning Landscapes Action Network, and public sector and community leaders in numerous cities leverage playful learning to support student success.

The Play Every Philadelphia Playstreets Program closes designated streets to traffic during the summer to provide children a safe, free place to play outdoors. Each summer for six weeks, Playstreets selects hundreds of city blocks around Philadelphia and transforms them into learning hubs. Supported by Fab Youth Philly, trained local teens known as Play Captains engage children in playful learning. Children sing, read, and jump their way through learning activities designed to promote literacy and STEM-based language associated with academic achievement.

Play Captains are trained to innovate on typical playground games to transform them into playful learning experiences. For example, in Playful Learning tag, children are assigned numbers between one and ten, and as they are tagged, the tagger calls out the new sum of all the tagged children. In a Playful Learning relay race, children are prompted to count to 10 while jumping on one foot, before passing the baton to their partner, who must then count backwards from 10 while jumping on the opposite foot. Simple, yet effective activities like these embed ordinary play with joyful opportunities to practice addition, counting, and important executive function skills like integrating multiple sources of information and adapting to changing rules.

The positive impact of Playstreets

The impact of Playstreets has been documented and assessed across four years of studies in collaboration with the Temple Infant and Child Lab. Based on this research, we know that, from 2019 through 2022, children used more academic language on Playstreets when compared to children on typical playgrounds. For example, Play Captains on Playstreets helped elicit children’s use of literacy-related language (e.g., reading aloud to a partner) and numeric and spatial language (e.g., counting, comparing more or less). Notably, even during the tumult of COVID in 2020, when children’s learning was expected to decline, children’s language use on the streets still increased. The most recent data in 2022 demonstrated a facilitation carry-over effect, whereby children’s increase in language use continued even after the Playstreets closed in the afternoons. These studies provide evidence that the benefits of playful learning opportunities extend even after explicit facilitation ends.

Efforts like Playstreets also have benefits beyond children’s learning. Community-based programming engages residents in transformative placemaking that strengthens communities. Physical improvements include improving streets by cleaning up litter and debris and enhancing them with resources provided by Philadelphia Parks and Recreation. Playstreets also combats rising rates of social isolation by providing spaces where children (and adults) can connect with peers and mentors. Finally, from a civic perspective, neighbors can build relationships with each other and with the city, which can foster stronger community bonds and civic engagement over the longer term.

Conclusion

Numerous other cities have launched their own Playstreets-type programs, including New York City, Cambridge (Massachusetts), Los Angeles, and Chicago, as well as in Tel Aviv and London—providing additional models other communities can look to for inspiration and ideas. It’s worth the time and effort to do so: In the wake of unprecedented challenges exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic, now more than ever children need access to reliable, effective programming that can be a resilient source of learning, engagement, and fun.

For its part, the city of Philadelphia can continue to build on its success by expanding the program to more streets in more neighborhoods in the years to come. It can continue to evaluate program benefits for children and families, which can then inform future program goals and expand activities that promote joyful, equitable educational opportunities.

In the meantime, students who engaged in Philadelphia’s Playstreets this summer will have started school ready—and hopefully eager—to learn.

[paintedscales]

021.1 Arik

Born to the Dotharl, but having the soul of a Noykin welcomed into the tribe, Arik has often questioned himself and where he belonged. After all, it never felt as if he belonged among the Dotharl themselves. With his mother's blessing, he travels to the Noykin Iloh, where he hopes to find out more about his past life.

Word Count: 3,006

Steppe by Steppe Chapter List

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“Today’s the day, mother. I’ll be traveling from the Dotharl Khaa to meet with the Noykin,” said a teen boy. He had a traveling pack slung over his shoulder, and a small smile on his face as he addressed the now smaller woman before him. They both donned a deep blue color to their garments -- the color of Dotharl.

“‘Tis only right, my son. There are only so many stories I could tell you about the Arik that came before, and little more you could learn from the others around…” the woman replied.

There was a sad smile on his mother’s face. Arik knew it all too well; it was the look she wore when she could not well tell him stories befitting the Arik of Noykin to help nurture him into the Arik he was meant to be. He could barely fault her for the lack of stories that she had. Had his father not passed away only a couple summers after Arik’s birth, he was sure that there would have been more stories that could have been shared.

Before Arik could leave the ger, his mother walked forward and straightened out his deel, smoothing out wrinkles and looking him over. A sigh left her nose, and she hesitated before looking back up at him and reaffirming a smile upon her face. Reaching up, she gently took his cheek in her hand, having to tiptoe to do so.

“To think that only a few summers ago, you barely came up to my shoulders…” Arik’s mother said, her tone laced with sentimentality before she went flat on her feet and withdrew her hand. “Travel the lands in safety, my son. Even if we may not fear death because we are yet born again, I would wish you to make it to the Noykin Iloh without hazard. And should you meet your current iteration’s end, know that I shall be ever ready to meet you again.”

The corner of Arik’s mouth twitched upward somewhat. His mother had always shown a level of kindness toward him when others of the Dotharl had not. It was surprising given what he had been told of his mother and her past lives. How fearless of a warrior she was that met her enemies head on, spear in hand. To think that she was such a considerate and gentle mother to him…well, it had always been appreciated.

“Don’t worry too much, mother…” Arik adjusted his pack, letting it rest on his shoulder before he walked over and plucked his spear from where it leaned against the wall of the ger. Motioning slightly to it, he continued: “I have father with me, after all.”

Arik’s father had been an unfortunate soul that had not returned to the Dotharl. With frequent combat that saw their tribe numbers dwindling, his father’s soul had no vessel to return to the year that he died. It was a loss that they had to grieve in their own way before continuing life and moving ever onward.

“Of course… I shall see you whenever the sun rises.”

“Whenever the sun rises, then.”

It had been a term of endearment. ‘When the sun rises.’ To say as such meant that the world was dark until they were to see each other once again. Arik kept the meaning in his heart.

“Oh!” Arik’s mother remembered something, and it halted him from exiting the ger. She approached him again, pulling out a leather cord from a pouch at her hip, a copper shard affixed to it. The shard had been dulled and slightly oxidized in time, tint in some patches upon it that bore a slight green tint to them. “You asked me to make it into a necklace. Did you want to wear it on your journey?”

Looking down at the pendant, Arik nodded and leaned down. His mother walked forward and carefully slipped the cord around him. Once the pendant hung around his neck, Arik stood back up, glancing down for a moment before looking back at his mother.

“Thank you, mother…” Arik looked down, seeing the copper piece hanging there before taking it and slipping it underneath his clothing. “I’ll keep it safe.”

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The journey to the Noykin Iloh had taken nearly a moon to learn where they were and actually make it to them. His arrival was met with some trepidation from the other members of the tribe, and understandably so. However, Arik had done his best to explain to them that he was not there to incite violence and express that he wanted to learn the ways of the Noykin.

It was only the fact that Arik had come to the iloh alone that allowed the other Noykin to breathe more easily around him. However, many of them were still reluctant to approach him as he ventured through their current home. Even as he attempted friendly conversation, there were those that had shied or recoiled from him, much to his disappointment.

“If you’re truly here to learn, I suppose I can help you…” eventually said a woman who approached him without that same hesitance or trepidation. Her hair reminded Arik of the color of butter, and her eyes, he noticed, were black and gold. She must have been no older than Arik himself.

“Nhaama blesses me, then. My thanks,” Arik replied, breathing that sigh of relief that had nestled within his chest.

“I would advise against thanking me yet,” the woman said. “Our ways are not so easily obtained. If you have a mind to learn, then you must have a mind to endure.”

She looked over Arik, scrutinizing him momentarily.

“Being of Dotharl, I expect that the latter should be no obstacle?”

Arik’s mouth pursed into a line. He looked out toward the corrals that were abundant around the Noykin Iloh before looking back at the woman. Slowly, he nodded and gave her his response: “the Dotharl and their ways certainly make tests of endurance less of a daunting task. Whatever you might have for me to do, I shall do my best to meet it head on.”

“Very well. My name is Mide,” the woman introduced herself with a slight bow. “I know not of the journey you had to get here, so I shall not make you work right away. Come. We shall make for my ger. I imagine we can discuss your goal there.”

“A-Arik…” Arik quickly said to introduce himself, as Mide had already turned heel to start her stride toward the aforementioned ger. He adjusted his pack and fell into step behind her after jogging to catch up. He cast his gaze about the rest of the iloh while he followed after her, taking in the sights and sounds. Horses whinnying in the background, the sounds of hoofbeats and whistles, the occasional snort…the way the Noykin lived must have been on par with the Goro from what he knew.

The smell, too…the air was thick with the fresh smells of cut grass, and even the dry scents of hay and alfalfa. They mixed in tandem with the repugnance of manure; something he would have to grow to tolerate for the time being if he were to learn anything from them. At least it had not been too terrible, all things considered.

They approached a ger that had been on the far side of the iloh from where Arik had arrived. There were two others there that waved at Mide, though had reason to pause when they saw that Arik was with her. Though Mide had halfheartedly waved in response, she glanced over at Arik before opening the door to the ger and allowing him to enter -- though not before she motioned for his spear to be put aside.

Obliging to this, Arik removed his spear from his person, allowing it to rest against some nearby fencing. Soon, he stepped over the threshold into the ger and mustered up a “hold the dogs…” request. A customary thing even if there were no dogs around. Looking for a seat, Arik had sat down where one was available, and waited patiently.

Mide soon entered and closed the door behind her, walking past Arik and preparing something to drink. All the while, she asked, “I trust that you are here because the Dotharl believe one of our own is reincarnated into you.”

“Mm…” Arik gave a slight nod, though quickly gave a verbal response since Mide’s back was turned to him. “That would be the way of it, yes. Sadu khan, he…before we have the Sadu khatun we have today, I was proclaimed a babe that had an unknown soul. As I grew up, my father before he was felled in combat spoke of his friend. A member of the Noykin named, well, Arik. How he had given his life to save my father’s at the time.”

“So you believe that coming here would reveal something? Give you insight as to who you are?” Mide pressed, bringing back a cup of fresh mare’s milk for him to drink.

Accepting it with zero hesitation whilst nodding in response, Arik had taken a sip out of respect at first. He had not realized how thirsty he had been till he had been drinking it down greedily. Holding the cup in his lap, he tapped a finger against it in thought. Sighing, he finally replied, “I suppose that would be accurate, yes. I don’t imagine there would be anyone around that could share the Arik of Noykin’s stories with me, are there?”

Mide brought a hand to her chin, cupping it in thought.

“I couldn’t say… If you are here to learn our ways, I can teach you that. If you want to meet someone that may have known your…previous life…” Mide paused. It was common enough when speaking with those that were outside of the Dotharl’s customs and beliefs that Arik merely only noticed, though neglected to comment. “It may behoove you to speak with the elders. My mother or father might be able to answer any inquiries that you have if they’ve ever known Arik.”

"Anything would be great!" Arik said, not realizing how eager he sounded.

“Right…” Mide drew her hands together and closed her eyes. “My parents are away in Reunion for some time, unfortunately. But…I could direct you toward our khatun, Yesui. She has led the Noykin for well over forty summers, and has guided us well in that time. If anyone would have known about your past life, it would be her.”

“I would very much like to meet her… I-If that is alright…”

“I shall see if I can request an audience with her. In the meantime, we shall see if you can make yourself useful here.” Mide got up from her seat and went to a woven basket to withdraw some rope. Making her way back toward Arik she handed it off to him. “First things first… I have horses to quarantine so that they can be fed medicinal feed. During this time, we shall also brush them down to get more used to being around us and handled.”

Taking up the rope, Arik slowly stood and nodded to show that he acknowledged what she had to say.

“Err…very well. The Dotharl don’t really have much in the way of caring for horses…” Arik mentioned. “So I am grateful for you going out of your way to hear me out and teach me. And I do apologize for anything I might accidentally mess up.”

“You will be granted my patience. To an extent.”

“Noted. I will do my best.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nearly a week had passed, and Arik had done everything that he could to adhere to Mide’s instruction. He fed horses, led them to new corrals, cleaned and filled their troughs with fresh water, he even began to learn riding them and the basics of. What the best part of all of it was, was the fact that it all just felt so natural. Like he had made a routine of all of these things and more even before he had actually gotten a chance to first do them.

In the time he had been familiarizing himself with the Noykin and their customs, he had learned a myriad of things about them. How they migrated, how they came across their horses, where they migrated in order to harvest the best feed, and much more. It had all been fascinating enough to keep his attention.

And then finally, Arik was granted his audience with Yesui khatun.

Accepting the invitation into the ger where Yesui resided, Arik had done his best to be as respectful as he could manage. He had prepared a gift in the interim -- a wood carving that he had worked on whittling away between tasks seen to with Mide. As he approached her with a bow, he offered to her the carving of a horse.

“Such craftsmanship! You have my thanks for this gift,” Yesui said, a smile spreading on her face. Her eyes crinkled with genuine warmth as she beheld the gift and got up to set it upon a dresser within the abode. She then took a seat once more and looked over Arik.

“Now…” Yesui straightened her posture and then relaxed into the back of her seat. “I have heard that you have questions regarding one of our own that passed some time ago. Come closer, child.”

Arik hesitated momentarily, but eventually approached Yesui once she motioned for him to come to her.

“Closer.”

Leaning in, Arik found himself feeling nervous, though allowed for the khatun to look deeply into his eyes. He saw her searching him for something -- anything. Almost as if…

“Bah…” Yesui breathed, waving Arik away. He backed off, hiding his relief before the khatun continued. “I know not how the Dotharl are able to see the souls of those who have come back. But…if you say that you are the incarnation of the Arik from ten and seven summers ago, I have only some stories that may be of worth to your journey.”

Perking up with an uncontrollable smile, Arik’s tail reflected his elation at this news as it curled up slightly. Tempering himself, he took a breath and huffed silently before collecting himself.

“Any stories you have to share would be beyond wonderful and appreciated, Yesui khatun,” Arik replied, offering her a small bow of gratitude. “My mother was never able to tell me much, and my father passed before he could regale me with too many tales. All I know of the Arik of Noykin was his impressive ability to break a horse within the span of three days and his friendship forged with my father. Beyond that…nothing.”

Nodding and humming in thought, Yesui closed her eyes and grew pensive. Drawing her hands together, she laced her fingers and rested them in her lap.

“He had taught the children of the Noykin happily in our ways to prepare them to tame horses that we might have our own and have them to trade,” Yesui started. She opened her eyes, smiling with a distant look in her eye as she recalled what she could. “Though it was rather often he would venture out on his own -- a lust to see more, he would claim.”

Arik subconsciously leaned in, wanting to drink more of the information that was being given to him. He could feel some sort of connection with those words. There were times he had ventured away from the Dotharl Khaa, if only because he wanted time away from the others…but discovering new things had always been something that made him feel…fulfilled in a way.

“While it is true his claim to have broken horses within mere days, he had always been gentle with them. A rare kind of ‘Whisperer’ is what others would often call him. Among our tribe, a Whisperer of such would only show up once every few generations,” Yesui went on. She had a knowing smile on her face. Perhaps she spoke from experience? What even was the requirement for becoming khan or khatun among the Noykin?

“I…did feel a kind of sense of tranquility when getting to handle and take care of the horses. I thought perhaps it was because Mide had done such a good job at showing me what to do, not to mention showed me kindness that it felt like others would not…” Arik admitted, thinking about some of the shying away that the other Noykin did when he first arrived. “Would…I be able to live up to that, I wonder?”

“Only one way to find out, child.”

“I suppose that is true…” Arik folded his arms over his chest, thinking. “Is there…a kind of trial I could take?”

Yesui laughed lightly. “I’m glad you are thinking ahead, child. I was going to task you with something of the sort. It would be best for Mide to go with you, but I shall be sending two others with you for this. You see, there is this beautiful horse that has been roaming the Ceol Aen as of late -- coat white with dapples of orange. Wild Sun is what we have come to call him with his unruly nature. If you can catch and tame him, he will not only be yours, but you will have earned your place among the Noykin.”

Those last words struck Arik deeply -- more than he realized they would. Looking at Yesui with a sense of curious wonderment, he pursed his lips and nodded before finding a smile spread on his face. Breathing in deeply, he reaffirmed his stance and replied, “then I shall go out and see to this trial you would give me. I…I thank you for what you have been able to share with me -- a-and I would be elated to hear more if you have more to share!”

Yesui chuckled, tilting her head in Arik’s direction.

“See to the trial, child. Should you succeed in the task before you, I will tell you more.”

[astraebled]

PROFILE : JELLAL FERNANDES Fairy Tail - Primary / Canon (Div.) / Active

CHARACTER INFO.

name. Jellal Fernandes alias.

Siegrain — by (xx) Mystogan — by (xx)

birthday.    September 29th, X765 age.    27 ( X792 ) status. alive

birthplace.   Unknown, forgotten. race.    Human (?) nationality.   Unknown; presumed from Ishgar

current residence. None ; TBA.

spoken languages.   Fiorean / English ( + basic knowledge of a variety of languages ; learned during his time as a Council member )

gender.   Male pronouns.   He / Him sexuality.   Demisexual / Biromantic ( with a preference for women)

RELATIONSHIP INFO.

relatives.

??? / Father Najila Fernandes / Mother † Siegrain Fernandes / Brother † Meredy / Family ( Honorary )

status.    If he had Facebook it would say "it's complicated" partner. Erza Scarlet ( endgame / main verse ) alt. Lyon Vastia ( @aetrnalis / # )

past partners. Ultear Milkovich †

PHYSICAL INFO.

hair.   Moderate/brillant cobalt blue eyes.   Hazel skin color. ( tba ! ) physique.   Tall, lean, athletic ( ? ) height.   5'11 // 181 cm weight.   ???

guildmark. N/A ( clothes )                   TBA ( post-pardon )

scars.  — Whip lashes on his back   ( Zeref cult, Tower of Heaven )       — Long slash below right pectoral   ( Erza Scarlet, ToH )       — Cuts on left wrist ( majoritarily ) + forearm   ( self-inflicted )       — + several minor scars scattered everywhere around his body tattoos.   Deep red marking above + below his right eye                     ( suspected to be ; of unknown origin ) piercings.   Pierced lobes ( past )

notable features.

- Deep red marking above + below his right eye                     ( unknown origin; suspected to be a tattoo ) - Light freckles, most visible during summer and/or in close proximity ;  on cheeks, nose and neck

faceclaim.   N/A

PERSONALITY INFO.

western zodiac.   Libra chinese zodiac. 牛 Ox alignment.    Lawful Good mbti.   INFJ

positive traits.

Patient, Loyal ( tba ! )

negative traits.

Self-destructive ( tba ! )

likes.

Stars ( tba ! )

dislikes.

??? ( tba ! )

catchphrase.   ( tba ! )

PROFESSIONAL INFO.

occupation. independant mage, vigilante

affiliation. Crime Sorcière ( guildmaster ) YEAR-YEAR                  Tower of Heaven ( past )                  Ten Wizard Saint ( past )                  Magic Council ( past )

rank.   S-class / Ten Wizard Saint ( past )

magic. Heavenly Body Magic ( main )

            Thought Projection ( expert )             Darkness Magic             Fire Magic             Water Magic             Wind Magic             Earth Magic             Abyss Break             Bind Snake             Square of Self-Destruction             Hexagon Barrier             Telekinesis             Telepathy

additional skills.

Expert Hand-to-Hand Combatant Moderate Swordsmanship Keen Intellect Enhanced Strength Immense Agility Immense Durability Immense Endurance Immense Magic Power

Weapons.  Magic Staves ( briefly )

stats.

ADD. ADD. ADD. ADD.

MEDICAL INFO.

mental.

Persistent Depressive Disorder, Severe Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder ( PTSD ) Panic disorder

physical.

Multiple scars ; Two concussions ;

phobias.

Loss of control

habits.

Drug use ?   No Smoking ?   No Alcohol use ?   Extremely rare

- - - - - - && NOTES !

CANON DIVERGENCE.

GENERAL.

ROYAL PARDON. ( REF )

HEADCANONS. [ TG. ]

Magic / Types & Spells ( tba ! )

Number TWO

Number THREE

[seasaltsurvivor]

Idol doesn't mean your doll to f*ck with

FINNICK ODAIR. VICTOR. 62ND HUNGER GAMES.

PLAYLIST | PINTEREST | TIMELINE

Name: Finnick Odair

Age: 28

Gender: Cis man, he/him

Home: District 4, Capitol

Role: Victor

Personality: Clever, strategic, charismatic, warm, skeptical, loyal

Song: Tidal - Noah Kahan

Faceclaim: Brenton Thwaites

OVERVIEW

TW - Sexual assault, human trafficking, murder, substance abuse 

Finnick Odair was born the only child to Calder Odair and Maristella Larson of District 4. The couple met shortly after finishing school. Calder was a dock worker. and Maristella, who preferred to go by Stell, was a teacher. Maristella’s walk to work took her past the docks each day and Calder made sure he was always close enough to the road to bid her a quick, polite “good morning.” It took months, but he eventually managed to muster up enough courage to ask her to have dinner with him. Stell, of course, said yes.

Finnick had a typical childhood with caring and attentive parents. He wanted for nothing. Finnick was a rather popular kid; his bright personality awarded him many friends. After school he, like many children in the career districts, took lessons at The Academy, learning basic survival and combat skills. He excelled in agility and close-contact combat training, but he certainly did not enjoy it. He much preferred to learn about the docks and the ocean from his dad. Though his father worked long hours in a very physically demanding job, Calder was a devoted husband and father who taught his son everything he knew, especially about the docks and the sea.

Finnick was barely 15 when his name had been pulled, and no one believed he would be the one to make it out of the arena, himself included. It was unheard of even for the career districts. His knot-tying ability and knife skills earned him a decent score during training, but no amount of training could ever truly compensate for size and strength, two things many of his opponents had on him. As such, many of his fellow tributes failed to consider him a serious threat. It wasn’t until they witnessed his handiwork with a trident that people started to pay attention. After several bloody battles, Finnick earned the title of victor, the youngest in Panem’s history.

The first six months following his victory, Finnick lived in a daze as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He had lived. He wasn’t supposed to live, and yet here he was. Everyone wanted to get to know the youngest victor, and he spent a lot of time in the public eye in the few years following. His entire life was splashed on the front page of every magazine. No one could get enough of the boy from District 4. 

He got the call the day after his 18th birthday. “Entertaining” capitol citizens, as President Snow had phrased it, was the duty of a victor. That was his job, and he was to follow through. He tried to protest at first, ignoring all the warnings. When his parents passed from a mysterious illness diagnosed by a Capitol physician, Finnick knew. He gave up the fight.

Calder and Stell’s deaths hit Finnick hard. Between the grief of his loss, the scars from the arena, and the Capitol’s continued torment, he struggled to hold it together. On bad nights locked away in hotel rooms bigger than his home in Victor’s Village, when the anxiety started getting too familiar and the insomnia hit, it was hard to keep himself away from the Capitol’s steady supply of morphling and expensive liquor. It wasn’t sustainable, however, and Finnick could see that turning to drugs and alcohol was hurting him. Every now and then, however, it was still nice to have something to dampen out all the noise, but he would keep it to himself in shame.

Over time, and with the help of his found family, Finnick got his feet back under him and he was able to find some semblance or normalcy again. Having worked out a schedule with Snow, he split his time fairly equally between District 4 and the Capitol, returning as a mentor every summer and for one week a month outside of the Games. He meets with clients as determined by Snow and attends various Capitol events, interviews, etc.

When Annie Cresta won the 70th Games, things began to change for Finnick. For the first time in the 8 years since winning his own games, he felt that maybe there was still good in the world. The two fell in love slowly and eventually brought a little boy into the world, named Caspian Calder, after two of the most influential people in their lives. Due to the expectations from the Capitol, Finnick and Annie have had to keep their son and their relationship a secret from the rest of Panem.

When the rebellion began, Finnick was an active participant, ready to fight for a safer world for his family. He is currently in District 13 supporting the rebel cause through his participation in propos and (eventually) serving on missions.

[lunagb]

A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x The Walking Dead fanfic)

BOOK 2 - A Road of Snow and Grime

Chapter 18: A Traitor's Life

Masterlist

Relationships: Daryl Dixon x Carol, Rick Grimes x Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes & Sophia, Jon x Andrea, Jon x Beth Greene

Summary: A month has passed since Jon Snow awakened on a highway outside of Atlanta and joined Rick Grimes and his fellow survivors. His memories of his death have returned and our alien world is beginning to make a bit of sense. Ever since the loss of the CDC, surviving in the apocalypse has been a daily struggle. The group is on thin ice. Supplies are dwindling. Hope is fading. The dead are walking. And their only chance for life may be a run-down farm, an old man and his daughters.

Chapter Summary: Jon grapples with his decision and Bowen learns a secret.

Time Frame: Farm Arc - Original Variation

Featured Characters: Jon Snow, Bowen Marsh, Ghost, Mormont's Raven, Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Lori Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Carol, Sophia, Dale, Glenn Rhee, Andrea, T-Dog, Edwin Jenner, Shane Walsh, Beth Greene, Maggie Greene, Hershel Greene, Randall Culver,

Warnings: gore, vivid descriptions of dead bodies, child mutilation, graphic violence, death, murder, active combat, descriptions of armed warfare

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

Any notes are appreciated!

Jon

It’ll do, I suppose. Jon ran his hand over the tree’s coarse, brown bark. It loomed tall. A hundred branches fanned in every direction. Roots as thick as a man’s arm snaked through a bed of hard, cracked earth. Tall, old and grand – just like a weirwood. Not that it’s like to matter. They won’t hear me and neither will he. Especially not him.

Jon knelt before the grand, old oak tree. One oak of many – of hundreds just like it. Its brothers and sisters formed the forest’s tree line. They gave the old tree a wide birth. As did the bushes and the shrubs and the grass. A grand giant out of place amongst its humble peers. Its leaves were green, not red. Some did have five fingers but, others had six and some had seven. None were shaped like hands. Its bark was brown and coarse, not white and smooth. But it was tall and old. Tall and old is the best I’m like to get.

Ghost watched the tree. His red eyes followed the canopy of fanned branches as they swayed in the muggy, summer breeze. Bloodbeak watched Jon. His scarred eye stared into his, unblinking. Jon had never seen the damnable eye blink. Not once.

Jon drew his dagger and got to carving the face. The brown, course bark parted without complaint. The wood it shielded surrendered to the will of his dagger’s point. Ghost watched him work, head cocked, eyes wide. His ear twitched with every scrape.

“You’re meant to be watching the woods, not me.”

Ghost cocked his head to the other side.

“Oh, very well then – just keep still, boy. Let’s see if I can’t make it look like you. You’re as close as I’m like to find here.”

Bloodbeak perched among the highest, thinnest branches. All at once the breeze vanished. The red morning light danced upon his sleek, black feathers and warmed the pale, exposed flesh of his scarred, unblinking eye. For once the raven said nothing at all.

Two slim ovals for the eyes, a lengthy triangle for the nose and an upside-down arch for the mouth. A child’s drawing stared back at him. Even Arya could have done better than this. Weirwoods looked grim and mighty and wise. The old oak looked like a sad lackwit. 

Jon sheathed his dagger. 

If it’s not to your liking, you can complain to someone who bloody cares. I’m not here to talk to you lot, anyways. 

Jon closed his eyes and bowed his head. Most like, I speak to no one but myself. I’ve felt the cold embrace. I’ve seen what lies on the other side. But… in the small chance that I’m wrong or mistaken or saw a falsehood, I hope my words find you well, Father. 

A muggy, morning wind whistled across the fields. 

What I’ve done – or rather what I did not do – was it right? Did I serve my duty or did I serve myself? Marsh has turned cloak once. Who’s to say he won’t do so again? When things are hard. When things look hopeless. When it suits his benefit. He was a coward; is a coward. Not a man suited to times like this. He buries his head in the snow. He cowers before truth; before hard truths. A man like him cannot adapt to his circumstances. He is a drowning man; like to drag others down with him. Voices whisper these doubts to me, small voices but sharp too. Like needles, they prick me. 

Yet, despite their incessant pricking, I know it in my heart of hearts that Marsh wasn’t mine to kill. Not anymore. Not after my brothers gave me justice. If I had killed him again, there would be no justice in it. What is a second justice if not a murder? I could not kill him. He wasn’t mine to kill. He wasn’t. I pray you agree, Father. These sorts of things; questions of life and death, of right and wrong – you always knew the answers. I pray that your blood has granted me the sight to see. If you were here, you would have scolded me just now. No doubt. Mayhaps, you are scolding me right now for what I do not say, for those I do not address, but… you did not know the old gods like I did, Father. If you had, you would have no words for them either.

Jon lifted his head. Sap wept from the corners of the old oak’s eyes. Amber rivers ran down its brown, course face. Ghost stared at the amber tears. Bloodbeak stared at Jon and said nothing at all. Not even a mutter. Jon clenched his jaw. It’s not Father. He stood. It’s them.

Your power extends beyond the weirwoods. So be it. That does not make me your pawn. Fuck off to your dead world. 

He turned his back on the old oak and headed back to camp. The wall loomed high. The sun shone red. The muggy air reeked of rot.

Bowen

Bowen pulled at the t-shirt’s collar. Too tight. The shirt managed to squeeze him all over; especially his belly. And mismatched to boot. Fashion meant as little as swords but, it would serve to possess as few reasons to be disliked as possible. He had enough as it was. The icy stares and venomous glares – they all must surely be privy to his greatest sin. It was less than he deserved but even so, Jon Snow had granted him a second life. Best to make it one worth living. For however long this dying world allowed him. What sort of life was lived stooped in hatred and ill will? A traitor’s life. His blacks and leathers might have offered a solution to his appearance problem but, dying of heat didn’t seem like the proper way to honour Jon’s mercy either.

At the very least, the shirt and half-leg trousers were thin and allowed the breeze – as muggy as it was – to come and go as it pleased. Never did Bowen think he’d ever feel such heat again. Even after months of living in it, he found himself bewildered when his sweat didn’t freeze on his forehead. If, only for a moment. I must remember to thank… seven hells what is his name? The one who gave me the clothes. With hair white as snow and a beard to match.

Lump lay in the corner of the tent. Will she help matters? The greatsword was near as large as he was. On a swordsman, she’d inspire trust and reliability. On him, she’d inspire mockery.

The tent flap flew open. Chris’s freckled face appeared. “They’re serving breakfast. You coming?”

“Aye.” Bowen considered Lump.

Chris pushed up his glasses. “Hurry, I’m hungry.”

“Hold on.” Bowen retrieved his dagger from the safety of its shelter beneath his cloak and slid it into its scabbard. Lump remained behind as he crawled from the tent. He shielded his eyes from the glare of the red, morning sun. “A bad omen,” he muttered.

“It’s just the sun. Sometimes it’s red. Sometimes it’s orange.”

“A red sky in the morning is a warning from the Crone, lad – of ill luck and hardships to come.”

“Right.” Chris rolled his eyes.

The boy’s youthful arrogance kept him from his faith. To not worship the seven – gods of a distant world – was one thing but, Chris believed himself above even his own world’s god. A god called God. Regardless of his uninspired name, to abandon a higher power was a fool’s errand. A man needs such power to keep him humble lest he wander too far from the trail of righteousness. As I once did. Chris, however, had not felt true power. He had not felt the Stranger’s cold embrace between worlds or the Mother’s kiss upon rebirth. He knew only what this world had taught him, and this world did not teach much of faith. In time, as he matured and this world healed, he would see true as all men should. He has too. It has too.

Bodies swamped a table made of… plastic. More bloody plastic. Plastic pavilions, plastic cups, plastic cutlery. Plastic this and plastic that. Is nothing in this world crafted by the hands of men? Only the food, it seemed. Well, by the hands of women. Real women. Not girls or savages. Real honest to gods women. As he and Chris claimed two free plastic stools, one of them plopped two bowls in front of them and then her arse on the stool beside him. Her smile almost made him forget about the incessant smell of rot that loitered all around.

“Bowen, right? And you’re Chris? Sorry for not finding a chance for proper introductions yesterday. My name’s Lori – Rick’s wife and Carl’s mother. The boy with the hat.” She offered her hand.

Bowen shook it. “Don’t apologise. It’s quite alright. We all had a lot on our minds last night.”

“Hello,” Chris mumbled before shovelling oats into his mouth.

“You’ll have to excuse him. I’m afraid, we haven’t had a proper meal in quite a while.”

Lori waved him off. “Oh, he’s fine. Boys – they never change.”

“This fine work must be your doing, aye?” Bowen gestured to the porridge with his plastic spoon. Every bowl around the table was filled halfway. They live surrounded by fields yet, they ration their food. Caution or necessity?

“Canned porridge. My speciality.”

It tasted of nothing and felt closer to bile upon his tongue than oats yet, a woman’s hands wielded a certain sort of magic. Bowen swallowed his heaping spoonful and pointed the spoon around the table. “I’m afraid I haven’t had to chance to learn names.”

Lori smiled and gestured across the table at a woman with short hair. “That’s Carol. The boy beside her ignoring his food is my son, Carl.” The lad had a chipper look about him. A good sign. Carol’s hair disconcerted him. Short, like a man’s. A strange custom for a strange land, or madness?

Beside the lad, a young lady with hair of gold tied taught shot him a withering look. “That’s Andrea. Ignore the scowl. She scowls more often than not nowadays.”

“Aye.” The scowl did not falter even as Bowen held eye contact. She is privy to my sin. Mayhaps they all are. Lori’s easy smile remained without a twitch or quiver.

A white-haired, wrinkled man sat at the end of the table. Two women sat on either side of him. They shared the same round faces and fair complexion. “That’s Hershel, the farm’s owner, and his daughters, Beth and Maggie. Beth is blonde. Maggie is brunette.”

“Ah yes, we’ve met. It’s thanks to him I have fresh clothes. I’ve been meaning to give him my thanks.”

“I’ll let him know you’re grateful.”

“Thank you.” Bowen nodded. “So, he opened up his home to you?”

“Yeah… he’s a kind man, helpin’ strangers like that. Is Chris your son?”

Chris choked on his porridge.

Bowen slapped him on the back. “I’m afraid not.”

Lori nodded and gestured to a savage-looking man whittling arrows at the table. Unkempt, tangled hair hung over sharp, rugged features. He looked half a wildling. “That’s Daryl. Best not to ignore his scowls. We picked him up some time ago, him and his brother. Found them wanderin’ the woods and gave them a place to lay their heads. Never been the friendliest folks but he’s been with us ever since.”

“And where is this brother?”

“Gone. Is your story a similar one with Tyreese?”

Good. “Did he find me? Aye. Helped me get my bearings after I, uh… after I-”

“Arrived? After you died?”

“Jon has spoken of our home?”

“He has.”

And of more, I wager. “And you believe him?”

“I’ve believed stranger things. You’ve been with them since the start then?”

“Aye, or since my start. I arrived a month or so after the dead began to walk to hear it told.”

“It must have been hard, surviving in such a small group.”

“Our numbers were a hindrance, aye. Tyreese doesn’t trust easily. No matter how many times I told him there was safety in numbers, he’d never listen.”

“He left people to die,” Chris muttered. “Good people.”

“But not you?”

“No, not me,” Bowen said.

“Really? But, you’re strangers, right? People who knew nothing about one another.”

Bowen winced. “No… Nothing at all.”

Lori gave him a shining look. “I see.”

Lori spent the next few minutes detailing the other members of the group from the dark-skinned man, Theodore, who they called to T-Dog to the brooding, once-leader, Shane. When all was said, they seemed decent people; most held to their God and most had a role to play. Even if they were essentially mere small-folk, Bowen could see the beginnings of something great around him. The Culvers could cause issues left unchecked but their leader had a strong look about him. Surely such a man could keep a fat fool and a few squalling children in line.

Lori left to attend to her motherly duties and Chris wasted no time grumbling. “He wouldn’t let me see her last night…”

“Give him time. She’s his daughter.”

“She’s my girlfriend. We were together for four months before the world fell apart. Four months. She loves me and she’d want me by her side.”

Poor lovesick fool. “Aye, I know, lad.”

“Snow!” The old bear’s raven fluttered onto the table. “Snow! Snow!” Death had had no effect on the creature’s lungs it seemed.

He approached the table flanked by his direwolf, bundled in his blacks and mail – a spectre of the past. Smiles and warm words greeted him as he sat, and a bowl found its way before him almost at once. The lad with the hat, Carl, broke away from his mother and rushed to his side. Jon Snow pushed the hat down over the lad’s eyes and whispered something that got the lad giggling. Not once did his eyes venture Bowen’s way. Plenty of others did though. Andrea and the doctor, Jenner glanced his way. Andrea’s scowl festered and a perplexed smile crossed Jenner’s lips. Were they privy to last night? Bowen felt sick. Had he been granted mercy only to have it dashed by a stranger? The whole camp could want him dead, Daryl, Andrea and even Lori for all he knew. It’s less than I deserve. Bowen’s hands trembled. It’s less than I deserve.

“Sorry to keep y’all waitin’.” However many pairs of eyes sent glares his way, but none remained to accuse him as the table’s undivided attention drew towards a tall man with a salt-and-pepper beard. He sat beside Lori at the opposite end of the table to Hershel.

“Come to make excuses, Rick?” Shane asked.

“If by excuses you mean answers, then yeah, I have.” Rick spoke the way you might to a lackwit child – slow and soft. Shane scowled and crossed his arms. Rick cast a smile upon the table of staring eyes. “Hershel, would you mind startin’ us off?”

“Of course.” Hershel got to his feet. The eyes shifted to the end of the table opposing Rick. “I’ve never been one for keepin’ secrets. How can we love our neighbours if we don’t trust ‘em? But, I kept a secret anyhow. Didn’t start off as a secret. Wasn’t ever intended to be a secret. However, a secret it became. So, to clear the air, let’s set things straight. We are out of basic medicine, that mean antib…” The kindly, old whitebeard spoke and spoke some more. Voices raised concerns and charges. But Bowen heard only noise. Out of medicine? They couldn’t be. Julie was safe. They’d said she was safe. How could she be safe without medicine, without the miracle treatments of this strange land?

“You said she was safe.” He must have spoken louder than he intended for a hushed silence swept across the table and every pair of eyes snapped to him. Even Jon’s, sad, sullen eyes. They were too much to bear.

“Safe! Safe! Safe!” cried the Old Bear’s raven.

“I did…” Hershel glanced at Rick. “And… well…”

“She is,” Rick said. “Or will be.”

“Liar!” Chris slammed his fist on the table. “You’re all liars! You said you’d help her! You said you could save her life!”

Bowen touched Chris’s back. “Calm yourself.” The rage deflated out of the boy. He held his head in his hands, tears brimming in his eyes. “What do you plan to do?” Bowen asked.

“There’s a town a short drive away from here full of all kinds of abandoned supplies. We’ll put together a small group and scavenge for medicine to replace what we’ve used up.” Rick smiled with his eyes as he spoke. “Julie’s going to be just fine, I swear it.”

“On your god?”

“On my God. On my wife. On my son.” Rick squeezed his wife’s hand and found his son’s eyes across the table.

“Fuck that. The little bitch is a goner.” May Culver sported a grin as Chris shot to his feet.

“Shut up! No, she isn’t!”

“Yes. She is. Y’all blind? She ain’t got a fuckin’ hand no more. Don’t get me wrong, her kind can take a lot of hell and all but, not that much.”

“SHUT UP!”

“Or what, little man?” James snapped.

“I- I’ll-”

“You’ll sit down, lad,” Bowen said.

“But-”

“Listen to the man, boy,” Sam spoke a little above a whisper. Some leader.

Chris gritted his teeth and sat, fists clenched. As the pack of fools laughed among one another, Sam did nothing. Even as the whole table shot him glares. Even as the fools mocked Julie’s name right beside him. Instead, he stared at the table.

“Got somethin’ to add, Sam?” Rick asked.

“A scavenge… a scavenge won’t work.”

“Why the hell not?” Andrea snapped.

May laughed. “Cause the mall’s overrun, bitch.”

“So?”

“So…” Sam met her eyes. “That’s the only place you’re gonna find any medicine. Everything else’s been picked clean. By us and-”

“Strangers.” James spat.

Sam gave a grim nod. “Y’all ain’t the first to run through these parts. People have been coming and going for months, taking what they will.”

“And you took from them,” Jon said.

Sam didn’t meet Jon’s eyes.

“It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Snow,” May said. “Ain’t enough to around no more, case you ain’t noticed.”

“Damn straight,” James said.

“Ain’t enough,” Pete said.

The three fools looked to the quiet one, Randall. “Dog eat dog,” he muttered.

“It was our town, not theirs,” Sam muttered.

“That stops now,” Rick said. “We find strangers, we don’t rob them, we help them.”

“We gonna foster the whole world now?” May asked. “We’ll run out of room eventually.”

“Y’all could always kindly fuck off. That’ll make room,” Daryl said.

“Right back at ya, arrow boy.” May grinned.

Andrea shook her head and waved her hands. “Hold on. Screw the mall. What about your stash? Surely you’ve got medicine.”

“Get your own,” May snapped.

“We found it fair and square!” James said.

“Fair and square!” Pete said.

“Fair and square…” Randall said.

“That girl’s going to die, you fucking monsters!”

May sneered and shrugged.

“We can’t give you any,” Sam said.

Andrea got to her feet. “You can and you will.”

May shot to her feet. “Try it, bi-” Sam clouted her ear. She clutched it and fell back into her seat.

“I already gave it all to you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Damn, right bullshit!” James said. “I know you ain’t go much sense Pa but there ain’t no way you’re that fuckin’ stupid!”

Sam extinguished James’s fury with a look. “Watch your tone, boy.”

“Why?” Rick asked. “We agreed on a third.”

“Same reason we don’t have none now. Was hardly any to begin with and I ain’t about to let women and children get sick.”

“No,” Andrea said. “You’re lying. Rick, let me check their stash.”

Rick weighed her words.

“Have I lied to you so far?” Sam asked.

“You said you can control them.” Andrea gestured to the Culver. “Look how well that’s gone.”

“I am controllin’ them.”

Andrea scoffed.

Sam scowled. “I ain’t a fucking liar. Go check the fucking stash, you won’t find nothing.”

“But, Pa!”

Sam raised his hand. James gave him a desperate look but received only a glare for an answer.

Rick nodded. “Go on, take a look.”

Andrea hurried off towards the Culver’s camp.

Pete bristled. “I’m checkin’ once you’re done, girl! If I find even a crumb missin’, it’s your ass!”

“Shut up, Pete. You could do with a few less crumbs,” Sam said.

Pete huffed and folded his arms over his potbelly.

“Is this mall our only option?” Rick asked. “Are you sure?”

“There’s a hundred fucking towns just like this one. Don’t gotta only search here,” Daryl said.

“A shot in the dark,” Jon muttered.

“The kid’s right,” Sam said. “If our town’s been picked clean, so has every other town around here. The mall’s a guarantee. No shot anyone’s stupid enough to go in there. You can see the dead fuckers from the street shambling about like a wall of fucking rotting flesh.”

“No one ‘cept us,” Daryl said.

Jon thumbed his chin. “How did this mall, as you say, end up like that?”

“It was a gatherin’ place,” Beth said. Her voice was small and soft. She stared at the table. “The TV said to go there. Probably the whole town listened.”

“But not you?”

Beth shook her head.

“Never trust a talking head. That’s where it’ll get you,” Sam said. “The place is locked from the inside. Got a big ol’ chain wrapped around the handles. Some bastard must have done it as shit was hitting the fan.”

Glenn shifted in his seat. “It’s thanks to whoever did it that we’ve got less walkers to deal with.”

“Yeah? We can tell them that. Sure they’ll agree with you. Might even let us waltz right in for a little shopping spree.”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Maggie snapped.

“We haven’t decided on anything yet,” Rick said. “Something like this – this is a decision we all need to make.”

A decision for them all to make? He couldn’t mean a vote. Whatever it was, it got nearly every head nodding around the table.

“Always with the fucking voting…” May muttered.

“A vote?” Bowen asked. “For this?”

“That’s how we do things around here.” Rick nodded to Carol.

The short-haired woman scurried off to the house. She returned with a bowl, scraps of paper and a pen.

“Y’all know how this works. The paper and pen will pass around. Right down a yes or a no. Of course, you don’t have to vote but it makes things easier if you do.”

As the bowl, paper and pens made their way around the table, Bowen couldn’t quite believe his eyes. It was as if there were choosing a Lord Commander all over again, and they all acted as if nothing were amiss. Only Jon gave the bowl a disconcerted look. Just as this world was beginning to make sense, it always felt the need to throw something new at him.

The bowl arrived in front of him and Chris. “Even us?” he asked.

“Of course. You’re a part of the group now. You get a vote.”

“Good.” Chris grabbed the pen and paper. “I won’t let you let her die.” He scribbled down yes.

Bowen did the same.

“I’m going,” Chris said before the bowl had moved even one more space down the table.

“That’ll be Glenn’s decision, son,” Rick said. “If we decide to go at all.”

“I’m going and so is Bowen.” Chris looked at him. “Right?”

An army of the dead. Killer corpses. Death incarnate. “I-” Bowen’s skin crawled. “Well-” Chris gave him a desperate look – a pleading, pitiful, desperate look. The scared look of a boy. Bowen swallowed. “I will.”

“I get you want to help your friend.” Glenn wrote down his answer. “But, no offence, I need people I can trust out there.”

An out. A perfect excuse. No one would bat an eye. Jon’s stare bore a hole through his head. “No. We’re coming.”

“We’re going whether it’s with you or on our own,” Chris says.

“Let them.” Jon wrote down his answer. “It’ll keep as many people familiar with the wall at the wall as possible.” Jon gave Bowen a commanding look. This was his chance. A chance to prove himself. Far more than he deserved.

“Let’s finish the vote before we decide anything,” Lori said. She handed the full bowl to Rick.

“Right.” Rick separated the votes into two piles. Nineteen votes for yes. Three for no. “We’re doing this, then… fine – Chris, Bowen you’ll go with Glenn.”

“And Tyreese,” Bowen said. “He wouldn’t forgive us if we left him behind.”

Rick nodded. “And Tyreese.”

“And me,” Jon said.

“I’ll go too,” Sam said.

“No,” Glenn piped up. “Hold on, no. I’ll bring the other three but not you two.”

“Why the hell not?” Sam asked.

“Aye, for what reason?”

“Okay heroes, first of all, you have three broken ribs. You’re only useful if you can swing a sword. And as for you, Sam. You’re better suited here, making sure things run smoothly.”

Jon grimaced and stared at the table. “Aye… okay.”

“Who then?” Sam asked.

“Apart from Bowen, Chris and Tyreese, I’m taking me, Daryl and Maggie.”

“Hold on now,” Hershel said.

“God, Dad. You can’t say no for me. I’m not a kid,” Maggie said.

“It’s too dangerous, and besides, you ain’t never done anything like it before.”

“I have to! How many times have I gone out huntin’? Huh?”

“And look how well that turned out,” Andrea said. She rejoined the table.

Maggie froze, caught between shock and outrage.

Andrea flashed Sam her scowl. “He’s telling the truth.”

“Always do,” Sam said.

“Hershel,” Glenn said. “I need someone with medical experience out there. Preferably someone with two working hands.”

Hershel flushed. “Then take Doctor Jenner.”

Maggie joined Glenn’s side. “Didn’t you hear him? He said he needs people he can trust out there and, I don’t know if you’ve been payin’ attention lately, I’m the person Glenn trusts most nowadays. That’s what love’ll do.”

Glenn flushed and Hershel kneaded his brown. Hershel has the right of it. Women are not made to face such horrors.

“Fine,” Hershel sighed.

Maggie smirked and kissed Glenn on the cheek. It would seem that Daryl isn’t the only one with a bit of wildling in them around here.

“Well then, that settles that. Best we get to work. The wall ain’t gonna build itself.” Rick stood. “Glenn-”

“Hold on, brother,” Shane stood. “You ain’t gettin’ away that easy.”

“Excuse me?”

“What right did you think you had to keep that a secret?”

“It wasn’t a secret.”

“Like hell it wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t. We only ran out yesterday. Glenn, Lori and I decided it’d be best to tell y’all after the workday so it wouldn’t weigh on your minds in the heat.”

“Yeah, man,” Glenn said. “We were gonna tell everyone.”

“It was never a secret,” Lori said.

“Call it what you will. It was a secret. You lied.”

Rick clenched his jaw. “Again, Shane, we were planning on telling everybody at the end of the day.”

“What’s all this we business, brother? You’re in charge ain’t ya? Every decision is your decision no matter how many people are involved. A leader needs to take charge of his decisions, not hide behind excuses all the damn time. He needs to be decisive.”

“Right… what’s your damn point, Shane?”

“My damn point is this, brother!” Shane looked right at Jon. “When I was leader, y’all would have known right away. Y’all would have known yesterday and y’all would have known two weeks ago. Two weeks. How often does Lori take a count, brother? Every few days. And not once did it ever occur to you to mention we were gonna run out of medicine?”

Voices raised as one to shout over one another.

“Shut the hell up, Shane!”

“When you were in charge?!”

“Look how that turned out!”

“Sit down!”

“Your time’s done!”

Jon’s fearsome glare spoke louder than any shouts. Rick looked about to burst but, a touch from Lori settled him.

Rick raised his hands for quiet. “Normally, I’d say we take a vote on it. But, after all that, it seems a bit redundant, huh?

Shane flashed the group a scowl. “Whatever.” He stormed away.

Jon

In front of the farmhouse, the scavenging party prepared to leave. Atop his motorbike, Daryl whittled arrows. In the pickup truck, Glenn and Maggie reviewed a map. And all Jon could do was stand idle as Bowen Marsh secured their supplies in the truck’s bed.

He was never much of a swordsman, Bowen Marsh. Could he count them? Could he organise them? Yes. But when it came to swinging one, the man may as well have taken a bread roll with him to battle for all the use he’d be. The greatsword made for quite a spectacle against his short, round figure.

Jon opened and closed his sword hand as the party made their preparations; as he stood idle and still. “No one would blame you. There’s no shame in it.”

Bowen secured a strap across the pickup truck’s bed. “And let him go on his own? Him? A scrawny boy? No.”

Chris sat in the rangerover, on the opposite side to Tyreese, two rows of seats apart.

“He has Tyreese.”

Bowen fiddled with the strap. A poor farce. His eyes gave him away.

“Glenn’s as sensible as they come and Daryl’s practically half-wolf. The lad’s in fine hands.”

“I’m going, Jon,” Bowen said barely above a whisper.

Jon crossed his arms. “I’m not your Lord Commander anymore. Far be it from me to tell a man where he may or may not go. But don’t go making a mockery of my mercy by getting yourself killed.”

“I… I won’t.” Bowen refused to meet his eyes.

“Good.” Jon tried to ignore Rick’s stare. He watched him like a hawk whenever he and Bowen were ever so much as in shouting distance of one another. “Do you know how to shoot?”

Bowen’s nose wrinkled. “Aye, I’ve more or less figured out the damnable things. It’s not something I can ever get used to. It’s like wielding a bloody lightning bolt. Unnatural it is. Bloody unnatural.”

“Aye, but useful.”

“I suppose…”

Bowen’s handgun looked like any other. They’d found it in a gutter, covered in grime, mud and blood. After Daryl almost lost his lunch when he fished it from the filth he’d refused to ever touch it again and yet, he’d made such a fuss when Rick gave it to Bowen.

“You want to give it to him?” The look Daryl shot Bowen could have curdled milk.

Glenn couldn't meet his eyes. “Yeah, man. If he’s coming with us, he needs one.”

Daryl spat. “Leave him in the car, then. Ain’t gonna be no use anyways, fat old bastard.”

“No. Everyone needs a partner out there – someone to cover their back. Without him, we’re an odd number.”

“Whatever… he ain’t my partner then. No way.”

“I’ll pair with Chris,” Bowen murmured.

And that was as much as Bowen had said about the situation. Death had done nothing for his cravenness it seemed. If anything, he was more meagre than how Jon had left him, if such a thing were possible.

Bowen gave the wall a bold look. “This was you’re doing?”

“My doing? No. Only my idea. The doing was everyone’s.” The rest of the group filled the air with a cacophony of noise; hacking branches, crashing hammers, whirring drills and a screaming chainsaw. All while he stood about idle, on his errand. Glenn wouldn’t let him swing a sword and Rick wouldn’t let him swing an axe. If they had their way, he’d spend most of his time scampering about, pretending to be useful.

Atop a tree trunk post, Sam paused the swinging of his hammer to shout a command at the lumber team.

“That man.” Bowen pointed. “What is his role?”

“First Builder, if you were to give it a title.”

“You say that as if he has no title.”

“He doesn’t.”

“No title?”

“None we use. He used to be a ‘site manager,’. I’ve come to understand they mean more or less the same thing.”

“Bizarre.”

“Aye. But, ignoring the strangeness, it’s proven useful. Those tools came from a building project he worked on before their world collapsed. Power tools they’re called. They’ve turned what should have been months of labour into mere weeks.”

“Should I even ask how they work?”

“Another time, mayhaps.”

Bowen smiled but, in the next breath, his meagerness returned. The smile shamed him. And so it should. To have shame as a constant companion was a lenient punishment.

“Your man…” Bowen’s voice hushed. “Rick, was it? Who was he before the collapse?”

“A sheriff. Some sort of law enforcer.”

“Who’s law? The king’s? Is a sheriff what they call a knight?”

“No. It’s something different. As far as I can gather, sheriffs hold no legal privileges. They swear no vows. Nothing like a knight. Closer to a gold cloak, in a sense.”

“I see… but he still wielded some power, aye? Even if he is of low birth?”

“Some. How much, I haven't been able to put together.”

“As much as… as much as you did, do you think?”

The question might have been bold if hadn’t been whispered and murmured. “You doubt him?”

“I don’t feel any way about him. I don’t know him. Do you trust him above yourself?”

“He makes them feel safe. Safety, even if it’s an illusion, is what they need right now.”

“But real safety? What of that?”

“You need only look ahead of you to see real safety.”

Bowen looked at the wall as he fidgeted with his hands. “Would that wall be there without you?”

“No, Marsh. It wouldn’t.”

“And… if a similar project were required and… and he hadn’t the strength to-”

“I’d ensure it saw completion.”

Bowen nodded. “Good. Good…” He stared at his feet. His hands trembled. “But… why risk it? What if he were to resist? Why not just-”

“Enough.”

“But, they respect you, aye? They’d follow-”

“I’m no power monger, Marsh. They chose him to keep them safe. They’re safe. That’s all there is to it.”

“Time to go!” Glenn shouted. “Bowen, you’ll ride with Chris and Tyreese in the rangerover!”

“Aye!” Bowen glanced Jon’s way. “I… before I go, again- I must say… thank you. For last night.”

“Speak nothing of it.”

“Aye, of course.”

“I mean it. Don’t ever speak of it to me again.”

Bowen stiffened. “Of course. Sorry.” He scurried off towards the rangerover.

“Bowen,” Jon called.

Halfway in the car, Bowen looked back at him. “Aye?”

“Don’t die.”

Bowen smiled. “Once was enough, I think.”

As they sped off down the road, kicking up rooster tails of gravel dust, Jon spied her glare. From across the farm, as she hacked branches from a fallen tree, Andrea looked as if she might kill him.

[devilsgatewayhq]

Name: Nikolaos Dimopoulos Age: 39 Time living in Tonopah: 30 years Occupation: Owner of Dionysos Gang Affiliation: Los Santos Capo Neighborhood: Glenn Estates Face Claim: Ben Barnes

Biography (TW: amputation, injury):

Nikolaos Dimopoulos, born to loving parents in the picturesque city of Patras, Greece, on a crisp summer day, embodied the dreams of a family destined for greatness. His parents, Yiannis and Helen, shared a vision of building a beautiful family and prosperous future together. Their aspirations took an unexpected turn when, after two children, they decided to uproot their lives and embark on a journey to Tonopah Valley, Nevada when Nik was just nine years old.

The transition to a new country was not without its challenges, but the Dimopoulos family quickly discovered their footing with the establishment of Dionysos, an authentic Greek restaurant nestled in the heart of Glenn Estates. Little did the town know, this cozy establishment was more than just a place to savor Mediterranean cuisine; it was a front for a much darker world.

When Nikolaos turned sixteen, his parents sat him down and unveiled a sinister truth. The restaurant, the money, the seemingly genuine Greek experience—all of it was intricately tied to his parents' involvement with Los Santos, a notorious criminal syndicate. Dionysos had been nothing more than a conduit for the gang's money-laundering operations, a façade to attract customers and funnel illicit funds discreetly. It was as if Nik had been reborn, with a newfound purpose thrust upon him at such an impressionable age. Nik started working alongside his mother, learning the intricacies of not only running a restaurant but also "fixing" numbers. His personality began to shift, becoming more antagonistic and deceitful, although glimpses of his old self still occasionally surfaced. This transformation escalated when he enlisted in the US Navy, much to the dismay of his parents.

Joining the military had been Nik's dream since childhood, and despite his parents' protests, he convinced them it was not only for his personal growth but also for the benefit of Los Santos. Nik believed that combat training and discipline would make him an indispensable asset to the gang upon his return. His instincts proved right as he thrived in the Navy, rising through the ranks and traveling the world. Then came the calamity that altered his life forever. During a patrol with fellow squad mates, a boobytrap claimed the lives of his comrades, leaving Nik as the sole survivor. He awoke in a military hospital, his left leg amputated from the knee down, and substantial hearing loss in one ear. The road to recovery was long and traumatic, forcing him to return to Tonopah, where he was closely monitored until he could heal physically. Though he adapted to his prosthetic leg, the mental scars never truly healed. Determined to prove himself and channeling the anger coursing through his veins, Nik committed himself to Los Santos. Over the years, he climbed the ranks, eventually becoming a feared Capo. His parents had never been prouder, yet it was never enough.

With his parents retired, Nik took over Dionysos and continued to run the business with the help of his younger sibling. He became a willing instrument for the gang's dirty work, turning violent or aggressive whenever the situation demanded it. He was a sharpshooter who would do whatever was needed without breaking a sweat. But Nik often forgets that he, at the end of the day, is still human. Only time would reveal whether his scars from war would continue to fuel his ascent or eventually become the catalyst for his inevitable downfall.

Headcanons: 

Nikolaos is very, very close to his parents. He typically sees them at least twice a week and cooks dinner for them often.

He is very connected with his Greek roots, but isn't a huge fan of religion. He will go to church with his parents to appease them but will save his opinions for himself.

Can often be found at the gun range to blow off steam. He is an incredible shot, and it typically used as a sniper for more serious LS endeavors that have the possibility of getting violent.

He expects a lot from people, perhaps too much. In his eyes, respect is earned unless you're of a higher authority, and in that case its expected. It's something he's learned from his father.

He helps out a lot in the kitchen on particularly busy days. In another life, he would have loved to be a chef.