#{one man army} - ironclad

[musesbykai]

Nowhere to run, it's all undone

Everything burns, everything burns

#my art #{one man army} - ironclad #his final design update! #I wanted to draw him with his new mantis blade out #also wanted to incorporate the logo I have tattooed onto his clothing

[leatherjacketed]

You either get it or you don't. Sam and Dean had to pack lightly. They couldn't get too attached to anything. At a moment's notice, they might've had to drop everything and run. There's an army man Sam wedged into the ashtray of the Impala. Lego blocks Dean jammed into the vents. They're not there because they were boys being boys trashing their dad's old whip. If Sam and Dean loved something, really loved it, the only way to keep it was to make it a part of the one thing that went with them everywhere. It's not one or the other. Both long to be strong enough to possess something, protect it, and fend off those that would steal it away. Both of them are still the same kids that had to leave behind something they didn't want to when Dad said, "let's skedaddle." They both still ache with pangs for all they've left behind over the years. They both still wallow in the unfairness.

It's not as simple as refusing to allow death to take the other away. Not so simple as staying by each other's side. Sam and Dean are fused. That's the only way they know how to keep something they love. They're tired of being helpless little kids crying about how life or death isn't fair. They retaliate against any oppositional force that might separate them with the vindictive wrath of a child bereaved and denied one too many times. If you pull something away from the hands of a child enough, the grip they have as adults will be ironclad. Sam and Dean hold onto each other with iron hands. They make any who would dare attempt to keep them apart taste their steel.

They used to be scared of the things that would take them away from each other. Now, the things that would take them away from each other are scared of them. Look, you either get it or you don't. 🤷

#do you guys remember when i made text posts where i just dumped my whole ass brain worms on the net like a stark raving madman? anyways. #brain worms go wiggle wiggle 🪱🪱 #samdean #wincest

[starsfic]

Contract Signed

So, I came up with a Beauty and the Beast AU for Spicynoodles but right now, not working on a full fic. I haven't had a lot of time to write because I've been really busy this semester, so I figured I would write the opening as a little warm-up.

Wanna support? Here's my Ko-Fi!

-_-

Once upon a time, there was a wealthy kingdom, ruled by a proud king and queen. The mighty king had surpassed his predecessors and had led the kingdom into a golden age. The beautiful queen had carved her way into society from her status as a banished princess, making sure she and her husband were respected far and wide. They were proud of their accomplishments. Most of all, however, they were proud of their son.

Their son, born on the coldest and longest night of the year, was born with a sharp mind and even sharper tongue. The tutors of the young boy called him a genius and he soon developed a knack for machines. He sometimes missed social cues and sometimes got wrapped up in his own head to the point of being impractical or allowing his temper to get the best of him, but as he grew int a handsome young man, they grew into being charming. It was clear that the prince was the jewel of the kingdom and, on his twentieth birthday, the king and queen threw a massive celebration.

The party was in full swing when a hunched over beggar woman came to one of the royals. Nobody knows what happened next. Some say that the prince, drunk on ego, rudely dismissed the peasant. Some say that the queen, wanting nothing to go wrong for her sweet boy, coldly dismissed the peasant, or the king, wanting nothing to go wrong for his beloved heir, demanded that she leave in a yell that drew everyone’s attention. Whatever happened, whether it was the son or mother or father, the result was the same.

The beggar woman revealed herself to be a powerful enchanter, seeing if the kingdom was worthy of being in an alliance with. However, the rudeness they had been given suggested not.

The prince was cursed to reveal his true hideous nature, becoming a monster. The enchanter ended the insult by explaining that, if someone could truly love the prince as he was, the prince would be cured. 

However, his new monstrous form was a source of fear for the kingdom that once respected its prince. Fearing for his safety if he stayed, the king and queen sent their son to a far-off corner of their kingdom. There, in a beautiful manor, he waited to receive the guests that his parents sent, hoping one day that one of them would be able to break his curse.

However, so far, their hopes were weak…

“I thought the payments would be each week?”

“New orders from the king and queen,” the man in front of him huffed. He had introduced himself as General Ironclad, the head of Princess Iron Fan’s guard and the head general of the Demon Bull army. As Qi Xiaotian watched him fold his arms, he had to admit. He showed his experience in the battlefield. “The last girl ran screaming and refused to be bribed back. So, your family will be paid for each day you’re gone.” The general raised a hand to massage his brow. “We were already dealing with the cut down from payment each month.”

Xiaotian glanced back at the contract. The terms were simple, as the poster explaining this job promised. He needed simple.

Recently, Xiaotian’s family had come into some…issues. He wasn’t sure what exactly had happened, but his father, Zhu Pigsy, had broken his arm and back. (Based on the fact that Pigsy refused to explain, he was pretty sure the accident had been an embarrassing one.) The man ran a small inn that provided three square meals to their guests. Unfortunately, with Pigsy’s inability to pick things up, their service was lower quality. That wasn’t great, especially considering that their rival inn was right across the street.

Xiaotian had tried his best to pick up the slack, but he didn’t really know how to cook noodles. Pigsy had only started training him on how to cook, and all he knew was the one family favorite. He did much better checking people in and delivering food across town. Tang, Pigsy’s husband, was trying to help, but he was lazy and had weak ankles.

Long Xiaojiao, Xiaotian’s best friend and a noblewoman, had tried to offer money to hire more people, but Pigsy had refused. He didn’t trust people with his kitchen. Instead, he reduced prices, which was only a small bucket of relief.

They were running low on funds, and fast.

So, Xiaotian had decided to try and find some other part-time work, which had led him to discover the poster about Prince Red.

It was an infamous story by now. Six years had passed since the curse had been cast. Xiaotian himself had assumed it was just a fairy tale with the current royals’ names attached when the news first broke out. Now, however, all he heard about the prince were the twenty-somethings sent to try and break the prince’s curse and running out whenever he scared them off. 

They weren’t forced, however. Red himself had apparently kicked out the terrified prisoner sent to him and had sent word to his parents to send him volunteers. They did this by paying volunteers huge amounts. At first, it had been for each year the person went. Now, apparently, it was each day.

The amount was huge.

Enough to give Pigsy and Tang a comfortable nest egg, enough to close the inn for a little while while Pigsy recovered. Just for one day. Xiaotian stared at the contract, willing himself to focus.

He just needed to try for a week, according to the rules. Money would be delivered to your family or a person you trusted- he wrote Pigsy’s name. If you got hurt, the royal family would personally cover your medical bills…

“Hurt?”

“The prince always had a fiery temper,” Ironclad huffed. “And now he has control over flames.” He leaned forward, forcing Xiaotian to meet his eyes. “They learned this because a man broke a clock he was working on. He got so mad, he picked up a pillow and set it on fire before throwing it at him. Poor man’s hands were out of commission for weeks.”

Xiaotian blinked. “...why did he break the clock?” He probably should’ve been more terrified by the fact that the prince could set him on fire, but hey. He always noticed the less important details.

“No idea.” Ironclad leaned back. “You can back out now. No shame in that. The guard will take you home.”

Xiaotian glanced back. Said guard, a guy who had introduced himself as Bob, waved. He managed to wave back before glancing back down. It was tempting. He was an artist. Every morning he would poke his head outside and try to draw the sky as it was in that moment. Pigsy had hung his portrait of him, mid chop, up in their personal quarters. The idea of losing his hands, possibly losing his touch while he recovered, was terrifying.

Equally as terrifying was the idea of the inn being boarded up, Pigsy alone in the rain, watching as his life’s work was taken away…

“I’ll do it.” Before he could think about it some more, Xiaotian wrote down his name on the dotted line. The moment his name was down, paired with his trademark monkey face, he shoved it away. Ironclad raised a brow but nodded, reaching over. His movements were smooth as he rolled up the scroll. “When do I go?”

“It depends. Usually, a person needs a day or so to say goodbye-”

“Can we go now?” How was he supposed to admit that he snuck out of his home, leaving behind a note to say goodbye? Xiaotian stood, reaching over and grabbing his bag. He tried to ignore Ironclad’s questioning look at how small it was. “I said goodbye before I left.”

Ironclad pulled his eyes away from the bag to nod. “Fine. We can go now.”

“Thank you,” Xiaotian stood. “I hope I can help the prince.” Probably not, but hey. It wouldn't hurt to try.

Ironclad didn’t say a word.

#my writing #LMK #LMK AU #Monkie Kid #Monkie Kid AU #LEGO Monkie Kid #LEGO Monkie Kid AU #au #fic #Qi Xiaotian #General Ironclad #Red Son #Spicynoodles #Spicynoodleshipping

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

OOR 2005 - Nr 10 - Rammstein interview

Rammstein - tired of controversy

Until Reise, Reise (2004), Rammstein was the personification of everything that was scary and dangerous. The prince of darkness. If you look closer now, you will see a band that one can laugh with. With Rosenrot, Rammstein blows away the last shreds of fog and shows a band that is not only absurd but also human.

by Philippus Zandstra

Paris was chosen for Rosenrot to receive the European press. The Sonne is shining and it is sweltering on that Wednesday in September. Colleagues gather near the Eiffel Tower on a tour boat. The program is simple: first a listening session, then the interviews. The band members themselves are not on board, they are roleplaying Seemann on a party ship elsewhere. On the upper deck everyone is presented with a sealed and numbered disc man with Rosenrot. Inquiries reveal that we are not allowed to keep it. Fortunately, there is no body search, as was the case with Reise Reise. Only the bags must be left at the entrance. Just sign a contract that no one will distribute the interview recordings of Rammstein GbR and then let's go with that new album.

The first impressions: Spring (slow, Type O Negative choir), Feuer Und Wasser (acoustic, thin keyboards with sudden walls of guitar) and the rippling Ein Lied are ballad-like songs, in which pounding guitars have made way for electronics and the music is even more Reise, Reise seems to breathe. Then there are the grooving hymns: the first single Benzin, the esoteric (pan flute!) Wer Bist Du and Zerstören (with mosque singing in the intro). Zerstören is above all fast, chaotic and has a tender delivery from singer Till Lindemann at the end. Quite confusing. This also applies to Te Quiero Puta: a hilarious song in Spanish, decorated with kitschy Mexican sounds. Here I even note groove twice. The machismo of yesteryear haunts Mann Gegen Mann. With a big wink, because the text is about a desperate homosexual. A strong male choir sings to us, led by Lindemann, who shouts like a man possessed, 'Schwulle!' (faggot). Ironclad is the title track. The drum beat is the same as in Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes and the song also has a swinging bass loop. Yet it remains unmistakably Rammstein. Potential hit. Great album, at first glance.

Past the Pont Alexandre III, Rammstein waits for the press. A Chinese wedding couple has their photo taken on the quay near a stone staircase. Virgin white, while Rammstein waits twenty meters away. You immediately think of Heirate MIch. Not that the couple even realizes it themselves, but still.

When the interview can start on the boat, drummer Christoph Schneider walks along the railing with singer Till Lindemann. The two have an animated conversation in which Lindemann in particular emphasizes his words with many gestures. It is clear that Rammstein (more specifically: Schneider) is not nearly as scary as everyone wants to believe. The drummer looks nothing like the Tarantino criminal (Du Hast), white-eyed bank robber (Ich Will) and transvestite (Mein Teil) from the clips, nor the pyromaniac from the live shows. And no, even the fat, saturated jerry from Keine Lust does not qualify. Schneider looks rather relaxed, friendly even in his army green T-shirt and trendy camouflage pants with slippers. Sometimes he mumbles a bit under his breath when he tells his story in a soft voice in English (!). It suggests shyness, but also thoughtfulness.

Is that you who plays the trumpet in Benzin?

Laughing: "No, although I did play the trumpet in my childhood. I can no longer handle such pieces. Far too difficult, we hired an ensemble for that. Nowadays I can only play ten minutes, then I'm completely exhausted. My condition is really bad. I should play daily, because mainly your lips hurt."

Is the song Rosenrot Rammstein's Seven Nation Army?

Hesitantly: "A little bit, yes. There are similarities. I think it was also composed at the time that The White Stripes became famous. Call it a secret homage, haha!"

Are you a fan of The White Stripes?

"Certainly especially live. They don't care about anything." Makes a dismissive gesture. "When Jack White does a solo, his rhythm parts just disappear. He just can't play everything at the same time, and that's what's so cool about The White Stripes."

Is that simple also something you aspire to?

Thinks for a long time: "Hmm... yes. I can imagine that I will someday start another project. Just do something different. Rammstein has a limited... no, I wouldn't say that, Rammstein has chosen a clear direction and that direction is determined by six different people. Sometimes this limits your freedom of movement and you don't get anywhere. However, it is good for this band, we feel comfortable with it."

Overall I get the feeling that Rosenrot is a lot more melancholic and also a lot less riff-oriented.

"That's right, we threw the old approach overboard some time ago, right after Mutter. We couldn't find anything new in that style of machine rhythms, electronics and riffs. In the end you had all those riffs, just like the song structure of the first albums. It no longer interested us."

Do you feel like Rosenrot is more consistent? Ultimately, these are leftovers from the experimental Reise, Reise.

"These are not leftovers, but good songs that just didn't fit on Reise, Reise. Many songs had the same character. There were three ballads and you don't put them on one CD. Two albums seemed the most logical thing to do."

Rosenrot does indeed come out surprisingly quickly.

"We only had to write five or six new songs: Benzin, Mann gegen Mann, Spring, Te Quiero Puta and another pop song that was not presented at the listening session. I don't believe the new songs are very different from those of Reise, Reise. There isn't much time between these two albums. If you wait and leave songs on the shelf for too long, you lose the feeling. Maybe you no longer like them or they belong to a different time. Te Quiero Puta is of course very different... That song would stand out on any CD of ours."

Whose idea was that anyway?

"Till, even though the song was an instrumental for a while that the band was crazy about. We pushed Till if he could please write a lyric. For us it was a very important song; nice and loud and fast. However, he could never come up with anything appropriate, even gave up hope. Only at the end did Till suddenly come up with a Spanish text."

What in heaven's name is it about?

Schneider laughs in amusement. "Just ask Till..."

However, the colossus that appeared early last year in a children's film (Amundsen der Penguin) is not around. Afterwards it turns out that Te Quiero Puta means 'I love you, whore'. It figures... Another song that raises some questions is Mann Gegen Mann. The archetypal macho Lindemann takes on the role of a latent homosexual.

Another typical figment of Till's imagination?

Laughing: "I can easily say yes. In the end, we have already described every form of love. I think it was time that we had to discuss such a topic. Now you can of course ask me if we are all gay.."

I was more wondering about your popularity within the gay scene.

Giggly: "No idea. Really. I don't think those guys listen to Rammstein, maybe some." Thinks briefly: "And then, gay scene? What is actually a gay scene? A few people who meet in a basement and play some S&M games? No idea. I think there are many clubs within that world with house music. music. That's probably it: house."

Rammstein is also not averse to leather, judging by the last shows.

"None of us are homosexual. But the lyrics of Mann Gegen Mann do take an interesting approach. It puts a whole new perspective on the song - I've never thought about it that way anyway. I mean, Till also came up with a song about hermaphrodites. He did point out a few intriguing things."

We prefer to leave such excesses to Midas Dekkers 1). Yet it points to something new within Rammstein: freedom. Where previously hermaphrodites and poems with blues chords did not fit within the original - read: democratic - concept, the band is now allowed to do more. Especially at their own request. Because things almost went wrong where more democracies get stuck: with the dictatorship of the majority.

During the recording of Mutter, the band's democracy turned out to be a nuisance.

"It has been that way from the beginning: everyone has the same rights and obligations. There is no leader in the band or someone whose voice carries more weight because he does more. When we started we felt that it was possible to work together in this way. practice room to write songs. Somehow, however, that balance shifted, causing certain people... [turns to the side] to become so unmanageable that we had major arguments. Some members even placed themselves completely outside of it; it didn't matter anyway. power struggles within the band were just too bad."

It was mainly between guitarists Paul [Landers] and Richard [Kruspe-Bernstein], I understand.

"No, Paul was not the problem. Actually it was only about Richard, he wanted to control the direction of the band. Tried to make all the decisions, bring his ideas to everything. Richard was no longer open to changes. He came with an enormous amount of material and wanted to push everything through. In the end, no one listened to his ideas anymore. Not even to hear whether they were good or bad. No, Richard's ideas were shot down in advance because they came from Richard."

You've never had the urge to take control?

"Everyone within Rammstein has that potential to a certain extent, which is very difficult. You may come up with something, develop it and then deliver it. But yes, then the rest will hear about it... You have two people who say that your idea is nice and two who don't like it at all. Then they try to change your idea so that they also like it. During that process you notice that the original concept becomes less and less recognizable. You lose it. But that's just Rammstein. And that is part of this attitude. It is easier for some than for others. The fact that we are a unit is good, everyone feels good about that. At least, for eighty percent of what we do."

You always look very calm on stage amid all the chaos, and the calm way in which you now tell your story gives the impression that you are the stabilizing factor within Rammstein. The cement, so to speak.

"I see myself as someone who always monitors harmony. I can agree with that cement; ultimately I am the drummer who holds everything together. On a personal level, I try to understand all the extremes within the band. Sometimes opinions vary so far that some members can't make a decision or talk to each other at all. Because I understand both sides, that can sometimes help, I'm a harmonizer, haha!"

Strange contradiction actually: a band from the authoritarian GDR tries to be a true democracy, only to distance itself from that concept a few years later. You start to wonder whether the six are nostalgic for the past. Or as they say in Germany: Ostalgie. The main exponent of that feeling is the 2003 film Goodbye Lenin, which is set shortly after the reunification. Main character Alexander is stuck with his mother, who has woken up from a coma. While she was in the hospital, the reunification between East and West took place, but due to a weak heart she was not allowed to know anything about the upheaval. So Alexander and his family allow the GDR to return to their apartment. The film was a great success in Germany. Schneider naturally agrees that he too has seen Goodbye Lenin. He is surprised when it turns out that the film was also a modest hit in the Netherlands. "First of all, it is a very interesting idea that that woman still believes in East Berlin and the entire GDR. And that everyone around her really does their best to keep it that way, as a kind of protection. "

Is the fantasy they perpetuate, the GDR, what makes it so strong?

"Absolutely not. I don't look back. It took a very long time to accommodate all those rapid changes of that time. It is interesting that we grew up under communism and therefore consciously experienced those changes. For me, the Wall collapsed at the right time. I was 24 and still had every opportunity to participate in everything."

Do you recognize something in Alexander from Goodbye Lenin? A twenty-something who suddenly has the right to make all kinds of new choices?

"Absolutely. In the beginning there was a lot of skepticism in the East. It wasn't that bad there. In private there was almost no difference with the West. You had food, work, friends, fell in love. You simply didn't think about politics The only thing we experienced as a shortcoming was the travel restrictions. You could go to one of those other communist countries, which we did, but real travel was not an option. As someone said: half the world is not for you. Strange, right? What kind of freedom is that? Anyway, our generation was born behind the Wall. That Wall was a given, something permanent. That would never change. In retrospect, the Wall only stood for 28 years. That's not too bad. However, for my generation it was an eternity."

Is living in a capitalist system confusing to you?

"It was, yes. But the nineties in Berlin... [raises his hands to the sky, a small smile appearing on his face] the most spectacular time of my life! I'm glad I could be there I was a young guy and I experienced everything firsthand. It was chaotic, anarchy! You could do whatever you wanted. Suddenly you were allowed to buy a house, start a club, even have a practice room."

Last year I was in Berlin and I noticed that many old communist buildings are rapidly being demolished for new offices.

"I prefer to look at that development as a whole. Berlin has a history that cannot be compared to any other city in the world. Due to the division, two different cities have developed, each with its own center. Everything in Berlin you have twice. Before the war, Potsdammerplatz was the center with many cinemas, but everything had to be flattened because of the Wall. When you see that Potsdammerplatz is being built up again with modern, Western architecture, then I don't mind. good for Berlin, the city needs a modern touch. Some parts are still really provincial."

Schneider sounds optimistic and is happy with the 'good energy' in the city. When you hear him speak like this, there seems no reason to doubt the good intentions of his band. Yet Rammstein is often labeled as 'wrong' and 'scary'. Something they are slowly getting fed up with. As Ossies, they already have appearances against them. Reports about neo-Nazis rearing their bald heads in the former GDR regularly seep through to the outside world.

Nowadays there is a growing trend towards National Socialism within the old GDR...

Schneider cuts off the question to give an immediate answer: "I don't know what the situation is now, but when Rammstein was still playing in small villages and clubs in the east, I saw a lot of scary things happening. Nowadays I don't go that often to the province anymore, so I don't really have a good idea of the situation. I think it is even becoming quieter and more relaxed. After the communist era, with all its bans, there was a tendency to be as anti as possible. Don't forget that there are many unemployed and social problems. To attract attention, many young people identify with that world. It is very shameful that something like this happens in Germany, of all places. Nobody wants other countries to see it either. Europe has been keeping a close eye on Germany since the reunification. Can we do it alone, without control by the rest?"

Do those people need an ideology to justify their existence? From communism to national socialism, to get a better grip on the new reality?

"They have to be kept happy, that's it. Prosperity, a job, at least help from society. Education is also a major problem. Since the end of the war we have had a very anti-authoritarian school system. Look, children can be free in what they do, and they should develop without a strict government. But I think now it is a bit too much of a good thing. And that is where the roots of that whole development lie."

You are apolitical, but have you never felt the need to make a statement as a band?

"Well, we have regularly been accused of Nazism. Completely ridiculous. We have never made a statement to that effect, nor do we wish to associate ourselves with those people. Unfortunately, the fact is that if you make loud music in Germany, you are immediately the right corner is pressed [sigh]. When we started, we were looking for our own sound, a German sound. We had to look at ourselves, who were we? But also: where was our history? Rammstein was the logical consequence. So not a preconceived plan and certainly not the idea of: come, let's sound like a Nazi band!"

It is precisely this Teutonic element that has earned Rammstein the necessary (negative publicity) in combination with the terrifying shows. In fact, Schneider is still very outspoken about the alleged link with the right. The conversation thus turns to the disgust that Rammstein evokes in many. Fear, the trauma of war, but also the music itself. When Peter Pan Speedrock was allowed to play as a support act in a full Gelredome in 2003, the people of Eindhoven thanked them for the job. Schneider doesn't mind, he's used to it. Because German bands also regularly refuse to open for them. In fact, they hate Rammstein.

Do you really not think that's a shame?

"Oh well, Rammstein is polarizing. We do extreme things that are certainly not mainstream. This band is not for everyone. You either love us or you hate us. I don't even know if I would like Rammstein if I didn't play in it... We are who we are, and you can't change that."

There is still that label of Nazi band attached to you, despite the fact that you have become more and more humorous?

"That humor has always been there, but in the beginning everyone thought we were scary, so the humor was not noticeable. By the way, that is a typical German problem. [Behind the sunglasses, his eyes dart back and forth, Schneider searches for the right words.] There have been many generations that wanted to be anything but German. Just look at the music, everyone sang in English and modeled themselves on British or American bands."

The Scorpions!

"They even did very well, but...[The gentleman from the label comes over, making a cutting gesture. However, Schneider wants nothing to do with it and insists that he finish the answer. Excitedly, he continues his story.] When Rammstein started it was time for us Germans to find ourselves again. We cannot be burdened with guilt and shame forever. Sometimes it seems as if we as Germans do not exist."

Does Rammstein give Germany some self-confidence?

"Something like that, yes. I'm not saying that Rammstein is the only example of what modern German rock music should sound like. There are far too many new rock groups for that, and they sing in German, even within hip-hop. You can feel that in many things Germany is now putting the past behind it and throwing off its shyness. Our generation is not to blame. The fact remains that this Germany has a questionable history that everyone really needs to know everything about. That should never be forgotten. The weight of history , the debt, however, prevents us from moving forward. We are not free. Always considering whether something is politically correct or not, that limits you and it is therefore a major problem in Germany. Everyone looks out for each other. It is downright short-sighted to say whether or not someone is politically correct. We just do what comes to mind. Sometimes that is provocative, but it also helps to find yourself."

So you also feel proud to be German?

Shaking his head: "For an American that's probably very easy to say. I rather think that every country should have its own identity. What is home, where do you come from, what is your mentality? It's a difficult process, but I think we have done something in that direction."

--

1) Midas Dekkers is a famous dutch biologist, also presenter of tv programs and author on the topic.

--

List of other Rammstein OOR interviews

#rammstein #rammstein OOR interviews #christoph schneider

[noneatnonedotcom]

Somewhere on a Train

You are Jaune Miles Arc and you’re on a train surrounded by men far more experienced than you who have fought through both bloody battles in Kansas and Mexico both veterans who know the art of war and have been perfecting it longer than you’ve been alive.

And the fact that they’re all listening to you is weird enough but for the last week or so the only question on your mind has been… why the fuck are you on a train!? THE PLAN CALLED FOR STEELING A BOAT! HOW DID YOU FUCK THIS UP SO BAD?

It started in New Orleans when one of the men got distracted by a … lady of the night, and you had to get him out of trouble before he got the entire rebel army down on your head. While talking your way out of that the very helpful lady explained where all the military hardware was and where you should take yourself and men to join up with the rest of the rebs. While there you saw pretty much everything they had being loaded onto a train that looked like an ironclad and you were about to call off the mission as being too dangerous when the powder at the warehouse touched off and your men took it as you signal to attack.

The next couple of minutes were a desperate dash to the head of the train cutting through men all the way

(a splash of something almost scalding hot was on your face as the desperate eyes of a man looking into your)

And then you were riding away in a train with all the rebel’s supplies.

But it didn’t stop there, word got around to the other forts that you were getting the hell out of the south, their commanders sent riders to you as you were loading up the ordinance of your own fort and Marcus handled setting up the meet-up point while you “supervised the men” managing to catch a rebel who’d been hiding in the back of the train since you left.

Poor guy, you felt bad so you let him go, apparently he was talking you up back in New Orleans because you were now a military genius or something. He did say you were fourteen though so he could go fuck himself.

Your mom would absolutely tan your hide if she found out where you were. Anyways the next couple of days were a series of semi-successful run-and-guns as you sent men with henry Repeaters ahead of the train every morning before you came into a meet-up point. Set up a perimeter and all that.

That turned out to be a good idea because the number of skirmishes that you had been stuck in has now eclipsed your age. Granted that’s not as impressive as it sounds but it’s still a lot for a week.

Each time you met a new officer you tried to give them command, and each time your men cried about your humility and the officer told you to keep leading.

YOU WEREN’T LEADING! YOU WERE RUNNING AWAY FROM CERTAIN DEATH!

And now here you were in the officer’s cabin, it wasn’t really special it was a dining car that you had put your family sword in after you had it cleaned and fell asleep in, and now everyone but the officers were afraid to enter it.

Of your new … peers? You had come to rely on Pryce to be your translator, the man spoke calmly and with a deep voice. It reminded you a bit of your dad, either way, the Kansas man was used to breaking down military lingo into simple speech and back so he was your lifeline among these veterans.

He was the one who took your idea of just tossing some dynamite off the back of the train to slow down the rebs chasing you and turned it into an actual military operation with skirmishers and ya know, less chance of you blowing yourself up.

And still, the officers looked at you like a genius for it. Though to be fair you’re pretty sure it’s just all the momentum you have behind you at this point, no one wants to be the one to step up and say that you don’t know what you’re doing. That’s gotta be it, they’re afraid they’ll be bowled over if they try and stop you.

Oh well, today you roll into union territory and it’s officially someone else’s problem.

Not like they’re gonna promote a kid to be a general after all. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You are Marcus E. Derringer and you serve under the most brilliant military mind in United states history, perhaps even the world! Who else could have struck such a blow against the rebels? Who else could have made an army out of all these disparate men?

But he was so self-conscious, he didn’t see himself as a genius. Perhaps it was because it was so effortless for him? After all, flying must seem simple to a bird and swimming easy for a fish. For jaune war was simply second nature.

He had this charisma to him, something you didn’t notice until the chips were down, and his ability to read an opponent is second to none, he predicted every rebel attack so far and countered every one masterfully.

All this from some kid who lied about his age to join up.

Yes, you knew about his age, the fact that he couldn’t shave yet was a huge red flag, but you didn’t see how it mattered. The union needed heroes to lead the men and jaune was just what the union needed. When you got to safe territory you were going to mail the petition you had to get the young hero commissioned as a general.

All the men had signed it too, he would be so happy!

#civil war au #jaune #jaune arc #rwby au #rwby

[uriello-bello]

Meet Sir Ernest Dunlop Swinton, army official and engineer, major member of the think-tank that give us the tank. Every man need to be a hobbyist and this man was a science fiction nerd. Of course, the idea of an armoured tactic vehicle was already in the mind of thousand of people over the past four-five centuries, including Leonardo Da Vinci, but these men have never heard of the scientifiction of writers like H.G. Wells and Jules Verne. And thus, in the same way some juvenile fiction like Tom Swift give us the prompt for the taser rifle, a short story called “The Land Ironclads” serves as ignition for the tank. 

There’s more? There’s more. Ernest Swinton fought in the second Anglo-Boer war and wrote, under pseudonym, a retrospective of the events AND a military tactical book with a narrative twist called “The Defence of Duffer’s Drift: A Few Experiences in Field Defence for Detached Posts which may Prove Useful in the Next War”, a book “couched as a sequence of fantasticated dreams in which Lt. Forethought repeat the title’s imaginary Boer War battle again and again in a kind of Time Loop discovering via successive dreams that five increasingly canny plans for defending the river-ford Duffer’s Drift end in disasters; his sixth plan is successful”. Remember something?

Oh, right. He also wrote one short novel (The Green Curve) and various short stories published in magazines like The Strand and collected in a short story collection (The Great Tab Dope) under the pseudonym “Ole Luk-Oie“ (from the danish “Closed Eye”, a fairy tale written by Hans Christian Andersen)

[tomorrowusa]

Putin is nostalgic for the dysfunctional USSR of his youth. He also wishes to be known as one of the greats of Russian history. His ego is what this war is really about. Attempts by Elon Musk or other ignorant dupes to placate Putin miss the point.

Putin isn’t interested in compromise or in making a deal. He’s not acting like the normal leader of a country. He’s lost over 60,000 troops and has little to show for it. A normal leader would have made a face-saving excuse and resigned months ago. Putin is willing to continue no matter how much it hurts his own country. 

Russia’s war, led by an obsessive dictator, reminds me of a dictator and a conflict in South America in the 19th century. Francisco Solano López, who inherited the dictatorship of Paraguay from his father (Carlos Antonio López) foolishly went to war against his neighbors.

Paraguay was in no sense prepared for a major war, let alone a war of the scope that Solano López had unleashed. In terms of size, Solano López's 30,000-man army was the most powerful in Latin America. But the army's strength was illusory because it lacked trained leadership, a reliable source of weapons and matériel, and adequate reserves. Since the days of El Supremo, the officer corps had been neglected for political reasons. The army suffered from a critical shortage of key personnel, and many of its fighting units were undermanned. Paraguay lacked the industrial base to replace weapons lost in battle, and the Argentine-Brazilian alliance prevented Solano López from receiving arms from abroad.

Doesn’t that sound just a little familiar? 😉

Apart from some Paraguayan victories on the northern front, the war was a disaster for Solano López. The core units of the Paraguayan army reached Corrientes in April 1865. By July more than half of Paraguay's 30,000-man invasion force had been killed or captured along with the army's best small arms and artillery. The war quickly became a desperate struggle for Paraguay's survival.

Russia’s survival is not at stake – at least so far.

Paraguay's soldiers exhibited suicidal bravery, especially considering that Solano López shot or tortured so many of them for the most trivial offenses. Cavalry units operated on foot for lack of horses. Naval infantry battalions armed only with machetes attacked Brazilian ironclads. The suicide attacks resulted in fields of corpses. Cholera was rampant. By 1867 Paraguay had lost 60,000 men to casualties, disease, or capture, and another 60,000 soldiers were called to duty. Solano López conscripted slaves, and infantry units formed entirely of children appeared.

Like Solano López, Putin is short of troops. But conspiracy theories and paranoia are plentiful in Russia.

Imagining himself surrounded by a vast conspiracy, he ordered thousands of executions in the military. In addition, he executed 2 brothers and 2 brothers-in-law, scores of top government and military officials, and about 500 foreigners, including many diplomats. He frequently had his victims killed by lance thrusts to save ammunition.

The war ended very badly for Solano López and Paraguay.

Allied troops entered Asunción in January 1869, but Solano López held out in the northern jungles for another fourteen months until he finally died in battle. The year 1870 marked the lowest point in Paraguayan history. Hundreds of thousands of Paraguayans had died. Destitute and practically destroyed, Paraguay had to endure a lengthy occupation by foreign troops and cede large patches of territory to Brazil and Argentina.

Those excerpts come from Paraguay: A Country Study, Dannin M. Hanratty and Sandra W. Meditz, editors.

The most conservative estimate points to a loss of 8.7% of Paraguay’s population in that war. The Economist in 2012 reported a much higher loss.

The war, known in Paraguay as the “War of ’70” or the “Great War”, was among the worst military defeats ever inflicted on a modern nation state. According to Thomas Whigham of the University of Georgia, as much as 60% of the population and 90% of Paraguayan men died from combat or, more often, from disease and starvation. Other researchers put the figure considerably lower—but still atrociously high. 

Putin, one way or another, is leading his country into doom – or at least decrepitude. In addition to the combat death toll, an estimated 800,000 people have fled the country since the war started. Those are mostly younger, more tech-savvy, and better educated people. The country is being depopulated of its future.

The Soviet Union should be left in the dustbin of history. To prosper in the 21st century, Russia needs to act like a normal country and choose normal leaders.

#soviet union #ussr #dustbin of history #vladimir putin #invasion of ukraine #russia #paraguay #war of the triple alliance #francisco solano lópez #disaster #россия #владимир путин #ссср #советский союз #союз постсоветских клептократических ватников #україна переможе

[makeste]

hello! I’ve seen some debate as to whether the 2nd meant allies in general would bolster izuku and although I do think that’s true (ofc any sort of support system that he lets himself rely on would bolster him) I feel like if that was what was meant it would’ve been made clearer? maybe instead of just katsuki showing up, the final panel would’ve had several students burst onto the scene. what are your thoughts?

agreed. and incidentally this is another big reason why it's not Toga. if it was her then Horikoshi wouldn't have devoted any time to OFA II's little hype speech. it just makes it kind of pointless, unless this whole time we've been sleeping on Toga's hidden ability to bolster Deku lmao.

but anyways, yeah. and I mean, Two's commentary here is really just acknowledgement of something we've long since known already. Kacchan is the one who will ultimately be able to reach Deku. we don't actually need a piece of dialogue to tell us this, because the manga has been showing it to us since day one. his resume is fucking stacked. I mean, let's go through it.

he is mean.

I love this you guys. I honest to god love it. because the thing is, if you ask anyone what Kacchan's absolute worst quality is, this would be the obvious answer, right? "he's an asshole" lmao.

but that's exactly what we need right now!! someone who's not afraid to tell it like it is, and won't try to sugarcoat things. someone who's not afraid to argue back and risk hurting someone's feelings. because right now Deku is walking all over anyone who can't do that. All Might tries to feed him lunch and he's like "nah I'm good, anyways bye." Endeavor tries to tell him to rest and he's all "I'm fine" and fucking hangs up the phone. nuh uh. enough of that. what we need is someone who will call him out on his shit. "hah!? don't tell me you're fine when it's obvious to anyone you can barely stand on your own two feet, dumbass."

he is stubborn.

kind of ties into the other thing, but yeah. right now we need a bullheaded asshole who won't take no for an answer if he thinks he's right. good luck trying to sweet talk your way out of this one, Deku.

he understands the situation.

this one is important, because in fairness, simply standing in front of Deku and saying "you shall not pass" isn't gonna be enough to actually accomplish anything here. ultimately he's going to have to be able to reason with Deku too. and so in that respect, it certainly doesn't hurt that Kacchan is someone who understands the OFA situation as well as anyone, and has always had clear judgment about it. he understands the threat of AFO ("they all died young"), and he understands the burden of All Might's legacy. he knows what Deku is dealing with, and that's going to give him an edge when it comes to finding that elusive-yet-critical talk no jutsu knockout blow.

he's been where Deku is now.

Kacchan knows a thing or two about burdens. granted, they've more often than not been ones that he's put on himself, but that didn't make them any less heavy. Deku right now is struggling not just with his feelings of responsibility, but also with all of the misplaced guilt that's feeding into it. AFO is targeting him. if innocent people get caught in the crossfire then that's on him. every minute that AFO stays out there getting stronger and causing more chaos is all on him, because he hasn't defeated him yet. and so on and so forth.

and Katsuki knows what that's like. because he blamed himself for what happened to All Might. that feeling of "if I'd only been stronger" is one that he's intimately acquainted with. that feeling of blaming yourself, of not being able to look someone you care about in the eye because you think it's your fault they got hurt. this is something he knows. this is a road he's already been down. and so if Deku tries to pull any "you don't understand" nonsense, Kacchan is uniquely situated to immediately shoot that shit right down.

he's immune to low blows.

lol I keep thinking of all the different counterarguments that Deku could make, and all the different ways in which Kacchan is perfectly equipped to handle them. anyway, so this particular thing is a very recent development, but very fortunately timed. so as we all know, Kacchan was a first class dick to Deku during their childhood. something which Deku, with his abnormally kind and forgiving nature, has never once confronted Kacchan about, even though he would have absolutely had the right. but anyway, so here's the thing though -- right now I fully believe that Deku can and will do or say just about anything in order to get Kacchan and the others to leave. and that includes hurting them in order to save them. so it would not surprise me at all if Deku goes as far as to throw Katsuki's old, cruel, selfish behavior back in his face as part of a last-ditch effort to get him to back down. desperate times and all that.

and maybe there was a time when that actually would have worked. but here's the other thing -- we know something Deku doesn't. namely, that Kacchan has recently leveled up emotionally and has finally unlocked his atonement quest. he finally understands that it's not all about him. which means that it doesn't matter even if Deku pulls out the big guns. he may hurt his feelings, but he's not going to scare him off, because Kacchan's focus right now is on atonement, not forgiveness. he's not doing this for a pat on the head. he's doing it because it's the right thing to do. and no amount of insults will be able to sway him from that.

he learned from the best.

I said this in another post a couple of weeks back, but yeah. Angsty Nomad Deku has nothing on early Kacchan in terms of pushing people away. early Kacchan was the motherfucking king of pushing peeps away. if you so much as LOOKED at this kid in such a way that SUGGESTED you might even be THINKING about possibly trying to save him, he would straight up throw a ten-year hissy fit lmao. Deku's "All Might, you don't have to tag along anymore"s ain't got SHIT on all of Kacchan's "STAY BACK DEKU"s and "I'D RATHER LOSE!!!"s and "OMFG HOW DARE YOU BE THE ONLY PERSON TO TRY TO SAVE ME FROM THIS RAMPAGING SLUDGE MAN WHO'S ABOUT TO SUFFOCATE ME TO DEATH"s. Kacchan is the undisputed goat here lol.

but anyway, so what this means is that he has accumulated a whole HOST of iconic lines and fateful parallels which he can throw back in Deku's face at a moment's notice. and the best part is that he learned it all from THIS EXACT MOTHERFUCKER, RIGHT HERE. what is Deku even gonna do!! argue against his own past actions?? "well, uh, I guess now that you mention it I should have just sat back and watched you die all those times" OH REALLY?? YOU DON'T SAY. THAT SOUNDS SO CONVINCING.

and so guess what, Deku -- if Kacchan was worth saving, then you're worth saving too. it's an ironclad argument. congratulations son you played yourself.

he always wins.

okay so real talk, we all know that what's really driving Deku right now is his fear of losing people. he's helpless against that. he saw Kacchan get stabbed right before his eyes and it fucked him up. he saw all these other people getting hurt and killed because he couldn't save them, and he straight up could not deal with those emotions at all. he's scared. he's more afraid of that happening again than of anything else. and AFO knows that, and that's why he's resorted to his current tactics, which have isolated Deku even further and caused him to push even All Might away.

what Deku is missing right now, and what he needs to have restored, is trust. trust is the antidote to fear. and when you're as scared as Deku is, it takes an extraordinary amount of assurance in order to ease those fears. basically you don't want to place your faith in anything less than an absolutely sure thing.

but Kacchan is exactly that. this is the exact type of situation that Kacchan's "aiming for the top" overkill confidence was made for. he's the one who never loses!! the hero who's going to surpass all other heroes!! Deku inherited All Might's compassion, but Kacchan inherited his determination. Kacchan is someone who brings reassurance. his confidence is unwavering. and in the end, I think it will be strong enough to pull even Deku back out from the darkness.

he is strong.

Kacchan is Deku's rival in every sense of the word, and I fully believe he's capable of matching him step for step even now. and so Deku can try to push him away, but Kacchan is capable of withstanding that force and staying his ground. Deku can try to run, but Kacchan still has him matched for speed. and as a last resort, Deku can even try to defeat him -- but Kacchan won't ever concede to defeat.

and all of this ties back into what I was saying about trust. because Kacchan is strong. strong enough not to die. strong enough to live. strong enough to not make others worry about him. and that's what Deku so desperately needs right now in order to finally let go of his fears. Deku needs someone who can get him to trust in others again, and to do that, he has to be able to trust in their strength.

and last but not least...

he has a secret weapon up his sleeve.

several, as a matter of fact. his hero name reveal. his apology, if he chooses to give it now (though I could see him waiting for a more sincere moment, rather than whipping it out now when it could be misconstrued as a manipulation tactic). but perhaps most importantly...

never underestimate the power of an iconic role reversal. because that's what I'm getting at here, if it wasn't clear lol. this probably would have worked better if I had a picture of him actually reaching out to Deku. but I mean, that's kind of the point lol. I don't have one because he hasn't done it yet. BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE. good luck withstanding that, Deku.

so yeah. look at all that. he really is a one-man Deku-saving army. which is not to say that the other kids won't have a part to play as well, or that it's not important for them to be there, because it is. but as far as the lead role goes, it's Kacchan. like that astronaut meme guy says. always has been.

oh and as a bonus he was smart enough to finally leave the mask at home today lol. LET DEKU SEE THE SINCERITY IN YOUR EYES. YESSSSSSS.

#bnha 318 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bnha meta #bakugou meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

[jawanaka]

For the director's commentary; I'd love to know your thoughts on Ciri and Morvran's relationship, both present and future?

Oooh, that's a juicy one,

So unlike previous essays this will be less about canon and more about how I write their relationsship.

Now as ships go Ciri/Morvran is certainly a rare pair, though almost all Ciri ships qualify as this given the lack of canon or even semicanon loveinterests sans Mistle (where we won't go cause yikes) and arguably Cahir (which has alot of haters who very seriously need to find a better way to spend their time). Most fics with Ciri and Morvran tend to actually not be about them but about Emhyr and Geralt, which fair enough. And in most of these they tend to be presented as a alright but arranged marriage.

I don't like this. Oh, the arranged marriage to lovers is a nice trope but Ciri has suffered enough to be married to some guy she's met like twice? And I don't see Ciri accepting "oh and also you need to marry this random guy" as a part of the package for empressing, especially when as she has clearly stated she has stuff she wants to do with that power (historical digression: for a ruling woman marrying a man was a great way to lose power, which is why many female rulers like Elisabeth I didn't marry).

For me it was important to build Ciri and Morvrans relationship platonically at first, which is why The Swallow of Niovigrad is a genfic (even though they flirt fairly shamelessly on occassion). So apart from a love of horses they need to have something more in common. I choose a shared political vision: both Ciri and Morvran understand that the empire cannot keep functioning as it has been doing. Now they obvisouly come at it from different angles and have plenty of disagreements on the how, they share an ideal which they both keep pulling eachother back to.

“No,” said Ciri and shook her head sadly “No you didn’t Morvran. Because for you they are not people aren’t they? Oh I do not mean you are particularly prejudiced against elves. It’s just that to you these people are just numbers aren’t they? Acceptable casualties in some imperial game, better a hundred of them then one of ours. They are not Nilfgaardian like you so what do they matter?” She turned her gaze towards the map again, controlling her outburst.

Morvran seemed to contemplate his boots. Finally he said in a low voice “I though we were Nilfgaardian?”

“You are. I’m not, I’m Cintran. It’s your empire, not mine.”

The general was silent for a moment then said in a low voice. “The empire must be an empire for all it’s citizens or it has no value. You told me that, riding to Vizima. If you it’s future empress do not believe it has any value then what chance does it have?”

In short it was important to me to write Ciri and Morvran as partners in goverment before they became partners in another sense. Neither are very quick to trust others and both are kind of akward, in different ways. But they also complement eachother. Both are idealists but not fanatically so, Morvran is eventempered wereas Ciri is a bit of a hothead, Ciri is audicious were Morvran is at times overly careful, Morvran is detail and big picture oriented whereas Ciri is more prone to focusing on singular issues, Ciri has an ironclad sense of morality towards herself and her people whereas Morvran is more conflicted. Ciri knows the people and the north in a different way while Morvran knows the court and the army. Both can switch back and forth between upbeat and morose and can pick eachother up. Individually they would be fairly good at their jobs but together they can be quite formidable.

At least that's how I see them: partners, in more ways then one.

Thank you @cahirdyffryns for the ask! Ask here in case anyone's interested!

#asks #meta #the delicious meta #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #morvran voorhis #empress ciri

[jengajives]

Got Haleth and her man on the mind

When another night of butchery came and went, Haleth decided at last that, while she might be suited for war, she could not understand those who loved it, or those songs she’d heard from the bold among her people telling of the valor and glory of battle. What glory was there to be found in blood, pain, and death? When the enemy came to destroy you, and all you had to fight for was a life you could never get back?

She asked those still willing to bear arms to stop the ones who went to the river, but she understood why sometimes they didn’t.

Another night of half-sleep, when she laid in the dirt and closed her eyes and wondered if this was rest or if she’d entirely forgotten the feeling, until a few meager hours had passed and she rose again to defend the wall, fearing all the while to be woken by the cries of “they’ve broken through” or, worse, that there would be none left to cry, and the thing to wake her would be an orc sword in her gut.

The people said they would follow her even to death, but that was the only place she could possibly lead them. The orcs were endless and they had barely a fifth of their original number left. It was not enough to repel the enemy. To save the children and the aged from the saws and teeth of Morgoth’s butchers.

When Haleth rose from her rest, the air was thick with fog and fume, and the smell of rot was stronger. The chill of hell was on the wind. She tied her father’s old hunting cloak around her throat, over the top of her leather and mail, and stepped back into the endless slaughter.

It was quiet today. Less of the screams. Less of the constant throb of bowstrings. Haleth looked to the battlement, and saw no one.

“Where are the archers?”

Heru, the old widow who’d taken up as second in command, pointed to a small group of people standing near the gate.

“The orcs stopped trying for the wall,” she explained in a scratchy voice. “I pulled them down to the gate.”

Outside, the low, guttural sound of a goblin chant rose on the icy wind.

“I think they mean to finish us,” Heru said with hollow calmness. “This is our last sunrise.”

Haleth squinted through the fog. Was this sunrise? It just looked grey.

“We have strength yet,” she said, though she could not see it. “Get everyone to the gate.”

Every one of the people able to bear arms gathered around the gates as they shuddered and cracked. They were reinforced, with entire oak logs hammered across to keep them shut, but the orcs were pounding so insistently now it seemed no amount of extra fortification would stop them.

She could see grey sky through the gaps in the wood.

Haleth twisted her sword in her hand and stepped in front of the small group of Men. There couldn’t be more than two hundred left. So few.

“Spears and shields up front,” she said, pointing. “Archers behind. We will hold them back as long as we can. They mean to destroy us- our people, our way of life, the great pride of the Haladin- but we will leave them a burning memory to remember us by. The pain of their losses will stay with them, and the next time they choose to try their might against the swords of the Edain, they will remember the way we hewed them down, and how the river ran black with their blood. We scar the Enemy today. If we can never return to our homes and our groves and orchards, then we will ensure that even fewer of them go back to their foul Master.”

She turned to face the quivering gates.

“Stand with me, Haladin. Today we stand and die together.”

The logs cracked and arrows came through, whistling on tattered fletchings.

Haleth’s line closed tight around the splintering wood, and she stood at their head with Heru and her spear proud and grim by her side.

When the orcs at last pushed bodies through, tearing flesh and wood away without care or concern, and fell on the defenders streaming blood and howling, they were met with the horrific desperation of a people without hope, and they began to fall.

The hours were not kind to the Haladin. The orcs were endless and swarmed through the broken gates like insects, clambering carelessly over the bodies of their fallen to renew the assault in constant waves. There was no rest for the defenders, only the ring of metal and the constant grim hacking of blade against bone.

They were losing numbers. Not nearly so quickly as their enemies were, but fast enough. Their forces being whittled away slowly and surely, forced to retreat further and further from the gates until they were pressed to the walls on the other side of the fortress, hewn mercilessly and without pause.

Haleth had taken an arrow to the arm, but it was her right one, and not particularly useful when she wielded weapon with her left, and the bleeding gave her no great bother- not nearly enough to hinder her. She couldn’t see Heru and she was almost certain the woman had fallen to the goblin’s butchery, but she had lost so many others that she was almost blind to it now. No emotion would rise in her but the horrid, numb rage of battle.

She would fight to the end. Give her people something to believe in, even in the grips of absolute despair. She would give them everything she possibly could before it all finished.

They were backed to the wood, standing on piles of their own fallen, when a strange sound rose over the snarls of the goblins and the dying screams. Haleth had never heard an Elf-horn before, but she still knew it. There was nothing else it could be. It was just too loud. Too clear and beautiful to be the Enemy’s, and too fell to belong to any mortal Man.

Haleth paused her attacks and squinted. Beyond the splintered gates and swarms of ironclad orcs, she could see gleaming silver and dark violet banners that bore the mark of Caranthir, lord of Thargelion.

It was about time.

Haleth took especially grim delight in taking limbs off the orcs she killed, letting them have a taste of what they had given to her father and her brother but seven days before, though more merciful by far. And driving the forces intended to destroy them into the river was morbidly satisfying. Watching the waters drag them under and take them away.

As she tugged her sword out of a goblin’s torso and took a glance around the battlefield, she noticed one face among the glowing Eldar that gave her pause.

Caranthir was tall and had a face that looked like it hadn’t spent much time smiling. He wore no helmet and kept his dark hair pulled back to fall over his shoulders, where its color seemed to mingle with the cloak he wore on his shimmering black pauldrons. He wielded a thick sword with one hand, and a narrow shield on the other forearm, and fought with a grim scowl on his face.

He was close now, fighting in the shallows of the rivers, so Haleth decided to shout at him.

“You are late, pointy-ear!”

Caranthir looked up like he was alarmed to be spoken at, and his dark eyes narrowed.

“Pardon?”

The stories of Caranthir’s temper did not paint him kindly. But at that moment, Haleth felt her wrath was far greater than any the pretty Elf-lord could conjure up, and she was not shy of showing it.

“Late. We needed you a week ago, Princeling.”

Despite the fact that he currently had an orc skewered on the tip of his sword, he turned to look at her, brow furrowing.

“Who are you?”

She helped him out by taking the head off his enemy for him, and leered closer with flame in her heart thinking of the ones she’d lost. Heru. Her father. Haldar. Because the mighty lord of the Noldor was late.

“I am Haleth, lord of the Haladin,” she snarled. “Do not forget it.”

Then she turned back to her bloodshed and vendetta and tried not to think about how much she truly hated Caranthir, Fëanor’s son.

“Haleth, I have done you a disservice.”

The air was cool but there was warmth now in sunlight, as Haleth stood proud before the lord of Thargelion’s tent. He and his soldiers had set up at the riverside once the orcs were destroyed, distributing supplies and attending to the wounded. The sun was high on the second day since their victory, and Haleth had yet to dress, or wash, or see to the wounds that surely were past dressing now. She had other business. Children to comfort. Cuts to bind. Dead to bury. It was the custom of her people to plant young trees over the graves of the fallen, but there were so many now piled to be entombed in the earth, and she didn’t have the numbers to send gatherers for saplings and acorns. It would have to wait until more of the injured had been cared for. It would have to come later.

Caranthir stood in front of her, still dressed in his battle attire, though his hair was down now and braided with lengths of fine silver. Haleth hadn’t ever seen any of the Noldor’s mighty lords; she couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or not. She thought she liked the Grey-Elves that they had traded with sometimes better. Caranthir didn’t look like the kindly Sindar. He didn’t look happy.

Even now there was a resolved anger engrained on his face as he spoke to her that went beyond any wrong-doing she could think of, though his words remained clipped and polite.

“I misjudged the nobility of your people,” he said gravely. “I left you to fend for yourselves when I should have stood as your ally.”

Haleth scowled at him but said nothing.

“Is there anything I can do to help ease the suffering of your people?”

She put back her shoulders to deliver her answer, looking the Elven-prince directly in the eye.

“We have suffered greatly because of the orcs your armies did not hold back. My own father I lost before the gate, and my brother who went to save his body from their savagery. And we have lost many more besides- children, mothers and fathers, the oldest and wisest among us. Too many have fallen here, in despair, seeing no hope of rescue from the Eldar. No more can we return to the peace of our homes and live without fear. That has been taken from us.” She softened her scowl. A vein twitched in Caranthir’s forehead, but he restrained himself and listened patiently as she spoke using the confidence she had adopted when giving orders. “Is it important for trees to grow over the fallen. Seedlings and acorns that can draw their strength from the hallowed earth. We cannot gather these ourselves. I would ask you to send scouts into the woods to bring us back young trees to be laid over the mound.”

Caranthir nodded and spoke through gritted teeth. Obviously he was unused to being insulted.

“It will be done, lady.”

“Thank you,” said Haleth, in the way that meant he was good for doing as he was told. “We did not ask for your help, but we do thank you for it. Now, I have matters to attend, so if you-“ She turned to take one step to go and missed her footing. The minute she hit all fours on the ground she felt a red-hot shame overlaid with a sudden pain in her arm, in her side where she’d taken a warhammer, down the dagger slash just below her knee.

It took her too long to gather the energy to stand. It was more of a hunched stagger when she finally managed it. In front of a King of the Noldor.

The shame coursed like hot venom through her core, until she felt a hand on her shoulder, cool and firm.

“My lady,” said Caranthir, “can I tend to you?”

Haleth shrugged it off on instinct, but when she looked back and saw genuine concern in Caranthir’s eyes, like he was worried she’d fall to pieces if she didn’t get help immediately, it gave her pause. The thorny retort she had planned died on her lips.

“I didn’t know the lords of your people had any skill in healing,” she said slowly, almost suspicious. Caranthir looked offended to hear it.

“I spent much time with the mighty in Valinor, and I learned many things, healing not the least. Let me help. You will need strength to lead your people.”

For a moment longer she studied him, then huffed and looked away.

“I don’t trust you.”

Immediately a weight came into the air. His words gave off the heat of molten metal.

“Now you have done me a disservice, Haleth, Haldad’s heir. I admit I was wrong. I repent of my foolishness and I will not undervalue the Edain again. But you should not undervalue me.”

When she glanced back, his eyes were burning. She could actually see flames moving deep down behind the pupils.

“Let me tend to you,” he said in a tone that made it non-negotiable.

She got the sudden and distinct feeling she should bow to him. She didn’t.

“Very well,” she said instead, arms crossed. “Tend to me.”

And as Caranthir unbuckled his gauntlets and motioned her into the tent, she decided he was beautiful after all, but in such a joyless way it almost made the beauty feel wasted.

It turned out she had no reason to worry over his skill; the prince worked more efficiently than any healer she’d ever seen, and the store of herbs he consulted contained plenty Haleth didn’t recognize, strange flowers or leaves that gave a sharp and strange perfume when he crushed them under his pestle or threw them in hot water to soak. One of these, a smooth strip of grey bark, he even chewed for a moment before he pressed the paste to Haleth’s arm and held it there. It stung so sharply she couldn’t suppress a wince, which at first she thought he didn’t notice, as he didn’t look up- though, of course, she was wrong.

“You’re lucky,” he said softly. “The stinging is good. Means the arrow wasn’t poisoned.”

“If it was poisoned,” Haleth replied flatly, “I would have died by now.”

Caranthir frowned at that. After a moment he shook his head and mumbled to himself.

“So fragile.”

Haleth chose not to challenge him on the assertion. It was not worth the fight.

Once the bruise on her side had been washed in sweet-smelling water, and her cuts were all neatly cleaned and bound, she was about to stand when he abruptly held out a small silver cup. She stared at it, eyes immediately drawn to the dark sapphires set in its sides, and when she hesitated he looked hurt, and pushed it into her hands.

“Drink.”

“What is it?”

“Tea. To help with the pain.” Finally he glanced at her face and realized that wasn’t what she meant, and his gaze followed hers to the jewels.

“Oh,” he said with sudden understanding. “Do you like it?”

“This is what you give tea to the sick in?”

“Well, I don’t have any other cups laying around. What’s wrong with it?”

Haleth lifted the small vessel into the sunlight, and shook her head when she saw the way the sapphires lit up with an inner flame beneath the light.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

She was so busy staring at the thing, she almost missed the way his expression shifted. First pride, then a sudden bashfulness that made his cheeks lose a little of their color, and at last a cautious trepidation. He cleared his throat and when he spoke it was more strained than she’d heard his voice so far.

“You ought to come north. I have entire roomfuls of vessels like these. This is nothing.”

Haleth lowered the cup to give him a skeptical look. Obviously there was something here he didn’t want to say. And obviously Caranthir wasn’t too good at keeping secrets, because it was shining right there in his eyes.

He wanted her to come north with him, for whatever reason.

Actually, no. She could guess the reason, too.

Haleth drank his tea, and handed back the empty cup with definite resolve.

“I owe you my thanks,” she said simply, and stood up to go.

Caranthir didn’t try to stop her.

Haleth expected Caranthir to move on after just a few days, but he didn’t. His healers stayed to tend to those who were badly hurt, and his soldiers continued to patrol the surrounding woods. And he himself continued to lurk around making everyone uncomfortable.

The people didn’t like Caranthir very much, but Haleth had decided she didn’t mind him. He was definitely off-putting, no mistake, but she didn’t think he was all that frightening- all bark, very little bite. Just a gloomy, angry person who was secretly too nervous to do much about it.

She thought it was a little funny, to be honest.

It was strange he wasn’t leaving, though.

“Haleth-“

“Shh.”

Her fingers moved down slowly, tracing the line of his spine, feeling the gentle warmth of his dark skin- how soft he was, despite the harsh exterior he tried to put on. He was pretty when he let the mask melt away. Very pretty here underneath.

“I’ve got you,” she said softly. His shoulders quaked. “You can relax, Caranthir. I’ve got you.”

He shuddered again, but he turned his face to her when she reached for it, and gave her the softest, most vulnerable look she had ever seen from one of the Eldar.

There was beauty in it. True beauty there behind his dark, gleaming eyes.

Still she hadn’t ever seen him smile. She thought he would be even more beautiful if he smiled.

“I... Haleth...”

“Yes?” she said, as soft as she could manage. “What’s wrong, love?”

He suddenly buried his face hearing that. He was shy. Very cute, and shy, and sweet. Pretending to be tough for his people, when really he was on the verge of tears because a woman called him “love” in bed.

“Are you embarrassed?” she asked with a singsong tease to her voice. “When’s the last time you-“

“Haleth!” he said again, louder now, cutting her off. When she took a pause to give him space, he uncovered his face just enough to meet her eyes.

“I want you to come north with me. You, and all your people. We have space, plenty of it, you can have free lands of your own, and riches beyond your imagination, and the armies of the Eldar to protect you...”

Haleth looked at him, silent now. This was not what she had imagined discussing while she shared a bed with Lord Caranthir, but she couldn’t say she was surprised.

“Now isn’t a good time.”

“Even if it was just you! I-I want you to stay with me. What can I do to convince you to stay?”

It was his turn to pause then, because she rolled over to straddle his middle and put a finger to his lips.

“Caranthir. Now is not the time.”

He looked up at her wild and almost afraid. It made her smile.

“You’ll let me do the talking now,” she said firmly. He nodded, overeager, and again her face warmed with a grin she couldn’t hold down.

He covered his face, but she was absolutely determined to win a smile from him before the night was out.

#jenga makes junk #fanfic #fic #writers #silmarillion #haleth #caranthir #Haleth x caranthir #tw gore #haladin #sons of feanor #some spice would be nice #peg your men ladies

[alarawriting]

52 Project #41: The Blood Mage

Based on the prompt here.

***

Ailurin was five when she learned what she was.

Her older brother, a lanky eight, had just run away with her favorite doll, laughing. Ailurin ran after him, screaming “Give her back!”, but the boy was too entertained by his sister’s impotent rage to heed her. He ran straight up to the pond, grinned malevolently at his shrieking sister, and tossed the doll into the pond.

And then swayed on his feet, dizzily, his skin – ruddy from exercise – turning pale as snow. Ailurin stood in front of him, her little fists clenched, her eyes lit from inside like any magic user’s would be, her face a mask of fury as her brother toppled to the ground, narrowly avoiding falling into the pond himself.

In another town, there might have been a very different outcome. A child summoning magic that nearly kills another child? Somewhere less sophisticated than Ailurin’s town might have burned her as a witch. But she lived only an hour’s ride from the capital of their homeland Paozo, her father an experienced merchant who went to the city all the time, her mother a nurse in the Healers’ Guild, and so she had a far more auspicious fate than that.

It was the next day, after her brother had been fed with bloody meat and wine so watered down it was barely even alcoholic, and she’d been fed leafy greens, mushrooms and trout to help her avoid the muscle cramps that came with magic overuse, that her father put her on the back of his horse, and they rode together to the capital, where the Queen’s Academy of Magicks stood.

***

All magic was based in an element, but there were focused specializations.

A general earth mage could perform workings with dirt and rocks. A metal mage could do nothing with dirt and rocks, but had a level of precision control over metal that a more general earth mage couldn’t match. Likewise, there were general water mages who could change the flow of a river, and then specialized ice mages who could manipulate water only when it was frozen.

There were combination specialists as well. A weather mage fell under water, air and fire, but couldn’t affect a river or put out a blaze, directly – by bringing rain, perhaps, but the magic that could call lightning couldn’t affect a fire. A lodestone mage specialized in iron and other lodestone metals, but could call lightning just like a weather mage.

But one thing was true of all elemental mages. None could directly affect living things. The water and air within an animal’s body, the green growing things on the earth – those were subject to no magic anyone had ever heard of.

Ailurin broke that mold. Her specialization fell under water, but she could do what no water mage had ever been able to do in all recorded history… and control blood.

There were many tests to find the limits of her power – tests that were presented to her as games. She could not cause a body to move by pulling on the blood inside it (and how she cried for the rat she accidentally exsanguinated while they were testing that. Pulling on the blood inside a body only pulled it out of the body.) She could not work with the “blood” of plants or animals without spines; a heart and circulatory system were needed. She could cause blood to clot, but once it was a clot, the only magic she could perform on it was to dissolve it.

What could she do then? Well, her mother was a nurse, and had many suggestions for her teachers in magic. She had already proven she could slow the flow of blood to different parts of the body… her brother had fainted because she’d interrupted the flow of blood to his brain. She could also speed the flow of blood, to aid the recovery of a person who’d fainted for more natural reasons. When people suffered the sickness of terrible pain within their veins, Ailurin was able to find clots inside their bodies, blocking the flow, and she could dissolve those. People with the bleeding disease, whose blood would never clot and seal their wounds… she could close those wounds.

And when a person’s heart seized and stopped, she could usually get it moving again by taking over its function, using her magic to push the blood through the body until whatever had blocked the heart was gone, and it could beat naturally again.

For a child with such magics, there were only two possible choices: the soldiers’ corps, or the Healers’ Guild. But a girl who cried for the rat she’d accidentally killed had no temperament for using her control over blood to kill, and her mother had many contacts within the Healers’ Guild.

Ailurin spent three years studying her own magic, learning its limits. Then she was apprenticed to the Healers’ Guild, learning how to care for the injured and sick, so she could discover how best to use her magic to heal.

And what a healer she was! With Ailurin’s magic, the healers learned many new things about bodies. For instance, in many of the cases where a person was felled by a sudden stopping of their heart, it was because their veins had narrowed and it was too difficult for blood to find its way through. Some of these people could be helped by leech treatment. People who suddenly lost the use of limbs on one side of their body, and the proper working of their tongue, often had a clot inside their brains, and if it was dissolved immediately, they could sometimes make a full recovery. Tinctures of cinnamon and turmeric could make it harder for the blood to clot, and when Ailurin dissolved a clot in the body, the patients treated with such tinctures were less likely to relapse.

By the time she was declared Doctor – the title for a person fully trained to diagnose and treat a patient within the Healers’ Guild, as opposed to a Master Doctor who could take an apprentice, or an Intern who was an advanced apprentice – Ailurin and her magic had been responsible for the discovery of many new secrets of human and animal bodies that no healer had known before, and the discovery of treatments to help against things that had previously killed or maimed without warning or cure.

***

Most of the nation’s guilds were in fact the nation’s guilds. Ailurin’s nation had a leatherworkers’ guild, and the nation to the north had a leatherworker’s guild, and the two to the south both had their own leatherworkers’ guilds, and so forth.

Not so the Healers’ Guild. There was only one Healers’ Guild, spanning the known world. All healers swore their primary allegiance to the Healer’s Creed:

·         I will treat any patient in need, regardless of their creed, their nation, or their customs.

·         I will cause no harm to any, save in the preservation of life and health for those who come before me.

·         Though I may charge a fair and reasonable fee for my services, as set by the Healers’ Guild, I will never charge more than such a fee.

·         I shall have no sexual or romantic relations with one who comes before me to be healed. Should my own husband or wife fall ill, or one with whom I am courting or engaged, I will refer them to one of my colleagues, unless the situation should be so dire that that is not possible.

·         Likewise, I will not treat my family members, but refer them to a colleague, unless life or health should fail immediately if I do not.

·         In conflicts between nations, I will not take sides. I will swear again on my own life that I will treat any who come before me, even soldiers engaged in warfare on my nation.

Every company of soldiers traveled with Healers’ Guild members, and there was a Healers’ Tent at the site of every battle… often a tent that contained the healers of both the armies meeting in combat. It was an ironclad rule that no soldier could keep their weapon within the Healers’ Tent, and that soldiers or civilians from either side of the conflict were welcome in the tent if they were injured.

Ailurin began her career treating elderly city dwellers with pains in their chest, but she thought that her magic might be more needed on a battlefield, so she began to travel with military companies.

She saved many, many lives. Men who would have bled to death survived, because Ailurin was able to keep their blood inside their bodies until the wound could be cauterized or stitched. At times, she could even restore a severed limb; if the limb and the place it was severed from were both washed in the strongest of spirits, to drown any of the evil spirits that caused illness, she could cause the blood to flow between the limb and the place it was severed from, as her colleagues sewed the limb back on. The arms and legs that were so restored were never as strong as they had been, and those soldiers usually returned home as war-wounded with their pensions… but the limbs that had been severed cleanly by swords were back on their bodies, weaker but still of use.

Ailurin found as well that her magic could transfer the blood from a dead man, if he was freshly dead, to a dying man who’d lost too much blood to live otherwise. She learned to detect the spirit of the blood, to match it with a soldier of similar spirit… and, knowing of these spirits through her magic, she was able to devise a test that other healers could use to tell if the spirits would be friendly to each other, or hostile. Healers’ assistants who went out on the battlefield to retrieve the injured now retrieved the dead as well, in hopes that their blood was still fresh enough to save other soldiers. Often, ice mages, whose talents had been traditionally used in the Healers’ Guild to make poultices to reduce swelling and to preserve potions that would otherwise go bad, found themselves keeping dead bodies cold. Ailurin was still the only blood mage, but what she could do with magic, other healers found ways to do with potions or devices.

Within the Healers’ Guild Ailurin was remembered for the many discoveries she made or helped to make, and the many lives she saved directly. But there is another thing they remember her for as well.

***

She was traveling with a company from Paozo when their battalion met one from Shemora, and a fierce battle broke out. A Healers’ Tent was stood up between the camps of both battalions, and within that tent, Ailurin and her colleagues were very busy.

In the evening, when the battle was done for the day and both sides had retreated to lick their wounds, and the Healers’ Tent was especially busy, the general of Paozo’s forces came to the tent in person.

His soldiers who were conscious and could move their limbs saluted him. The soldiers of Shemora watched him. The healers mostly ignored him, with the exception of the Master Doctor in charge of the tent, who didn’t really have that option. She finished setting a soldier’s leg bone where he’d been trampled by a horse, and then went to speak to the general.

“What can I do for you, General?” she asked.

“You can get these Shemoran scum off these beds,” the general said. “We’re not wasting our resources healing the enemy.”

“Excuse me?” The Master Doctor was shocked. “Our creed is to care for anyone who needs healing.”

“I don’t give a shit about your creed,” the general said. Soldiers of his battalion filed into the Healers’ Tent. “We’re taking this Shemoran trash as prisoners of war to free up these beds for our injured.”

“No. You’re not,” the Master Doctor said. “The Healers have no specific allegiance. We treat both sides equally.”

“Yes, that’s part of your creed,” the general said. “And the other part is to do no harm.” His soldiers drew their swords. “You have no weapons. You have nothing to stop us but your bare hands.” He turned back to his soldiers. “Kill any of them that are too badly injured to walk. The rest can march to the prison or die.”

“No,” Ailurin said, turning away from the man she had been treating. “I have a weapon.”

The general laughed. “Oh, yes, I can see you’re a great warrior!”

Most mages were bone-thin, unable to keep on any weight, for magic was fueled by life force. Ailurin was beautifully plump, looking more like a pampered noblewoman than a powerful mage. Her face was soft, her belly round, with voluptuous breasts and hips. Her blood magic had allowed her to learn how to slow her metabolism when she wasn’t using magic, to keep her weight on… not because she was vain and sought beauty, though beautiful she was, but because she needed the fuel for stamina. When your magic is the only thing keeping a person’s blood moving through their body, because they were stabbed in the heart, endurance in your magic becomes the most important trait you can have.

With her soft skin and rounded curves, Ailurin looked like a wealthy woman who was waited on hand and foot, not someone who’d ever lifted a sword in her life. But when she faced the general, her expression was hard and her eyes were cold. “I need no weapon,” she said. Her eyes glowed like any mage's would, and the general reached for his sword, gesturing with his other hand  to his men to be ready.

It didn’t help them. His men dropped like stones, their eyes rolling back.

“What have you done?” he shouted,  drawing his sword.

Ailurin stood her ground with no sign of fear, her eyes still glowing.  “I am Ailurin the Blood Mage, first of my kind, and my creed – the Healers' Creed  - is to do no harm except when needed to preserve the life and health of my patients. You threatened my patients. “

“So you killed my men?” the general raged.

“They’re merely unconscious. I am sworn to preserve life; I don’t kill if I can avoid it.”

“Ah. Well, then.” With no warning, the general lunged forward buried his sword in Ailurin ‘s heart.

She stumbled back slightly from the force of the thrust, but didn’t scream, or fall down… or bleed. As the general pulled his sword back, he stared in shock at her chest, and the complete absence of blood staining her healer’s robes. “What…?”

“Blood Mage,” Ailurin said impatiently, her eyes still glowing, showing the world that she was still using magic. “That was a very bad idea, general.”

And then the general began to bleed profusely from every pore of his body. He looked down at himself, at the blood trickling out of him everywhere, turning his uniform dark red. “What—what are you—you can’t—”

As he fell to his knees, dizzy from blood loss, Ailurin said, repeating the words of the Creed, “I will cause no harm to any, save in the preservation of life and health for those who come before me.” She looked down at the general. “You threatened to kill my patients. This is preserving their lives. You are no patient of mine, or anyone here.”

The general fell all the way to the floor then, lying in a pool of his own blood, dead. Ailurin looked up. “I’m sorry, Master Doctor. I’ll need to clean this up.”

“Doctor Ailurin!” One of the nurses ran to her. “Are you—”

“Doctor Ailurin, I saw you were stabbed!”

“How are you--?”

“I’ll live until I sleep,” Ailurin said. “He pierced my heart. I can keep the flow of blood going with my magic, but when I sleep, I’ll die.”

The Master Doctor called orders to the nurses. “Take the men who fainted, confiscate their weapons and keep them sedated for now. Orderlies, please remove the general.” As the healers’ assistants jumped into motion, she said to Ailurin, “Doctor, we can argue later about whether your actions were justified. For now… how well can you endure pain and use your magic?”

***

It required potions that dulled the pain without removing her ability to focus, but Ailurin was able to keep her own blood under control while her colleagues opened her ribs up and stitched the hole in her heart.

The soldiers who’d fainted were kept sedated with potions while Ailurin was recovering. The fact that their general was dead was something the healers considered best for them to find out after the Blood Mage was back to, if not her original strength, at least enough of her strength to defend the healers again. The ones who’d already been in the tent, being treated, knew – because the healers had told them – that if the general had succeeded, the healers would have withdrawn from the Paozon army entirely. If the neutrality of the healers could not be respected, they could not afford to give their services at all.

After the battle, the Master Doctors convened to determine whether Ailurin had broken the Creed. They determined that, because she had acted in defense of her patients’ lives, she would not be banished from the Guild, but that five years would be added to the time before she could become a Master Doctor, and take apprentices of her own. This didn’t bother her; no Blood Mages had been born after her. She had no one to train.

***

It was understood after that day that the Healers’ Creed allowed the healers to defend their patients with deadly force, if necessary. No other general attempted to force the healers to violate their creed. There was only one Blood Mage… but many mages of other specialties were healers, especially mages of Water and Air.

Many years later, after Ailurin had had her Master Doctor status for several years, the Guild sent her an apprentice… a girl whose magic let her see and manipulate the invisible spirits that cause disease, or good health, in people and animals. She was the first mage to have powers over what lay within living things since Ailurin herself. No one was certain what her magic was a branch of; eventually they’d guessed Air, because she commanded tiny invisible spirits, but the truth that Ailurin was beginning to suspect was that life itself was a fifth element.

Eventually, her brother – the one who’d stolen her doll, so long ago – had a grandson who had blood magic, the same as Ailurin had. And others appeared, slowly – mages who could make flesh heal, mages who could grow crops, mages who could ease the minds of the mad. She had been the first of the life mages, but she was not the last.

#52 Project #writing-prompt-s #fantasy

[musesbykai]

Ironclad Rampage By thom.artz!

Enraged and enlarged, Ironclad smashes through one of Detroit’s warehouse districts. Oron completely lost his mind with wrath clouding his vision as he destroys all in his path.

Absolutely stunning commission done by Thom.artz! I am in love with all the little details not only in the foreground but in Ironclad itself. I can’t stop looking at it and the artist did such an amazing job!

#{One Man Army} - Ironclad #commissioned art #it seriously looks like it came right out of a comic book #holy shit #Ironclad looks so good!!!

[fantomcomics]

What's Out This Week? 3/23

Happy Spring, y'all! GO BUY ALLERGY MEDS

Catch These Hands GN - Murata

One day, Takebe, a former delinquent trying to leave that part of her past behind for good, runs into her high-school rival, Soramori. The two fight for the first time in years, and thanks to being desperately out of practice, Takebe loses-leaving her no choice but to accept Soramori's request to start dating her...?!

Ghost Cage #1 (of 3) - Nick Dragotta & Caleb Goellner

This ALL-NEW, EXTRA-LENGTH LIMITED SERIES teams artistic dynamo DRAGOTTA with rising-star writer CALEB GOELLNER (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: New Animated Adventures). When his megacorp power plant falls under attack by terrorists, the super-scientist who revolutionized and controls all energy on Earth sends his ultimate creation (and an adequate employee) in to destroy his most monstrous secrets.

Frankenrocker & The Jailbat Rockers #1 (of 4) - Roel Torres & Lukasz Kowalczuk

Frankenstein's Monster forms a punk rock band with female teen musicians and they go to outer space to fight an army of reptilians! It's like Galaxy Quest mashed up with The Sex Pistols by way of Saturday morning cartoons!

Beyond The Beyond #1 (of 4) - Christian Tropeano & Gian Fernando

Nova Vega is a teenage idealist who resides on a mining colony run by the oppressive Omni corporation. Nova is disenchanted by her prospects of entering the Omni Mining Academy, for she'd much rather be out exploring the stars like her parents before her. We are also introduced to Sirius Vega, Nova's older brother and guardian, who picks her up after she's thrown out of class for insubordination. When an argument between the siblings goes too far, Nova enacts her long awaited plan to escape the mining colony and explore the alien world from where her parents never returned.

We Have Demons #1 (of 3) - Scott Snyder & Greg Capullo

Since the very dawn of man, legends have been told of the conflict between angel and demon-kind. Lam Lyle, a woman of science, dismissed these stories as just that-fiction. But when the loss of a loved one leads to the discovery of a hulking, benevolent demon named Hellvis, Lam realizes that her life is about to undergo a dire new direction. With a newfound partner and awesome powers now at her disposal, our hero suddenly finds herself thrust into a climactic war of good and evil with no less than the fate of the world hanging in the balance . . .

Stranger Things: Kamchatka #1 (of 4) - Michael Moreci & Todor Hristov

A Russian scientist is kidnapped by Soviet troops, leaving nothing for his two teenage children but a mysterious case and a whole lot of questions. While their father is dragooned into weaponizing a monster brought back from the US, the two teenagers embark on a harrowing and perilous journey to find him, with help from an unlikely ally: an old bad@$$ KGB spy.

Armorclads #1 (of 5) - Jj O'Conner, Brian Buccellato, Manuel Garcia & Bagus Hutomo

In a distant solar system, advanced mechs known as Armorclads are used to fight wars and build worlds. On Xeru, genetically engineered workers live out their short lives mining a valuable mineral called The Pure in construction-class mechs known as Ironclads. When one of their own is killed, the Ironclads' world is turned upside down and they defy their oppressors. Along the way, they'll discover they're embroiled in a mystery dating back centuries that could change the world forever-as long as they band together.

Pentagram Of Horror #1 - Marco Fontanili

Black Caravan Imprint: Pentagram of Horror is a new horror anthology with each issue being a stand-alone story. "My Own Hell" explores the anxiety, self-doubts, and profound desire for recognition endured by every creative. In this tale, when the desire for worldly acclaim becomes all-consuming, it leads a young man to part with that which he should have prized most dearly. All too late, he finds that a blind pursuit of recognition can strip its victim of their physical and mental health, and sometimes... even their very soul.

Whatcha scooping up this week, Fantomites?

#wotw #comic book #comics #comic books #comic #what's out this week? #Pentagram Of Horror #Armorclads #Stranger Things: Kamchatka #We Have Demons #Beyond The Beyond #Frankenrocker & The Jailbat Rockers #Ghost Cage #Catch These Hands

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain:  Chapter 803:  Échecs:  Part III/III

Yang eagerly followed Ren and Nora down the stairs, Blake with a cheshire grin following them.

* * *

They walked into the library. "Oh, Remnant!" Yang exclaimed, "You're on, Sis!"

"Me and Blake are going to kick your ass!" Ruby replied.

* * *

Aurora arrived with a large carafe of coffee and a platter with several cups.

"So, who called the Little Bit?" Yang asked.

"Called her?" Weiss asked, "I don't believe I've ever called her."

"She simply comes out of the mists." Blake quiped.

"With coffee." Ren said, looked Aurora in the eyes, and nodded.

"If you are going to bring us coffee?" Ruby asked, "Could you?.."

"Cookies are already in the oven." Aurora said with a smile.

"Man, what did we do to deserve her?" Yang asked, causing Aurora to blush, though hard to see through her treefrog colouration.

Weiss moved over to sit on Jaune's lap.

"Hey!" Ruby exclaimed, and Weiss simply stuck out her tongue.

"Did she just do that?!" Yang asked.

"Perhaps my wives are rubbing off on me?" Weiss asked.

* * *

Jaune moved a single piece and then ended his turn. "Is that it?" Weiss asked.

"The first few turns are about building your army." Jaune replied. "You don't want to get too spread out?"

"What happens?" Weiss asked.

"Well, for one, Grimm can attack. And units too far away from the kingdom risk running out of supplies. It lowers your morale."

"I would say it would." Weiss quipped.

"Your morale is how strong your units are." Blake said, while Ruby and Yang were glaring at each other.

"This is why," Jaune added, "the game often takes hours."

"Hours?" Weiss asked, "But, our game..."

Jaune kissed her on the cheek. "You didn't know what you were doing, and let Yang lure you into a trap."

"With her Nevermore." Weiss stated. "Wait, does that mean you can control Grimm?"

"Ehn." Jaune stated.

"Since you got Ladykiller," Yang stated, "you probably won't be so easy this time, I guess I can be honest. The Grimm cards are traps."

"Forced encounters." Ren stated.

"And they all have a chance of backfiring." Yang continued.

"I believe," Ren voiced and paused for a moment, "it represents luring your enemy into a group of Grimm."

"I suppose that makes sense." Weiss stated, "Well, what about Ruby and Blake?"

"Blake wasn't paying attention." Jaune said, "And Yang is too used to fighting Ruby, so she knew how to counter her."

"Is that what happened?!" Ruby asked Yang.

"Shakin' in your little booties, Sis?" Yang asked.

Ruby put her right boot up on the table. "Suck it."

"Only if you win." Yang shouted.

"Seriously?" Weiss asked.

"Okay?" Yang replied, "Maybe I'll lick it, how about that."

"You're on, right Blake?" Ruby asked.

"What do you plan to lick in return?" she asked.

"Hm?" Ruby asked her, and then looked at Yang,

"If I win, you can do what you want with my hair."

Ruby and Yang reached across and shook.

* * *

Emerald paced across the common room in the turret. "If you can't even go inside, how can you possibly get him to trust you?"

"By sucking his cock?" Mercury asked, causing Emerald to scoff.

"You would suggest that."

"I'm actually hoping she doesn't." Mercury added.

"Well, for one, he's not neutral, he actively doesn't trust me." Cinder stated, "For two, he already has plenty of girls on his list."

"None of them can hold a candle to you." Emerald soulfully said to Cinder. Cinder in reply reached out to craddle her face.

"Unfortunatlely, he doesn't agree with you."

"But." Emerald tried to say.

"This is his house, literally." Cinder said. "While we're not allowed into the house, we are allowed?.."

"What?" Mercury asked, "In that mess they call a garden?"

"Bingo." Cinder delightfully stated. "He might not trust me, but he does believe me, and that's a start."

Mercury glared at Emerald, "Which means that any of your bullshit and we lose everything we've gained."

"My bullshit?" Emerald asked.

"Petty theft," Cinder stated, "and your Semblance."

"But?.." a wounded Emerald asked her.

"But, my dear, they are the opposite of trust."

"But... before?.." Emerald asked.

"I recruited you because of your useful abilities." Cinder simply stated, "I'm keeping you because... you both are dear to me."

* * *

Raven walked into the basement to see Qrow and Taiyang.

"Hey, Rae?," Qrow asked her, "did you talk to the kids?"

"Why would I do that?" Raven asked.

"Just admit you're a big softy," Taiyang stated, "and didn't want to interupt their game."

Raven huffed as she walked over. She nervously leaned down to kiss Taiyang on the lips, before looking over at the cell. "Just so you know, I'm the Spring Maiden. If you try to break out of here, you'll have two Maidens to face off against."

Neo used her hand to mimic annoying chatter, causing Raven to glare at her, and the boys to start giggling.

Qrow and Taiyang stood up. "See you, Rae." Qrow stated. Taiyang dipped her to give her a passionate kiss, and the two walked off. Raven struggled to regain her semblance of authority. She looked at Neo, whom was smirking at her widely.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Raven asked, and Neo looked about her cell. She then looked back at Raven and shrugged.

* * *

Cinder, Emerald, and Mercury were standing in the garden. "It's been all day!" Emerald exclaimed, "Where are they?!"

"We are losing the light." Mercury stated.

"We'll have to try again tomorrow." Cinder voiced.

* * *

Weiss let out a disappointed sigh. "Sorry." Jaune stated, "This is my first time ever playing as Vale, so I honestly don't know what I'm doing."

Weiss gave him a peck on he cheek. "You certainly know far more than I do."

Ruby and Yang aggressively glared at each other while Blake moved pieces on the board. Yang looked back at the board. "Wait, what?"

"You're going down, Sis." Ruby said to her, "That's what."

"I do believe it's our turn." Ren stated.

* * *

Aurora and Taiyang placed blankets on the kids whom had all passed out on the table.

"Shouldn't you be getting to sleep, too?" Taiyang asked her.

"I am my mistress' personal assistant." Aurora replied, "It's my job to assist her with everything she does."

"Everything?" Taiyang asked.

"Everything." Aurora nodded.

"Even?.." Taiyang tried to ask.

"If she asked me to, yes." Aurora replied.

* * *

Yang started to rouse, slowly pulling herself up from the table, looking around. Ruby and Blake were cuddled together over the table. Ren and Nora were cuddled together over the table. Jaune was somehow laying on the table, sleeping, but still holding himself from crushing Weiss. How the hell could she be so elegant in such a strange position?

She looked around the room and saw someone sleeping on a couch. It was Aurora, who seemed to know when Yang had awoken and was looking her in her eyes. Yang tiredly waved at her. She slowly stumbled to her feet. She groped around, managing to pull the blanket over her shoulders and shuffled over to the couches. She slumped down onto one of them. Breathing for a moment as her thoughts returned to her. "Okay," Yang whispered, "I know you're like really into this assistant thing, but you don't need to be like, sleeping on the couch here if we need you."

"I'm more comfortable than you guys are." Aurora whispered in reply. "Besides, I started with nothing. Everything I made that wasn't putting food in my belly was developing the skills I would need to join the corporate elite. It didn't matter how good my skills were on paper, though."

"Why not?" Yang groaned.

"The moment they saw my face." Aurora stated. "I wasn't lucky like Blake, who could hide her Faunus nature with a bow, or like my mistress, who had the resources of one of the most powerful families on Remnant. Whenever they saw my face, they knew exactly who I was. I got good at seeing through the token effort they went to pretend like it was an interview. I actually thought that my mistress was one of them."

"But?.." Yang asked.

"Until I held the contract in my hands." Aurora stated, "I still didn't believe it. It was a pretty standard, ironclad, no wiggle room contract, except for one thing."

"Hm?" Yang asked, huddled under her blanket.

"Termination clause. On a one year contract, being paid several years salary upon termination is... actually understandable for an executive... except..."

"Except?" Yang asked.

"My face." Aurora simply stated.

"They would never give it to a Faunus?" Yang asked, and Aurora subtely nodded before sitting up. She slipped from the couch, adjusted her clothing, and walked over to Yang.

"Relax your weary head." Aurora stated, and guided Yang's head to a pillow she did not know was there. Aurora adjusted Yang's blanket, adjusted her beautiful hair. "Sleep tight."

"Mmm." Yang positively moaned.

* * *

Yang woke up with Blake laying on her. Blake looked up in her eyes and smiled, making no movement to get up. Yang looked over to see Aurora's couch empty, except for a folded blanket. She found Ren and Nora together, along with Ruby and Weiss sleeping on Jaune's massive chest.

"Does anyone remember?.." Yang tried to ask,

"Little Bit left you a note." Blake stated, and passed her the note.

Yang read the note, 'It's your turn, Yang. Breakfast will be ready by 0700.'

"Oh, shit, the game's still on." Yang said, and sat up.

#rwby #firen lhain #faunus au #pollinated knight

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Pact - Part 6

Sam Winchester x Crowley’s Daughter!Reader

Gothic AU

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

A/N: This idea was a long time coming. My first true AU, so please be gentle. This will be a slow burn, multi-chapter fic.

A big big thank you to my bestie @kazosa for not only keeping on me to write more of this story, but also for being my beta, my cheerleader, and all around amazing human.

WC: 5K

Series Summary: Lord Samuel Winchester has lost the love of his life due to the actions of the Demon King, Crowley. As he plots secret revenge, his father, the King of Lawrence, decrees that Sam will wed Crowley’s daughter in order to unite the two families to protect the sacred ground the Winchester’s Kingdom is built upon.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Crowley’s Daughter!Reader

Other Players: John Winchester, Crowley, Rowena, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Jessica Moore (deceased)

Series Warnings: 18+ only, mild language, violence, implied smut

The sun rose over Lawrence on a typical Tuesday morning. A familiar sound woke Sam, something he heard every Tuesday morning--the melody of the tower bells summoning the Winchester guard to court. Normally, they didn’t ring until later in the morning, but their early clanging roused a reluctant Sam from a deep, painless slumber. 

When his eyes finally fluttered fully open, he slowly rolled his head to the side, knowing he’d see her there, but this morning was different than any other before it; this morning, she would wake up and truly be his wife. His mind recalled the night before, and into the early hours of that morning, rolling around on the floor, making love to the woman he was supposed to despise. The corner of his mouth twitched into an awkward smile as he thought about how she moved her body with his, how she opened up and let him take her. There was a manner of uncontrolled passion that erupted between them, and even then, he was getting hard thinking about it. 

The bells rang again, along with the Horn of Gabriel, a much deeper tone that stood out over the sound of the melodic chimes. Sam furrowed his brow, knowing this meant for the guard to assemble quickly. He wondered if there was news from the front lines… from Dean. He looked at his sleeping bride with a last longing look, taking special notice of how her hair spilled out on the pillow around her. Resisting the urge to brush a finger against her cheek, he threw off the covers and didn’t think of his hip once as he put his feet on the floor and moved about his chambers to dress for the day. 

Just as Sam fastened the last button on his shirt, he heard (Y/N) stirring from behind him. 

“Samuel?” she spoke, half asked in a low, sleepy tone. “Where… it’s so early.” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and pulled the blanket up to her collarbone, covering her naked breasts. 

“Rest,” he tutted. “It is early. I need to go to court, the bells are calling the guard. I’m going to check it out, but you can go back to sleep.”

“No,” she said and sat up further in the bed. “I’ll go with you, we should present a united front.”

“I appreciate that, (Y/N), but your presence there would be questioned, even by my father. I promise to take it all in and report back.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand for a moment before he spoke. “I’m not trying to leave you out, I swear. I just--”

“It’s fine, Sam. I understand. I just wanted to be there to support you. Dealing with your father can’t be easy.”

“Since he has seen us playing along with whatever their plan is, he’s been surprisingly pleasant,” Sam said, a small tinge of sarcasm coating his tone.

“Well, he’s getting what he wants. Of course he’s going to be kind.” She paused and gave his hand a little squeeze in return. “Sam, about last night. I--”

A deep, penetrating knock rapped at the door, interrupting her and causing both their heads to snap around. Their eyes met in a questioning glance before Sam released her hand and walked towards the door. 

“Sam!” She whispered hoarsely but sharp to gain his attention. “Your cane… appearances and all that.”

“Good thinking,” he said, half embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of that. He scooped up the now unneeded crutch and went to open the chamber door.

As he pulled it open, a member of the Winchester Guard was standing at full attention. 

“My Lord, your father, the King, requires your immediate attention. He needs you to come to the War Room without delay,” the guard rambled quickly, causing Sam to shake his head and lend a soft smile at the man.

“Slow down… what’s wrong? Why are the Court bells ringing so early?”

“Please, Lord Winchester, your father… he--” 

Sam could see the unsettled look in the guardsman’s face and knew that something was definitely happening. He drew in a steading breath and patted the man on his ironclad shoulder.

“Let me finish dressing. Something tells me I need to be prepared for anything,” Sam said more to himself than to the guard. 

“I would say that’s an accurate assessment,” the guardsman replied in the same manner, but Sam could hear the slight tremble in his words before he closed the door, blocking the man’s view into their chambers. 

Sam leaned his cane near the entry, this way he wouldn’t forget it on the way out. He then made a mental note that he would also have to remember to add his now healed limp back into his entrance to the War Room. His mind began to race at what could be so urgent. It must be about Purgatory, as that was all his father had been concerned about lately. Well, that, and Sam’s ability to produce an heir.

Sighing deeply Sam sat on the edge of the bed and studied (Y/N)’s face as she did the same to him. 

“You’re very troubled, husband. What could possibly be so dire that you have to run to Court at the very minute of daybreak?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, still buried in thought and growing concern. “But I plan on finding out. For now, I think you should stay here. Don’t wander today.”

“Okay, if you think that’s for the best.”

Sam’s head snapped up when she agreed so easily. “What? No fight from the Mistress Macleod? I’m shocked.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and crawled out from beneath the covers, either unaware or unphased by her vulnerable nudity and positioned herself right beside him. “I’m a Winchester now, remember? And if my Lord husband asks me to do something because he thinks it's best, then I shall grant his wish.”

Sam’s dimpled smile lit up his face, knowing that she was being half truthful and half sarcastically playful. The urgency to leave for the inevitable meeting with the King his guardsman loomed over him, but he was having difficulty pulling away from her and leaving her alone in the bed they just shared. He allowed himself his own moment of vulnerability and let his fingers slowly wander up the silky flesh of her arm, tracing his finger across her collarbone and up to her cheek.

“Thank you.” His voice was rough and low, but she didn’t pay it any mind. Instead, she placed her delicate hand against his stubbled cheek. 

“Go, before he sends another Guard rapping,” (Y/N) chuckled, then leaned forward and kissed his lips tentatively. Sam returned her kiss and knew that if he didn’t stop then, his father would quickly be forgotten and he would be tangled up in her all over again. 

With a grunt of frustration, Sam stood from the bed and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair by the fireplace. He could still feel the heat of the fire from the night before and smiled at the memory of how they enjoyed it for the entire night. One last look back at the woman now laying in his bed, and he left the chambers to see what fresh Hell awaited him in the War Room.

Every step towards the War Room, Sam could feel his nerves growing and vibrating beneath his skin. The tension was buzzing so loudly in his head, he was having trouble streamlining his thoughts. Luckily he had remembered to grab his cane on the way out, but halfway towards his destination, it finally registered that he needed to add in his now gone limp. By the time he reached the hulking wooden door that led to whatever awful things awaited, he was back in the habit of babying his hip; but not because he physically needed too, whatever (Y/N) had done the night before was holding strong and then some.

Drawing in one long, deep breath, Sam pushed the doors open and used his sharp eyes to survey the room the second he stepped in. To the left were his father’s top advisors, including Bobby and Pastor Jim from the Church of Lawrence. To the right of the room were a dozen or so of the Winchester Guard, standing at attention and waiting for any order the King may decree. In the middle of the room, the ancient table that mapped out the lands for hundreds of miles--including the Elven Woods and the entrances to Purgatory--was set with various pieces representing the Winchester’s army and their current battle plans. Sam noticed another set of pawns added to the table. They were black forms dotted with bright spots of bright crimson. Sam’s gut took a dive as he realized those markers belonged to Crowley’s army of demons. 

Looking up, Sam finally noticed his father’s form standing in front of the raging fire, whose snap and crackle was the loudest sound in the room. John was free of his usual Royal garb, and instead dressed in a simple pair of denim pants and black long sleeved shirt. One arm was stretched all the way out, leaning against the stone mantle, while the other hand was pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Dad,” Sam spoke tentatively, carefully studying his father’s slumped shoulders and lowered head, “what’s going on? Why are you calling court so early?”

John stood motionless for what felt like an eternity. When he finally turned and met his youngest son’s eyes, Sam was taken aback by what he saw in them. The normally stoic, no nonsense King of Lawrence, had wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes that made him look as though he had been crying. 

Sam’s gut swelled with sickness, as he considered what could be so bad that it would cause his father to show such a surge of emotion in front of anyone, much less the highest ranking members of his Kingdom. Words were stuck in his throat as he continued to stare at John, unable to force anything more than a trembling breath to expel from between his lips.

“Samuel…” John’s rough voice finally broke through the silence of the room. “I have news from the front lines.” He paused and stood tall, lengthening himself to full height, but still not as tall as the son he was staring down. “It’s your brother, he--”

“Dean? Is he okay? Is he… dead?”

John opened his mouth to speak, but another voice chimed in before the King could answer. 

“Come on Sammy, you think I’m gonna let a few Purgatory sonsofbitches take me out?”

Sam whirled around on one heel quickly, a move that would have certainly left him in agonizing pain before (Y/N)’s treatment. He didn’t even think of it, because the voice belonged to his brother, who was now standing right behind him. 

“What? No hello for your big brother?”

“Dean,” Sam breathed with a relief sigh, “You’re alive!”

Sam was stunned to see Dean. Speechless, he stared at his brother, trying to convince himself that what he was seeing was real, and not some fever dream. Bruised and battered, Dean stood before his younger brother, his patented smart ass smile plastered across his face and his arms outstretched, palms up, and shaking his head. “Well of course I am. Damn, it's like you have zero faith in me... Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam snorted and rolled his eyes and took the last few steps to embrace his brother. Dean didn’t hold back and hugged Sam just as tightly, smacking his back to accentuate his joy at their reunion. When they finally parted, they gave one final nod of acknowledgement; they’re way of saying, ‘yeah, I’m okay’ without having to actually say it. 

“Dean’s return from the front lines is certainly cause for celebration, don’t you think?” John said loud enough to capture the attention of the room. “And now that Samuel is married, on the way to producing an heir, both my sons are on track to fulfil their destinies. If that isn’t a good enough reason to call an early Court, I don’t know what is.”

Sam watched John’s face transform into a grin, but he could feel no genuine happiness radiating from it. There was something else behind his King’s mask that Sam could feel instead… guilt, fear, regret… he wasn’t sure he could pinpoint it, but he knew that his father was hiding something. 

“I called this early court because I wanted to discuss a few things before we got down to real business. There is to be a big celebration--”

“Celebration?” Bobby interjected from the shadows. He stepped into view and adjusted his cap nervously. “I don’t mean to barge in here, but, John… c’mon. Now is not the time--”

“Bobby, please. There has been so much blight and pain in the last few years,” John said, then paused to adjust the hint of a smile to appear more heavy than happy. “With Sam’s marriage, and Dean’s return, I think it's appropriate to let the people rejoice for once instead of mourning their loved ones who don’t come home.”

The room fell completely silent. Sam watched as his father starred down the old Maester, and could feel the tension fill the air. Bobby flicked a quick glance Sam’s way--only the briefest of looks--but Sam knew exactly what it meant. 

Tread easy boy...

Sam cleared his throat. “I think a celebration is in order,” he agreed, then paused before continuing. Sam was trying to appear diplomatic and act in accordance with his father’s wishes. He didn’t feel a party of any kind was proper, but, if he could find a way to use this to his advantage, he would do what he had to. “I mean, it's not every day my brother returns in one piece. And my wedding wasn’t exactly the happiest of occasions. Now that some time has passed and (Y/N) and I are embracing our commitment, I think a party is a great idea.”

“I’m surprised at you, Sammy,” John snorted. “I thought you, of all people, would be fighting me.”

“No dad, I’m done fighting you. I am here to fulfil my duties and take on the role you need me to take on. Just like Dean did in Purgatory…” 

Murmurs of agreement began to radiate from the guardsman that had gathered. Sam noticed John’s demeanor change, and could feel how rigid the King had quickly become. He knew he could leave it there, just agree with John and let it go. But something in his gut told him to push it further, twist this to his favor… 

Sam grinned knowingly at John, which seemed to throw the King off even more. 

“For the return of my brother. For the joining of Winchester and Crowley lineage--” Sam heard Dean audibly react to the name Crowley, but Sam didn’t chance a look back. Instead, he held John’s dark eyes and twitched another satisfied smirk. “--and for the battles we are fighting in Purgatory against Eve’s most terrifying monsters. Like my father said, it's time to raise a goblet in good cheer, instead of in mourning. So, let’s throw a feast and raise a cup of ale to ‘We, the Hunters and Protectors of Lawrence’! To all of us, those who fight and those who WILL win the fight every day that it rages on!”

The Winchester Guardsman in the room erupted into shouts and cheers just as Sam had hoped they would. The King’s grin expanded, showing off his deeply dimpled cheeks and his perfect teeth. Yet when Sam watched him, he saw nothing but contempt in his father’s eyes. 

“All right, all right…” John said in an authoritative, deep voice that immediately quieted the room. “There are still matters to discuss at hand. Yes, we can celebrate, but first, we must strategize. I need to speak with Bobby and Pastor Jim. We will reconvene later to hear what Dean has brought us from the front lines.” John paused from addressing the room and turned to Sam. “Sam, for now, why don’t you take Dean to meet your lovely bride. It’s only right he meets the newest member of our family.”

Sam turned to Dean, who nodded swiftly. “I think that’s a great idea. Would love a chance to catch up with my little brother here, and his new wife. Did I hear correctly… she’s a Crowley?”

“Macleod, actually,” Sam corrected. “But yes, let’s leave the King to his business. You and I have some catching up to do.”

“Dude,” Dean rasped and swiped a smack to the back of Sam’s head. “You married a Crowley?! What the HELL were you thinking?!”

“Dean, relax. First of all, it wasn’t my idea. This was all dad,” Sam scoffed as he walked slowly through the maze of stone corridors leading to his chambers. “Trust me, I was NOT on board at first. I fought dad on this tooth and nail.”

“But yet…” Dean huffed as his arms animatedly waved in front of him, as if he was calling someone safe a home plate. 

“Look…” Sam turned and made sure Dean stopped before crashing into him. “I hear you, okay? Don’t think for a second that I went along with this easily.”

“So why did you go along with it at all? He got you brainwashed?”

“No, I just realized that maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong.”

Dean choked on whatever words he wanted to say and just stared at his little brother. 

“Also,” Sam started then turned and kept moving towards his room, “She’s not a Crowley. Crowley is… Crowley. (Y/N) is Crowley’s daughter.”

“Oh, well, that makes it sooo much better,” Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed Sam’s shoulder to make him stop walking. 

“Dude, stop for one second… please, explain this to me. How did this happen?”

“Dad told me it was up to me to produce an heir. Your place was on the front lines. Since I am the resident gimp and can no longer fight, my role is to make him a grandpa.” His tone oozed contempt. “Apparently him and Crowley made some sort of deal. We bind our two families by marriage, have a child, and dad gets reinforcements of Crowley’s minions at the front lines of Purgatory.”

Dean snorted a sarcastic laugh. “Right, because demon deals always work in our favor.”

Sam shrugged unsure of how to answer him. Dean was right, demon deals never ended well for the Winchesters. They had centuries of family history donning the castle walls proving that. He turned to start walking again, but once again, Dean made him stop.

Sam could see the shift of Dean’s focus was going somewhere else, so he didn’t argue. Instead, he waited for his older brother to arrive at whatever point he was trying to get too.

“Let me get this straight, because none of this makes sense. Dad wants you to produce an heir with a blood relative to the King of Hell?” 

“I know, it seems insane.”

“No, what’s insane, Sam, is that you agreed to it in the first place. Why would you say yes to that? Especially since Crowley is the one who killed Jes--”

“Dean!” Sam barked, loud and with enough assertiveness to make Dean slightly recoil. “I know. Okay, I get it. Maybe it will turn out to be the worst choice I could have made. But when I agreed to it, I had a plan. I was going to kill her to get back at Crowley. Take the life of his daughter as revenge for Jess.”

“Okay… and? Apparently she’s still alive, so what’s stopping you?””

“The plan has since changed. (Y/N) isn’t who I thought she would be. Dean… she’s…”

“Oh God…” Dean buried his face in his palms. “Sammy, don’t… don’t tell me you already knocked her up.”

“No!” Sam 

“Ok, good. Because the last thing I need to worry about while slaughtering vamps and ghouls is you playing house with a literal demon spawn.”

“Just meet her, okay. She’s… different.”

“Oh, you mean her eyes don’t glow red and her body isn’t filled with black smoke?”

“No, they don’t. She’s human, Dean. She’s not a demon. She’s human. Though, she’s got some serious knowledge when it comes to magic.”

“Magic? Like… magic, magic?”

Sam nodded and desperately wanted to back up his words by showing his brother how (Y/N) had healed his hip. Instead, he decided to wait. Dean would need more than that if he was to be convinced that (Y/N) was on the level.

“Man, I go away for a year and all Hell breaks loose, literally. So what is the real plan here, Sammy? Because even if the girl is legit, you agreeing with dad leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Dean, just breathe, okay? I promise you, it will all be okay.”

Once Sam left for the War Room, you laid back against the pillows and drew the blankets up to your chin. Fighting the smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth, you closed your eyes and couldn’t help but think about the night before, spent tangled up with your new husband in the tapestries and sheets. He was an amazing lover; from the moment he had first kissed you, until the moment you fell asleep, he attended to every part of your flesh with a gentle, yet fierce longing you didn’t know could exist. 

Not one part of you wanted to want him. In fact the internal struggle that raged between your head and heart was raucous and frustrating. As you lay there with your eyes shut, your hand went to the place between your breasts where the vial of potion normally rested. It was when your hand felt nothing there but your own soft flesh, that you sat up quickly and with force. Panicked, you began to remember more details from the night before. 

In the recklessness of tearing at what remained of each other’s clothing, the vial on the thin cord must have been removed and tossed aside. You had a vague memory of realizing it the night before, but you had been too punch drunk and lustful in Samuel’s arms to do much about it then. 

Kicking off the covers, grabbing at the robe that lay across the back of the chair, you threw it around loosely and fell to the floor in search of the vial. As you frantically searched the room, your fears were starting to grow that Sam would find it, and you would have to explain… too much. Suddenly fear struck you that he would think you used it on him; that the night you two had spent together was contrived and manipulated as part of your plan. Truth is, that is exactly what it had been for, but there was no need for it. You and Sam found your way to each other naturally and coming to terms with the fact that you didn’t hate it, was something else entirely.

Before you could begin to process that feeling, you had to find the vial. Rooting around on the thick shag throw rug and coming up empty, you moved to under the bed, silently praying you would find it easily. Minutes were passing as if you had all the time in the world, and still the vial seemed to have disappeared. Even in the mess of clothing strewn around the room, there wasn’t a trace of it. 

Another panicked thought hit... Sam would be back soon. Too much time had passed now, and you weren’t dressed. If he arrived and found you still half nude in your robe, hair a mess and frazzled, an explanation would be necessary. Nothing that you could say would sound convincing, especially with the bond you two had been forming over plotting against your fathers. Sighing in relent, you got up off the floor and went to the chest where you kept your clothing and personal effects to choose something to wear for the day. 

Not too long after putting the finishing touches on yourself, you heard the rumble of the chamber door begin to open. You drew in a steadying breath and turned from your reflection in the ornate wall-hung mirror, to greet your husband. Opening your mouth to speak, you were immediately silenced when you saw that Sam wasn’t alone.

“(Y/N),” he said, a hint of a secret smile on his face as he reached out to take your hand, pulling you towards them both, “my brother has returned from Purgatory. Dean,” he stepped aside so Dean could come forward, “this is my wife, (Y/N).”

Seeing the much-storied Dean Winchester in the flesh was a shock. He must have been the reason the bells were ringing so early on a Tuesday; the joyous news of his return must be making its way through the city by now. 

“Wow,” you breathed “It’s wonderful to have you home, My Lord.” You bowed your head and gave the slightest curtsy, unsure of the proper greeting, but not wanting to offend. 

“Is this chick for real?” Dean asked in a semi-hushed tone while elbowing Sam in the ribs.

“Shut up,” Sam bit back and shook his head with a snort. “(Y/N), it’s okay, you can drop formalities in front of my brother. He would rather go back to the depths of Purgatory then be called My Lord.”

“I dunno, kinda has a nice ring to it,” Dean quipped, very amused with himself until he caught sight of his brother’s eye roll. “Fine,” he said, and turned his attention back to you. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N), I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you, so I am sure you will have no trouble living up to the hype.” He flashed Sam another distrustful glance then looked back at you again. 

This time though, you could feel the older Winchester brother’s scrutiny as it traveled down your body from your hair to your toes. He examined you quietly as if looking for the marker that would clue him into exactly who you were. Something about the way his green eyes watching you with such distrust made you nervous, as if he could see straight through you and know every thought that staggered through your mind.

“I’m happy to see you home in one piece, Dean. Sam has been very worried for your safety,” you said, trying to keep the nerves in your voice to a minimum. 

Dean gave a half-hearted smile. “Well, he wouldn’t be Sammy if he wasn’t worrying about me.”

“And I suppose you worry about him the same.”

“I do. Which is why, if you try anything to hurt him, I can promise you they will never find your remai--”

“Dean!” Sam’s demeanor and tone said all his brother needed to hear. 

“Alright, I get it. I don’t know you and I am already being a dick. What can I say, its who I am.”

“I would have you no other way,” you said, returning his half-assed smile. “I can promise you that I am nothing like my father. Crowley is an evil man with evil intentions, who sold me off to his enemy to be a broodmare. He thought I would be miserable, pained… angry. Yet, I take great pleasure in the fact that his plan has so far backfired, and I’ve come to find a wonderful, loving man in your brother. Sure, we had our issues, but I think we are of the same mindset.”

“Meaning?” Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest and watching you carefully.

“Meaning… neither of us what to help fulfil whatever crap our fathers are plotting. Instead, we want to stop them. End the War. Bring everyone home.”

DEan scoffed. “End the War? Sweetheart, that war is just getting started. Nothing can end it, not even Eve’s monsters killing every last Hunter and Winchester to walk this Earth.”

“We have to try,” Sam spoke up, holding eyes with his brother, then glancing your way. 

“And somehow having a kid is part of that?”

“It's what our fathers want,” you replied and shrugged. “I have no desire to be a mother. I didn’t even know my own. And, my grandmother, as much as she has taught me, wasn’t exactly a stellar role model.”

“So why the push towards family planning?”

Sam shrugged. “That’s what we are trying to figure out.”

Dean got quiet and began to slowly pace around the room. His hand thoughtfully rubbed at his mouth and down his chin. He didn’t look at you or Sam at all, but kept his focus on the floor in front of him. After a few moments, he stopped in his tracks and shook his head, as if to clear its thoughts.

“Could that be what they are doing?” he whispered as a question, but Sam wasn’t sure if it was directed to him or if Dean was talking to himself. “God I hope that’s not what she was talking about…” he trailed off, clearing not speaking to Sam now. 

“Dean? What are you talking about?” Sam asked. 

If Dean heard his question, he ignored it. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Can’t be… John would never…”

“Dean… dad would never, what?”

Dean’s piercing green eyes met with Sam’s then slowly made their way to you. “Sammy, I don’t… the things I heard on the battlefield… I doubt they’re true. But, still.”

“What is it, Dean?” Sam asked, both his impatience and temper starting to rise. “Tell me!”

“I think Dad and Crowley want to sacrifice your child to Eve.”

Series Tags: @theplaid-wearingmoose / @zombiewerewolfqueen / @silkiechicken / @collette04 / @katiecurls75 / @death-unbecomes-you / @colie87 / @roxytheimmortal / @klanceiscannon14 / @voltage-my2dlove /  @flamencodiva / @xhannahbananax03

Sam Winchester:  @buckyscrystalqueen / @unabashedsoul97

SPN (all): @wings-of-a-raven / @negans-wife / @kazosa / @deans-baby-momma / @hobby27 / @breereadsthings / @maddiepants / @sorenmarie87 / @screechingartisancashbailiff / @winchesterxfamilybusiness / @spnhollis / @unlikelygalaxyiver / @linki-locks11 / @stoneyggirl / @clarinette07 / @lefthologramdeer / @destielhoneybee / @faughnphotography / @katehuntington / @81mysteriouslyme / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @deathofmissjackson / @lauravic / @akshi8278 / @rebelminxy / @idreamofplaid / @fictionalabyss / @blackcherrywhiskey / @his-paradox​ / @closetspngirl​

All Tag Lists are open! If you want to jump on any of these lists, send me an ask with your choice and I will happily add you!

#Sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester AU #Sam winchester x reader #Crowley's daughter #SPN AU #Gothic AU #The Pact Part 6 #The Pact

[taptroupe]

evergrace novel chapter whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaWhoaaaaaaaaaaaaa whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

don’t let this chapter preview illustration fool you. it’s kinda messed up. actually, it’s really messed up. i think this bit implies that evergrace takes place in.... in a strange world, for sure.... like.......

where is darius being taken to? this kind of world, it’s kinda... familiar...

The world below consisted of a mountain range dusted in snow. From the blue sky, the dazzling sunlight shone down on melting snow, creating a small, flowing river.

The base of the river was devoid of snow, but rather it was moss covering the surroundings. After the moss quickly came grass, and immediately beyond that were shrubs, interspersed. The thicker the shrubs became, the more they blended into the forest beyond them, with tall trees... And a grassy clearing.

There were birds in all different colours, shapes, and sizes, they chirped to each other as they flew through the trees. A flock of deer-like animals calmly gathered in the field. The green surroundings bloomed abundantly with brilliantly coloured flowers, and the fruit that dangled were being happily munched away by small animals.

At the borders of this scenery, a dark stain was slowly encroaching. The sign of black smoke. Where the grass refused to grow, where the dust kicked up in a dance, a huge stone wall stood alone on a large piece of land. 

Beyond these walls was a crowded town of sturdy stone and iron buildings. Men and women alike came and went in this town, wearing clothes in a style never seen before.

There was smoke coming from a huge chimney, attached to a house. Not a fire just for warmth, but for eating, for pumping up water, for weaving clothes and for all the other purposes of life. Not just for survival, but to thrive with entertainment, too - plenty of wood, thrown into the fire, turning into smoke. 

In order to burn that wood to the end of its life, axes and saws gripped by the hands of many carved a path into the forest chopping anything no matter big or small. All to bring that wood back into the town.

The animals, chased within the forest, had their way of living chased away too as they became prey for hunters. New forests had to be found in order to build more and more buildings. 

And all that was left was an empty town with polluted water and lifeless earth.

My jaw was just kinda slack this whole time reading this bit. er........ isn’t that like.......... just what life is today? using energy like that, seems like it’s turning wood into coal or something, deforestation, extinction, erm..... that really came out of left field, but perhaps solta would’ve become like a city in north america today. idk does this imply evergrace takes place in like some post-apocalyptic world. well. well.... here comes some more scathing allegories

These invaders, coming across an especially huge forest, were met by villagers who lived along it. These people lived in the natural caverns and homes shaped by the forest. Small in height and with mediocre weapons in hand, they stood bravely against the invaders who desired to chop down the forest.

The invaders were clothed in iron forged in that town, with huge iron weapons and iron horses [tanks? trains? actual horses clothed in armor?]. It was as if an entire army had appeared before the villagers.

In the overwhelming strength of the ironclad soldiers, the villagers were killed one by one, and the forest was set alight. As fire and smoke danced in the air, what stood before the advancing soldiers within the forest..

Was a single girl. 

Though all her companions from the village were simply not there anymore, she stood still against the soldiers with a piercing stare.

A solider yells something at her. She yells back. What they said, it couldn’t be understood in its foreign intonation. 

But watching the solider prepare his spear made it all the more obvious.

The girl continued to tell something to the solider in a heavy tone, and one word stood clear from the mix - Crest. But the solider only smiled, mockingly, and launched the spear at the girl.

At that moment, the Crest on the girl’s shoulder glowed as it took form, illuminating the environment a golden yellow around it. And amidst the light, the girl rose, shouting something that couldn’t be heard... And began to change shape.

idk how to draw wolves and this bit really fucked up so i’m just using this image off wikipedia. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Eurasian_wolf_2.jpg

A golden wolf appeared before them, with a very long tail. She howled, reverberating through the forest. The rain of spears before her - no, not just that, but the soldiers, the horses, everything that touched the glow of the wolf’s body simply disappeared. As if they became specks of dust.

Once she had killed every last solider, she leapt out and away from the forest rendered dead by the invaders, into the land of beginnings, with golden yellow light breezing through the wind as she ran through it all. 

Wherever the wolf galloped, golden streaks formed, covering up even the land of death. And at the very end, the solitary wolf let out a sorrowful howl and disappeared. 

And at that moment, the earth, the people, and all the towns covered by golden yellow light... disappeared into nothingness.

What remained of the wide, barren land was a single floating ball of light. This greenish spectre-like light, floating above the land... 

Green as the Billiana forest.

As if trying to fill in a wound, the Billiana forest fills the land. And that small light has taken on a recognizable shape on the branch of a great Billiana tree - Billiana fruit.

The white fruit turns silver, then slowly into a blue colour. Then green, then to a golden yellow, and then to a faint red. The Billiana leaves rustle as the ripe fruit falls from its branch and onto the soft ground below. 

As soon as the fruit touches the ground, roots begin to form, and a sapling sprouts forth. And in the next second, the trunk of the tree grows up towards the sky - and into another huge tree.

That spectre-like Billiana has disappeared. In that deep gouge of the land, those newly born Billiana trees sprout forth, and within those radiantly lush [blue, technically, but can also be green] leaves, a seemingly endless amount of white flowers bloom.

Those glowing flowers [phosphorescence, so like glow in the dark], as soon as the wind blew, they danced along and rained upon the tattered land. They fell upon the land as if snow, and grass and small trees alike sprouted across the earth.

The petals that remained floating in the wind become small insects, flying down on just blooming flowers. The last remaining petals flew high into the wind, to the faraway forest and villages, until they became the seeds of the next living beings, people and animal alike.

O_O

as much as i’m shocked from translating that, can you imagine how darius must feel. man. that’s a lot. take a breather here. that

was a lot. 

#evergrace novel funtime #i'm. damn