#this is early i know shhhhhhhh

[dmitryanya]

happy may the fourth to my favorite scene in the whole franchise

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Fate Of A Fae - Part 4

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Theme: Soulmates / Monster/Fantasy AU

You know on sight. Friends also know when they meet you if you're a match for one of their friends.

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Chapter Summary: The reader has a surprise caller..................or two.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of past historic abuse.

There’s a distant voice in your head, stirring you from sleep. Somewhere between asleep and awake the voice seems to get louder and more panicked. It isn’t until you’re pulled against a warm chest and the whiff of expensive cologne spread up your nose that you fully wake up. You start to sob into the chest when you realise the voice is familiar.

Tony.

“Kid what happened?”

“I…..” and the crying continued.

“Shhhhhhhh it’s OK, we’ll figure it out, shhhhhhh.”

After ten minutes of Tony shushing and comforting you and crying all over him you’d started to calm down. A realisation washed over you as you realised Tony had got into your apartment.

“How’d you get in?”

“Sweetie, I made the security system remember?”

You pushed back off his chest and looked up at him.

“So you just let yourself in?”

“Oh hush” he replied pulling you back into his chest “I knew you were home and you weren’t answering and I could spell the blood.”

Tony wasn’t a dragon but his father was, meaning the acute sense of smell was passed on.

“Blood?”

“Your feet and legs sweetie.”

You looked down to see your legs and feet had a scattering of small cuts.

“For fuck sake.”

“You wanna tell me what happened?” asked Tony.

“Not really.”

“Can I say something?” you cocked an eyebrow at him, knowing he’d say it whether you agreed or not. “Would it be so bad if you at least spoke to them?”

“Yes, it would be.”

“I don’t know what happened to you kid but”

“Don’t, you won’t get it.”

“Probably not, but you’re not the only one with asshole parents. Sure they weren’t violent but my dad could be a really piece of work. When it became clear at eighteen I was definitely like Mom, and not him, he didn’t speak to me for a year, cut my allowance and nearly didn’t pay for college.”

“Tony, I had to steal food as a kid, this isn’t the same.”

“Hang on, I’m not done, listen to my un-relatable, yet relatable story.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Listen, when i say he didn’t talk to me I mean he didn’t even acknowledge my presence. That Christmas he crossed his name out on the gift tags and instead he passed me an envelope. A cheque for a million dollars and permission for early access to my trust fund. There was a leaflet with it about forced transfer.”

You felt sick. Forced transfer was painful, invasive and inhumane but had been common practice twenty years ago and back. Your parents would have put you in for it if they could have afforded it.

“What happened?”

“Well mom’s DNA turned out to be the strongest and his old age dragon wasn’t as strong as he thought. It wasn’t until I met Barnes that I actually realised how big dragons were, which I know sounds ridiculous. Dad had been select in his friends and made sure they were a mix of types, dragons included but always smaller than him.”

“I’m so sorry Tony.”

“Don’t be. The blood test and Mom threatening to divorce him put a stop to it. I may not know your full story kid but it doesn’t take  a genius to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” you replied.

“That the asshole family had something to do with your lacking of wings and pointy ears.”

And with that the tears came again.

“They won’t want me Tony. They won’t want me when they know.”

“Doll?”

Fuck. Shit. Bucky was in your apartment.

[snakxreader]

ANOTHER ONE!

overworked journalist that Wammy forces to get some rest and gets them to fall asleep “like a dad figure”

I find asking this one quite ironic since like you know, the wammy ask from before, Triffanny has it

G O O D

A/N: DADBUS ASKS REALLL!!! I love doing parental asks, please gimme more/hj

Pretty fun to do, mildy based off personally experience/hj, I hope you enjoy!

Wambus and Journalist (Take a Break)

With every passing minute, their body felt like it was going to give way from exhaustion. But it wasn’t like they weren’t used to that feeling, so they did their best to roll with it. Buddy had been on a real catching spree as of lately, Donating to Gramble’s barn, helping Chandlo get his ‘gains’, the snax used to help Snorpy defend against the Grumpanati or whatever had happened to somebody in town. Of course, these started to wear on them and their friends noticed. Filbo in particular.

But it was fine. They were fine. They had to be, because who was going to do it otherwise?

Buddy stopped by Wambus’s farm for a second, to gather the sauces needed to gather the Bugsnax they needed today. The farmer noticed them, pausing in his work to greet them.

“Stranger! What brings you here so early?”

“Headed out to the Simmering Springs to catch some stuff for Beffica, she’s really obsessed with Snaquiri right now….” They said, swiping some Cholocate Sauce. “Amd Wiggle wants a Grapeskeeto….oh, and Snorpy wants a Pinkle for something….then I gotta backtrack to Sugarpine-”

“Uh…those are, uh, lotta requests…” Wambus frowned, eyebrows furrowed. He rested his weight against his hoe. “Shouldn’t you space those out?”

“It’s fine. Why not do them all today, right?” Buddy yawned, shaking themselves slightly as to not fall asleep. Wambus still looked unconvinced.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Buddy affirmed, preparing to head down to the Sinmering Springs. Their eyes were still heavy but other than the usual exhaustion, they coud run errands. Wouldn’t bet that hard. Snaquiri just had to be shot down with a bit of Sauce, and thye could used the chocolate to get Grapeskeeto, so really all they had to do was catch those, walk through the campfire, head to Sugarpine, catch the Sprinklepede, then make it back to Flavor Falls to-

Wait. Campfire?

They looked down. Oh, they were on fire. People were screaming.

Seems about right.

…..Oh grump, they’re on fire!!

Buddy ran around, kicking up as much dirt as they possibly could and stepping on their own feet in an attempt to put out the fire. Thankfully, they had only been set ablaze for a minute or so, letting it pamper out with only minor bits of singed fur. Buddy sighed.

“Buddy!” Filbo cried out, but Buddy brushed him off, intent to keep going, mumbling a quick apology.

And then, Buddy felt himself getting lifted into the air and slung a navy furred shoulder.

“Wha-?!”

“I’ve been watching ya for the past week as you ran yourself dry with different errands, ya need to lay down!” Wambus growled. “Now.”

“Wambus! Wambus, let me go!” Buddy tried to squirm their way out of Wambus’s grasp, only to fail everytime. He marched them to their hut, and plopped them on their bed, tucking them into the sheets. The journalist pouted, annoyed at the turn of events. They tried to get up, but Wambus refused to let them leave, keeping them under the blankets.

“Wambus!”

“Ya look like death, take a nap.”

“I don’t-”

“Shhhhhhhh….nap.” Wambus shushed them. “Don’t fight it, I can see it in your eyes.”

“I’m…I’m,,,” Buddy tried to struggle, but Wambsu was right. He was exhausted, sleep deprived and in a bit of pain. They laid against the pillow, feeling themselves get tucked in once more.

“I’m not tired. Just. Just a quick break.”

Wambus snorted. “Of course, Stranger.” He ruffled their hair and left their hut.

Buddy was asleep in less than two minutes.

[blackjackkent]

OK, so, off to the Archive. It's been made pretty clear that shit is going to go tits-up as soon as Raphael realizes what is happening, but I think we've done all the exploring we can right now. Time to set a fire in Hell. >:)

"Hello again, little mouse. The price for speaking is steep, but I must give warning. Your prize is just ahead in the Archive, but you can't take it yet, and even if you could, you mustn't. Trigger the alarm and Raphael will come swooping home on wings of malice to rip out your soul." Again the sudden shrieking wail as the panic takes her over. "IN THIS HOUSE THIEVES ARE MELTED LIKE BUTTER AND SPREAD ONTO TOAST!"

Her head ducks, her voice drops, a sudden frantic tone. "Shhhhhhhh... I'm doing it again I'm doing it again..."

Hector crouches down to her height, reaches out a hand towards her. He can't touch her, not a projection as she is, but perhaps the gesture at least comforts. [MONK] "Focus," he says softly. "Breathe with intent. And the flames that scorch your mind will recede, for they are nothing."

(A/N: I love how, completely by accident, this directly echoes one of the first fics I ever wrote about Hector. "Two beats to the breath...")

Her shoulders relax just slightly, a little of the mania fading briefly from her voice. "Slight problem," she whispers. "The flames are scorching my backside as well as my mind. But I like your optimism. And I can help. The Archivist is the key, but he's as stubborn as a king and as serious as a heart attack." The moment of control slips; her eyes widen, and she bellows out suddenly, "EXPLOIT HIS PIDDLING WEAKNESSES AND MAKE HIM GROVEL!"

She flinches away, curling herself inward. "Oh no..." she mutters. "They hear me. Speak quickly. Speak softly. You know how this goes..."

Hector swallows. He has to take a moment to settle his own mind, find his own center, as this woman's (entirely understandable) erratic behavior has him tremendously on edge.

[WISDOM] Focus your efforts on formulating concise questions.

Narrator: You steady your mind and prepare your questions.

"How should I deal with the archivist?" he asks crisply.

"He fears authority figures," she tells him, quickly, quietly. "Perhaps his teacher took a strap to him and left a deep impression at an early age. There's one regular visitor that he particularly fears... She is..." She flinches. "Shhhhhhh..."

Narrator: A crack like a breaking bone. Hope winces.

Hector frowns tightly. He wants nothing more than to get Hope and the Hammer and be far from this place and its torments. But there is no way out but forward.

[PERSUASION] "Who does the Archivist fear, Hope?" he says. "I need a name."

(A/N: Took three inspirations but we got there.)

"SCARIER THINGS THAN YOU, LITTLE MOUSE!" Hope roars - then controls herself again, her hands wringing together frantically. "Verillius. Verilliuse Receptor. A High Inquisitor of Zariel. Officially entitled to audit Raphael's collection. Her true form is so gargantuan and mind-scarring to behold that she takes on many guises when she visits..."

Another lift of her voice into a panicked scream. "PLAY YOUR PART WELL AND YOU CAN BE ONE OF THOSE BLASPHEMOUS GUISES!"

She vanishes, her words hanging in the air.

-----

"Lovely," Hector mutters. "We all know my talent for deception. Maybe someone else ought to take this one." He hesitates, looking sideways at Karlach.

He doesn't say anything, but she knows what he's thinking, and nods slowly, squaring her shoulders. "It should be me," she mutters. "I know how devils work. I met Verillius once or twice even. And I know how to scare the shit out of people, too."

He smiles faintly. "You did quite a good job with Helsik outside."

She shrugs. "Can't say I much want you admiring me for it. Last thing I want is to show up anything like those monsters. But if it'll help us tear this place apart, I guess it's worth something."

A pause. He steps towards her, rests a hand on her shoulder. "I love you," he says softly, "for everything you are that is good and kind and warm, everything not of this place. We do what must be done and then we'll be gone... we'll be gone from here..."

"Ten years I spent in the hells..." she murmurs, more to herself than to him. "Ten years of doing what must be done, enough to survive... nice to turn it back on them for once..."

[narrators-journal]

EDIT: as this is for my own practice and fun, I am excluding x readers! So any x reader asks will be answered later! The kinktober requests take a bit of priority.

It's back~ lololol what a way to announce my asks are open again. But! This is really fun and easy!

Step 1: Pick a prompt from the above list by @zutaralover94

Step 2: Send a request of that prompt with whatever ship you want and I will write it!

With that out of the way, like last year, I am gonna alter some of the prompts just for my own sanity, bc I will be SO honest, I don't know, nor do I WANT to, know how fisting works, so I'm gonna go ahead and swap some of the prompts.

Day #8 is now Sensory depravation (though you can still ask for additional threesome)

Day #17 is now teratophilia aka monsterfucking, tho I reserve the right to deny if I am uncomfy writing a specific monster, like jack frost

Day #21 is now knifeplay since it's also day 24 (unless these are two seperate terms and things)

Day #22 is now Somnophilia

and Day #28 is now Dacryphilia

Of course you can add some other kinks if you want! Go ham! So long as it follows my rules, I'm down to give it a try!

Speaking of rules, please read my request rules Here and my fandom list Here. Once you do that, send in an ask with whatever ship and prompt you want from this list! Have fun with it and let's get some wild smut out there lol!

(I'm aware this is a day early, but shhhhhhhh)

[thedreadvampy]

I'm having a kind of metamorphosis time I think. not as big as the one I had a few years ago when I started seeking help but it's a bit of a seismic shift nonetheless, I'm in the middle of readjusting how I think about myself maybe.

which is probably good, I think that should happen every 5 years or so. but you know. there's some earthquakes and broken dishes involved.

what's changing? not sure I could name it, necessarily. tbh a lot of it has to do with confidence and self-respect. I think I am understanding myself differently as a result of the last year or so of changes and if I'm honest generally I like the person I see myself as a lot more. or I see myself as a person I like a lot more. one or both of those.

but it's a change and change is messy and not easy.

I think, much like back in 2015-17 I was coming to grips with the idea that I'd been physically harmed a lot. in 2023 I'm coming to grips with the idea that there's long term emotional consequences to a lot of stuff that I can now recognise wasn't my fault.

like I'm getting to a place where I can look at how I've been treated and instead of saying 'pathetic that I couldn't cope with this' or 'I caused this by insufficiently managing the situation' I can just be. upset and angry that so many people have thought that was an ok way to behave towards me.

which like. that legitimately Is Really Hard. it's been a lot easier to make excuses for people and downplay this shit because that makes it feel controllable and explainable but honestly this just has been out of my control a lot of the time.

and it's stuff like. yeah it's a problem if my partner's begging me in tears to tell them what's wrong and I just can't. but on the other hand if I've already told them multiple times that I've recently been raped and what the circumstances that trigger me are, then it doesn't take a huge amount of care and emotional intelligence to reach out past that inability to talk. and if nobody does that, that's not on me. (to use one example from several years ago)

I think that something my loved ones often find really exhausting and frustrating about me is that I have been operating on the Getting On With It mode for at least 20+ years, which is to say while stuff's happening I'm like NO TIME TO HAVE FEELINGS RIGHT NOW I HAVE SHIT TO DO and then after the fact I'm like well. dealt with that. nothing more to be done on that really. moving on.

and then periodically I have a big crack up and get big time triggered and start shutting down and blowing up and acting weird and the whole time I'm like haha that's weird what's that about? silly me!

now that's not a great way to do emotional communication, I think. but it's also a hard habit to break. I legit have spent at least since early primary working on this self-parenting thing where I don't so much experience feelings directly as look after them as if they're a toddler having a meltdown. so a) I honestly am just guessing most of the time about what the feelings actually are beyond 😭 or 🤬 and b) it's SO HARD to turn off the part of me that's like HEY LET'S WRAP THIS UP. SHHHH YOU'RE FINE SHHHHHHHH WE HAVE TO DO PRODUCTIVE THINGS. IF YOU SHUT UP AND LET ME FINISH THIS EMAIL YOU CAN HAVE A SWEETY.

but you know. I'm working on that. it's a new thing. but it's not Fucking Easy and there's a lot of feelings back here. who knows what happens when they get off the leash? not me! bc I physically can't let them off the leash!!!!

[the-angel-of-the-bottomless-pit]

took 57 minutes for this early 2000's movie to use 'this thing is so gay' as an insult. a little impressed by the restraint LMAO usually takes like. 30 minutes max. the movie's almost OVER. (57:??/1:25:57)

OHHH AND THE BIDEO GAME WAS MADE AT *THE SPOOPY BATHORY WOMAN'S PLANTATION" which. i think they're mixing her with that Monster from lousiana -

yeah, uh. the countess of BLOOD or whatever was in.. HUNGARY... so.. i'm not like an expert on knowing things, im really not, but i dont think she had a southern style plantation in america and certainly wasn't Buried there-

let me pause.

it's a cheesey horror movie where the scary lady comes out of the video game because you read some words and kills you. why am i looking for any logic at all. this isn't the place. these teens are named Octobor Swink Hutch and Phin im going to shut up now

THEY'RE ALSO CALLING HER A *WITCH* and using . WITCHE'S HAMMER OR WHATEVER WITCH HUNTERS USEDD???- shhh shhhhh shh shhhhhhhh just let it go. let it go man. let it go

[sugarcherriess]

maybe you should what Adonis hmm? Are you... slipping? 👀

(+ to the shibari thought) me telling Sangyeon what happened w/ Hyunjae and he'll get a lil too possessive saying "I can teach you better sweetheart dont even think of going to Hyunjae anymore. I'll give you private lessons. All you had to do was ask 😏" And yes I'm gonna get you delulu this early in the morning what about it (1/2jk)

-- 🌼 daisy

The only thing im slipping into is insanity also just shhhhhhhh sh

Sangyeon would say all that with his arms around you and that stupid reassuring smile on his face and you know it will only be the calm before the storm

[adziedoodle]

Panicking internally on a bus at 6am is not how I thought my weekend would start but ok

[sibsteria]

thank you barry berkman [eggsy unwin]

prompts: ''It's three in the morning'', ''we could get arrested for this'', ''you're never going to let that go, are you?'', ''you're so cute when you're half asleep like this''

summary: early morning antics with Eggsy, best friend? Or more?

''We could get arrested for this!'' I whisper in haste.

''Calm down, babe, it's just trespassing.'' He winks at me, I cross my arms, unamused. His pet names for me were cute but they had no emotion or meaning, just unfunny jokes.

''I swear to god, Unwin, if this ends with us in cuffs-'' I get cut off.

''It won't, will you just trust me?'' He urges, ushering me inside the closed off building.

''Like I did when I trusted you last time? With the car?'' I raise an eyebrow, edging him on.

''You're never going to let that go, are you? I would never hurt you, which is why I covered for you.'' He brushed my shoulder with his hand, comfortingly.

''Let's set it up here, it's perfect.'' We had brought our duvets and my laptop to have a secret movie night away from prying eyes.

I lay everything out in the dusty room on the second floor, parts of the building were falling apart but I didn't care.

''Hey, E?'' I smile, revealing my surprise.

''Vodka? Nice one, love!'' He kissed my forehead as I teased the bottle of miracles in front of his face. How I wish he meant that.

''I came prepared.'' I shrug, pressing play on 'Barry'.

''So did I, babe.'' He whispered, although I didn't hear him.

I leaned back in to his open arms, warm and kind, although he'd like you to think he's tough. I know him though, too well, but apparently not well enough to know if our relationship is something more.

I'm not sure if it was the alcohol but when Barry looked at Sally the way he did, I couldn't help but turn my gaze to Eggsy. He was already looking at me.

''I-I-'' He stopped me.

''Shut up, love.'' He whispered to me, before leaning in and connecting our lips, I rolled on top of him to a straddle and his hands found my  waist.

We stayed like that for a while, cuddled up together like mushy pre teens, but it was the best I'd felt in a long time.

I checked my phone, ''Oh my god, It's three in the morning.'' I laugh. ''Eggsy?'' I question the lad.

''Y/nnnnnnn.'' He smushed his face into my neck, ''Shhhhhhhh.'' I felt my heart skip at the sight.

''Awe, you're so cute when you're half asleep like this.'' I tease him, kissing his cheek.

''I'm not cute.'' He groaned, lying on to his back.

''I'm not sleeping here all night, come on.'' I plead with him.

''Nah, nah, we're staying. I'm too tired.'' He grinned, cheeky little lying bastard.

''For god's sake, whatever.'' He knew I said it wholeheartedly and with devotion, he's lucky he get's away with it by being cute.

''You're the cute one, especially when you're mad.'' He has the cheek to fucking wink.

''Shut up.'' I feel flustered, my face is hot.

[ilkkawhat]

How about “You can hold my hand.” + "Cozy" for DaltonStokes?? Pretty please?? 🥺💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙

[idk if you remember that one daltonstokes fic I wrote where Jack was dealing with an insomniac post Grave Danger Nick but...this one is very loosely related to that one...esp at the end.]

Anxiety is not something that's unknown to Jack Dalton.

He's done the leg bounce, he's arrived way too early to social events, he's stammered over words and done irrational, stupid things just because something in his brain told him if he didn't do it, something terrible would happen to him, or worse—others.

And over the years he's found ways to cope, found ways to not view his anxieties as a weakness, but rather, a strength. He's able to identify the obstacles and either prevent them, or deal with them as they arise. He's learned to channel that nervous energy into something else, something more productive.

Nick Stokes, however, seems to deny that there's anything even remotely resembling it quaking through his body and rattling his mind.

Yet here he is, pacing back and forth between locked doors and closed windows, a gun tightly gripped in his hand, sweat pouring from his forehead, and a thin line of drool down his chin from all his barking at the ghost that still stalks him.

"Nicky, come back to bed," Jack yawns, placing a hand over Nick's shoulder which startles him so bad that he whips around, nearly slapping Jack in the face with the muzzle of the gun. "And put that damn thing away!"

Jack knocks the gun down and swipes it expertly out of Nick's hands, twisting his arm behind him and nearly shoving him back into the bedroom.

"We're not safe. He's going to come in, he's probably already in, he's gonna crash through on the green tea..." Nick's muttering quickly, still lost in a waking nightmare.

"Shh, shh, shhhhhhhh, Stokes, c'mon...wake up..." Jack gently closes the door and watches as Nick stumbles blindly around the room, tripping and falling headfirst onto the bed. Jack sighs and leaps into the bed, trying to scoop Nick up to cuddle with an admittedly harsh grip—

"NO!" he screams wildly, tangling himself up in sheets. "NO! GET OFF ME!"

Nick punches Jack square in the face before launching backwards off of the bed, onto the floor and when he lifts his head he meets the bottom of the bedframe, into another level of nightmare hell.

Jack cuts through the broken song and finally gets a hold of his lover, who finally wakes up enough to realize that he’s not where he thinks he is, and in fact, somewhere much better. 

“J-Jack?” he stammers, immediately reaching for the large imprinted bruise from his own fist. “Oh, God, did I—?”

“You didn’t do nothin, baby,” Jack coos at him, lifting him up and de-tangling Nick from the twisted sheets. “Just had a nightmare, is all, and I know you know that we’re both used to them, okay?”

“Ye-yeah, but, I—” Nick follows Jack as he comes around the other side of the bed and hops in, leaning casually against the headboard. 

“Didn’t meanta do what you accidentally did. It’s okay,” Jack asserts, pulling Nick close to him, pressing his head against his chest. “See? Ticker’s still tickin’, you didn’t kill me.”

Nick tries to suppress his laugh, and a weary hand reaches up before falling back down. 

“Hey, you wanna hold onto somethin’? Here, you can hold my hand,” Jack offers an extended hand, while he uses the other one to cover their half-naked bodies in a comforter. “Getcha all nice and cozy, now, there we go.”

Nick’s still sniffling, even once they settle into this cozy cuddle. Jack wipes the tears from Nick’s eyes but they don’t stop coming, so he runs his fingers through Nick’s long strands of shaggy moptop-esque hair that Jack is still laughing about though he thinks it’s also boyishly cute and reminds him of the bowl cut his mother once gave him. 

All the while Nick’s crying, because all of this seems too good to be true.

Especially since Jack left him six months ago.

[crossdressingdeath]

i really love the points you make in your grapehate tag and one of the things i really strongly agree with is that fix-it fics where everything is suddenly ok because there's a golden core reveal between wwx and jc make absolutely no sense because of the way jc is - he certainly wouldn't suddenly be all apologetic about the way he was treating wwx prior to knowing and wwx's situation almost definitely wouldn't improve. i was wondering what your thoughts are on fix-it fics where things improve for wwx because lwj finds out about the transfer early are: do you think those are more realistic? i tend to lean towards yes, because lwj cares about wwx's well-being and would probably immediately want to help him find a way to cope/heal him, but i'm interested to hear what you think!

Hm... improve? Maybe. Fix everything? Definitely not. Honestly at the end of the day learning about the golden core transfer might change the way people look at WWX and interact with him, but it wouldn't do anything about the whole "murderous traitor refuses to do what his sect leader tells him to which is the mass murder of a civilian population but shhhhhhhh that's a secret" thing the sects have about him. LWJ would probably back off with the whole "demonic cultivation evil" thing, but overall I don't think it would have as much of an impact as people think it would. I mean, look at it this way: how much impact does the core reveal actually have on the story? JC stops trying to murder him for five whole seconds, LWJ is sad, and... that's about it. I guess what I'm saying is I think it would help in some ways, but it wouldn't drastically alter the course of events.

[grifalinas]

Trying to think of one you haven't done yet, hmmm... Have you given Snow White the treatment yet? I know you've touched it a lot for other plots but has it specifically gotten the Grifalinas treatment? (Shhh this was totally an ask first, not a reply, shhhhhhhh)

I have no idea what you’re talking about /discretion

As for touching all over Snow White, I used it as the base tale for Interrupted, but that’s not really the same thing given what it became, and I touched all over so many tales for Interrupted that I consider that a separate list than the ones I’ve given the Grifalinas treatment to. So. How would I go about giving Snow White the Grifalinas treatment?

So the main reason I avoid Snow White (and Sleeping Beauty) is because I’m not crazy about the somnophilia thing, so I think I would approach that from the angle of “how do I get rid of that in an organic way”. In this situation, I kind of work backwards: why does the somnophilia happen? Because Snow White needs true love’s kiss to break the curse, and for some reason a complete stranger she’s never met who kisses a dead girl because she’s that pretty counts for true love.

So in this case I think we start with “what if the dwarfs’ love for Snow White is enough to break the curse, what with them actually loving her and not being creeps who creep on dead girls in glass coffins?”

This is all well and good, of course, but this isn’t the Grifalinas treatment. This is just spinning the end of a fairy tale. So. We’re rid of our prince and the ending is different, so what’s next? Well, first of all, I’m genderbending Snow. I think rather than getting rid of her stepdaughter because she’s jealous of her beauty, the queen gets rid of her stepson because she wants the throne for her own children or something idk. That’s all setup it’s irrelevant. Moving on,

Okay so you know how there’s another Snow White in fairy tales? Snow White and Rose Red? I think I’m going to solve this problem by queering up a second story and blending those to together with elements of a third. This actually involves reinserting our ‘prince’ and the kiss, just with a twist. So here’s what I’m thinking:

In the forest where Snow keeps the dwarfs’ cottage after fleeing his stepmother lives the Big Bad Wolf. Not an ordinary wolf, rather a wickedly enormous wolf with an almost human intelligence and a red kerchief tied around his neck. The dwarfs are afraid of this wolf and warn Snow to keep away from it, but in the dead of winter he finds it half frozen trying to get into the cottage and lets it in to warm, and ends up giving it food and shelter every day during the dwarfs’ absence during that winter. 

On the last day of winter, the dwarfs come home early and find the wolf in their home, and when the leader attempts to take his axe to the wolf Snow flings himself between the axe and the wolf, which, you’ve probably already figured out who the Big Bad Wolf actually is- the act of devotion is enough to break the spell on the wolf, who transforms into a handsome young man. This young man, we learn, is called Red, and when he left the safety of the path and crossed wits with a witch he was cursed into the form we knew him in. It was Snow’s kindness that thawed his curse and eventually broke it.

Red informs the group that he’s been away from home for awhile and really needs to go home and tell his family that he’s not dead, but promises that he’ll be back once he’s able to, and he leaves the story for awhile, and we get back on track with the actual Snow White. I feel like sticking the Snow White and Rose Red plot in the middle is cheating, but we’re getting to the payoff.

So, the Snow White story goes as planned from here- the queen finds out Snow is still alive, and doesn’t want him turning up to claim his throne, so she goes to find him and finish the job, etc, etc. Snow offers hospitality to the old crone he finds in the woods, etc, the dwarfs come home to find Snow extremely dead.

Or so it would seem. Dwarfs are actually pretty magical and can tell the difference between death and magic sleep, so they set Snow up somewhere he can sleep safely and then go about trying to find a way to save him.

Fast forward to the following spring, when Red is finally able to return. He’s pretty upset to find out that his friend is in enchanted sleep, and kinda just moves into the dwarfs’ house to help them find the answer. At some point during this, Red is sitting by Snow’s bedside talking to him, and it’s very late and we get a very cliche trope that I love, which is character a spills their secrets to comatose character b, in this case Red telling Snow all about his secret backstory- he didn’t so much ‘wander off the path and stumble onto a witch’ so much as he left it deliberately to seek her out, and he didn’t so much cross wits with her as he challenged her to a contest where if he won she would grant his heart’s desire. He won, so she gave him his heart’s desire, but then for good measure she cursed him cause, you know, she’s a dick. His heart’s desire, as y’all’ve no doubt guessed, was to be a man, because I’m sure y’all were wondering where the trans element was going to come in. 

He also tells Snow the other secret, that he’d gone home to square everything with his family so he could come back and beg Snow to marry him, because he’s in love with him. Of course he’s holding Snow’s hand the whole time he’s saying all of this, and he cradles it against his cheek and even does the palm kiss trope, and then there’s a really tense music swelling moment before Snow’s hand moves, just a little, and then cups his cheek properly, and there’s a very emotional moment and etc, etc, happily ever after.

[kate837]

Valium (chapter one)

@the-moon-without-world you requested this fanfic to be written! This fic is set for early to mid season two and entails an AU of Jane having night terrors so Borden prescribes her Valium to help her sleep but one particularly bad night she gets absolutely no sleep and decides to take the Valium in the morning before work which inevitably leads to Kurt finding Jane in her safehouse on the floor high out of her mind! (This fic is angst, comfort, and fluff, OH and how could I forget crack!!) Enjoy!!

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It's a particularly cold September morning. Jane had been back with the team for four months and they had finally found some kind of normal. Nas on the other hand could be pretty hard to work with.

It was officially 8am and Reade, Tasha, Patterson, Nas, and Kurt were all at their respective 'biomes' within the NYO. But Jane... Jane was nowhere to be found.

"I already tried, it goes straight to voicemail everytime." Kurt says agitatedly. He and Nas had just walked into his office continuing their conversation from Patterson's lab.

"Look Kurt chances are that Sandstorm may have grabbed her." Nas replies desperately trying to keep up with Kurt's pace.

Kurt walked behind his office desk.

"And that doesn't concern you?!"

"She's doing the job we asked her to do!" Nas yelled.

"I'm done arguing with you."

"Where do you think you're going?!"

Kurt shrugged on his jacket and tried to walk past Nas before she grabbed his arm.

"Let. Me. Go."

"Why? So you can go make sure your girlfriend is alright?"

Kurt pulled his arm out from her and clenched his jaw. Not entertaining her, he tried to calmly answer.

"Nas-"

"What?! I was in bed with you last night and now this morning you're willing to put the biggest case of your life at risk to make sure another woman is okay!"

"You really want to do this here?"

"You're doing this on your own Kurt."

"Fine if you wanna talk we can talk." Kurt reached behind his desk and in a file to pull out a micro transparent listening device. "We can talk about that. You've been spying on me and my team for God knows how long and you expect me to care when you get jealous over Jane?"

Nas tried to reason with him but was getting nowhere, especially now. He was shutting down... Well more like shutting her out. She needed to change tactics. And fast.

"You are going to get her killed."

"What?" Kurt glared.

"You going to her safehouse to check on her will most definitely tip Sandstorm off and you will be the sole reason that she is killed! When she signed up for this operation she knew the risks-"

"How do you know Sandstorm has her?" Kurt questioned and slightly stepped closer towards Nas.

"What?"

"What if they don't have her? Have you thought about that?"

"That would be great, then she would come in eventually."

"Eventually?! You don't care about her at all do you? Your only concern is this mission!"

Kurt made a beeline for his office door.

"Kurt wait!"

The door was slightly cracked before he stopped.

"No nas, I'm done. I can't do this. Your blatant disregard for the safety of my team, you hiding things from me, bugging our offices, I'm done." With that said Kurt walked out of his office and headed straight for the SIOC elevator.

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It was a particularly hard night. It was the worst night. Shortly after escaping the blacksite, in Oregon, the nightmares came. But recently, as if they weren't bad enough, they've evolved into fully fledged night terrors. After going three consecutive days with only two hours of sleep per, she consulted Borden who prescribed her Valium to help her sleep and it worked.

Until last night.

Jane had taken her normal dose and fallen asleep within a half hour like normal. But not even twenty minutes later her protective detail, which had been immediately reassigned to her once she returned, had rushed into her safehouse because they heard gut-wrenching screams from within. Upon realization they carefully, but definitely panicked, tried to wake her. Once they succeeded their first instinct was to call Weller and update him but she begged them not to, and after seeing her in such an awful state they decided against it. Rationalizing with the sense that she wasn't in any actual danger so what need would they have to wake their boss up in the middle of the night?

Right?

Eventually Jane tried to fall back asleep, to no avail as within forty-five minutes her detail was back in her room. After that Jane realized that she wasn't going to get any more sleep and instead started to distract herself. She exercised, drew, cooked (ish), and showered.

Once five-am rolled around Jane thought to take matter into her own hands. She needed sleep! She opened her prescription bottle, got out three times her prescribed dosage, threw her head back, and popped 'em in.

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Kurt had taken the Lexus and parked about three blocks from Jane's safehouse because whether he wanted to admit it or not, Nas was right Sandstorm could definitely see him coming to Jane's safehouse as a huge red flag and decide to "cut their losses".

While walking Kurt shot Jane a quick text to let her know that he would be coming through her back door.

No answer.

He slid open her back door and immediately closed it once he was inside.

"Jane?"

He took a couple steps deeper into the house silently praying that she didn't just oversleep.

Then he saw her.... Well her hair, she was covered by the small coffee table in Kurt's direct sight line. She seemed to be laying on the ground in... The middle of her living room?

Kurt side stepped the coffee table, his first instinct being to check for injuries. He took a couple more steps before turning completely around.

OH MY GOD SHE'S NAKED!

Kurt said internally.

"Jane what are you doing?!" She obviously wasn't injured or distressed. This just kept more and more bizarre.

"Shhhhhhhh!"

"Excuse me?" Kurt said still turned around.

"Shhhh this is Jane's calm zone."

"Your what?"

"Shhhhhhh!"

What is wrong with her? Is she sick? No she's not coughing, or sneezing, or sweating, panting, moaning.....

Weller oh my God this is serious, get your mind out of the gutter!

Kurt scolded himself.

Okay okay okay so she's naked, on the floor, engaging in odd behaviors, and talking strangely..... Oh God.

"Jane are you high?"

"Ohhhh yeahhh."

Jane giggles and lightly snorts.

"Most definitely."

Sh*t.

"Okay then what are you on?"

"These little pills called Vaseline. Uh- no umm like valentine...valet??? Viola... Things."

"Valium?"

"YEAH! You're so smart, my next guess was Voldemort."

"Where did you get them from?"

"Th- that british guy, who's kind of hot."

Borden.

What am I supposed to do with her? She obviously can't go to work.

Kurt looks over his shoulder to see Jane "stargazing" at her popcorn ceiling.

"Look Kurt I found the big dipper!"

"Jane it's 11am and you're inside!"

Ugh God. Okay first and foremost I need to get her off the floor, into some clothes, fed, and then straight to sleep. Then contact my team to let them know I'll be taking the day and so will Jane. Optics be dam*ed, she needs me. And after Jane wakes up we are going to have a serious talk. Okay let's move.

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Later at SIOC.

"Guys it's Weller!" Patterson yelled signaling for Reade, Zapata, and Nas to follow her to the center console of her lab.

"You're on speaker."

"Is everyone there?" Kurt asked.

"Yep you got all of us." Tasha answered.

"Great. Jane and I are taking the day off. She has a couple of... issues to work out, to say the least, but we'll be back tomorrow."

No-one of the team dared to question this initiative, so Kurt started to delegate.

"No field-work is done without my say-so. Patterson you are in charge of any and all investigative work involving the tattoos. Nas the same instructions go for you except with the Sandstorm case. Tasha-" Kurt was cut off by a loud crash in the background.

"Yes?" Tasha responded.

"Hold on." Kurt walked from his "pacing spot" in Jane's living room to see Jane on her counter top with five porcelain, easily breakable, plates in her hands. "Jane, get down from there! What are you doing?" Kurt approached her slowly. She threw another plate at the wall mimicking the crash from earlier.

"Borden says channeling your anger is good for you!"

Jane says as she breaks another plate.

"I'm pretty sure this isn't what he meant!"

Another plate.

"Jane! Okay okay okay, why are you angry?"

"Because you made me put on clothes!"

She says throwing a plate towards Kurt who just barely dodged it.

"Um-" Kurt sputters fully aware that he's still on speaker phone, and the entire team can most definitely hear this conversation.

"WHAT IF I WANT TO BE A NUDIST HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT THAT? HUH KURT!"

"Jane please get off the counter."

Kurt rubs his temple then brings the phone back up to his ear.

Tasha and Reade are equally stunned and confused, Patterson is trying her hardest to stifle her laughter, while Nas is completely unamused.

"Trouble in paradise?" Reade asked.

Patterson and Tasha back away from the console and cover their mouths to not let Weller hear their laughter.

"Very funny." Kurt says and rolls his eyes.

"Okay seriously what is going on? Why is Jane talking like that? And is she okay?" Tasha questions back to back.

"Oh-My-God." Patterson says, in complete Patterson fashion, wheels turning in her brain so fast you can almost see them. "She's high."

Tasha, Reade, and Nas collectively turn to look at Patterson.

"No... No way. Jane is way too hyper-focused on this to be on something." Reade tries to rationalize.

Kurt rubs his temple again.

"Look Jane and I are taking the day, Patterson you have tattoos, Nas you have Sandstorm, Tasha you're on approvals and clearances that anyone may need from me today, and Reade you get the fun job... Paperwork!" Kurt jokes (a rare occurrence really).

"Oh come on!" Reade exclaims.

The team, even Nas, chuckles while they hear another crash from the other side of the phone.

"Jane I swear to God if you throw ONE MORE PLATE!" Kurt directs his attention back to his team. " Ok everyone I really need to go. I'll see you all tomorrow."

"What about Jane?" Tasha asks.

"Let me worry about her."

"Well at very least try not to get a concussion." Reade quips.

"I'm hanging up now."

"Wait!" Patterson says.

"Yeah?"

"Don't think I don't notice."

"Excuse me?"

" Okay okay okay? You're taking a couple of pages out of my book! I'm actually quite flattered." Patterson smirks.

Kurt lets out a light chuckle.

"I think we all have actually. I heard Reade say 'opposite opposite' the other day!"

"Oh really!"

"Hey! We were supposed to keep that between us!" Reade jokingly scolds Kurt.

"I really have to go now, I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Kurt hangs up.

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Once Jane ran out of plates Kurt looped his arms around her knees and pulled her forward so she would fall over his shoulder. Then he calmly walked her back to her bedroom, where he thought she had been sleeping, and layed her down.

It would have been awkward to carry Jane to bed in only a shirt and panties in a completely platonic way, if he hadn't already done it three other times already. And counting. Plus he was glad (somewhat disappointed, if we're being honest) that she even kept on that much. Trying to control Jane had always been hard even when she first came out of that bag in Times Square, let alone now!

Kurt tucked her in for the fourth time today.

"Now Jane, I really need you to stay in bed this time okay?"

When Jane didn't acknowledge him, Kurt sighed and climbed into the other half of her bed to lay down.

"Whatareyou-"

"We are taking a nap!"

Jane gasps. "A Jeller sleepover!"

"Jeller?" Kurt chuckles.

"It's Jane and Weller, I made it up a longggg time ago."

He's gotta admit that when she's not a royal pain "high Jane" was actually pretty funny.

It seems as though having a "Jeller sleepover" was a perfect idea because once she grabbed Kurt's midsection, intertwined her bare legs with his,and snuggled up with him she immediately started dozing off.

That's when Kurt started asking questions. He figured that the best time to try and get any useful information out of her would be now, at her most vulnerable, high and tired.

"Jane?"

"Hmmm?" Jane basically hummed, her voice almost completely back to normal.

She readjusted her 'snuggling grip' around Kurt, holding him tighter. Kurt couldn't stop the butterflies he got from the gesture.

"What did you want to ask?"

He didn't want to ask her why she needed the pills. He wanted her to confide in him with that information, not scheme it out of her. Only when she's completely competent and sober will he ask her that.

"How long have you been taking Valium?"

"About four months, I think?"

Four months. So as soon as she got back from the black site, almost half a year and I had no idea.

"Can I go to sleep now?" Jane said with almost childlike innocence.

Kurt hated to deny her anything but he needed answers.

"Two more questions okay?" He stroked her hair then quickly took his hand away.

"Okay." Jane nuzzled her head into his chest.

More butterflies.

Kurt cleared his throat to compose himself.

"Earlier, when you were on the counter you said that Borden told you that you needed to get your anger out."

Jane yawned.

"Yeah, he said breaking things is a normal coping mechanism with PTSD, and actually one of the least destructive ones compared to drinking."

"Hmmm."

She has PTSD??? Of course she has PTSD she was in a freaking blacksite for three months what did you expect? And you didn't even check in on her.

"Ok last one, you said earlier that you were utilizing your "Jane calm zone". What is that?"

Jane closed her eyes.

"It's where it's quiet." Jane looked up at Kurt for the first time since he got in her bed.

"My thoughts swirl around my head all day unwantedly. They distract me, all the time. Sometimes I can't think because they're screaming. So I imagine a calm place,it's different everytime. The setting doesn't really matter, I just need quiet."

Kurt just stared at her. Whatever he was expecting her to say, that definitely wasn't it. He thought her "calm place" was just a direct hallucination from the Valium, but to know she actually uses it to.... Quiet her thoughts.

He shivered.

"Go to sleep now Jane."

He stroked her hair again. He's been refraining from touching her. High or not he would still be holding her in bed, but he was exhausted. So what the h*ll he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even closer than she was holding him. It felt better than it should.

He was still actively ignoring his feelings about Jane but he wasn't mad at her anymore. They could even laugh and joke sometimes. He wanted to be there for her. Now more than ever. She needed him, whether she would be able to even remember today or not, she needed him.

Within two minutes of them holding each other they were both in a deep sleep. That couldn't last long enough.

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[lilnasxvevo]

Some of the ideas people are putting forth may seem scary to you. Some of them may seem like they may not work.

Here’s the thing: The status quo doesn’t work either. If the status quo’s stated purpose is to protect and serve, then the status quo is profoundly fucking broken.

To beg people to let things continue the way they are is selfish and myopic.

I need you to bear with me for a second. Deep breaths.

In order to make a better world...we may have to try some things that have never been tried before. I know! Scary! Isn’t that how we got the USSR?? DO YOU WANT US ALL TO STARVE TO DEATH IN A COMMUNISM-INDUCED FAMINE????

Shhhhhhhh. You’re spiraling. Listen to me. Though these things may not have been done before in this age and in this way, many of these things have been successfully executed by many societies in world history. Though some of these things are brand new in practice, they do not come out of nowhere, and these ideas are instead the result of decades of careful research and documentation and discussion. Experts in many different fields from public safety to racial justice can guide us forward.

Think of police brutality and the terror the police cause as a kind of pandemic. When the pandemic began, we were very scared. But we listened to the experts and we were all okay, right? HAHAHA I’m just kidding, the federal government stubbornly ignored the experts the entire time and most states locked down too late and opened up too early and in general did not take the advice of people who have been personally studying this for decades, and as a result America is the worst country in the world for coronavirus cases and deaths.

The reason I’m asking you to think about it this way is because you know from very recent experience that sometimes change is scary, and changing your life to a point where it is unrecognizable is stressful and difficult, but not only is it necessary in some cases, but acting quickly and not hesitating out of fear of the unknown is necessary too.

Understand that this is a massive problem in America even if it doesn’t affect you personally. Coronavirus probably didn’t affect you personally either if you are a relatively healthy young person, but you took all those precautions to keep others from dying. Once again, I am asking you to make large changes to your life and to your worldview in order to save other people from suffering and death.

We have to take the leap. Don’t hold us back.

[beeblackburn]

Pretender Reads A Little Hatred, Part I, Chapter Ten

I won’t break this streak of reading, but procrastination’s got different ideas at times. Goes without saying spoilers ahead for the entirety of The First Law works beyond the keep reading. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Title: Break What They Love Point-of-View: Rikke

Rikke wriggled her shoulders further back among the knotted roots, up to her neck in the icy river and her hair full of dirt, listening to the warriors of her enemy trudge past on the path above. By the sound of it, there were a lot of the bastards. She wondered, yet again, what would happen if they caught her. When they caught her. She tried to make her breath come slow, come even, come quiet.

What with the grinding fear for herself, and the chafing worry for everyone she knew, and the niggling pain of a hundred little knocks and scratches, and the gnawing hunger and gripping cold, it all added up to quite the shittest afternoon she’d ever had, and that with some recent savage competition.

I partly wondered, from a narrative standpoint, why we had so much more Rikke chapters than anyone else in the first ten chapters, four compared to everyone else’s (besides Leo’s two) one chapter. From a character standpoint, they’re slowly acclimatizing Rikke to being more of a survivor, hardening her mind to the turmoils of losing her home and having to run, but I did wonder why her second and third chapters couldn’t have just been tightened into a larger single chapter. I liked them, to be clear, I just wondered the intent.

Now, it clicks better: it’s to get the reader to empathize with the passing grind of miserable days endured post-Uffrith’s burning. A continuity of shittiness and hunger and numbing chill, multiple chapters get across that better than shortening the amount of them. There’s the plot and character details to consider, of course, but in terms of choosing more than less chapters? I’d say it’s to show to the reader, on-page, how much crappy circumstances Rikke’s had to endure for her to have savage competition against this being the worst day.

And, boy, is Rikke scared, given the switch from “if” to “when” of catching her. There’s still a bit of softness and cold fear stuck in her, from a lifetime of being coddled. Isern might have talked about making her iron of a sword, but swords aren’t forged in a day or two. They take time, and Abercrombie’s quite good at making character development a messy path, full of pauses and set-backs.

She felt a fingertip under her jaw, pushing her mouth closed, and realised her teeth had started chattering. Isern was pressed against the bank beside her, river to her sharp chin and hair plastered to her frowning face, still as the earth, patient as the trees, hard as the stones. Her eyes rolled up from Rikke’s to the root-riddled overhang above, and she quietly slipped one finger from the water and over her scarred lips for quiet.

What I love about Abercrombie? That tightness of voice. Of course Rikke didn’t realize her teeth chattering, because we subconsciously can’t help or don’t acknowledge such actions when cold or scared. We’re unreliable bastards that way, and that’s why we need others to let us know the actions we won’t register in our consciousness.

“Shit,” came a voice, so loud it seemed in Rikke’s ear, and she startled, might’ve splashed from the bank on an instinct if Isern’s hand hadn’t clamped tight about her numb arm under the water.

And it seems Isern understands that a sword isn’t forged in a day too. I low-key wonder how much, realistically, that splash would’ve tipped off whoever was around, but, at the same time... the Dogman’s screwed up with stealth before.

And it just takes a moment’s bad luck. Just one.

“Shit… and…” A man’s voice, getting on in years but soft and slow, like he was in no hurry. “There we go.” A satisfied grunt, and a stream of faintly steaming piss came spattering into the water not a stride from Rikke’s face. Sad thing was, she was tempted to stick her head under it just for the warmth. 

Bwuhahaha, that’s disgusting, but at the same time, after days of hunger and freezing? Yeah, I can see how dignity takes a backseat to just easing long-setting discomfort for a moment. People can surrender many things, just for expediency. Pride, morals, humanity... just look at the first trilogy for examples.

Also... Clover? That “he was in no hurry” makes me think him, especially considering Stour’s patient as bulls contemporaries. Which... huh! The second time point-of-view characters crossed over in the same chapter, after Savine and Orso in A Little Public Hanging. Curious to see how he handles finding Rikke...

“There’s all kinds of pleasures in life,” came the voice, “but I’ve come to think there’s little better than a piss when you really need one.”

“Huh.” A woman’s voice this time, picking each word careful as a smith picks the nails for a rich man’s horseshoes. “Not sure whether I’ve more respect for you or less following that little revelation.”

“It’s getting to the point…” The stream stopped, then started up again. “Where I sometimes hold on to it… so when I do go…” A few more little squirts. “It feels better than ever. How goes the noble clash of arms?”

Okay, yeah, definitely Clover and Wonderful, they’re the only ones with that kind of dynamic so far. 

Also, not to be too crude... but relatable, Clover, you disgusting bastard. Hey, better than worshiping the pleasure of burning houses, eh, Wonderful?

“Union are pulling back as fast as they can. Some skirmishes but there’s no real fight in ’em. No sign o’ the Dogman’s boys. Running, I reckon.”

“Suits me well enough,” said the man. “Any luck, they’ll run all the way back to Angland and we can all have a lie down.”

Rikke glanced over at Isern. She’d been right. She always was bloody right, specially when it came to disheartening predictions.

Not surprising, but, Clover, you do realize Stour wants Angland too? If anything, it’s less a lie down you’ll get, and more besieging a capital with high walls and plenty of angry Union and Dogman’s men behind them. And, given the North doesn’t have a navy, Angland can probably hole up quite a while, given their port.

Unless you mean the siege itself would be the lie down, which, ya shit.

That morning they’d come upon a clearing full of corpses. A dozen or more. Men from both sides, all on the same side now. They say the Great Leveller settles all differences. Rikke had stared at those bodies, her wrist against her mouth, her breath crawling. Then she’d seen Isern, squatting over the dead like a corpse-eater from the songs, plucking at torn clothes, fiddling with buckles.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for anything we can eat.”

And Rikke had set to searching herself. Trying not to look at their faces as she rooted through pockets with numb fingers. Isern had been right about that, too. Your fear, your guilt, your disgust, they all vanish once you get hungry enough. The thing that really upset her as they crept away from the dead was that they hadn’t found anything.

From just wanting a bit more food way back in Guilt Is a Luxury than her companion to now stealing from the dead, Rikke’s practically taking in the lesson of self-interest being reliable to one’s motives than higher-minded thoughts. Because, ultimately, the dead won’t complain here. It’s the living who have a host of worries, stomachs aching with hunger, who don’t want to join the dead.

“Chief!” someone roared up on the road. “Nightfall! The king-in-waiting!” And there was an approving clatter of weapons on shields.

Rikke stiffened under the water. Stiffened far as she could given she was near enough a block of ice already, and Isern pressed against her and whispered, hardly more’n a breath, “Shhhhhhhh…”

Oh, shit. (swallows)

“By the dead,” she heard the woman mutter above, and then, with forced good cheer, “Chief! How’s the day?”

“Bloodless so far, but it’s still early.” The voice of Stour Nightfall himself, then. A whining sort of voice for a famous warrior. Sounded like a boy on the edge of a tantrum. “They’re thin sauce, these Southerners, always trickling away. The Bloody-Nine had Rudd Threetrees to fight, and Black Dow, and Harding Grim and all the rest. How’s a man meant to win a great name without great enemies to weigh it against?”

A brief pause. “It’s a tester, all right,” said the woman.

The difference between Clover and Rikke’s look on Stour? Rikke’s more fully geared to think worse of Stour, given Uffrith’s burning, taking into account his “whining” sort of voice. Clover... well, he was certainly primed to think worse of Stour, given Calder and Wonderful’s words, but that’s cushioned a bit by the knowledge that Stour’s just the recent out of a shitty cycle of warrior cocks. 

Rikke doesn’t have that knowledge and that wouldn’t cushion away Uffrith’s fate. Not that it should, because, geez, Stour does sound the whiny type, wanting a big name to puff himself up, just like the Bloody-Nine did. All this does is strengthen my Stour = cut-price Bloody-Nine sentiment. Wonderful’s response is perfect sarcasm in that regard. I just imagine both she and Clover are rolling their eyes in their minds at Stour right now. 

I know I am.

Also, it’s nice that Finree’s plans are working accordingly!

“I’ve a task for you, Wonderful. There’s a girl out in these woods.” Rikke had a bad feeling in her stomach. Worse than the hunger, and she shrank against the bank like she could become one with the dirt. “I want her.”

A snorting chuckle from the enthusiastic pisser. “Well, who wouldn’t want a girl out in the woods?” There was a silence, like the jest had miscarried. Certainly Rikke wasn’t fucking laughing. “How do we tell this girl from another?”

“They say she’s got a twitchy way. She’ll have a gold ring through her nose, maybe a cross painted over her eye.”

Rikke touched the tip of her tongue to the ring through her nose and whispered, “Fuck.”

“She might have some witch of a hillwoman with her. That you can kill. But the girl we need alive.”

“Must be important,” said the woman called Wonderful.

Nightfall gave a little hooting giggle. “Well, there’s the thing. She’s the Dogman’s daughter.”

Hm? They weren’t already looking for Rikke? Or, is it... they know the approximate location of where she is now? Because, shit, there’s the active tension we’ve been missing in the past Rikke chapters. Whereas they were about Rikke getting into the survivalist mindset, this is the starting point of where she concretely realizes it’s survive or die. She has the voice of the enemy now.

“What happens if we catch her?”

An unhappy grunt. “Well, if my father gets her, I daresay he’ll ransom her back, dangle her as bait, use her to get his way when it comes to talking peace.” And Nightfall spat out the word like it tasted bad. “You know my father. Plans within plans.”

“Always been clever, Black Calder,” came the man’s voice.

Very Bethod with Rattleneck’s son, Calder. Cunning to use as leverage against the Dogman and the Union to getting back Uffrith and Angland. I doubt Rikke, by herself, has the traction to get back Angland, of course, but Uffrith... Dogman’s generally had a more decent heart than most, and I’m sure he’d consider it, at least.

Too bad that Stour—

“I see things different. How I see it, the way you break your enemy is you break what they love. Way I hear it, those old fools on the other side love that twitching bitch. Sort of a little mascot for ’em.” Rikke heard the smile in his voice. “So if I get hold of her, I’ll strip her, and whip her, and pull her teeth out, and maybe get some Thralls to fuck her, out between the lines where everyone can hear her squealing.” Bit of a silence, and Rikke heard her own breath coming ragged, and Isern’s hand tightening around her arm. “Or maybe I’d get my horse to fuck her. Or my dogs. Or… like, a pig, maybe?”

WHAT.

The older man sounded more than a touch disgusted. “How the hell would you do that?”

“There’s naught you can’t do if you’ve the imagination and the patience. Then I’ll bind her up in the trees with brambles where everyone can see, and cut the bloody cross in her, and put a bucket underneath to catch her guts, and send ’em to the other side.”

THE.

“What, her guts?”

“Aye, in a pretty box. Hardwood, nicely carved. With flowers, maybe. Or no! Herbs. So those old fools won’t smell what they’re getting till they open it.” And he gave a satisfied grunt, like he was talking about a nice fish he’d catch, or a nice meal he’d eat, or a nice sit on the porch he couldn’t wait to have at sunset. “Imagine the looks on their faces.” And he chuckled like her guts in a box would be quite the height of drollery.

“Fuck,” breathed Rikke.

FUCK.

HOLY SHIT, STOUR. What the ACTUAL FUCK?

1. My jaw legit dropped at this and I had to walk away from the text for a solid fifteen minutes. That’s how bad my immediate reaction was. 2. After that walk and thinking about it a little more... yeah, wow, this is going to put more fear into Rikke... or hatred. As Machiavelli say, it is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot have both, but avoid hatred at all costs, and this might tip Rikke into hatred. So. Congratulations, Stour, you might have just made a hard enemy without realizing it. 3. ... Stour Nightfall is actually kind of really... comically absurd, reading back? Like, really over-the-top pointless cruelty in a way that Abercrombie intended. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a clear-cut asshole and, regardless of sincerity, Rikke should have plenty of reason to fear him, but the “Or… like, a pig, maybe.” line makes me think he’s trying to escalate his plans in an attempt to be all imposing and full of blackness to Clover of all people. 4. If we continue the Bethod/Logen/Rattleneck and his son allusion, then there’s nothing of the cold, chilling nature of Made a Monster’s ending here. It’s just a child trying to play-act the Bloody-Nine and thinking that makes him a badass. Look, I know some people might take Stour full-on serious here and I get that, considering the sexual threats, but t’s just... sorry, really, I can’t entirely take it seriously. Especially when Abercrombie’s proven in the first trilogy he does not write such over-the-top threats and situations without taking the piss out of them. 5. Good that even Clover was disgusted by this. Should be taken as a given, but it’s good to know Stour disgusts even hardened Named Men. 6. For that matter, what’s Stour’s angle here? This is in private, only him, Wonderful, and Clover, and Wonderful’s likely already been treated to plenty of stories about Stour’s assholery. So, in all honesty, from a character standpoint, this feels like it’s mostly for Clover’s benefit. Stour already treats Clover with derision and like an old turd, so why does the ass-pup feel the need to impress Clover with how much of a BIG VIOLENT COCK WARRIOR he is? Maybe it is the lack of reverence from Clover that makes Stour push harder and escalate to get a positive reaction? Or maybe Stour just wants to imprint some fear into Clover, considering he’s the newest Named Man in his company? 7. Thinking through all of this, why are you such a disgusting dumbass, Stour.

“But that’s for later.” And Nightfall gave a disappointed sigh. “Can’t cook what you haven’t caught, can you? My father’s offering a big gild for her, that’s sure. Whoever brings her in’ll be a wealthy man.”

The woman called Wonderful sounded like she was hardly enjoying this any more than Rikke was. “Right y’are, Chief. We’ll be looking.”

Good thing about Rikke’s perspective? Even she has the good nature to know Stour’s “allies” don’t much enjoy the ass-pup like her. Though, that won’t really stop Wonderful from capturing her and giving her to Stour, will it.

Rikke heard soft footfalls moving away. Perhaps she should’ve been frozen with fear. The dead knew she’d a right to be. But what she felt instead was a boiling fury. A fury that warmed her through despite the icy water frothing to her chin. A fury that tempted her to slip from the stream with her knife between her teeth and cut the bloody cross in Stour Nightfall right then and there.

Rikke’s father had always told her vengeance was a waste of effort. That letting it go was the strong thing, the wise thing, the right thing. That blood only led to more blood. But his lessons seemed far away now, meant for a warmer place. She clenched her jaw, and narrowed her eyes, and swore to herself that if she lived out the week, she’d make it her business to see Stour Nightfall fucked by a pig.

Oh, oh.

You know, I’ve been low-key wondering which first trilogy comparison befitted Rikke in terms of being a refinement/evolution of an earlier character archetype and, while the Dogman or Logen were the easiest choices to pick, both of them the Northern perspectives in the first trilogy, I feel like the Logen comparison only holds up in terms of early chapter material similarities of cold-bitten survival and hardships, whereas the Dogman comparison held up decent enough, another Northerner who just wants to do the right thing... until now. Now, it clicks into place what first trilogy archetype Rikke’s refined from.

The first woman, burning with vengeance.

“What do you want, Ferro Maljinn?”

“What?”

“Why did you do that?” Yulwei pointed down at the dead man. “What do you want?”

“Vengeance.” She spat out the word.

—The Blade Itself, What Freedom Looks Like

 Rikke’s the most recent of vengeful women in the Circle of the World.

She curled her fingers round the cold grip, strange in her left hand, and slid a few inches of steel from the sheath. It shone bright and eager in the lamplight. Good steel bends, but never breaks. Good steel stays always sharp and ready. Good steel feels no pain, no pity and, above all, no remorse.

She felt herself smile. The first time in months. The first time since Gobba’s wire hissed tight around her neck.

Vengeance, then. 

—Best Served Cold, The Bone-Thief

But, if we’re talking in terms of backstory, the hardships, the suffering of diaspora at a young age from losing your home and those you loved?

The old man jerked his head at the woman, watching them suspiciously with her slanted yellow eyes. “She is from a place called Muntaz.”

“I never heard of it.”

“Why would you have?” The old man shrugged his bony shoulders. “A small country, by the sea, far to the east of Shaffa, beyond the mountains. The Gurkish conquered it years ago, and its people were scattered or made slaves. Apparently she has been in a foul mood ever since.” The woman scowled over at them, keeping one eye on the soldiers.

—The Blade Itself, Nobody’s Dog

Rikke, I posit, is Abercrombie’s second chance at writing Ferro, given far more dimensionality and given a greater sense of personhood pre-vengeance. Ferro was too tight-lipped about her losses and locked in her vengeful mindset to be that much more than a vessel of vengeance against Uthman-ul-Dosht and Khalul. She was also surprisingly passive in terms of the narrative, back then, being jerked around by Bayaz’s offer of vengeance against the Gurkish Empire and less an independent player on the board until after the first trilogy.

Rikke’s still young enough, just walking the first steps, to not be devoted to vengeance, to choose and seek out better paths, because as Ferro herself points out:

When the light of the fires and the sound of the talking had faded into the distance she stopped and dropped down on the hard ground. A cold wind blew up across the barren plain. It blew stinging dust in her face, but she hardly noticed. The hate and the fury were gone, for the time being, but they had left a hole, and she had nothing else to fill it with. She felt empty and cold and sick and alone. She hugged herself, rocking slowly back and forth, and closed her eyes. But the darkness held no comfort.

—The Blade Itself, What Freedom Looks Like

By the dead, I have no complaints about her wanting Stour dead, but... I hope she comes out of that, still human. Still having something inside her by vengeance’s end. 

That being said, I 100% hope and expect to get Ferro in this trilogy eventually!!! Just like Ardee and Terez, Ferro’s a female character given the short shrift, comparatively, who I will be fascinated at reading, if Abercrombie gives us.

“I’ll be honest, Wonderful,” came the man’s voice, the one called Clover, speaking soft like he was sharing a secret, “I’m finding that bastard increasingly troubling.”

“Aye, I know.”

“Took it for an act at first, but I’m starting to think he’s everything he pretends to be.”

“Aye, I know.”

“Guts in a box? With herbs?”

“Aye, I know.”

“He’ll be king one o’ these days, will guts-in-a-box over yonder. King o’ the Northmen. Him.”

A long pause, then a weary grunt. “It’s a thing no right-thinking person could look forward to.”

I’m... of two minds here. I’m not sure Stour’s everything he pretends to be, not all his reputation is, but I definitely agree that there’s an vicious and awful person in him, regardless. This isn’t a decent man pretending to be a bad man for fear or reputation’s sake, like the typical trope demands and like Bethod and Calder had to act. This is a bad man pretending to be worse. Stour carving out his own path, out of the stale and well-trodden roads of the ghosts of the first trilogy.

Also, when you put it like that, this strikes me of like how the North reacted to King Logen, way back in Last Argument of Kings. Fear of what was to come out of that station and reality. And it really says something that Clover and Wonderful, two Named People who’ve lived through three Kings of the North, talk of Stour’s upcoming reign as something that strikes as worse than Black Dow or potentially the Bloody-Nine’s reign.

Rikke could only agree. She thought she saw a hint of their reflections, dancing among the black branches in the water.

“You see something down there?”

(Throat tightens) After Stour’s threats? Oh god no.

She stiffened, numb fingers curling tight around the grip of her knife. She saw the jaw muscles clench on the side of Isern’s face, blade of her spear sliding from the water, smeared with pitch so it wouldn’t catch the light.

“What? Fish?”

“Aye. Worth getting my rod, d’you think?”

The sound of Wonderful hawking up, then a glob of phlegm came spinning over from above and plopped into the water. “Nothing in this stream worth catching, I reckon.”

(Breath of relief) Live to survive another day, Rikke! Though, I’ll admit, I wonder what would’ve happened if Clover and Wonderful found out Rikke? Would they let her go, considering they’re not particularly enjoying the graces of Prince Ass-Pup? Or would they have captured her, thinking it not much of a weight on their consciences compared to their own lives? I’m not sure I’d like the answer to that question...

As a chapter, this is one hell of a turning point, important to the plot and characterization. It’s the accumulation of all of Rikke’s chapters in the woods, digging through corpses’ pockets and freezing so hard she feels like ice, hiding from Stour’s men. But, from there, the crux of the chapter of the Stour material, which... as disgusted and grossed-out as I was at first impression, strikes me as dearly overcompensating in hindsight, for some reason. But he makes a turning point in Rikke’s narrative, where she goes from just wanting to survive and be safe from his men, to having the more visceral motive of vengeance against Stour after his words. It’s a worrying turn, to say the least, especially given the Ferro connection, but after the circumstances she’s endured... can’t much blame her. The chapter also sets up a point of discontent between Stour and the rest of the Northmen and how much his over-the-top cruelty could turn off his allies, which, given Rikke’s from the North too and his enemy... could prove interesting.

PART I

Chapter One: Blessings and Curses Chapter Two: Where the Fight’s Hottest Chapter Three: Guilt Is a Luxury Chapter Four: Keeping Score Chapter Five:  A Little Public Hanging Chapter Six: The Breakers Chapter Seven: The Answer to Your Tears Chapter Eight: Young Heroes Chapter Nine: The Moment Chapter Ten: Break What They Love