#'What was it you said? A little sacrifice?'

[firecrackerroot]

Going moderately to highly insane about Rio saying Agatha should take her power (for them to have a fair fight) and Agatha responding that the offer is cute but the transference would kill her to which Rio just smirks like isn't that the point, my love except its not. Its absolutely not the point. We literally only seen them for such a short period of time, know so little about their backstory and yet I can already tell you that there's no way in hell that either one of them would kill the other. They're the kind of secretly loving enemies would tease and torture each other forever but godforbid someone else tries some shit on either of them. Rio literally brought Agatha back to reality, that's love, bitch. Everyone always says the line between love and hate is very thin, well, these two are walking along it like circus professionals while pushing each other to the point of near fall only to be the ones pulling each other back up. It's beautiful. It's gay. And fuck, am I deeply into it. Brava!

EDIT: after deeply pondering, now I believe they were lovers (binded by one of those unbreakable bond spells that mean they can't kill each other) who conjured up a child, whom I assume was a Pinochio sort of kid with Rio being an earth witch thus giving life to a tree would make sense, and then Rio convinced Agatha they should sacrifice him to get the Darkhold because that would help them turn him into a real boy so Agatha said let's but once they got the book, she hid from Rio since what they did was highly fucked up, and the kid never returned, hence why Rio asked if Agatha remembered why she hates her. They created life but it wasn't the life they wanted and playing God teared them apart.

[bibibbon]

You know? It's kinda of funny how LOV fans treat the whole "I want to be a hero for villains" of Shigaraki as something groundbreaking, when the same concept was already introduced in the series (and was done better) with Nine.

Unlike Shigaraki, Nine literally meet his team members when he saved their lives. In Chimera's case it was when a bunch of racists were about to execute him just for being a mutant.

Nine also was a hero for them in a more thematic level, as he not only save their lives but actually give his team mates a reason for live and fight. He offered them the chance to fight for create a better world. For me it's quite remarkable how Nine despite being a homeless and chronically ill person, go for save people he view as equally oppressed by the world.

He was selfless enough to sacrifice his own health using his quirk to save Chimera despite it was destroying his body, and without expecting nothing in exchange for share a dream Nine a hand to people at their lowest point.

That's much more of an "All Might for the villains" or whatever Horikoshi tried to make Shigaraki in the final moments. Or hell Nine even acts better as a foil to Deku in the sense both are selfless individuals who fight despite their bodies are crumbling, just for the save of the persons who are important to them.

How ironic is that Nine, the original movie villain that was supposed to be just a prototype for the "final villain" of MHA, ended executing the same themes way better than Shigaraki.

Hi @nyc3 ���

A main reason as to why people treat shigaraki's I want to be a hero for the villains ideology better than nine's is simply because I assume a lot of people forgot the plot of the 2nd movie or haven't read the one shot manga chapter mha leauge of villains undercover. All of this is a shame because I heavily agree that nine's version of I want to be a hero and hope for the villains is executed and built up 10000x times better than shigarakis and nine had a fraction of the screentime that shigaraki got which is saying a lot.

Actually rewatching the film and rereading the manga one-shot has showed me that nine and shigarakis arcs are pretty similar with nine's having a better execution and shigaraki having more wasted potential.

The movie sets it clear that nine and shigaraki are supposed to be foils for one another so it makes sense that they would share parallels. However, you would expect that by the time nine is defeated that shigaraki would naraatively prove to us that he is ultimately the better character but in truth he doesn't and nine's downfall by shigaraki ends up being quite disappointing to me.

Another problem within the narrative is also the lack of interactions that nine and shigaraki have. I think that nine is essential to helping shigaraki and start to infulence him to realise that he is just a puppet and should develop a goal outside of just destruction. If shigarakis goal stays as destruction then the destruction of what? Everything? And how would that benefit anyone including him?

Nine like you said meets his teammates and saves them. He sees his teammates suffer like him and chooses to help them and they choose to help him. There is a clear relationship being developed and all the characters come together for the same goal, with similar backgrounds and varying styles yet they work.

When nines team see him in distress they run to help him and vice versa. The team has trust and overall everything that a lot of the leauges dynamics and development lacks.

Nine seeks destruction but his path is clear. He seeks to liberate and let nature flow its course with the strong overtaking the weak and finally being leaders instead of feared and abused because they don't fit into the small little box that is the mha's status quo. Nine plans to get stronger while being fully conscious and knowing the consequences. He makes a logical and heroic decision where we see him realise that he is trading his own autonomy and agency in becoming a lab rat all in exchange for power and a slim chance at achieving his goal.

This is all contrasted with shigaraki and his actions. We don't see his goal of destruction develop into a much more consistent and precise idea like destroying the giver and status quo. We don't see shigaraki fully conscious to come to the conclusion that yes the doctor is evil but he needs power. We lack everything from shigaraki and the information of chapter 419 just makes his character worse as shigaraki was a lab rat through and through.

Horikoshi tries to make shigaraki the better character but nine outclassed him in every way possible from the traumatic beginnings, to the developed flawed goal and to the final bitter end where we see nine crumble due to various factors 1)shigarakis decay and 2) his illness whereas shigaraki dies due to afo still being a lab rat that fulfills his purpose.

All of this reminds me of the ask that said mha's manga ending is a sloppy edited 2nd movie ending (except I was only looking at it from a hero perspective but it even applies to the villains)

Nine deserved better!

[thelostgirl21]

So, you are telling me that Jaskier used to wear outfits the color of the sea in Season 1...

That he constantly complains about his feet hurting, or struggling with keeping his footing while having to wear boots (is the problem his actual boots or a lack of early practice in life?!)...

That he got all excited at the thought that Geralt might catch him a fish to eat...

That a huge part of his identity and the pride he takes in himself is tied to his singing voice and abilities...

That his songs have been described as having the power to sing a king off his clothes...

That helping his best friend in the whole wide world bathe after rubbing soothing chamomile onto his lovely bottom is typical friendship behavior to him...

That he vulnerably asked for Geralt to get away for a while with him, and head to the (west?) coast, in the hopes that he might be able to prove himself a worthy [travel] companion (works whether you interpret the interest as romantic or queerplatonic).

And then he basically implied that (returning home with Geralt?) might be what would please him most.

That the very first thing he did after Geralt returned to him and got him out of his cell in Season 2, is take off his top and jump into the freaking nearest body of water!

That he's hypersensitive to the way people on land start stinking after a while (including himself), and will openly suggest they should bathe (or downright bathe them himself)!

That he talks with animals...

That you had him fall in love with a human prince in Season 3...

... then had him sing a song about a human prince that falls in love with a siren to Ciri right before you had him go meet with said prince, share his first kiss with him, and make love to him in a woodshed!

... only to show a clip from "Sirens of the Deep" revealing that the Netflix version of Jaskier is from

Bremervoord

a.k.a. The vassal state of Cidaris and one of the places that goes the furthest west into the sea on the Continent!

Bremervoord, with an economy running primarily on pearls fishing.

Bremervoord, the place where the story of Jaskier's Season 3 song, "A Little Sacrifice" takes place...

A place where a prince (though I think it's a duke in the actual short story) meets a siren, falls in love with her, and willingly leaves his human life behind to follow her at sea.*

*according to the song, at least! And I'm not sure it ends well for the prince of the song, because that part about him sinking to darkest night sounds a bit ominous if you ask me... The book's short story has a different conclusion.

You're basically telling me that Jaskier comes from a place on the coast that goes far into the sea to the west, a place where merpeople and humans occasionally interact, and that he didn't really feel like talking about where he's from, because he felt like the only way for him to ever be able to "become himself" was to leave his home behind...

... AND YOU EXPECT ME NOT TO LATCH ONTO THAT POPULAR MERMAN!JASKIER THEORY?!

OR INSTINCTIVELY START DEVELOPING A BUNCH OF HEADCANONS ABOUT IT?

For example :

What if Jaskier keeps repeating that "he's just a bard" not because he's actually dismissing how good, influential, or powerful he is...

... but because he chose to give up his tail to permanently become a human, and he doesn't like to be reminded that he doesn't quite "fully belong" with humanity, because there's something a bit different and "unique" about his singing.

What if, growing up as a merboy, he'd kept feeling like he was born in the wrong body and with the wrong species given his brethren's attitude about singing as an artform.

What if when merpeople sing, they typically rely on pure melodies without lyrics, and argue that only humans and other species of the land - with their inferior vocal capabilities - must rely on something as primitive as words and lyrics to inspire emotions and make ideas take root into other people's minds.

What if they do have a singing speech pattern, but when it comes to artistic expression, the songs are purely melodic.

But Jaskier, after listening to some of the folk songs that the local bards enjoy singing by the fire at the beach, often accompanied by a lute or other instruments, fell in love with the way the words of those songs flow and sound.

Perhaps he revealed himself to Essi then, and that, instead of being scared of him, she agreed to show him how to play the lute, speak her language, and sing the way humans do.

And when he did fully grasp the beauty and the power of using verbal poetry into songs, he knew he could never look back.

What if Essi was the first person to ever really see him for who he was and treat him as family, hence why he loves her like a little sister.

Maybe "the Lettenhoves" are basically a group of merpeople with no actual blood relation, that lost their own families and were rejected by them when they chose to make the full transition from merperson to human.

By pretending to be blood relatives, they've managed, however, to realistically pass as a large human noble family, acquire a bunch of lands and estates over the years that is passed to each new generation that wants them, and each new member is given a certain amount of money when they become one of the Lettenhoves to begin their new life on land!

They aren't extremely close, because they each have their own lives and personal ventures (very few go into singing careers), but they are still people that understand what being a human born at sea feels like, and that will be there to offer each other help and support if need be!

And so, Jaskier was able to go study at the University of Oxenfurt and learn as much of the human world and its arts as he could!

But, while his voice remains a bit more powerful and influential than most humans that were born on land, that influence comes with a "curse"...

Most people that instinctively fall under the charm of his melodies (note: Jaskier can use his voice to make an audience more susceptible to anger and annoyance when he sings, too. An especially useful skill to have when you're relying on food being thrown at you to eat... Hence why Geralt's lack of emotional response to his singing when they met was so intriguing!) will typically only care about how they make them feel, rather than how Jaskier himself was feeling when he wrote his songs.

Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri are all immune to his siren charms - and dwarves appear to be more resistant as well - but, while his songs inspire people, and hearing him sing them "live" with his actual voice tends to make people become instantly infatuated with him (or immediately hate him, should Jaskier wish to repel rather than attract them)...

... they rarely ever see him or seemingly attempt to connect with him on an intimate, emotional level, like they would with another human being.

And so, every time Jaskier is reminded of how much influence he appears to have over how people see the world when he uses his voice, Jaskier's tendency to remind them that he's "just a bard" is because he wishes people would connect with his humanity, too, rather than what he can do.

Regardless of him being able to pass as someone that was born on land and started his life in a fully human body, he knows that his voice will always carry some remnant of his siren abilities.

And that this difference appears to be preventing him from emotionally and physically connecting with other human beings that weren't born at sea like him, the way he wishes he could.

And so, that's why he was initially hesitant to sing for Radovid, and he kept insisting that he wasn't in a "singing mood" that day.

Because he knew that, the moment Radovid heard his singing voice, he might stop listening to him and trying to connect.

But there was something in the way Radovid insisted - while asking for Jaskier to pick his favorite song and showing a sincere curiosity about listening to what pleased him most - that made Jaskier ultimately choose to risk it.

And, while Radovid was obviously affected by the sound of his voice (to the point where he felt the need to pretend his speechlessness was caused by drunkenness), it was also very clear that he'd been listening.

Not only was his gaze very sharp and his eyes clear and bright while Jaskier was singing - seemingly attempting to analyse every note and word - but, for once, the things Radovid was complimenting him about weren't related to his ability to make people feel and experience things...

For once, what Radovid was claiming made Jaskier so special wasn't the beauty or power of his voice, or how catchy the melodies of the songs he'd sang to him were.

It wasn't even about how Jaskier's lyrics had made him feel.

He'd told Jaskier that what made him so special was his ability to see people for who they really are rather than who they pretend to be.

He'd essentially told him that his ability to truly comprehend those around him was his gift - that he had a unique ability to connect with them at the core... the very thing Jaskier had always felt that he was lacking.

And when Jaskier pushed him for more, all Radovid told him was that he didn't know yet, but was determined to figure it out.

"You connect strongly with others and my desire is to understand and connect with you."

That is what Radovid had taken away from who he was, even after having heard him sing, and Jaskier couldn't help but feel like he'd found a kindred spirit in that human.

Someone stuck in a world and a birth family that simply couldn't understand and accept him as he was - constantly hiding parts of himself to survive.

Radovid had then agreed to help him with the whole situation with Rience - despite the fact that Jaskier hadn't used any song to attempt to suggest he should, just genuinely asked for his help.

And - if that hadn't been enough - that prince had gone one step even further by asking him if Geralt knew how lucky he was to have him, after Jaskier had been singing about his self-worth issues when it came to relationships and his fear of never being good enough - or human enough - for a fellow human (or mutated human) partner.

He'd been listening to him.

He might have been born on land, and he might not have been immune to Jaskier's siren abilities, but Radovid still hadn't lost sight of who he was, nor been tempted to start obsessing about owning him or treating him like a prized possession.

And so, Jaskier tentatively begins to allow himself to hope...

Until Radovid does something truly unexpected that none of his prior human, elven or dwarven suitors or lovers had ever done before...

Learn his song.

Sirens are typically immune to the power that another siren's voices carry... until they fall in love.

One of the ways to know if a fellow merperson is alterously or romantically drawn to you is to sing back one of their own melodies to them, and see how they will respond.

Should they feel that instinctive, near irresistible pull towards the melody, and vice versa, then the two sirens will often start trying to discover and explore different ways they can learn to harmonize and use their voices to complement each other's, and create new shared melodies that will resound through the sea.

And, for the very first time in his life, Jaskier finally understands how people feel when they listen to him sing.

Despite the fact that the "siren's melody" being sung back to him is a human song he wrote, with human lyrics, accompanied by human instruments...

Despite the fact that Radovid himself is most definitely not a siren but very much human - fumbling a bit with Jaskier's lute, visibly nervous, too shy to allow his voice to rise above a whisper...

To Jaskier, it's the most beautifully mesmerizing "siren's melody" he's ever heard in his existence! It's filled with warmth, love, understanding, a promise of unconditional acceptance and safety...

It's absolutely intoxicating, he can barely breathe, feels like he's on the very edge of losing his sanity, and it takes all the power he has to avoid launching himself right at him!

And if a human can make him feel this way singing back to him a song filled with poetry and lyrics - rather than a classic, traditional siren's melody - then maybe there's never been anything wrong with Jaskier or the way he's always preferred to sing!

His people made him feel unwanted, but the sea never did! It probably would have been welcoming to a lute-playing merman singing like a bard, if his people hadn't been such close-minded arses!

Jaskier feels at home on land and has never once regretted his choice, but maybe he still has a right to also be a child of the sea, regardless of him having ultimately chosen a pair of legs over his fins!

And maybe Radovid would love to see parts of his old home some day - even if they can only access the surface of it, rather than go explore everything hidden in the water's depths (unless Yennefer has a spell that would allow Radovid to breathe under water as he does. Because Jaskier would never trust a sea witch with Radovid's life!).

And if Jaskier himself can be mesmerized by Radovid's song and feel like he would let that man lead him anywhere and do whatever he wants with him, without any desire to own and control him; maybe he'd simply been trying to connect with the wrong people.

Radovid is the first person he's ever met that seems to be able to connect with both the human and the siren part of him. And when Jaskier offers to help him work on his lute playing and singing, what he's truly saying is that he wants them to learn to harmonize their voices together and create their own melodies...

It's an intimate need Jaskier still has, and he's finally found himself a mate that appears to fully get him, and be able to fulfil those needs.

Of course, then the whole mess with Cirilla happens, and for a moment there Jaskier loses faith that any of it was ever real!

Who was he kidding!? The Redanian Intelligence kept insisting that they knew everything about everyone! Maybe they'd figured out Jaskier used to be a merman, done their research, noticed that Jaskier "fancied" the prince, and instructed him to surprise him and trick him into lowering his defenses, by courting him the way a fellow merman would!

He really should have known!

But then, when he finds Radovid alone, lost, and hiding, he realizes that Radovid had never meant to trick or hurt him.

Radovid had just been genuinely afraid, and trying to deal with the threat of a looming war as best he could by seeking Ciri's help.

And now, the war he'd attempted preventing from happening had begun, he'd clearly internalized Jaskier's earlier blame, and that spoon of a man was sufficiently bonded to him by now that he might just allow himself to be captured and killed if he doesn't do something about it!

And then, Jaskier himself might end up symbolically 'washing ashore' somewhere and letting himself die of heartbreak, for fuck's sake!

Because merpeople are dramatic as fuck and they feel the loss of friends and family in a way that's devastatingly sharp. Being rejected by a queerplatonic or romantic partner - or having them die on them - is the worst type of injury one could inflict upon them!

When he'd sung about having also survived, no thanks to Geralt, he'd fully meant it! That loss had nearly killed him!

If he wants to survive this, he needs to figure out a way to keep Radovid safe, and then make sure that Geralt and the rest of his family are safe also, because he doesn't know how he'd manage to continue to live in this world if the war ends up taking everything from him in a way where all hope would be lost of ever getting any of them back!

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Sorry this took so long. I moved city and pretty much have a new life. Still obsessed with Rust, though, so some shit sticks

Warnings: 18+, talk of war, alcohol, drugs, sex work, talks of past domestic violence, smut, just genuine misery between the two of them

America venerates suffering, that's what Travis had always told Rust. Sacrifice isn't pure if it isn't coated in a blood so red and so hot that your family can smear over their words, for centuries to come, excusing their comfort, their indulgence, their ignorance. They are afforded that comfort off of slaughter beyond their imagining. At least, that's what had happened after 'nam. A hero for his fucking country was the propaganda they had fed Travis; squash the bug of communism and, along with it, massacre millions of innocents, because what is America without its sons who are willing to fight for it.? Yeah, a fucking hero for a father, who's night terrors kept both of them up at night and who kept his engraved lighter saying High Speed Low Drag in his hunting jacket, always. That same lighter that Rust had used to light his first cigarette: rolled up flimsily in newspaper with the leftover tobacco and tufts of filter that he'd scraped from Travis' cigarette butts. The same lighter that Cassandra is now using to light her Marlboro Gold, hands shaking,

'Rust. That's all I get, huh? Not even a fucking surname?!' she spits, through a shaky exhale.

'I ain't gonna give you my surname. The less you know about me, the better,' Rust says back, his stoic demeanour attempting to mask that churning in his stomach. One that he has realised isn't for him but for Cassandra.

'Is Rust even your actual name?'

'You want a fuckin' social security number, too?' Rust drawls dryly.

'Don't you-Don't,' Cassandra's head shoots up from where it's been in her hands, her shaking tone now gaining a momentum of uncontrollable anger, 'Jesus-fuck. You men are all the fucking same. I-I ain't staying in this fucking place, anymore. Fuck it, fuck you, fuck every goddamn person in this wasteland of a place!'

Rust regards her with an even look,

'You ain't going anywhere. Not tonight. You ain't in the right state.'

'You ain't my daddy, motherfucker.'

'Goddamn right, I ain't but I'm also the only person you have who doesn't want to take advantage of you. So, hedge your bets tomorrow, baby, but tonight you're stayin' here,' Rust's voice is lapidary, stopping Cassandra in her tracks as she starts to shove clothes and books into her duffel bag.

'I said: you ain't my daddy and you sure as hell ain't keeping me in a place where I don't want to be,' Cassandra says in a tone equally as gelid, throwing her duffel bag over her shoulder. That elegant, fine-boned shoulder tinged with its bronzed hue; some of the love bites that Rust had left a few nights ago decorating Cassandra's collarbone. Rust fears that the sentiment festering under his skin is nostalgia. A nostalgia that scares him and, then, makes him cruel,

'No, Cassandra. I ain't your daddy cause all he did for you was get heavy handed with you and cut you up with his empty liquor bottles when he really wanted to teach you about mouthin' off at him.'

The colour drains from Cassandra's face,

'How the fuck do you know about that?' a sudden spark of spite reaches her as she sneers, 'Pull my file in your spare time, huh?'

Rust grabs her arm and yanks up her tank top, ignoring her yelp. He nods to the fine, white line along her ribcage,

'I ain't a fuckin' idiot, Cassandra. Skateboardin' fall, my ass,' Rust snarls, holding her ribcage with a calloused hand. Cassandra viciously claws at his hand, tears threatening to spill from her eyes,

'Get off! Get the fuck off!' and Rusts lets her go cause in that moment, the smooth, sultry cadence made slightly husky from after-sex cigarettes reverts back to the pleading of a little girl. Cassandra's words are devoid of any real bite, Rust notes. All that rage has been stripped away and all that she is left with is the panic of a little girl's voice turning into burning sobs in her throat; the stale cookies in her stomach turning sour from terror. There's that wide eyed looked, too. He can see it as Cassandra hastily covers herself back up and rearranges the duffel bag back onto her shoulder.

'Fuck you, Rust,' she says his name like it's a poison that she needs to spit from her mouth before it corrodes the flesh into a pulpy mess. Corrosion. Rust. That's what he is, it's what he does because sometimes corrosion is needed to get to the bone of things; to see what everyone else in too caught up in their delusions or affectations about fucking Natural Law to truly comprehend.

'Don't you fu-Cassandra!' Rust's voice boils up from his chest in a rough bark, watching Cassandra explode out of the trailer door, almost stumble down the rusted metal steps and collapse into the red dirt. He thinks he can't get any angrier until he realises that she's pocketed the keys to his Harley, on her way out, and sees her bolt over to where it's parked, behind the trailer. A cloud of dust rises up as the bike rumbles out of neutral and Cassandra desperately revs on the accelerator; her legs hardly off of the ground before the Harley tears away. In other circumstances, the dramatics of the exit would have made Rust scoff and chalk it up to youth's thirst for impact: the flurry of a scene. Not now. Not when this kid is tearing down a highway in a bike that doesn't have enough gas to make it to Liberty, let alone wherever the fuck Cassandra thinks she's headed. A kid, Rust thinks, A fuckin' kid that I've pulled into the abyss with me. Rust calls her a kid now but knows that when he finds her, he'll treat her like she's grown. A sentiment that propels him into his truck, cursing to himself as the engine splutters.

It doesn't take long to track Cassandra down; there's only one road from the trailer park that lead to the freeway. No doubt, where Cassandra is headed to. Ride fast and hard, and get the fuck out when the heat starts to sting: the classic cocktail of self-preservation cooked up by kids who've already been burned. There are too many of them down here, below that Mason-Dixie line. Rust would know. Fuck, if he hasn't spent his entire career on the force witnessing the aftermath. Drugs, abuses, assaults, homicides: you name it. The abuser becomes the abused; Nietzsche's infinite return has those poor kids falling flat on their faces into the nice shit storm of generational maladjustments that their parents left for them. Shattered dreams, skin sucked dry from mosquitos, teeth black and rotting from sweet tea, underneath that sticky southern sun. Rust wants to believe that it's an innate sense of duty towards these kids is why he's currently violating every Highway Code there is. And for part of him, it is. The other part, however, won't allow himself the comfort of what he knows is a lie. What started as pure sex appeal has started to morph into something deeper, messier.

The bike has even less gas than he thought as, the first Texaco that he sees, has Cassandra next to the pumps trying to wrench open the bike's gas lock. She wants to be caught, Rust knows, Wants me to chase after her, show her I give a shit. If she didn't, she would've gotten a hell of a lot more reckless. He watches her, almost with pity, as her pulls into the gas station and slows the truck to a halt, the breaks groaning with their lack of galvanisation. Rust shoves the car door open, his leather boots landing heavily on tepid asphalt,

'Get your ass over here,' his voice rough, as he strides over to Cassandra.

'I told you to get the fuck away from me,' she whips around, her fury making her abandon her previous task.

'Get in the fuckin' truck, Cassandra. I ain't doing the whole scorned boyfriend act for these nosey fuckers,' Rust deadpans, his ice blue gaze conveying to her just how fucking pissed he is.

'Did you hear me, motherfucker? I said to go back to your junkie biker brothers, find some hooker so that you can fuck out your half-baked emotional needs and leave me the hell alone,' Cassandra says with such venom dripping from her mouth that she almost fully means it; warm milk out of hand, she resorts to spite. Not fully, though: Rust can see the tears glazing her eyes and that's enough for him. A firm hand comes to grasp Cassandra's arm and put her in what is practically a headlock as Rust drags her to the truck. Cassandra's duffel bag slips off of her shoulder as Rust holds her firmly against his chest, bicep right up against the column of her throat. Some old man up from his pump, spit collecting at the corners of his mouth as he calls over,

'Everything alright over there?' Not from the area, Rust notes. Not solely due to the licence plate and milky arms but the slight wariness of his expression. A man unacquainted with the imperatives that the arrid terrain commands. The violence. Cassandra takes it upon herself to drop the unwanted attention as she chokes out,

'They don't teach you to mind your own fucking business in Iowa?!' the rage in her voice stemming from a deep humiliation in how she must look, Rust's arm tight against her neck. Rust takes in the man's mortification and grits into her ear,

'Shut the fuck up.'

He opens the truck door and shoves her in, slamming the door and heading over to the driver's side to catch her as she climbs out. Rust concedes her a heavy slap to the face before getting in, essentially crowding her back to the passenger's side. As he starts the ignition and pulls out of the gas station, Cassandra is eerily quiet, tears leaving hot tracks of salt and mascara on her cheeks. Rust debates on whether it's shame at getting caught or just pure desolation at, once again, finding herself completely fucked over, until he feels his jeans' waistband go slack. He feels the air hit that sweaty patch of back where the barrel of his .38 S&W was pressed and licks the inside of his cheek in an almost smirk. There she is, Rust thinks, knowing full well Cassandra's loathing of acquiescence as she points the gun at his temple, sweat curling his caramel hairs.

'Pull over or, I swear to God, I'll put your brains all over your goddamn car windows,' Cassandra's voice is firm but Rust sees her fingers trembling. Red. Her nails are lacquered the same colour as a Shirley Temple, poised on cool gun metal of the safety.

'You don't want to shoot me, Cass,' Rust says, his tone flat.

'Oh, I don't?' Cassandra scoffs.

'Nah, you wanna make a fuckin' scene so that I'll burst into tears and beg for your fuckin' forgiveness or some shit. That ain't gonna work on me, baby. I'm around too many pussies who ain't man enough to pull a fuckin' trigger, as it is. I can tell when someone's bluffin'. And you, Cass, I can sure as hell tell when you're bluffin'.'

'How are you so sure?'

Rust looks at a small trail leading off of the main road before sparing a sideways glance,

'That gun ain't even cocked.'

Cassandra narrows her eyes and pulls the hammer back,

'Happy?'

Rust steers the truck off of the road, onto the rocky country road, before stopping and turning to her,

'You wanna go? Go.'

Cassandra's gaze falters before she contrives it into that practiced indifference,

'You're kicking me out?' she says, her voice so fragile that Rust almost feels bad for putting her in this situation but tough shit: wisdom comes hard.

'Nah, just callin' your bluff. You got 30 seconds to go, if you want to,' Rust says, not even facing her but staring straight out ahead.

Cassandra stares at him, lowering the gun, and looks around helplessly. The tears come back, not when she looks at Rust's stony expression or the destitute surroundings, but when she looks at her duffel bag. All her life fitting into some beat up gym bag and, now, she's about to throw away the one thing that can protect her. A gun isn't shit compared to his hand on her ass and his fingerprints bruising her thighs; not to these fucking animals. Rust gives her the mercy of two minutes of silence before speaking,

'You ain't movin',' he says more as a statement than a question.

'Don't mock me,' Cassandra murmurs out.

'I ain't mockin' you.'

'You know that I ain't gonna go. I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to.'

'You can and you will, eventually.'

'I ain't sure, Cra-Rust. You ain't either.'

'Use Crash. I don't need you gettin' confused and fuckin' this up,' Rust says, gruffly.

'You sure that's it?'

'Am I sure 'what's' it?' irritation starting to creep into his tone.

'That the reason you don't want me using your real name is cause I'll jeopardise your cover.'

'I thought you were smarter than that, Cass.'

'What the fuck's that supposed to mean?' Cassandra suddenly straightens, her voice hard but still slightly tremulous.

'I thought you were smarter than to get your emotions mixed up with what is gonna keep your ass outta the crossfire.'

It's a low blow but it hits home. Cassandra looks down at her scraped knees, gravel and raw skin, before looking up again; her voice now a whisper,

'Do you feel sorry for me?'

Rust clenches his jaw, the simple juvenility of the question making him feel sick. He knows neither of them will be able to bear whatever tidal wave of sentiment is about to breach their carefully instated distance. The partial revelation of his true identity has already been more of an unmasking than he can stomach; especially to someone he cares so deeply for as Cassandra. Her knowledge of 'Rust' throws whatever the fuck they are doing with each other into something that goes beyond sex and protection, and Rust can begin to feel everything veering off track. He won't allow her to expose herself to him like this, not when he's already emotionally fucked her over so much, today. So, Rust finally turns to her and says,

'Take off your top.'

Cassandra falters, her voice still that hoarse whisper as she ask,

'What?'

Rust wills himself to turn his pity into scorn,

'Did I fuckin' stutter? Take off your top. Those shorts, too,' he says, his tone unnervingly even and made rough from his Camels. Cassandra stares at him for a moment before indulging him: shirt discarded first before she lifts her hips and awkwardly shimmies out of them. Rust notices her holding her side, her hand cradling the scar; something she's never really done until now. Not until Rust had forced her shame into the searing white light of recognition. He knows what Cassandra must be thinking, grouping him into that homogenous, male blob of ill-intent: her next job, her next dance, her next humiliation. He tries to pretend that it doesn't slightly tear him the fuck up when she looks at him with those eyes, now cold.

'What now?' Cassandra asks, sitting up with her spine long and upright, shoulders terse.

Rust pats his lap,

'Come here.'

'Rust, I-'

'I ain't ever remember sayin' you could call me Rust, Cass,' he says harshly, completely disregarding whatever appeal Cassandra's about to make over how to treat her. Pretty words that don't mean shit to Rust nor to this godforsaken part of the country. A place where women bring guns in their purses to hookups and there are wards for the babies born hooked onto opioids, has no use for floral, storybook sex. Here, it's fast and it's hard and it's painful and it's often paid for. Cassandra knows this type of sex, or rather its corruption. So, she shuts up and sits in Rust's lap; swallowing the bitter pill of docility.

'Move 'em to the side,' Rust taps the waistband of her panties with his knuckles. For a moment, a light tinge comes across Cassandra's collarbones at the crassness of the act. She hooks her fingers into the waistband, moving to pull them down, before Rust grabs her wrist,

'I say to take 'em off, Cass?'

'No,' Cassandra murmurs, trying to asses if Rust is pissed beyond belief or on some pretty loopy downers.

'So, you can hear me. I was thinkin' otherwise, given some of the shit you've managed to pull,' that dangerous mix of anger and worry begins to seep into Rust's tone. He can feel her wet heat through the lace of her panties; almost disappointed that she can get turned on by this shit. Old habits die hard, Rust thinks, lighting a cigarette and leaning back into his seat,

'Undo my belt.'

Cassandra stares at him, holding unflinching eye contact as she unbuckles him and unzips his fly. It's like a game of fucking chicken: which of them is willing to degrade the other more, for the sake of self-preservation. Rust exhales a slow stream of smoke watching Cassandra's thighs tremble from the exertion of holding her position. He quirks an eyebrow,

'You gonna tap out on me, baby?'

'No.'

'You wanted this shit that bad, didn't you, Cass?' Rust says, the forcefulness in his tone coming out of the pit in his stomach when he thinks what he's done to her.

'I did. I wanted this shit. Don't paint me out to be some dumbass little girl who opened her legs to the first man who reminded her of her daddy. That ain't what this is. I'm tougher than that, you know I am,' her voice starting to tremble again. Her hands absentmindedly wrapped around her midsection., as if to protect herself from the next laceration.

'You want it? Then move those fuckin' panties to the side.'

Cassandra stares at Rust with that fucking stupid bravado of rapacity, before gripping the crotch of them to the side; the tepid truck air mixing with the heady scent of her arousal and Rust's cigarette smoke,

'Go on. Fuck me like a man.'

Rust looks up at her while he pulls down his boxers, before grabbing her bruised hips and slamming her onto him. Not giving a fuck about the sharp, shuddering inhale. The lamb must learn to run with the wolves and Cassandra is far from a lamb. Especially as she is now, gulping down her whimpers of pain, desperately rocking her hips against his coarse hair to stimulate her little nub. She buries her head into the crook of his neck, nose rubbing against his jugular as Rust lands a firm slap on her ass,

'Don't get sentimental on me now, Cass,' he manages to grit out, feeling her arousal literally drip down him, 'Fuck am I gonna do with a weak lil' thing, huh?'

Cassandra tries to nod, her eyes squeezed shut and her groans muffled into the leather of Rust's jacket. Rust wraps his arms around her, holding her in a vice grip for the third time today, all of which have been some form of degradation or excavation of the dirty, nasty shit that Cassandra keeps hidden under sultry, bedroom eyes and that cutthroat tongue. At least this time, the aggression of the act is more tangible; neither of them are allowed any delusions. Not with how Cassandra's spit smears against Rust's stubble when he fucks into her especially hard or the cutting of taught lace on her hipbone or Rust's still lit cigarette burning dangerously close to Cassandra's dark waves. Apt symbolism, Rust thinks, as she angles her head to inhale from the tip; eyes starting to roll slightly at the mixture of in adverted friction of her bundle of nerves, and Rust's angry, frantic pace. She turns to look him right, as she leans her head in him, exhaling the smoke right into his mouth. Rust catches some powdery grey wisps, shoving Cassandra down once more onto him. As she groans, her hands never loosening, Rust leans in to mutter into her ear,

'You never fuckin' learn. Do you, baby?'

[3rdvoice]

New letter column

--- Question about visual design... I believe that making stuff that’s fun and exciting to you, the author, is hugely important to staying engaged in a project. That said, there are times when the direction that most benefits the work isn’t the one that you’re most interested in. 1. How do you approach finding that balance self indulgent design/writing/whatever (things that you find personally appealing or enjoyable to draw) and design that’s less "fun" but serves a purpose. 2. When are "sacrifices"-- exchanging fun for variety or cohesion or flow-- worth it? How much do you think about "fun" when designing? --- Question about "secrets"... The story may not really be *about* the world’s secrets, but given your considerable, cross-platform efforts to avoid spoilers, them nonetheless seems important to what you’re trying to accomplish. 1. How important do you think "secrets" are to this kind of story. Would it be the same if you had a lore blog where you answered everyone’s burning questions? 2. How do you cultivate the self-discipline to avoid blabbing about your ideas. Maybe you don’t struggle with this, but I definitely do. C * September 9, 2024

I’m struggling a little with this framing around self-indulgence! I maybe don’t think of it in a parallel way to you. The whole thing is kind of self-indulgent to me… like cohesion, everything feeling of a piece and moving forward to build a big structure, this is self-indulgent, this is my aesthetic, basically. In terms of vis dev at least, I definitely HAVE built my approach around things I like to draw. I made this setting with room to mess around in ways I can’t predict… A lot of “staying engaged” for me, I have discovered after some thousands of pages of comics, is about planning in ways that don’t lock me in too tightly, and allowing the whole process to have some room for exploration throughout.

The avoiding revealing setting-details thing is firstly just a big central philosophical principle I have about this stuff, which maybe isn’t as widely-held as it used to be. Any story is about sequential information revelation… I am designing the story in every moment to reveal information in a particular order, and I don’t want to undercut the integrity and cohesion of the story by revealing things elsewhere out-of-order. This feels like a basic principle people making stories have kind of always had to abide by! You can’t rely on a reader knowing stuff about your story that’s outside of the text in question (I am interested in how habits of writers and readers seem to be shifting around this lately however). So it’s not ABOUT the secrets maybe, or calling them “secrets” puts too fine a point on it, but I am intentional with how things are laid out!

This info-revelation thing is maybe a little complicated by the literary device of the “INVENTED SETTING” that figures so loudly in my comics. The way we do invented settings lately depends on a shared illusion of an objective PLACE, with its own existence outside of the story. The TRICK, as a writer, is I think to see this illusion itself as something that serves the story. The thing LOOKS bigger than the story in order to lend gravity and evocativeness to the story, but it ISN’T bigger than the story. Or if it IS bigger, it’s only bigger in my own personal notes and inside my own personal brain, so in no way that is relevant to readers. I know that I have broken the rules and done word-of-god stuff sometimes in the past because the “real beyond the story” thing is compelling to me too! But I aim for this. The “self-discipline” question I don’t really have an answer for; it is always kind of a struggle but I’m interested in making comics because that is how I want to reveal the stuff, so that is how I reveal the stuff!

If I were to do a lore-blog it would be me on-the-spot making up answers to questions based on the broad setting-principles I’ve established for myself. It would probably be useful for me as a writing exercise, but I’d lock myself into all sorts of decisions I would later regret, or I’d agonize over how seriously to take material “canonized” in the lore blog. It would extend the space of the story beyond the bounds I’ve so far established, and make it flimsy and untenable!

Picking up on some of this thinking in an answer to another letter, will post in a few days.

lettercol archive

rice-boy.com

[diminuel]

I love your comics about Crocodad! In the Canon dynamics...how do you think Croc would react realizing after years that he beat up his son in Alabasta?😂

-PChan

I'm happy you like my Crocodad comics PChan! ♥

Since very little time passes in canon between Crocodile getting beaten up by Luffy and the "Luffy is Dragon's son" reveal at Marineford (we're talking a month, give or take), it'd still be very fresh in his memory once he realizes!

Depending on what his feelings are regarding his child his reactions might be different! I think he'd be momentarily shocked at the reveal, but whether he'd feel guilty, angry or even proud really depends on why Crocodile didn't keep him/ how he feels about the pregnancy/ how he feels about Dragon in general?

He doesn't really seem like a guy to dwell on the past too much apart from his beef with Whitebeard, so of course the circumstances around Luffy's birth might also be something that he's got bottled up and that he might be impacted by now that his son is just within reach. I can see him adapt and course-correct quickly into wanting to see what Luffy can achieve, so he'd protect him. Whether he wants a relationship with him or not would influence whether he'd tell Luffy (Luffy's reaction is of course also up for debate. Luffy completely rejecting the idea of it is just one possibility *lol* He might want to make Crocodile his family, even though I'm not sure what it'll take for Luffy to get over Alabasta? He does seem to be chill around Crocodile after that initial anger, not that we get a lot of interactions.)

That said, since I like to imagine that Crocodile loved his child but knew he couldn't keep him, he'd feel bad about nearly killing him and maybe even curse Dragon mentally that the kid is here on this battlefield, with a target on his back because Sengoku just told everyone who he was. What was the point of the one act of sacrifice for the sake of safety they did as parents? I think he'd be angry and determined to make sure Luffy is going to make it off this battlefield alive. And after that he'd have time to sink into the pull of his old wounds, to feel all that guilt, despair, anger, longing and love. And then he'd either make sure his plans didn't interfere with Luffy, maybe even make sure wipe out obstacles in his way, or he'd tell him and he'd get to be a parent, now that Luffy's making a name for himself in his own right and the world knowing that Crocodile is his parent wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to Luffy in the grander scheme of things.

Now I ranted about more than you asked *lol* Many emotions about this.

[julieverne]

"We do need to discuss our last wishes," Maura told Jane solemnly that night. She'd come over unannounced, which was unlike her. Jane had let her in despite not wanting company, despite, for the first time in her life, not wanting to talk to Maura.

They'd just dealt with a werewolf and a sniper. Maura had stabbed a man. She hadn't been hurt, but she was clearly shaken by the experience.

The more distance she tried to put between them, the more it hurt. Maura had broken up with Jack, and she hadn't even seemed upset about it. Probably too traumatised from her long day at work.

"There's something I've always wanted to do."

"We started our bucket lists. We already did ravioli," Jane pointed out. She didn't know why she was nervous. She'd faced her own mortality many times. She'd made willing sacrifices to keep her loved ones - and relative strangers - safe.

But Maura wasn't used to being grabbed. There was a bruise on her - Jane had seen it earlier, and it hurt Jane probably more than it hurt Maura. Jane hadn't been there. Jane hadn't protected her. Jane had failed.

Maura was better off without her. Better off with a man like Jack. Intellectually Jane knew all this, but her heart...

Her heart wanted Maura.

"I mean..."

They'd talked about it when Jane had jumped off a bridge. She'd already lost her baby and had nothing to live for; not with Maura dating Jack.

"I mean when that man grabbed me and I forgot I had a knife, I had a regret. A last wish." Maura came closer and Jane eyed her with trepidation. She touched Jane's cheek, and the bruise was visible now; a mark where a man's hand had hurt her.

Jane reached and touched it gently with a little growl of frustration that she'd let someone hurt Maura, even though it was on Maura's chest.

"It doesn't hurt. Not the way this does."

Still cupping Jane's cheek, she leaned in. Jane had been half-expecting this for years. She'd rehearsed what to say, how to turn her down.

But instead her mouth opened for Maura, letting her in the way she'd done for her condo, her fridge, her life. Maura's fingers tangled in her hair and Jane's palm flattened over Maura's chest, her other hand raised to push Maura away but instead settling on Maura's shoulder and pulling her closer, sliding down to her waist. Maura's tongue brushed her lips and nothing had ever been so exquisite, so wonderful. She was lost in sensation.

And then Maura pulled away with a shaky, shuddering breath, close to tears.

"I can't," Jane said, her voice cracking with regret.

"I know," Maura said, and turned to leave as the first tear slipped down her cheek.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

Maura nodded as she fumbled with the door. Jane came over to help her, leaning over her to grasp the deadbolt.

Maura turned in her arms and Jane nearly had here then and there, against the door, Maura's body pressed against herself everywhere, her sweet face so full of regret.

Instead Jane leaned down and kissed her. Just once. Softly, gently, sweetly, all the things she was only capable of for Maura.

Maura's forehead rested against Jane's cheek for a moment when she pulled away. Jane wanted to hold her, to love her the way she deserved to be loved, but Jane wasn't capable of that. There was always a ball of shame in her stomach when she realised how much more she loved Maura than she should, and Maura deserved better than that. She deserved better than Jane.

"I can die a happy woman," Maura said finally. "No regrets." She met Jane's eyes and her tongue poked for a moment between her lips, the way it did when she was stressed out. Jane let her palm smooth over Maura's back.

"No regrets," she agreed, because for one shining moment she had been brave enough to take what she wanted.

And then she closed the door between them and found she had too many regrets to count.

[minty-trash]

Kokichi is NOT a bad person. I can't believe I have to say this

Kokichi's basic fundamentals of morality include the ideal that "killing is wrong, no matter what." Is that flawed? Absolutely. Does it make him a bad person? No.

He wants as many people to survive the killing game as possible. He wants to prevent any murders he possibly can prevent. Is he good at it? Not particularly. But again, that doesn't make him a bad person.

He convinced Gonta to kill Miu. No manipulation was involved in this case - Gonta was willing to do it for the mercy killing, regardless of what Kokichi said. Even if Kokichi himself didn't believe the mercy killing was the best route, he had to get Miu out of the picture because she would kill him otherwise - then she could have hidden how the digital world works and made a truly unsolvable case. Kokichi didn't want that because not only would he die, but everyone else would, too.

He desperately tried to get Gonta to admit to the murder during the trial because if Gonta hadn't remembered committing the crime, then he'd be "innocent" in a sense. An innocent man Kokichi had condemned to death.

He spiraled after the trial - went off the deep end. His life had no value if he couldn't maintain his own morals, and so he became desperate to end the game.

He pretended to be the mastermind and revealed the truth about the outside world so everyone would be too depressed to kill each other. What would be the point if the reward was just escaping from hell into another hell? He took Kaito to ensure that's what would happen - Kaito is the uniting force of the group and without him, it would be harder to get their will to survive back. He didn't account for the real mastermind interfering.

When it was clear either he or Kaito would die, he was quick to sacrifice himself. Why? Because killing is bad, no matter what - and letting somebody die when you could prevent their death would count as killing. Plus Kokichi had a plan to end the killing game and needed Kaito's cooperation. It didn't work, though. It didn't work because he'd underestimated Shuichi. The plan fell through and the game continued, with two fewer contestants.

The clues left in Kokichi's room led to truly ending the killing game, with many fewer survivors than Kokichi would have wanted.

Does Kokichi's character make more sense now? I swear if I change one Kokichi hater's mind with this, then it was worth it. He is not a bad person - just a mischievous little shit put in a terrible situation. I hope you all can see him the same way I do.

Plus I just wanted to take a deeper look at his character because I love him so much

[hanzajesthanza]

heterosexual things to say to your best and closest friend of many years

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #124

Peter uses reverse psychology to trick Tony into taking care of himself and developing self-esteem.

---

Tony, after saying/doing something self-destructive: I know you don't like it when I do this, kid, I'm sorry. It's just too ingrained.

Peter: So what you're saying is, the challenge of unlearning self-hate and developing healthy coping mechanisms is just too big? You, Tony Stark, have finally met your match?

Tony:

[moe-broey]

MOE. SUMMER ALT‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

BIGGEST thing about Moe history is that for Literally Actual Years. I have been trying SO hard to get a beach outfit for it Right. I always had some aspects of it in mind (the white cover-up -- initially sheer, but I like the idea that it's a light shawl kinda like Lyon's, here). But a lot of my designs felt too feminine. Moe is about Balance. Moe is about Mishmash. Moe is about The Silly Factor. It's also unexpectedly practical and loves questionable fashion choices.

All this in mind! I think its Look really came together when I decided to give it some sporty touches. I esp love the wet shoes... and the visor works so well on it?? The little fish skeleton is a handmade accessory (not actual bones.), like its "tail" in its everyday outfit. I imagine it's jointed/maybe chain linked, so it has some movement to it! The skeleton adds a bit of edge it always has, and ALMOST. Gives a manta ray silhouette paired with the shawl (most noticeable in the topmost art! Didn't set out to do that, but when I noticed this I ran w it LMFAOO)

And. Some doodles

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 5!!!

[torgawl]

can we talk about sukuna and rika and why the king and queen of curses having a dispute is also narratively fitting? if sukuna is an heian era sorcerer with an antipathy and disregard of human emotions and the weak's will to live, blind to love and unable to comprehend the value of relationships with others then rika, as his counterpart, works especially well. rika is just a kid, or was just a kid. an innocent young girl who ended up dying tragically and saw herself transform into a vengeful spirit after being cursed by love. not only does she represent the weak (remember when sukuna's slaughter of women and children was implied?), she represents love itself. with her feelings lingering after death, she clinged onto her existence with the sole wish of protecting yuuta. it counteracts so well with sukuna's selfish will to kill time before his final breathe, which he admitted to be his will and motivation.

before i move on to my next idea, which let me preface by saying that it might be a little out there and dives into theory territory, i'm going to contextualise it with some information on the symbolism of "king and queen" that might help understand why this thought may make - at least some - sense.

in alchemy the king usually appears in conjunction with the queen, representing the sun-and-moon duality. in accordance with the theory of sulfur and mercury, which together, after alchemist purification, form the philosopher’s stone (also called the elixir of life, associated with rejuvenation and immortality), usually represented by the crowned hermetic androgyne (the union of the complementary male and female, achieving perfection or completion in the human state). according to jung, the king and queen also signify the spiritual conjunction that takes place when the process of individuation is complete, with the harmonious union of the unconscious and consciousness. jungian psychology has subjected the alchemistic tradition to extensive analysis and views the king less as an image of paternal authority and more as an archetype of higher insight and wisdom.

with that in mind, i think it's easy to understand where i'm headed but i want to add something else. remember jjk 0? geto's plan at the time was to obtain rika so he could use her power and move forward with his plan to annihilate all no-sorcerers. he believed her to be the key to achieve his goal and was willing to risk his own life for it. furthermore, the story is highly based on buddhist concepts and one of the core aspects of jujutsu kaisen is the cycles of suffering the characters are subjected to. in buddhism the goal is to become free of the samsara (continuous cycle of life, death and rebirth), eliminate suffering and achieve nirvana (enlightment). this ties withe the name of the series as kaisen is comprised of the kanji 'kai', meaning cycle, and 'sen', meaning battle, which combined with jujutsu (which means magic/sorcery but contains the word curse) describe the story as an endless battle of curses. and in a sense, the story also repeats itself, between generations and storyline-wise with the events circling back to how it all began. yuuta managed to land a fatal strike on geto once again, but now rika is pointed to be in a direct confrontation with sukuna as the queen of curses. now that i went through all the context needed to understand this, is it possible rika is once again in danger of being taken away? the idea of achieving a state of perfection with the unity between king and queen is quite intriguing. sukuna finally addressing yuuji as a worthy rival because of his unshakable resolve and unbreakable soul, is almost directly implying yuuji to be the one with whom sukuna has his last battle. an ultimate power-up (or the equivalent to), would be veyy cathartic before a final fight where yuuji would have the opportunity to finally go all out and have his well awaited and deserved protagonism (in my eyes, at least).

[queenlucythevaliant]

1 Chronicles of Narnia

Now these are the generations of Frank I, King of Narnia, and of Helen his Queen:

After Frank had lived twenty-seven years and Helen his wife twenty-four, they begat a son after their own likenesses and called his name Frank, after his father. A daughter also they begat, and her name was Sarah; for they said, “Aslan gave this land to us and to our descendants.”

They were the first of all rulers of Narnia and to them all the Beasts and Creatures of the world were given in stewardship. They made the rough places level that structures might be built and tamed the wilds a little that the people of Narnia might dwell in them. For their line the cornerstone of Cair Paravel was laid, so that Frank and Helen might have a dwelling place worthy of the calling to which Aslan had called them. They guided the people of Narnia and instructed them in uprightness; and in all things they were Aslan’s servants.

And all the days of Frank I were eighty-two: and having reigned fifty-six years, he died and was buried at Lantern Waste in the place where Aslan first called him. And Queen Helen’s days were ninety, and she lay beside him.

-

Frank II lived sixty-three years and by his wife, the nymph Hespera, he begat sons Frank III and Isaac, and a daughter Rebecca; for he remembered the ways of his parents. Frank II did all that Aslan had commanded his father, and he wrote down all the songs and stories that his parents had taught him.

And Isaac his son went to the pasturelands in the south and established his father’s rule there even as he worked the land among the Beasts. But Rebecca remained in her father’s house, for she loved the sea.

And having ruled Narnia eight years, Frank II died, and Frank III ruled in his place.

-

Frank III lived fifty-four years and by his wife, Liriope the naiad, he begat only Rachel, his daughter. Now Frank III was thirty-three when he began to reign, and he was the first king of Narnia to rule at Cair Paravel. Under his dominion, the boarders of Narnia were drawn: north at the River Shribble as far as Lantern Waste and south at the mountains beyond Glasswater. He ruled twenty-eight years in peace: and after he died, Rachel ruled Narnia.

-

Now Rachel was twenty years old when she began to reign. She remembered her fathers’ instruction and she walked in uprightness; yet she feared the evil that had gone into north and so devoted herself to Narnia’s fortification. It was said among some of the people that Queen Rachel did not close her eyes even to sleep.

In her first year, she ordered the forging of 5,000 iron swords from the Red Dwarves, and from the Black Dwarves 2,000 shields and 12,000 arrow tips. From the dryads she ordered 1,500 bows such as could be made of sturdy, flexible wood. She built up walls and armaments around the Tree of Protection and appointed farsighted Eagles to guard it by day and Owls by night. She established watchtowers in the Northern March; and the first armies of Narnia assembled under her general, Gripfast the centaur.

Rachel lived seventy-seven years and she begat Frank IV and daughters Lea and Dina: and having reigned fifty-seven years, she died. And she and all her descendants were buried beneath the third hill of Cair Paravel, just within the outermost fortifications.

-

Frank IV was fifty-three years old when he began to reign. He lived sixty-nine years and begat Frank V and Cainan. But Frank IV was the first Narnian king to die in battle, for in his day a wer-wolf made its den by Cauldron Pool and was terrorizing all those who came there. So the king went out alone and called the wer-wolf out to combat, and the wer-wolf tore his body apart.

When his son Cainan heard what had happened, he rode out to Cauldron Pool with twenty warriors and they vanquished the wer-wolf; and after he had done this, Cainan sailed east and became the first ruling Prince of Galma.

Having reigned sixteen years, Frank IV died, and his son Frank V ruled Narnia in his place.

-

Now Frank V was forty-three years old when he began to reign. His mother’s name was Neda, a river goddess. And he did right in the ways of Aslan, but not with his whole heart. For Frank V was a proud man and he put his own seal, not the Lion’s, on all that he did. He established the first Narnian exploratory corps, an assembly of 3,000 Birds, Antelope, and other nimble creatures sent into the wastes to report back what they saw. In this way, the lands to the south of the mountains were first discovered.

By his wife, a woman of Galma, Frank V begat Frank VI, Colin, and Col, and daughters Ellen, Nia, and Genive. And because his son Frank V was his heir, the king greatly favored him; but his other sons and daughters, the king left to their own devices.

And in that day, Aslan was seen again in Narnia's lands: for when they were young women the princesses Ellen, Nia, and Genive stood together on the eastern shore of Galma and called to him. They spoke the words of reverence and supplication which had come from the writings of Frank II, saying, "We long to see thy glory, O Aslan; Lord, shine your countenance upon us." And as they waited, behold, Aslan came to them out of the east and spoke unto the princesses face to face. Yet it is not written in this or any other book what he said to them.

Having reigned thirty-eight years, Frank V died. But Frank VI lived twenty-six years only and did not wed, for he was feeble from birth. Colin, his brother, ruled in his place.

-

Now Colin and his brother Col were much intrigued by all that lay to Narnia’s south and in youth they made a pact to establish a kingdom there together. But when Frank VI died and Colin became heir, he told his brother Col, “You must go south now so that when I am king, we may begin to build an empire together.” So Col went south into the mountains and there established Archenland.

And Colin became king when he was thirty-one years old. On the day of his coronation, he sent a dispatch of 700 Narnians to Archenland, telling them, “Build my brother a nation fit to stand beside Narnia.”

Thus Archenland grew and prospered; and travel to and from Narnia was established across the mountains. Each year, Col and his queen would winter in Narnia; and Colin and his queen, who was Ida the mountain nymph, oft summered in Archenland. In this way, the great alliance between the two nations was born.

And by Queen Ida, Colin begat Colin II and daughters Salla and Saria: and having reigned forty years, he died.

-

Now Colin II was forty years old when he began to rule. Colin II did what was right in Aslan’s eyes. In the first year of his reign, he formally dedicated Stone Table Hill to the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. Likewise, he established days of feasting in the Lion’s honor and on those days the gates of Cair Paravel were flung wide to all who would enter. And he begat a son Cal and daughter Joianna: and having reigned nineteen years, he died. But Cal lived only nine years and his sister Joianna ruled Narnia after her father’s death.

-

Joianna was thirty-two years old when she began to rule, and her mother’s name was Sharra. Joianna was called the Dancing Queen, for she was the first ruler of Narnia to partake in the summer frolics on the Dancing Lawn. Lords came from the south and the east to beg her hand for a dance; but she married a Narnian Elm-spirit.

Yet in spite of her cognomen, Joianna loved all the arts: she was a painter and she established a school of painting which met at Lantern Waste, for she said, “It is the place of all creation.” And in her day, many masterful artworks were made, and some adorned the halls of Cair Paravel.

Joianna was patron to many of the finest artists that Narnia has yet known: she gifted fine materials to Caulkin the dwarf, who made statues of gold and bronze so lifelike that many mistook them for living creatures, and to Gleamcast the centaur she gave lengths of blue and black velvet for her tapestries.

In her last days, Joianna also established the Narnian Library at Cair Paravel, that all the histories of the world might be put to paper. And she lived for seventy-six years and with her husband begat Cal II, Caden, and a daughter Marianna: and having reigned forty-four years, she died.

-

And Cal, second of that name but the first to rule Narnia as king, lived sixty-six years. He begat Jonan, Julan, and Joianna II: and having reigned ten years, he died.

But it was during Cal’s reign that outlaws from another world appeared in the south of Archenland and began to build themselves a kingdom, which today is called Calormen. They brought laws and customs from their own place and did not pay Aslan any due. Rather, they cursed him as a demon and a false god; and when he heard news of this, King Cal’s heart stopped and his life ended.

-

Jonan was thirty-nine when he began to rule and he begat only daughters: Ira and Lyra by his wife Helin of Archenland, and Birchsilver, whose mother was a dryad: and having reigned six years, he died.

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Now Ira lived seventy-nine years and begat Garlen, Galad, Seabreak, and a daughter Joianna III. She did not acknowledge Aslan or the ways of her fathers, but did wickedness in the Emperor’s sight. When Ira heard of the fine perfumes being sold in the new southern country, she sent an envoy south and arranged to purchase them. And when she heard that some Calormene ladies had slaves to carry them about in litters, she ordered six centaurs and two unicorns to live at the Cair and bear her astride wherever she went.

Queen Ira greatly prized her own beauty, and when she began to think that her daughter Joianna had surpassed her, Ira had a tower built at the westernmost wall of Cair Paravel, and there imprisoned her. But though her tower was not windowless, Joianna wasted away because the Eastern Sea was beyond her sight, and her beauty quickly faded. Only then did her mother the queen release her.

Having reigned fifty-two years, Ira died and was buried with her fathers.  

-

Now Garlen, Ira’s first son, lived sixty-one years; but he received a wound in his youth and could not sire children. Thus, his brother Galad ruled Narnia after Queen Ira’s death.

Galad was fifty-three years old when he began to reign, but after his half-sister’s imprisonment he began to lose his senses; and by the time he became king, he was altogether mad. Yet in spite of this impediment, he made a favorable marriage to Larin, princess of Archenland, and she bore him Cassadon and Carradon and daughters Raina, Joia, and Ellan. Because of Galad’s infirmity, his wife Larin and son Cassadon ruled Narnia in truth: and having been king thirty-eight years, Galad died.

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Now Cassadon was instructed in the ways of wise rulership from the time he began to speak, and he walked upright before the Lion. But when his brother Carradon saw that Cassadon ruled while their father still lived, he bribed a certain satyr to kill him while he was out riding. But Cassadon dodged the blow and arrested the satyr, who told him at once what Caradon had done: and because Cassadon trusted Aslan and was forgiving in nature, he pardoned his brother and did not raise a hand against him.

But resentment still simmered in the heart of Carradon, so he went to some of the royal guards at Cair Paravel and said, “If one of you kills my brother Cassadon, I will give him his own dutchy; and if he fails, he will be pardoned, for my brother is a soft-hearted man.”

But the guards were loyal to Cassadon because he was a good and upright man, so they went before him together and told him what Carradon had asked them to do. And when he heard this, Cassadon was greatly distressed; but because he loved his brother, he placed him under house arrest and did not raise a hand against him.

Yet Carradon hated his brother all the more for his kindness, so he wrote to his brother-in-law Prodit, the husband of his sister Ellan, saying, “If you arrange to have Cassadon killed the next time he is in your house, I will make your wife my heir when I am king, and then your children will sit on the throne of Narnia.” So, the next time that Cassadon visited the house of his sister Ellan, he was given a chalice full with poison and drank it, and at once he began to spasm in his chair. But Cassadon cried out to Aslan, and the Lion preserved his life until a healer arrived. And when Ellan found out what had happened, she questioned all the members of her household until Carradon’s treachery was unveiled.

Then, after long consultation with his advisors and with Larin his mother, Cassadon brought Carradon before the Stone Table and said, “Though you are my brother, you have thrice betrayed me and sought my death. Therefore, let the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea be judge between us.” And after he had said these things, Cassadon put his brother to death on the Stone Table, and his blood ran down its surface and pooled in the letters that were graven there.

And Cassadon lived sixty years and by his wife, the maenad Lucizia, he begat a son named Gale, most famous of all the kings of Frank’s dynasty, and daughters Allia and Lightfall: and having reigned less that a year in his own name, he died.

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Now Gale was thirty-nine years old when he began to reign. From a child, his father taught him all the histories of Narnia to instruct him in uprightness; and as a youth Gale vowed that when he ruled Narnia, he would serve Aslan with his whole heart. He was a just judge and a valiant warrior, and all the people of Narnia loved him. He reinstituted the High Festivals which Colin II had begun and invited envoys from Archenland, Galma, and even Calormen to partake in them. And a few Calormenes came to know Aslan in this way.

But Gale’s greatest deeds, it is told, took place on a series of sea-voyages to the lands to the East of Narnia. Terebinthia he discovered uninhabited, and when some of his people asked to form a colony there, Gale told them, “Go with Aslan’s blessing and devote yourselves to his service there.” But Gale remained high king over Terebinthia in those days.

The Lone Islands he found peopled with men whose ancestry traced back to that other world from which Frank and the Calormenes had first come; and the people of the Lone Islands were at great need, for a dragon had made its habitation on Doorn and was besieging the people there. But Gale mustered his Narnian forces and by Aslan’s gift defeated the dragon. In gratitude, the Lone Islands made Gale and his line their emperor forever. But even as he accepted, Gale said, “There is only one Emperor, and all the kings of the world are in his hand.”

Gale reigned forty-one years and by his wife Josephine, a shepherdess of Felimath, he begat Gale II: and when he was eighty years old, he sailed east without any crew and his likeness was never seen in Narnia again.

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Gale II lived one hundred and thirteen years and his wife Lis begat only daughters: Galia, Raia, Lia, Blushsky, and Bee. Gale II was the richest of all Narnian kings, for under his reign the Narnia prospered and the land was abundant. The king gathered riches from the four corners of the world: musical instruments and precious gems from the north, carved decorations of coral and bone from the east, golden statues and stonework from the south, and rich wine and fruit from the west. His daughters were famous for their beauty and wit, and all made good matches: and when they married, they took heaping chests of treasure with them. But Gale retained the bulk of his wealth, and beneath Cair Paravel he caused there to be built a great Treasure House.

During the reign of Gale II, a strange people emerged west of Narnia in the land of Telmar: and the king sent them rich gifts of gold and silver and many jewels, but they were turned away. Yet the inhabitants of Telmar showed no signs of hostility against Narnia, and so the king did not prevent them from making their habitations in the west.

When the Calormenes finished building the great temple of Tash in the thirty-fifth year of his reign, the king said, “Let me go and see this great thing which has been built in the south.” So he journeyed to Tashbaan and partook in the dedication of the temple, and there he paid a great tribute in rich rubies and emeralds at Tash’s alter.  

Yet while he was in Calormen, a few Marsh-wiggles began to rebel in the north of Narnia, and the Black Dwarves, and some of the Beasts in those parts soon joined them. But Gale II ordered the rebellion crushed and the wigwams of those who had begun it were destroyed utterly.

And when they saw what the king had done to his own people, the men of Terebinthia rejected Gale II as their high king; and Gale did not oppose them, for his army was discontented.

And having reigned seventy-five years, Gale II died, and his daughter Galia reigned in his place.

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And Galia lived ninety years, but most of her life she spent in the western dutchy of Lantern Waste with her husband, who was duke: and with her husband she begat Gale III and Carlisle, and having reigned five years, she died.

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Gale III lived eighty-one years and like his mother did not begin to reign until he was old: for the splendor of his grandfather’s rule still hung over all Narnia. But while he ruled, the people of Narnia were free and unencumbered; but the lights of Cair Paravel were dark while Gale III reigned. And by two women he begat Gale IV and Ele: and having reigned seventeen years, he died.

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But Gale IV lived thirty-six years only and his daughter Rosebriar, whose mother was Zehra Tarkheena, ruled Narnia in his place.

Rosebriar was thirty-eight old when she began to reign. She lived eighty-nine years and with her husband, Lord Eleon of Terebinthia, she begat Gale V, Ebeneezer (whose name came from one of Narnia’s oldest songs), and Umit. Now Queen Rosebriar was a prophet, and while dreaming Aslan gave her visions of things to come.

From a child she dreamed snow and ice, howling winds and howling wolves; but then she saw Aslan, whose radiance filled the sea, and he promised her that he would one day return to the land he had created and give four children of Frank’s root rule over Narnia.

Having dreamed all these things, Rosebriar caused four thrones to be built in the royal hall of Cair Paravel. Marble they were, graven with images from Rosebriar’s dreams, and she decreed that none should sit in those thrones until all that Aslan had promised had come to pass. And as to the rest of Queen Rosebriar’s prophecies, are they not written in her book which is stored in the Library of Cair Paravel?

Having reigned fifty-one years, Rosebriar died and her son Gale V ruled Narnia.

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And Gale V lived seventy-seven years and begat Gale VI: and having reigned ten years, he died.

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Gale VI was sixteen years old when he began to reign, and his mother was Ell of Archenland. Gale VI honored Aslan, and he waged wars in the north in the hope of rooting out the evil concerning which Queen Rosebriar had prophesied. But in the northern moors, no sign of the witch could be found. Yet Gale VI pushed Narnia’s northern boundary across the whole of Ettinsmoor to the foothills of the mountains, where they have remain to this very day. And Gale VI lived fifty-nine years and with his wife begat Gale VII, Galian, and Calvin: and having reigned forty-three years, he died.

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And Gale VII lived forty-two years and married the hammadryad Greyleaf, by whom he begat twin daughters: Stonegrey and Cloudgrey. And having reigned seven years, he died.

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Stonegrey and Cloudgrey were twenty-two years old when their father died, and because they were twins, they said to one another, “Why should one of us rule over the other?” So they reigned over Narnia jointly. They were not wicked in nature, but neither did they remember the name of Aslan, nor even the prophecies of Rosebriar their recent mother. They sat together in two of the four thrones which she had built for Aslan’s anointed, and so defiled them. When they did this, the grass began to wither across the land.

At this time, a faun named Salus came out of the west by Lantern Waste; and he visited the sister-queens at Cair Paravel. “The line of Frank is withering,” he said to them. “Return, return to the Lion, O Narnia! You will be torn from the ground as a withered tree and flung into the fire.”

Queen Stonegrey and Queen Cloudgrey heard Salus’s words, but they did not listen. Instead, they laughed and said, “Return, mad-faun, to your own place.” And the grass continued to wither, as though bitten by frost.

Stonegrey lived ninety-nine years and Cloudgrey lived sixty-six. Each of them bore a son in the same year, and the names they gave them were Fallstone and Stormsky: but they nursed their sons together, and kept them in the same nursery, and one of the children died in the night. No one was ever certain whose son had died, so they called the surviving child Stormstone, and he inherited their thrones. And having reigned with her sister forty-four years and alone thirty-three, Stonegrey died.  

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Stormstone was seventy-one years old when he became king, and he saw no reason why he should not seat himself in one of the four thrones as his mother had done. But when he did this, the rivers and springs of Narnia began to run dry. And Stormstone knew then that he had done evil, or else he was frightened; so he cordoned off the thrones with a net of enchanted thread, that none might sit in them for a hundred years.

And insodoing it came to pass that King Stormstone became greatly learned in the magical arts and thus he went out to the Tree of Protection hoping to strengthen the protective spell that Aslan had laid on Narnia at creation. But when he inspected it, he found that the Tree sick, for only a few of its apples were sweet. But Stormstone was fearful of what the Narnians’ response would be if ever this became known, so he hid it from all but his closest advisors.

And by his wife Stormstone begat two sons, Shale and Micah: and having reigned for thirty years, he died.

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And Shale lived eighty-eight years and by two wives he begat four sons, Calis, Tinan, Rush, and Ash, and two daughters, Deereye and Cornflax. In Shale’s day, the dwarves delved deeper into the earth than ever before, and discovered such wonders as no one had ever seen; and some of the Beasts began to live among their wild kindred and became as dumb beasts. The revelries at Dancing Lawn honored Aslan no longer, and after a while they went on day and night unceasing. Wine there was, and rich food from Calormen and the Lone Islands. And King Shale spoke Aslan’s name not once in the forty-four years he reigned.  

But the weeping willow dryad Fleba came before the king and she spoke the name of Aslan in a reedy voice. “The winter draws near,” she wept. “Aslan, the Light in the East, loves you still; but his glory will not suffer wickedness to endure.” And though the king heeded her not, she returned to his court again and again, weeping loudly.

In his old age, King Shale hosted a tourney to which he invited all the lords and ladies, kings of queens, Tarkaans and Tarkheens, and every person of beauty or skill from across the known world. And after the festivities began, the king became drunk, and when he tried to mount his horse, he fell backwards and died. And because few of his children survived him, his youngest son Ash ruled in his place.

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Now Ash lived forty-seven years and begat Emberred and daughters Eca and Eleen. He was thirty-eight years old when he became king, but as soon as he was crowned, he indulged in all the vices of his father: and having reigned nine years, he died.

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Emberred lived eighty-one years and begat Felfrost and a daughter Silksheen. In the thirty-sixth year of his reign, the Bear Snaggletooth appeared at the Stone Table and began to prophecy concerning the Deep Magic: “The Lion will not forget his Pride. What he has said to me, I will tell you: the Deep Magic from before the Dawn of Time was given form and word that his beloved might be redeemed. He will breathe into the remnant of his faithful ones, and not one will be lost.” All the words of that Bear were written down, for a few Narnians believed his words, and having believed they went unto the Stone Table and cleansed it, and there began be murmurings against the king.

When Emberred heard this, he ordered that Snaggletooth be put to death: so a Narnian executioner bound and muzzled him and cut him open on the Stone Table, and the his followers dispersed in fear.

Having reigned fifty-two years, Emberred died. But Silksheen spread rumors that her brother Felfrost was not his father’s trueborn son, so she ruled Narnia after Emberred’s death.

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Silksheen lived seventy-three years and begat Firmfoot and Stronghilt: and while she was queen, there were rumors of a Marsh-wiggle who prophesied in the north. Yet when Silksheen heard of this, she said, “What news is it to hear a Marsh-wiggle proclaiming doom? Let him alone.”  And after she had reigned fourteen years, Silksheen died. And though Firmfoot was her elder son, the queen favored Stronghilt; so he ruled Narnia in his brother’s place.

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Stronghilt was forty-nine years old when he began to reign, and he begat three sons, Goldbrow, Silverbrow, and Bronzebrow. All three were tall warriors, strongly built and with power in their arms. And once his sons were grown, the king said to himself, “Since the gods have blessed me with three such fine sons, surely I must put them to some mighty use.” So he assembled a great army not of Narnians, but of cruels, hags, incubuses, wraiths, efreets, wer-wolves, Ettin-giants, and all manner of other evil creatures from the wild lands to the north. And with that army, he marched against Archenland; and his sons were with him. But Aslan caused a great wall of cloud to come down in the mountains where Narnia’s southern boarder was, and nothing could pass through it.

So Stronghilt turned east and set his sights on the Seven Isles, but when the king and his armies set sail, Aslan caused a wall of fire to rise above the waters and encircle the Narnian coast as far as could be measured, and nothing could pass through it.

Then, in despair, Stronghilt turned his gaze west to Telmar, but before his armies could advance, his son Goldbrow slit his throat while he slept, and thus, having reigned twelve years, Stronghilt died.

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And Goldbrow lived forty years and begat no children: and having reigned seven years, he died. And his brother Silverbrow ruled Narnia.

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And Silverbrow lived forty years and begat no children: and having reigned seven years, he died. And his brother Bronzebrow ruled Narnia.

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And Bronzebrow lived forty years and begat only a daughter, born in midwinter, whom he called Swanwhite: and having reigned seven years, he died.

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Now Swanwhite was fifteen years old when she began to reign, and her beauty was so great that any pool into which she gazed held her reflection for a year and a day. And as she grew, the people of Narnia said of her, “Here, at last, is another great ruler from the line of kings.”

On the day she was crowned, a winged horse came before Swanwhite weeping great, horsey tears. It was a lovely summer day, perfectly befitting the beauty of the young queen. Yet the horse wept and spoke the Lion’s words: “Judgement comes like a sledge through snow. O my cold and lonely one, the King’s heart breaks for you.”

The queen laughed and heeded her not. It was a beautiful, gentle day and she did not think herself cold or lonely. She replied, “Be merry, fair friend; today I would have joy in all the land.”

And Swanwhite reigned in joy for a time, but in the sixth year of her reign the White Witch came out of the north at last, and at her command were all the armies of evil creatures that King Stronghilt had assembled. She began her conquest in the far northwest, and when rumors of it reached the queen she laughed and heeded them not.

But in the final days of Swanwhite’s reign over Narnia, the White Witch tore down Queen Rachel’s walls which had stood for seven hundred years around the Tree of Protection. The Tree itself she turned to stone with her wand; and her armies trampled it to pieces.

When word of the Tree’s destruction reached Swanwhite at Cair Paravel, she mustered fifty Narnian warriors and led them to Stone Table Hill, hoping to take the Witch by surprise while she was performing dark rituals there unguarded. In this, Swanwhite failed. The Witch turned her warriors into stone and had the statues carried away; but Swanwhite herself was bound and gagged and the White Witch slew her on the Stone Table.

Swanwhite lived twenty-five years and begat no children: and having reigned nine years, she died. And the White Witch ruled over Narnia.

[lizardinkart]

I will literally pay anyone who has read “All The Light We Cannot See” for their thoughts on this show. Because I, for one, was skeptical but ok with it until the very end

And oh boy.

That ending!

[krbkss]

mha 395

has anyone brought this up yet </3