#and they had an autumn in the south issue

[paradiserotting]

o found this in my camera roll.. thot i would show u 😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬

yeah im gonna jump now

[minniesmutt]

✧ ━━━ CHOKEHOLD ✧ ━━━ CW: CORSET, ORAL SEX (F.REC), FINGERING, DOM(?)!FELIX, UNPROTECTED SEX, SCRATCHING, G-SPOT STIMULATION, MULTIPLE ORGASMS, CREAM PIE, ✧ ━━━ WC: 1.8K

     There wasn’t always a war between the Solar and Lunar Kingdoms. Disagreements and minor issues here and there, yes. But only in the last few years did Y/n’s father— the king of the Lunar Kingdom—deem the Solar Kingdom their enemy. She remembered the night vividly.

     It was supposed to be a celebration in Spring court. One of two major territories that belonged to the Lunar Kingdom. It was the turn of the season. From winter to spring and all courts— Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn— were in attendance along with Solar and Lunar Kingdoms. 

     Everything seemed fine the entire night. Dinner, socializing, and even dancing was fine. Or maybe she should have paid more attention. She was busy. It wasn’t often she got to see the fae she was fated to. 

     Between her responsibilities as princess and Felix’s responsibilities as prince and next in line for Solar’s throne, they didn’t see much of each other except at formal events like this. 

     “You look gorgeous tonight,” Felix complimented as he danced with her. Having just switched partners from Jisung — the Duke of Autumn court— to Felix. 

     “Thank you,” Y/n smiled 

     “Any word from your father on Solar’s proposal?” Felix questioned

     “No. I know he and my brother were discussing it. Don’t know what the outcome was.”

     Both heirs weren’t blind to the fact their kingdoms weren’t entirely friends. Resources were always the main fight between them. Last time Felix had visited Y/n— well her kingdom — on official business, he had mentioned to her that he proposed to his and her father and advisors that if the two heirs were to marry then the fighting would stop. Their realm could have peace.

     “Hopefully it’s a good one,” Felix asked

     “I hope so too. I’m tired of only seeing each other at events.”

     “We should make the most of it then.”

     The two royals made their way out of the ballroom and walked down the halls of Spring Manor. Finding themselves out in the back garden, moonlight bathing them and blooming the spring flowers as the winter flowers fell from their stems.

     “Do you think we should have told our families about our fates?” Felix asked

     “No, you know how my father is when anyone brings up fate,” Y/n responded

     “Yeah. Even if I barely pay attention.”

     “Because you distract easily.”

     “It’s easy to be distracted when you’re naked in my bed, princess.”

     “Then don’t ask me those questions, prince.”

     Felix smiled as he stood in front of her, stopping them from their walk and holding her hips, “Speaking of beds, is the Lunar princess staying in Spring Manor tonight?”

     “I am. I take it you are too?”

     “Indeed I am.”

     The two royals quickly made their way out of the garden, the south entrance of the manor closer and where her room was. The two quickly and quietly got to her room and locked the door. 

     Felix cupped her face in his hands and pressed his warm lips to hers. Y/n smiled against his lips as she held his waist, slowly walking back to the bed. The prince turned then and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her onto his lap.

     “Missed you,” Y/n whispered against his lips

     “Missed you too,” Felix mumbled, hands moving to undo the corset of her dress, slowly pulling the strings loose. 

     Y/n helped him pull her dress off before she stripped him of his suit. All materials of their formal wear falling to the floor or mattress behind them. Felix laid back with her on top before gently rolling her over, pinning her onto the mattress, and moving his lips down her neck and body

     “Lix,” Y/n whined

     “Been too long. Let me worship you for a while, princess.”

     Felix didn’t let her get another word, kissing further down her torso and pulling her legs over his shoulders. Pretty lips wrapping around her clit, gently sucking on the bud and flicking it with his tongue. Y/n moaned as he held her thighs tight. Not daring to move them from his shoulders. 

     “Lix,” Y/n moaned as her fingers tangled in his blond hair. The prince made a small noise below but didn’t let up, now on a mission.

     The prince took one hand off her thigh and slipped one finger into her. Y/n covered her mouth, hiding her moans from anybody who was maybe passing by. No one — except their advisors who handled their mail�� knew the two royals were together. No one in Y/n’s family knew about her secret relationship with the prince of Solar. She just hoped her father would accept his marriage proposal and he could believe the relationship was his choosing. All she hoped was one day she’d wake up with Felix instead of cold beds after their rendezvous. 

     The princess bit her lips and tipped her head back as her walls clenched around his finger. Felix hummed to himself in contempt as he felt her squeeze his finger. Slipping another finger in her she begged for more which seemed to do the job. Walls pulsing around his fingers as he lapped at her clit. Groaning and holding her down with one hand as her hips rocked against his face. He held her and kept rubbing all the right spots before she came on his fingers. 

     Y/n arched her back against him as she rode out high before crashing against the mattress. Felix pulled away from her and cleaned off his fingers before hovering over her. Kissing her cheeks, “Feeling alright there princess?” he asked in his deep voice

     “Mhm,” Y/n nodded as a chill ran down her spine. There always was one when he spoke to her in his deepest voice

     “Does my needy princess need more or are you side for the night?” he asked her

     “More,” Y/n begged

     “You never need to beg. Just ask,” Felix reminded her as he sat back and wrapped her legs around his hips. Y/n looked down at the prince. Watching him push his blond hair out of his face and lined himself up at her entrance. Slowly pushing in and giving her as much time as she needed to get used to him again. 

     Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her. “Missed you,” Y/n whispered as he slowly pulled back and pushed in

     “I missed you too.” Felix pressed his lips to hers again. His arms moved under her body and held her close to him. Hips moved skillfully, capturing her moans in his mouth as she captured his. 

     “Take me back with you this time, please.” Y/n begged

     “I wish I could darling.” Felix groaned, hips picking up pace slightly.

     Y/n moaned as his tip just grazed that perfect spot inside her. “There! Right there Lix.”

     Felix acknowledged her words and shifted his position just a little to push further in and hit that spot inside her where she begged to be hit. Pushing her legs up just a bit more as well. His hands slid under her thighs to do so. The princess gasped when the position hit right where she needed him. Her hands moved down his back before her nails were crawling back up. Eliciting a deep groan from him and cursing under his breath.

     Y/n smiled to herself at his reaction before the thought left her head and focused back on how the prince was making her feel. Pushing her further into pleasure before her whole body was consumed with it. 

     “Fuck,” Felix groaned as she clenched around him, riding out her second orgasm.

     He waited until he felt her unclench and sink into the mattress before he sat up a bit more and pushed her legs down just a bit more, thrusting into her as fast as he could. Her moans and whines helping him get off quicker. Pushing deep into her and letting his cum paint her walls. 

     He gave himself a few seconds before pulling her legs down to pulled out of her. Felix gave her a quick kiss on her lips before making his way to the ensuite bathroom she had and grabbed a cloth to clean her up and then discarded it in the bathroom before climbing into the bed with her. Pulling the covers over them. 

     “I want to wake up like this,” Y/n grumbled as she wrapped her arms around the prince’s waist 

     “So do I darling,” Felix sighed and kissed the top of her head.

     Both knew they couldn’t. Who knows what would happen if someone found them in their position. 

     So many days they wished and wrote how they wanted to wake up next to the other. No more sneaking around. Felix himself was trying to do everything in his power to make that dream a reality. At this point, he didn’t care if it hurt him or he lost sleep— which he most certainly had— over it. 

     He would give anything in the realm to have her by his side. Even giving up his throne. 

     Y/n had paid so much attention to her lover that she had completely dismissed her family. She never saw her father talking to Felix’s father. Nor the building temper he had before leaving the ballroom. Now back home she watched soldiers in the courtyard prepare for war. Her father and brother in front of them. 

     “You got a letter,” Seungmin, her personal advisor, alerted her.

     “From him?” Y/n asked, grabbing the folded paper from his hands. Seeing Felix’s signature stamp. 

     “Why would I hand it straight to you otherwise?”

     She quickly read through the letter. Solar was preparing for war too. He would be heading Solar’s front with his advisor — Chan. Worry quickly building in her gut. She had overheard her father and brother talking about the future king leading the front line and she knew just how Minho fought. She’d seen him practice and heard how the guards spoke about his skills. 

     Scared for her lovers life, she started forming the letter in her head as she quickly walked to her room, Seungmin following not far behind. 

     “I should warn you it’s going to be hard to get the letter out. Your fathers talking about refusing any mail in or out of the kingdom. Only allowing messages from allies.” Seungmin warned her 

      As far as she knew, the courts were still up in arms about the war, almost refusing to pick a side. But she had overheard her brother and Jisung of Autumn court discussing troops to send from Autumn court to the kingdom.

     “Fuck,” She cursed under her breath

     “Language, princess,” Seungmin teased her

     “I am not in the mood for the reading right now, Kim Seungmin,” Y/n warned him

     “Apologies.”

     “Do whatever you can to get my letters to Felix, understood? I don’t care if you're going behind my father and brothers back.”

     “Understood.”

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[alpaca-clouds]

Solarpunk Autumns. Solarpunk Winters.

Solarpunk as a genre exists in a state of a permanent summer. Both as a genre, and an aesthetic. Solarpunk pictures usually show us worlds that have everything in so many shades of green. Green bushes. Green trees. Green everything. Fields in Solarpunk are always filled with ripe corn and wheat. And trees in Solarpunk are full of ripe fruit.

But if we look into Solarpunk worldbuilding there is also the fact that of course at some point at many places of the world it will become autumn, and winter.

I mean, I am feeling it right now, sitting here in my bed with three blankets and shivering, as the summer has very suddenly ended.

Sure, Solarpunk originated from Brazil. And while I do not know a whole lot about Brazillian climate, I do understand that it is close enough to the equator to be fairly warm yearround.

But I honestly would love to see more stories and artworks set in Solarpunk worlds during the autumn and winter. Especially because it is a very interesting topic when it comes to both the renewable energies and the food systems of Solarpunk worlds.

Now, admittedly, the renewable energy is less interesting to me, but we still should talk about it. In winter and autumn a lot of the renewable energy sources are a bit less viable. The sun has less energy and the further north (or south) you go, the less sun you get during the winter. Wind turbines also often struggle because there is in fact too much wind - and some older turbines do not do too well during harsh winter conditions. Water usually has less of a problem, unless the water energy is created in shallow conditions where the water freezes. But of course, there is nuclear energy to take care of most issues, even if everything else fails - even though some people still do not want to hear about it.

The food aspect is a lot more interesting though, especially from a modern point of view.

Because we people today are very used to eating the same stuff year around. Like potatoes, carrots, bellpeppers, tomatoes, cabbage, oranges, apples, pears, and bananas are usually available in the supermarket no matter when you go there. But of course we also know that those only are there because of the rather destructive ways we use to cultivate food and bring it to us. These things usually are grown somewhere closer to the equator and then are brought to Europe/North America via plane, emitting a lot more CO2.

Of course, this is a fairly new development. For the most of human history, nobody - or only the very richest people - had access to imported food like that. So instead they would only eat was either was available in their own country and their own fields right now, or that they could conserve in some way or form.

And frankly... I think that is something I would like to see some more off in Solarpunk media. In people not needing everything to be available all the time. And people also working to conserve food in one way or another to make it last longer.

Also I do want to bring it up again: There were a lot of well known "winter vegetables" in Europe during most of our history there. Stuff that would get ripe in late autumn and would keep rather well. And a lot of those vegetables have been forgotten.

So... Yeah, I really would see that issue discussed a bit more.

And sure, we might be able to worldbuild around the issue in some degree with greenhouses and stuff. But I think it would be nice to just question our relation with the always available foods.

[gffa]

It is still absolutely a marvel to me how much BATFAMILY fic I have been reading and enjoying, it's been awhile since I've gone at such a sustained fever pitch so consistently, which is because this fandom keeps putting out fic that makes me fall in love all over again, along with all the comics I've been reading and enjoying. I am so delighted by how I can bounce around various eras or characters (well, let's be fair, I still have a Dick Grayson Problem That I Am Making Your Problem Too) and there's so much to read that I'm having trouble keeping up!

Join me in having the best problem: Too much good fic to read, because I swear that even when I'm crying because fic has punched me in the feelings, I'm still having a great time and it's definitely not a trap to lure you all into crying with me. Well, unless you're into that. And, in that case, READ AND CRY AND/OR MELT INTO GOO WITH ME, BECAUSE FANDOM IS PROVIDING.

BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I'M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ Step One: Learning to Catch by TheBlueMoo, dick & bruce, 2k     “Okay, now extend your arms.” It was jarring, Bruce reflected, to be taking instructions from his nine-year-old ward. He was trying to think of it as receiving lessons from an expert gymnast instead, but it wasn’t really helping. or Dick freaks out during training one night, and Bruce isn't entirely sure why ✦ the quiet noise by orphan_account, dick & clark & jim (& bruce), 3.4k     When Batman is in surgery after a stab wound to the lung, Commissioner Gordon sits with Robin at the hospital as they wait for someone from the league to arrive. ✦ The art of falling in the rain by Bob_the_bastard, dick & bruce & alfred, 3.4k     Ordinarily it wouldn’t have been an issue, ordinarily Bruce would have taken a few steps back, caught his breath and continued on. But that night wasn’t normal. ✦ Our roots will not whither away by KrazySuperGirl, dick & bruce & alfred & cast, 6.4k     Bruce and Dick return to Gotham. There are plenty of problems and plenty of good days. ✦ Will Protect You From All Around You by zombiesbecrazy, dick & bruce, 3k     Bruce has always expected that one day he'll wake up and feel like a Real Adult, but it hasn't happened yet. Why had he thought that this parenting thing would be easy? ✦ Fly South by SonoSvegliato, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.9k     Birds fly south in winter. Robin leaves in the summer. ✦ Vertigo by tinycrown, dick & bruce & ollie & cast, 1.8k     After being ambushed by Count Vertigo's men, Batman's partner isn't doing so well. Green Arrow observes. ✦ Friends by mx_chrx99, dick & bruce & alfred, 2.3k     The manor loomed large, surrounded by acres of manicured grass and trees bursting with autumnal colors that made Dick feel like he was gazing at a forest on fire. He was distantly aware that the scene in front of him was incredible, something out of a storybook. He should have been amazed and even grateful, but all he could think was, 'Mom would have loved this.' ✦ There For You by Val_Creative, dick & bruce & cast, 2.4k     Snapshots of how Robin came to be Batman's trusted partner and how Dick became Bruce's beloved son. /Standalone. No pairings. ✦ tummy troubles by brandywine421, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.5k     Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed and warily pulled back the covers. Dick blinked at him with wide, sad blue eyes. "What's wrong?" "Don't feel good," he murmured, scowling when Bruce curled his hand against his cheek. "My stomach hurts." ✦ Stay a Child by ijustwanttodestroy, dick & bruce & alfred, 2.2k     “Redo it,” Bruce orders. “Aw, come on!” Dick dares to pout — a thing that he uses often, and would work on anyone but Bruce and Alfred. Sometimes. Bruce gives him a look. “I’m not going to do it for you.” “I’m going to misdo it until you do,” Dick threatens. ✦ Whole, but not hale by Fae_Winter, dick & bruce & alfred & clark, 1.5k     Bruce was never listening to Clark again, damnit ✦ Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes by catboysam, dick & bruce, 1k     Bruce wishes, as he has wished every minute of every day for nearly 20 years, that things were different for himself. But now he also wishes that for Dick. No child should have to experience what they have. But he really is selfish, it seems, because at the same time, how could he possibly want to give up a single second with this little miracle in his arms? ✦ yet to be friends by rxsecret, dick & bruce & clark & cast, 2.3k     It's the annual Wayne Gala, and one of the few reporters allowed at the event just so happened to be from Metropolis. ✦ And I’ll look into your eyes to find out if I’m real by Fleur_de_Violette, bruce & dick, 1.6k     Bruce wants a lot of things. A bath. Seeing his family. Not having been missing for a whole year. He wants Dick to wake up and realize he’s not a hallucination.

BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ medicine by daringyounggrayson, dick & bruce, ~1k     “We have to get out of here,” Dick says, trying and failing to sit up. “Before, before they get back.” “Dick, listen to me. You’re sick,” Bruce says, running a hand through Dick’s hair. “You’re in an isolation unit at the Watchtower’s medical bay.” Dick shakes his head. That can’t be right. “They’re trying to, to poison me.” ✦ Someday All Of This Will Go Away by WanderIntoFics, dick & bruce, alternate version character death, 2.3k     Bruce never stopped telling Dick he loved him. It takes a heart-wrenching and terrifying experience with an alternate future Bruce for Dick to realize that maybe he stopped being able to hear it. ✦ vacation town by daringyounggrayson, dick & bruce, 1.6k     Normally, Dick wouldn't enjoy recovering from a stab wound from a poisoned knife, but he has to admit, it's nice to be home. ✦ all i can by emavee, dick & bruce, 1.7k     Whatever they injected Dick with is taking away his senses. Bruce tries to hold on for both of them. ✦ my arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm by emavee, dick & bruce, 5.6k wip     Five times Dick held Bruce's hand, and one time Bruce held his. ✦ Moving on by Fleur_de_Violette, dick & bruce & cast, 2.7k     When he’d been called to Gotham, Dick had expected to do the job and then get moving to the next thing, and then the next, and then the next. An abrupt meeting with the side of a building interrupts his plans.

BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ Chatterbox by Ptelea, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & donna & roy & cast, 24.7k     "Yeah, I'm fine," Dick said. Then he frowned, because he had not just meant to say that. Or: Eight times that spells or serums affected Dick's ability to speak and / or their aftermath. ✦ Misremembered and Misnumbered by miss_aphelion, bruce & dick & jason & clark & diana, 1.9k     Dick may not actually be quite as old as he told everyone he was. In his defense, it wasn't so much lying as that he sort of just forgot. ✦ WE'LL LIVE IN SPACES BETWEEN WALLS. by orpheusaki, bruce & dick & jason, time travel, 4.6k     (Something is different about Dick. Bruce notices.) ✦ Tonight Will Be a Memory Too by Sohotthateveryonedied, dick & cass & bruce, 1.2k     They don’t happen often—once a month or so, with varying degrees of spottiness. Sometimes Dick will walk into a room and forget what he’s there for. He’ll forget the locations of things, like where he left his keys or where the refrigerator is. Once he forgot his own name. Even if the episodes don’t occur often, that doesn’t make them any less terrifying. ✦ Can I Sleep With You? by Lady_of_Lorule, dick & bruce & damian & titans & cast, 2k     “Dick? What is it? Are you okay?” he asked. “‘Had a nightmare,” the boy murmured, wiping at his nose quickly, then sending a darting look at Bruce. “Can I...can I sleep with you?” ✦ Broken Silence by Geeves, bruce & dick & cast, 1.3k     Bruce reflects on how quiet the manor used to be. It could be painful at times, but it's not like that anymore. ✦ the care and keeping of your baby talon by quandaries_and_contradictions, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & duke & alfred, reverse robins, talon!dick, 6k     In which everyone is more than a little cautious about the talon Duke brought home. Featuring chandelier swinging, Secret Garden reading, ill-advised sleuthing, and more. ✦ One, Two, Buckle My Shoe by Anonymous, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & alfred & cast, 11.3k wip     Dick was twenty-eight. The boy in the mirror most certainly was not. ✦ Iron Bound by coyote_nebula, bruce & dick & jason, 3.1k     Batman never ran out of solutions. He just ran out of ideal solutions. Nightwing finds himself in a tight spot involving a compact car-sized paper roll. ✦ The Mantle by ValleyOfKings, dick & clark & diana & justice league (& bruce) & cast, 2.9k     Batman ‘dies’ and Dick must takes his place. He doesn't want the job but he knows that it is what he must do. He must accept the mantle and protect Gotham. The Justice League must also accept their new Batman. It might have helped if they knew that Batman didn't work as alone as they had once thought. ✦ Bravery, and everything that looks like it by Fleur_de_Violette, bruce & dick & steph, 3.4k     Bruce had promised Dick a fun and chill weekend. Instead, they find themselves in the middle of a burning chemical facility. When he thinks everyone should have been evacuated, Nightwing finds a scientist trying to secure some sort of container. She’s either very brave, or she has a death wish.

BATFAM FIC RECS - JASON TODD IS AN ASSHOLE CAT, I'M GONNA THROW HIM AT DICK BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY (AND MAYBE SOME OF HIS OTHER SIBLINGS TOO): ✦ Superhero: Dick Grayson by batmoniker, dick & jason & cast, 5.3k     In which Dick shows up at the school to pick Jason up after he gets into a fight. ✦ Homecoming by sElkieNight60, dick & jason & bruce, 1.2k     Jason's doped up on pain-meds. Dick's holding his hand while he's bedside monitor. Bruce probably wishes he had a camera. ✦ I do not have wings love (I never will) by dizarys, dick & jason & bruce, 2.5k     Jason Todd was alive. He was also bleeding out on Dick Grayson’s apartment floor. How 'Under the Red Hood' might have ended if Dick was at Bruce and Jason's final warehouse confrontation.

BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY'RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ cashmere-soft and irresistible by victoria_p (musesfool), cass/steph, ~1k     Cass and Steph and dumplings and lipstick. ✦ Picking Up Pieces by Cephalogod, bruce & steph & dick, 4k     “Bruce!” Steph called as she approached, weaving between people. His head snapped towards her, and the stark relief in his expression almost stopped her in her tracks. That was just...wrong. Bruce wasn’t supposed to be relieved to see her. He was supposed to be annoyed or resignedly amused, not looking at her like a life raft in the ocean. ✦ Make an Ass of U and Me by Huntress79, Sevidri, bruce/clark & dick, 11.2k     Bruce neglects to explain exactly who the attractive young man that seems to know him so well is, and what their relationship entails. Naturally, there are some misunderstandings. ✦ Presque Vu by PechoraFlow, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & alfred & cast, 17.4k wip     Bruce gets amnesia and the Batfamily conspires to keep their vigilante side secret from him. They were just trying to keep him home, safe until he recovered. They expected that Bruce would pick up on clues and put together The Batman secret on his own. They didn't expect him to form a different picture entirely. They didn't expect Bruce Wayne would come to hate the Batman.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I CUT MY TEETH ON DICK & TIM AS CLOSE BROTHERS AND NO ONE WILL NOT TAKE IT FROM ME: ✦ spread your wings by wingedgrace, dick & tim, 2.1k     “Why did you give Robin to Damian?” Dick pinched his nose. He’d started to pick up some of Batman’s habits, whether he realized it or not. “Tim, we’re not talking about this again. We’re talking about how you’re off on this… quest, to prove that Bruce is still alive. And I just want to talk. Come home.” ✦ Time Loop vs Ethiopia by AJElementus, dick & tim (& bruce & jason), 9.1k     In one universe, Jason died while Dick was on a space mission with the Titans. In another? There’s a time loop. In which Jason doesn’t die, Tim joins the family early, and Dick... well... Dick's just trying to figure out what's going on! ✦ so won't you stay, won't you stay (with me?) by dizarys, dick & tim, 1.3k     Tim's having a hard night. So where else does he go but to his big brother's apartment? ✦ under the wing by acrobats, dick & tim & cast, 1.4k     “Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero.” – Marc Brown

BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE'S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ buy back the secrets by sundiscus, tim/kon & bruce & clark & jason & cast, 71k wip     He takes a long, slow breath. Ignores the glares from the other students. “Superboy,” he murmurs. “It’s me. If you’re listening, I could use some help.” Or: 5 times Superboy saves Tim Drake, and one time Tim Drake saves Superboy. ✦ Can't Shake the Feeling by Hayleythewriter, tim/kon & tim/bernard & cassie & bart & dick & damian & cast, 17k     Tim introduces his boyfriend to his friends. Almost everyone likes him. ✦ The Electric Pull of Spring by Merelymine, tim/kon, nsfw, 4.3k     "I feel fine," Kon says, breathing deeply. He leans towards Tim and takes an even deeper, longer breath. "I feel really, really good, actually. And you smell—you smell really good." ✦ A No Good Very Bad Day by mademoisellePlume, tim/kon & jason & lois, read the tags, 3.7k     You’d think drugging a half-Kryptonian into sleep would be half as easy as taking a full Kryptonian out of commission. But no, life couldn’t be that simple for Jason, could it? He watched Superboy stumble down the hallway in his pyjama pants, eyes half-lidded and sweating like Two-Face when a flipped coin balanced on its edge. ✦ Pandora's Other Box by FridaysChild, tim/kon & dick & bart & kate & ma kent, 2.5k     Prompt: "Kon and Tim identify as straight. After realising their mutual attraction, they both freak out in different ways."

BATFAM FIC RECS - I SAY THIS IS A BATFAM REC LIST BUT SOMETIMES YOU JUST GOTTA SHOVE THOSE ASSHOLES OUT OF THE WAY AND READ SOME SUPERFIC: ✦ Adoptions by Kannika, clark & conner & cast, 2.7k     Clark prepared for a lot of things, getting closer to Conner. This is not one of them. ✦ Aftershock by sElkieNight60, clark/lois & conner & jon, 13k wip     He knows this is awkward for Clark. It’s awkward for them both. They were gonna start slow. Warm up to each other. Maybe go apple-picking in the summer. A movie, a restaurant, bowling, or something. But a sleepover, really? That wasn’t going slow. ✦ IS IT JUST YOU AND ME IN THE WRECKAGE OF THE WORLD? by orpheusaki, clark & conner & bruce & diana & jason & cast, 2.2k     "You look happy, Kal." She's right, Clark is overjoyed. In between shopping for children's clothes with Lois (after she'd gotten over the shock of it all, which was surprisingly quick. Clark thinks Lois might prefer Conner to him now, not that he blames her for it) and wandering around the Fortress of Solitude with a small palm tucked into his own, Clark hasn't stopped grinning, "Superman is no longer the only Kryptonian alive." (Clark saves Conner from CADMUS as a child AU.)

BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT'S WHAT I'M HERE FOR: ✦ oh but if I could choose, I would choose not to feel by dizarys, bruce & dick & donna & cast, 1.4k     His eyes flicked over the long room, evaluating and searching. When he finally spotted him, Bruce’s heart plummeted. Dick Grayson was slouched at the crumb flecked bar counter, staring blankly into a barely touched pint with a hand twisted in his hair. Misery personified. ✦ batman by hellsreluctantheir, dick & jason & tim & bruce, 57.3k     Dick came back from a trip to space to a dead father figure, a grieving, guilty little brother, and a legacy waiting for him. Suddenly he's moving back to Gotham, playing Bat, trying to keep Jason from spiraling, trying to keep himself from spiraling, with the added bonus of a kid stalking him at the grocery store. It takes two years before things start to feel like they're getting better. Which is right about when the Red Hood comes to town. ✦ Day 3 - Nightmares (2.2) by fanfictiongreenirises, bruce & dick & tim, 3.3k     Bruce is resigned to the nightmares after their most recent kidnapping. But that doesn't mean they don't have an impact on him. ✦ My Brother's Keeper by Chemical_Processes, dick & damian & tim & cast, 6.2k     Tim gets hit with Fear while on a league mission, and it's Damian's job to get him home in one piece. ✦ Pale Reflections by BearlyWriting, bruce & dick & jason & tim & cast, 2.6k     ‘Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick. And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.’ ✦ love brought weight to this heart by dizarys, bruce & dick & john & mary & damian & duke, 1.9k     Of course Dick came by every time Haly’s was in town. But he loved when his family was able to join him. And now, with lights illuminating the big top, performers streaming into the ring with flashy costumes, and his family enthralled, Dick felt at peace. Both sides of his life were together. It should’ve been perfect. And looking back, he still wasn’t sure what pushed it off course. But it might have been the fire. ✦ what's in a name by envysparkler, bruce & dick & jason, 4.5k     Kidnappers strike at a gala and abduct two of Bruce Wayne’s sons. Or at least that’s what they think. ✦ I’m gambling with the sun (on which one of us dies young) by dizarys, dick & jason & donna & roy & tim & damian & cassandra & cast, 6.9k     The Justice League have been wiped from existence by Pariah, leaving Nightwing to once again navigate the death of Batman. But this time, even with his siblings and friends rallying around him, the cracks start to show ✦ (someone told me) love would all save us by YouAreTheBrightest234 (TransLucas), bruce & dick & tim, 1k     Dick is floating in an abyss of black. It is not peaceful, yet not malicious. It simply is. ✦ Slipping 998° by CKBookish, bruce & dick & tim & cast, 2.5k     When a house fire turns deadly Bruce wonders if he will be too late... again.

[turtle-paced]

Revisiting Chapters: Bran II, ASoS

Happy new year! Have a story.

The story so far…

Having made their escape from Winterfell and deciding to head north beyond the Wall, it’s now a matter of travelling for Bran and company. Lots and lots of travelling.

The Northern Landscape

The land is the first thing we’re hit with this chapter. Trees with autumn colours have given way to evergreens, the Wolfswood to flint hills into grey mountains. The land is scattered with long lakes and devoid of roads - game trails only, as we find out later. And it’s cold. Bran, Hodor, Meera and Jojen are heading north, following the blue eye of the Ice Dragon constellation, going up and down and occasionally getting turned around for short amounts of time.

Bran is not loving it.

But Bran’s life had turned into endless chilly days on Hodor’s back, riding his basket up and down the slopes of mountains.

Meera is also not loving it, or maybe she is. She has mixed feelings about mountains, which she tries and fails to explain to Bran. Jojen has the more poetic take that opposites, whether it’s fire and ice, marsh and mountain, or love and hate, aren’t so different after all. The land is one, he says. Meera replies that the land's too wrinkly.

Weather and food both are becoming issues as the group travels. Game is scarce. The temperature is cold. They get caught in a sleet storm, which sounds incredibly miserable. Bran wants to go to the Kingsroad, but Jojen says it’s too dangerous. They’ll be spotted.

That said, Bran soon points out that they’ve already been spotted. Summer’s seen them. There are people in these hills. Sometimes Umbers - usually to the east and usually in summer. Wulls to the west, Harclays to the south, and around where they are now there are Knotts, Liddles, Norreys, and Flints. Bran’s maternal grandmother was a Flint - distant family.

The concerns about witnesses are proven valid when rain drives the group into a cave with a Liddle man. No names are exchanged. Lots of helpful information is. Bran asks how far to the Wall; he’s told it’s still a decent journey if you can’t fly over the hills. They’re warned off the Kingsroad:

“When there was a Stark in Winterfell, a maiden girl could walk the kingsroad in her name-day down and still go unmolested, and travelers could find fire, bread, and salt at many an inn and holdfast. But nights are colder now, and doors are closed.

More immediately, the ‘Bastard’s boys’ are on the road. They’re paying silver for wolfskins and maybe gold for walking dead (no, not the zombie kind). The way the Liddle puts this leaves little doubt that he knows exactly who Bran is. Ramsay’s people also know full well that Bran and Rickon escaped. The news that Bran and Rickon are alive cannot be hidden indefinitely. There are just too many people who know. A bit later, the party circles back around to what happened at Winterfell. They noticed a lot of dead Ironborn and no dead women. The immediate conclusion is that it wasn’t Theon who did the killing.

The Liddle also warns Bran off heading towards the Wall, where Sam’s ravens without messages have at least effectively communicated that some deadly serious shit happened north of the Wall. Which tells Bran and company that at the very least, they’re not likely to find meaningful help at the Wall. Perhaps not even safety.

But they can have sausage and oatcakes instead.

One day there would be Starks in Winterfell again, he told himself, and then he’d send for the Liddles and pay them back a hundredfold for every nut and berry.

This is just about the power of small kindnesses. What follows that is more empathic landscape - a bit more sun, a bit smoother a slope. Just a little bit more bearable all round. And with that, it’s easier to tell stories.

The People of the Crannogs

It’s overshadowed by certain other things this chapter, but it’s definitely worth getting into how much we learn about the residents of the crannogs in this chapter. First we see Meera hunting (and Bran’s developing first crush). She’s a lord’s daughter, but skilled at both hunting and spearfishing. Quite what this says about food security in the Neck, or various recreational pastimes, or gender roles, isn’t clear.

In one of the most hopeful moments of the series to date, Jojen promises the Liddle that he will not be left with ghosts - the wolves will come again. He’s dreamed it. “There are dreams and dreams,” he says. Without more of a sample size you wouldn’t like to say that the crannogpeople culturally have respect for true dreaming and perhas the associated mysticism - but Jojen is confident in referring to those dreams as authoritative. He’s not afraid of sounding ridiculous, he’s used to the idea that dreams can give foreknowledge. Given that Meera refers to “the magics of my people”, it seems that there's a level of respect for magic within their society.

Bran asks for stories after a while. Stories about knights! Jojen tells him there are no knights in the Neck. Meera corrects him that there are no knights above the water - lots of dead ones below, though.

“Andals and ironmen, Freys and other fools, all those proud warriors who set out to conquer Greywater. Not one of them could find it. They ride into the Neck, but not back out. And sooner or later they blunder into the bogs and sink beneath the weight of all that steel and drown there in their armour.”

Thus speaks Jojen. Which is another very informative passage about the people of the crannogs. They have a very different fighting tradition, even to the North. The armour the crannogpeople seem to prefer, it seems, are shirts sewn with bronze scales, plus a leathern shield; the weight is not the best when fighting in the marshy ground. Even their greatest castle is camoflauged or otherwise hidden, which again doesn’t seem to invite the whole siege and straight fight. Instead, the crannogpeople seem happy for their enemies to charge around carelessly and get themselves killed. We’ll see in future books that this isn’t the end of their strategies, but even from this admittedly partisan viewpoint, this seems like a brutally effective strategy.

We get some more details by implication as Howland Reed himself is introduced in the story of the Knight of the Laughing Tree:

“He grew up hunting and fishing and climbing trees, and learned all the magics of my people. […] He could breathe mud run on leaves, and change earth to water and water to earth with no more than a whispered word. He could talk to trees and make castles appear and disappear.”

Another point for hunting and fishing being appropriate for the upper strata of crannog society. And a good hint at Howland’s moving castle.

The Knight of the Laughing Tree

With spirits a bit higher, the party starts swapping stories. Meera nominates the tale of the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Oddly, Jojen says that Bran must have heard that tale a hundred times. But no, Bran hasn’t heard it even once.

Since it’s Meera telling the story as it was told to her by her father, it starts with Howland Reed (not named within the tale). Howland Reed, who wants to see a bit more of the world than just the crannogs, and who goes to find the Green Men on the Isle of Faces. After a productive winter visit, he heads off when spring arrives, and wanders right into the Tourney of Harrenhal. Meera doesn’t use family names, but the identities of the attendees are clear: King Aerys, Rhaegar, all the Kingsguard, Mace Tyrell, Robert Baratheon. Tywin’s had a spat with the king and didn’t show, but there are a lot of Westerlands lords there.

But women also attend (though Bran asks with suspicion if this is going to be a love story - there’s no other reason for women tot be present in a story except romance!). Elia Martell counts as a fair maid, and she’s brought a full dozen lady companions, with the men flocking around them.

But almost no sooner has Howland Reed shown his face than he’s set upon by vicious Walders. As Jojen says, “sometimes the knights are the monsters.” Squires or not, all of them are bigger than Howland Reed. Howland marks their faces as he’s being beaten - but even as that happens, a “she-wolf” arrives and sends all of the squires packing with a tourney sword. Lyanna Stark insists Howland come with her, first to meet the other Starks (explicitly noted in this is that Brandon’s the leader), and then to the feast.

Throughout the description of the action, Meera uses heraldry to identify the characters, rather than names. While this makes sense - did Howland know those names? What’s easier for the audience hearing this story spoken aloud? - It does mean a little piecing together is needed for the reader. Among the more important interactions are Lyanna crying at Rhaegar’s beautiful music (and then pouring wine on Benjen when he laughed at her), and Brandon asking Ashara Dayne to dance with Ned. Tragically, the woman the readers already know committed suicide is described here as having “laughing” eyes - a good bit of writing that implies the terrible things that happened to her over the course of Robert’s Rebellion.

Central to Meera’s story, though, is Howland spotting the Frey squires at the feast. Benjen offers to find Howland a horse and armour, but Howland is conflicted. He has his pride, and he knows jousting isn’t his forte. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself or his people more than he already has.

“You never heard this tale from your father?” asked Jojen.

At the jousting the next day, a mystery knight shows up, sure enough. Bran thinks the knight was the crannogman - they were short, in mismatched (obviously borrowed) armour, and the small crannogman fits the bill. The knight, named in the story for the device on their shield as the Knight of the Laughing Tree, challenged the masters of the squires. They won the jousts, demanding that the knights discipline their squires for the return of their horses and armour. Afterwards, at the feast, others swear to unmask the mystery knight (including Robert Baratheon), with King Aerys sending Rhaegar out to unmask the knight. But though Rhaegar returned with the shield, the knight vanished into thin air.

Bran thinks the story is…okay. Look, he’s got some opinions about what would be dramatically satisfying here. They needed to commit to making the knights the bad guys. There needs to be more violence, with the knights killed at the end. And for all that Bran complained about love stories, he wanted that romance subplot in - and resolved. (Though this does tell you a bit about how women are perceived as standard rewards in the in-universe fiction. The bloody eight year old has bought into it.) Meera tells Bran that Lyanna was indeed named the Queen of Love and Beauty: “but that’s a sadder story.”

“Are you certain you never heard this tale before, Bran?” asked Jojen. “Your lord father never told it to you?”

Because what Bran hasn’t realised is that this isn’t a far off tale of times long gone. This happened less than twenty years ago. This is his family’s recent past - part of events that shaped his family and the politics of the world he lives in profoundly. What Bran misses is right there for the readers.

Chapter Function

This chapter mostly exists for Meera’s story and the promise that the wolves will come again. The rest of it’s mostly walking.

There are very few ways we can get insight into these key events of the backstory with all these child protagonists who weren’t even born when these Big Deals happened. The mechanism of a story for children is actually a really good one, since it tells us about another culture, another time, and two different families.

In writing terms, it’s also an excellent way of showing the readers what’s important through the implications of what’s not told. Meera’s main narrative is about Howland’s experiences, so the ‘camera’ glances at Lyanna, at the interactions between the Stark siblings, at Rhaegar and Aerys, but doesn’t focus on them. They’re unmistakeably there, but they’re not gone into, which leaves room for speculation and mystery and the certain level of ambiguity that GRRM's stories thrive on.

Even more than this, there’s the in-universe meta-level of what’s not told. Ned’s been dead for a book and a half, and we’re still learning about him just for knowing that he couldn’t bear to tell his own children this story.

And why can’t Ned tell this story? Lyanna. Lyanna is the hero of this particular story, even more than Howland Reed. From the very beginning she’s an active presence. This is a story Lyanna drove, first by rescuing Howland from the Freys, then by taking him into the Stark tent, then by avenging Howland’s honour when Howland could not avenge his own. What we’re shown is a girl with both physical and moral courage. She’s daring, ready to fight squires, stand up for her father’s bannerman, and defy social convention to joust in the lists herself. Even in this little story for children, Lyanna’s a memorable character.

Through this, more than just telling us about Lyanna, GRRM shows us the effect all this had on Ned. The pointed, grief-stricken silence is palpable even as the implications fly over Bran’s head. It keeps Ned’s character and his silence in the reader’s view. Which is going to be important when at the end, GRRM has to talk about Ned’s character, his grief, and his silence - again relating to Lyanna.

Miscellany

This chapter is far more about what’s going on around Bran than his internal experiences, but even then:

He followed it with his eyes, wondering what it would be like to soar about the world so effortless. Better than climbing, even. He tried to reach the eagle, to leave his stupid crippled body and rise into the sky to join it, the way he joined with summer. The greenseers could do it. I should be able to do it too.

That said, it’s worth noting that Bran flips back to explicitly preferring knighthood at the end of Meera’s story. Acceptance is a process. Bran's going through it.

The internalised ableism continues strongly. And on that note, mind Bran’s interaction with Hodor. Hodor likes stories about knights, Bran says. Hodor doesn’t like love stories, Bran says. Are these Hodor’s preferences, or is Bran using Hodor as an excuse? On one level it’s childish behaviour from a child…but on another, it’s Bran using Hodor’s voice for his own ends.

Who doesn’t love Jojen’s shade about “Freys and other fools”?

It’s flagged that Howland Reed did meet the Green Men, “but that’s another story.”

We also learn in this chapter that not-yet-Ser Barristan entered a tourney as a mystery knight when he was ten.

Clothing Porn

The Liddle man wears a squirrelskin cloak with a pinecone-shaped clasp in gold and bronze.

Food Porn

Bran fantasises about the eel, fish, and hot crab pie that Osha might be eating at White Harbour. Later, there’s actual blood sausage and oatcakes. Oatcakes with pine nuts and oatcakes with blackberries.

Next Three Chapters

Tyrion V, ACoK - Eddard X, AGoT - Sam V, AFFC

[huramuna]

selkie's song - chapter 1.

night's watch aemond x wildling shapeshifter ofc work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

this is wholly inspired by @lonelymagpies depiction of Night's Watch Aemond. please go check out their beautiful work here!

i am also partial to selkies bc irish 🤭 i'm going to take some liberties with wildling lore since we don't know too too much about them and mix some of my own heritage into it (indigenous american and irish) , which i feel would meld really well.

previous | next chapter

word count: 2.2k

content: smut (eventually, specifics will be under the cut of chapters with it), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, canon divergence, ofc is a menace to Aemond and he kind of likes it

who is she? - I MONSTER • dead! - my chemical romance

The blood of the dragon runs hot and thick, pulsing through Targaryen veins like molten lava. His mother always snuggled him as a child, citing him as her own personal furnace. 

If only that would come in handy now. Aemond thought he knew cold, way up in the skies, skimming the clouds upon Vhagar’s back, feeling the chill away from the heat of the earth. A frigid autumn breeze going through his window, causing him to bundle up in two blankets— although he usually kicked them off sometime during the night. 

But this— this was cold. Ball freezing, bone chilling, blue lipped cold. He was stuck up in the ass of the North, stationed at the wall, dressed all in black. He puffed up the collar of his cloak, trying to find some respite from the gales of glacial air. 

“Saddle up, Targaryen,” the lord commander grunted. He was a broad man, some disgraced Northman who rose his way up the ranks of the Night’s watch. Aemond could hardly remember his name, “We’re goin’ beyond the wall. Scouts said wildlings gettin’ too close.” 

“Mm.” Aemond grumbled in response, not wanting to waste his energy talking to the ogre of a man when it could be better used for warmth.

The stable boy, no older than nine name days, tugged his palfrey to him, “I’ve got ‘em all tacked  up for ya, prince.” 

“Oy, Ryam,” the lord commander snapped. Lord Ennard Fir, that was the commander’s name, “He ain’t no prince anymore, so stop callin’ him as such. He’s just one of us now, eh? A man in black.” 

Ryam nodded slowly, handing the reins to Aemond. The boy’s face was tinged red as he puffed air into his cupped hands, trying to keep warm. He was a boy from the south, just like Aemond— a butcher’s bastard boy, Ryam Waters. He had accompanied the now scorned prince on his ride up the Kingsroad. He reminded Aemond greatly of Daeron.

“Stay warm, boy,” Aemond said, giving the youngster a stiff nod of his head, “Take the fur from my bed, it’ll help.” 

Ryam puffed out his chest, “Uh huh, your grace,” he giggled, speaking the title in secret. 

It almost made a smile come to Aemond’s lips. Almost. He tried to remember the last time he smiled– it was on that fateful day near Storm’s End, over Shipbreaker’s bay. He was taunting Lucerys, finally being the stronger one, the one who had control. He laughed and smiled like a madman, chasing his nephew on his puny hatchling of a dragon. He felt like a god.

Then Vhagar snapped her jaws, ignoring Aemond’s commands. The sickening crunch of Lucerys Velaryon and his dragon still lived in his mind. It played in his dreams, making them into nightmares. He constantly woke up in a cold sweat, muttering, “It was an accident, it was an accident, I didn’t mean it.”

His eye began to ache and he clenched his jaw as he mounted his horse. Glancing around, he saw that five other men were joining him. He tugged his hood up slightly before his hand rested on his blade. He donned two weapons; a standard issue castle-steel short sword, and the Catspaw blade. He had watched his father carry it for years, he watched his mother brandish it in his name and cut Rhaenyra— and now it was his. 

Not by precedent or bestowment, he actually stole it. When he was being sent to take the black, he pilfered it from Daemon’s chambers. The old fucker already had one ancestral blade, he didn’t need two. It was the only thing he had left of home, besides the sapphire in his socket and his eyepatch. It was gorgeous crafted Valyrian steel and he always kept it on his person. 

His thumb grazed over the ruby gem on the hilt of the dagger absentmindedly as they descended on their journey, spurring their horses further across the threshold of the wall. Lord Fir was at the front, with Aemond holding up the back in their procession of ingrates and outcasts. 

If he told his younger self that he was to be lumped in with bastards, thieves, rapers and ne’er-do-wells, he would’ve laughed in his own face. It was a ridiculous notion for a Targaryen prince to be even entertaining the idea. And yet, here he was. Living it out. 

He wondered what his mother was doing currently. Had she taken Helaena and Aegon to Oldtown with the children? Did she stay in the Red Keep to be squashed under Rhaenyra’s heel? 

“Aemond Targaryen, you stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, protector of the realm,” Ser Westerling had shouted, “You stand accused of treason, conspiracy to commit usurpation, and nepoticide. You murdered Lucerys Velaryon in cold blood above the skies of Shipbreaker Bay.” 

Aemond had been in chains, his face haggard and stubbled from not being able to shave. They stripped him of his eyepatch and sapphire at the hearing, sending him down to his knees with his barren eye socket to behold. 

“How do you plead to these charges?” Ser Harrold asked. 

Aemond said nothing. 

Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, tapping her finger incessantly against the metal, “Brother. I’ve granted you the courtesy of allowing a hearing to your… crimes, rather than simply sending you to the block. Mayhaps I was too lenient on my decision to let you say your piece.” 

Aemond still said nothing, looking down at the ground. He heard his mother shuffling near him, off to the side in the throne room, murmuring something hurriedly to someone. 

“I have nothing to say. Lucerys is dead— nothing I can say will bring him back or undo what’s been done.” he finally grit out, his voice hoarse from disuse. 

“So, you have no objection to being punished for your crimes? The crime of Kinslaying is the most cursed,” Rhaenyra said, leaning forward, “Mayhaps I will grant you a death by dragon— I would honor you the same way you so graciously honored Lucerys, hm? Mayhaps have Syrax and Caraxes rip you limb from limb and scatter your parts over Blackwater Bay.” 

Aemond didn’t respond.

“Y-your grace,” Alicent spoke up, walking to Aemond and standing in front of him, “Please, have mercy upon him. Your son wouldn’t have wanted this—“

“DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT MY SON WOULD’VE WANTED,” Rhaenyra bellowed, standing up from her seat, “Your son took away his ability to want anything, and for that there should be repercussions! A son for a son.” 

“Rhaenyra, please,” Alicent murmured, “Please, I can’t lose him— it�� it was an accident. Aemond, tell her it was an accident!”

He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to admit their family’s greatest fear was true; they did not have complete control over their dragons. 

Rhaenyra gazed at Aemond’s pained expression, then at Alicent, “He will be punished. But I would not become a Kinslayer— I do not wish to be as accursed as you, brother,” she strode back to the throne, twisting the rings on her fingers, “He will take the black and be sent to the wall. He will have no titles, no land, no wife or children. He will have nothing for the rest of his life except for the Night’s Watch.” 

Alicent was stunned, as was Aemond. He wondered if he would’ve preferred death. 

“In addition,” Rhaenyra continued, “His claim to his dragon, Vhagar, will be severed. He will undergo the Valyrian ceremony for it.” 

“You can’t,” Aemond growled, “You can’t!” he panicked— Vhagar had been the only thing he ever achieved in his life, truly. He lost his eye for her. 

“Take him back to his cell and prepare him for the ride up the Kingsroad.” she said with finality, looking down at her hand as she sat back on the throne. 

Aemond saw— she had been pricked by the throne, blood beading at the tip of her finger. 

Mayhaps there are still small mercies in this world. 

A particularly strong gust of cold air snapped him back to reality, his hand still itching over his dagger. They reached the thick treeline that stretched out for miles, their horses trudging through the snow. 

They were at least ten miles out from the wall now, the Seven Kingdoms left truly well behind them. A small river trickled near them and Aemond saw the shadows of fish— large ones at that. 

He had been in the Night’s Watch for at least seven moons now, and this was his first expedition outside of the wall. It felt like a whole different world— a world without laws, without political duty, without fights of succession over a throne made of swords— there was something freeing about being here. It was only a remnant of what he felt soaring the skies on Vhagar, but it would have to do. 

The wind whistled through the branches of the trees, fresh snow beginning to fall. He heard a fly buzzing near his ear. No, that couldn’t be right. Surely there weren’t flies in the cold? 

It wasn’t right— another fly whizzed past him, sticking into the man in front of him. Those were the arrows. 

“Ambush! Wildlings!” Lord Fir shouted, reeling in his horse. 

Aemond went to unsheathe his sword when his horse went haywire, rearing up on its hind legs. “Lykiri, lykiri!” Be calm, be calm. He shouted at the horse, tugging at the reins as the wildlings descended upon them. He felt like he was above Storm’s End once more, screaming for Vhagar to heed his commands—

His horse bucked him off, sending him tumbling into a deep snow drift. He dropped his sword somewhere aside— his hand immediately went to his waist, gripping around the Catspaw dagger. 

A breath of relief washed over him as he rolled and hid behind a tree, unsheathing the dagger. He twirled it around, waiting for someone, anyone to cross his path. 

He then felt the cool pressure of a blade against his throat. 

“Don’t move, crow,” a voice said. It was almost diminutive, soft in tone— but it was threatening all the same, “I don’t need to paint the snow red with your blood just yet. Drop the dagger.” 

Begrudgingly, he dropped the Valyrian steel into the snow. 

“Now turn around, slowly. Keep your hands out.” 

He turned around, expecting to see an ugly wildling in his gaze. He had only heard the tales of them, that they were more ugly than not. 

His breath caught in his throat as he looked upon her— she was small, much smaller than he, her skin somewhat pale and cool toned, freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. It was her eyes that caught him— one was a deep, rich brown, and the other was a light blue, with fragments and shards of brown in it, like a mountain against a clear sky. Her hair, dark chocolate brown with one streak of white in it, was tied into a haphazard braid. She wore earrings made of the lower jaw of some small mammal, inlaid with opals. She was holding a dragonglass dagger to his throat, the hilt of it carved from a deer’s antler, encrusted with a matching moonstone. 

She wore a long, white coat— it looked to be the skin of some animal, but Aemond couldn’t tell which. It was spotted and fluffed. 

His brow narrowed as he noticed that she was soaking wet, dripping water from her nose and hair, the sheen of moisture shining from her skin.

He could only imagine how astonished he looked staring at her— but she stared back at him in the same manner, her eyes wide. She had huge eyes, Gods be good. 

“Fucking hell, you’ve got a purple eye.” she murmured. 

“You should see my other eye.”

A harsh crack across his face— she had slapped him, “Don’t be a pig.” 

Aemond blinked profusely, “By the Seven— I meant my actual other eye,” he grunted, “May I?” he gestured to his eyepatch. 

“… better be worth it, crow.” she murmured, nodding slowly. 

He lifted his eyepatch off, revealing the sapphire underneath. 

Her lips were slightly agape as she ogled at him, “You’re a fancy crow, aren’t you?”

“Hm.” he grumbled. 

She retrieved the Catspaw dagger from the ground, stowing it at her hip, “I’ll be keepin’ this for right now.” 

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” he asked, perplexed as to why he wasn’t dead yet. 

“Not yet— you got interesting eyes, I wanna show my papa,” she retrieved a leather cord from her belt and wrapped it keenly around his wrists, “Caught myself a crow.” she hummed, seemingly entertained with herself. 

Aemond rolled his eye, letting her hoist him up into a standing position. He towered over her, to which she didn’t seem too bothered about. 

She led him past the battle, which was now over. He saw three of his Night’s Watch brothers slain, and it looks like two others had run off like cravens, including Lord Commander Fir. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“My tribe,” she replied, stringing him along. 

“Your… tribe,” he repeated, “And what is your name?”

“Euna. And you, crow?” 

“Aemond.”

[astrangetorpedo]

On New Year’s Eve, during a house party at her home in Richmond, Virginia, Lucy Dacus had her fortune told. She thought why not. On a personal level, 2017 had been a wretched year – a steady conveyor belt delivering the 22-year-old bad news.

“This girl, who I didn’t even know, came to the party and gave me this year-long reading,” she explains. “Month-by-month it was so specific. So far, it’s kind of lined up.”

In the past Dacus has been sceptical about the prophetic powers of the tarot card deck, and was taught that the pentacles (coins) were a symbol of Satan. “It’s hard to look to the future and see nothing, to know nothing,” she muses. “I still don’t know what’s going to happen, but having something to have your mind bounce off is nice. That’s why I like tarot. It gives you something to reflect on.”

It’s all part of a fresh way of thinking for Dacus, a new “mood of just trying to be open to new things.” For so many reasons the past year has been one Lucy Dacus is keen to put behind her. “I guess I could just list things,” she says laughing, but not joking. To begin, some of her close family suffered health problems, compounded by her own serious issues including a bout of appendicitis that forced her to have surgery. She was attempting to buy a house for the first time, a process that proved “trying”. Three of her tours got cancelled.

“It was a little bit miserable,” says Dacus, sitting in an east London cafe. “Towards the end of the year, I just had to laugh… Like, come on!”

Interwoven with these practical challenges she was having to navigate something much more troubling. “I got out of a relationship in 2016, which I was waking up from in 2017 – realising that it was abusive,” she begins. “Letting myself say that, it took many months to come out of the numbness… to stop being brainwashed. So, that’s all been a growth. It’s ended up being positive, but it is difficult wondering how I let that be a part of my life for so long.”

Deepening the ordeal, still, this year of personal upheaval was set to the backdrop of Trump’s first 12 months in office. A vociferous supporter of Bernie Sanders through the 2016 election campaign, Dacus is a passionate advocate for equal rights, attending marches and collecting donations for community organisations at her shows. To have Trump sat in the White House representing her country, she says, felt – feels – “horrible”. “It’s just absurd and I feel like I’m in an alternate universe,” she says. “It’s really hard maintaining hope.

“Coming to Europe I’m embarrassed to be an American sometimes, but then I just have to hope that people know that I am not part of Trump. I’ve thought about wearing shirts at the airport – just like ‘not my president’. In little ways I just want to assert that opinion.”

And then there were the disturbing revelations surrounding Harvey Weinstein (and subsequently many other men) revealed in Autumn 2017, that opened out into a global conversation around the abuse and harassment of women.

“It’s been nice coming out of that really terrible relationship during a time when women are speaking up more. It feels like I’m allowed to say these things now,” says Dacus, crediting the #MeToo movement. “All these horrible, heartbreaking stories of women being mistreated are at the forefront but the solace that people are doing what they need in order to find closure and help each other prevent that happening ever again. For one of the first times I’ve been noticing male friends of mine actually examining their past behaviours.”

While there are some early shoots of positivity, the truth is, the culmination of all of these factors left the songwriter dealing with anxiety for the first time. “2017 was a new state of mind for me – and not really in the best way.”

Lucy Dacus was raised in Richmond, Virginia, about two hours south of Washington D.C. on the east coast. It’s a place sometimes described as “the biggest small town left in America.” The family home was in the rural suburbs and she travelled into the city to go to high school. “It’s hard to tell you in one answer how my whole childhood was,” she says. “It’s a large variety of things. Overall, I’m coming out with my thumbs up.”

In her household music was always there. Her mother is a piano teacher, as was her grandmother. Picking up songwriting was never a big deal, like a second language that was spoken around the house. “That’s how music is – like, it’s just part of my life,” she recalls.

Yet the dream of being a professional artist seemed almost so unattainable that it was invisible. In her late teens, Dacus went to college to study film but dropped out, primarily because she’d end up saddled with huge debt. “That, paired with the feeling of being misunderstood in my programme,” she confirms. “I just didn’t have a lot of like minds in my classes.”

That prompted a move back to Virginia where she took a job in a photography lab developing kids’ cheesy school photos. She’d been writing songs in her spare time and gathered nine of the 30-or-so she had together when her friend Jacob Blizard (now her touring guitarist) asked her to record them for his school project. Her 2016 debut album, ‘No Burden’, was made in one day in Nashville. Blizard passed school, and that album received rave reviews. NPR called it “vulnerable”, while Pitchfork said it was an “uncommonly warm indie rock record”. As a result, 20 different record labels reportedly scrabbled to sign Dacus. She settled on Matador, and began to prepare for what should have been a joyful 2017.

The first time Dacus remembers assuming the role of historian she was seven or eight-years-old. She was writing in her journal – and she smiles now recalling her first entry. It complained about how the babysitter spent the whole evening on the phone to her boyfriend. “There’s a point where I realise I’m journaling and so I stop and go, ‘I should probably introduce myself… I’m Lucy’” she laughs, remembering it clearly. “It’s really cute.”

More than a dozen notebooks, and many years later, she still keeps a diary now. Sometimes she writes every day, other times, weeks go by and then she fills 20 pages. Occasionally she flicks open an old one to either “laugh or cringe” at her younger self.

‘Historian’, then, isn’t just the title of her latest album, but also the way she thinks of herself. A chronicler, of her own experiences, but also those around her. Those pages aren’t just a document of a growing maturity, but also a therapeutic habit that helps make sense of many life events, including that recent damaging relationship. “Seeing that it had been broken for the whole time but that I was just oblivious to it, [reading about] it helps to accept that things didn’t change,” she says. “I just saw it for what it was finally, and so perspective is good.”

Those handwritten journals are sacred, which is why, when her tenth one was stolen on tour a few years ago along with a bag of possessions, it was the notebook she replaced first.

The album itself is a recent history – a narrative burrowing through those myriad dark times. Dacus knew that she wanted it to form a complete story, and wrote the track list before some of the songs. “It’s an arc” she says, that begins in a “relatable place” with the only break-up song she’s ever written (‘Night Shift’) that subsequently delves “deeper into darkness.”

“Then the subject matter gets a little more intense,” she tells me, “– going through identity crises, or loss of home, or loss of faith, loss of a loved one, loss of your life. I feel like I’m pulling people into an uncomfortable space.” She pauses. “There’s then a change where hopefully I’m turning on a light and saying, ‘Yes, all of that exists, but it’s a foil to joy.’”

It is an extraordinary piece of work. Musically it’s a colossal step up, reminiscent of recent albums by Mitski (‘Puberty 2’), Angel Olsen (‘My Woman’) and labelmate Julien Baker (‘Turn out the Lights’). The subject matter is heavy, but it’s never a dreary listen. In fact, it’s charming, funny even – like a brave smile emerging through a curtain of tears. And Dacus has a gift for lyric writing; like the eloquent way she pays tribute to the humility shown by her dying grandmother on ‘Pillar of Truth’. From first to final note it’s evocative and powerful. “The first time I tasted somebody else’s spit I had a coughing fit,” goes the LP’s opening line in ‘Night Shift’. “If past you were to meet future me,” she sings on the final line of the closing title track, “would you be holding me now?”

It’s heartening to hear that the contents of Dacus’ NYE tarot reading were largely positive. The forecast noted that she should enjoy the proceeds of her hard work, but that “something horrible happens in the summer, then there’s kind of a rebirth, growing back into, like, life in an even more knowledgeable and peace-oriented way.” Dacus is about to leave, and picks up a bag of books she’s been keeping underneath the cafe table.

“It could be wrong,” she says. “I’m not superstitious. I’m taking it in. When that does happen I hope I can take my own advice – let it be what it is, and look past it eventually

(x) 3/14/18

[bratpak]

FLORIAN SANICO is the young, hot, and not rich CEO of ACIDIC RECORDS. He only acquired Acidic Records after his stepfather's passing in 2020. Being born in the Philippines in 1988 to a single mom, Florian grew up primarily raised by his grandparents until his mom found her future husband when Florian was just seven years old. Florian's stepfather would embody the term "the father that stepped up," immediately taking on the father role in Florian's life that the little boy so desperately wanted. When he was ten years old, Florian's father, a South Korean man, would relocate the family to South Korea for his work and to provide a better life for them, which he most certainly did. While in South Korea, Florian would attend the most expensive international school and the most prestigious universities there, obtaining degrees in business management, marketing, psychology, and international business.

Money has never been an issue for Florian if you can't tell.

Acidic Records was a mere side quest for his father, only housing underground indie soloists and producers. They never did anything noteworthy until Florian was appointed CEO in 2020, immediately opening auditions for their training program. Florian has always believed KPOP was where the money was, and his father was just too old to handle the times.

He was...almost right!

With the debut of BRATPACK in 2022, Florian found it much more difficult to break into the KPOP market than planned, initially losing a lot of money in the BRATPACK venture. However, with the group's rapidly rising success and album sales, Florian might not be such a failure after all.

ALMANDA SUMMERS is the alias of the creative director of BRATPACK. No one knows who she is or has ever seen her face. No one can find anything about this woman; seriously, she is a mystery.

Besides her Twitter account.

Almanda, believed to be a woman in her late twenties, is very active on Twitter and Instagram, often posting pictures of her visions for the group and commenting on recent events in the KPOP realm. Though she is quite loved by the fandom, some people believe she is an instigator and gets BRATPACK into drama they would've never gotten into if Almanda just turned her phone off.

Either way, her constantly running mouth doesn't derail her from being one of the most known and sought-after creative directors in KPOP at the moment. Bringing forth aesthetics and ideas the genre has never seen before or has left untouched for too long in her opinion, Almanda is an icon and legend in the making.

TONYA FUKUI is a former African-American—Japanese supermodel whose career was cut short due to a cheating scandal that had her dubbed "Japan's Hottest Homewrecker " for well over a decade now. Though her modeling career was done, she went behind the scenes and started working as a stylist for high-end clients, turned Jpop acts, and turned Kpop acts. Truly, she was just chasing where the money went to fund her purse addiction.

Tonya has worked with groups such as AESPA, NCT 127, NCT DREAM, RED VELVET, SHINEE, EXO, GOT7, STRAYKIDS, NMIXX, BLACKPINK, and many, many more. If you liked an outfit your favorite idol wore, Tonya most likely designed it for them.

Now, she primarily spends her time styling BRATPACK as she claims they let her be as creative as she wants. After years of being a punching bag for the general public, Tonya is finally adored again, mainly just people on BRATPACK Twitter, but hey! It's a start.

AUGUSTUS MOON is the main producer of BRATPACK. He began working in the KPOP industry at just seventeen years old when he and his sister, Autumn Moon, fled America and went to South Korea to get away from their abusive parents. Though Augustus has had some solo releases himself and has garnered a small following, he much prefers sticking behind the scenes as he says, "KPOP is not for me. I hate dancing." even though his Tiktok page will contradict that statement.

Augustus was born in 1995 in Chicago. He doesn't speak much about his time in America, deeming it "a test on if he really wanted to live or not" and saying his life only really started when he moved to South Korea and started making music.

Before exclusively working with Acidic Records and BRATPACK, Augustus would work with a wide variety of KPOP acts and make an even wider variety of songs. Some are phenomenal, and some are the worst things you've ever heard. Not every track can be a winner!

AUTUMN MOON is the main producer of BRATPACK and a part-time soloist. At sixteen, she fled America with her brother and moved to South Korea to get away from her abusive parents. Autumn and Augustus are glued at the hip. You'd swear they're twins by how in sync they are with one another.

Unlike her brother, Autumn is a soloist as well as a producer. However, she has seemingly put her own music career on the back burner to focus on BRATPACK and motherhood. That's right! Actual mother! Autumn has a nine-year-old son, Eunji, who she adores and loves dearly. She married her long-time boyfriend and PRIORITY member, Jang Kiha, last summer and is currently pregnant with their first child.

Autumn has been very open about her love for music and how happy working with BRATPACK makes her. Between her very fulfilling personal life and flourishing career, Autumn has attracted her own fanbase, calling her "Life Goals" and starting the trend of autumnism, where people try to live their lives like Autumn's.

Though her solo career, which only caught her attention once she decided to hang it up, has been put on halt, Autumn is very happy with where she is in life and adds a layer of hope to the BRATPACK team.

[john-laurens]

Francis Kinloch & Miss Stephens

I've long been curious about a "Miss Stephens" mentioned in the September 30, 1776 letter from John Laurens to Francis Kinloch:

You seem to be in such high spirits at [Wr]iting the name of fair Miss Stephens, that I have a notion there is a Liaison de Coeur in question, if so I congratulate you both with all my Heart, I have not seen her a great while but shall see her with more pleasure than ever if she is to be yours_ … As the fair Lady abovementioned is advised to go to Italy for her Health, you will probably leave Genevé sooner than you intended; in case this does not arrive in time for your perusal at Genthod, I have directed Mr Hammond to find out your Address, and forw[ard] it to you_ present my best Respects to our Country woman and believe me yours. JL.

From this brief section, we can gather a few pieces of information about the mysterious Miss Stephens:

She was American and potentially from South Carolina ("our Country woman"). At this time, each of the American colonies were often thought of and acted more like individual countries rather than a unified group of states, so it's possible that Laurens meant that Miss Stephens was from Laurens and Kinloch's shared home colony of South Carolina.

She knew both Kinloch and Laurens (whether she met them in America or Europe is impossible to say).

She had some sort of health issue that seems to have prompted her (and Kinloch's) trip to Italy.

The relationship between her and Kinloch was so serious/passionate that Laurens was under the impression that the two would be married.

Of the surviving Kinloch-related letters from this time period, this is the only mention of Miss Stephens by name. I've searched through The Papers of Henry Laurens for any mention of a woman with the last name of Stephens/Stevens, but I haven't found anything substantial. I did learn that John Stevens, the deputy postmaster of Charleston, had a daughter named Eunice, but she was married to William Brisbane in 1768.

Interestingly, there is no surviving mention of Miss Stephens in the Johannes von Müller letters that discuss Kinloch's impending Italy trip. Müller implies that he was also planning on traveling with Kinloch to Italy, had circumstances allowed it:

I must ask you for advice. You know my destination for the summer. Next winter, either Italy or, without a doubt, Genthod. - Johannes von Müller to Karl Victor von Bonstetten, 1776 My friend K is going to Italy. It is difficult; but the North American war and my work, which would be too disrupted, prevent me from accompanying him. - Johannes von Müller to his father, October 10, 1776

Müller does make reference to a matter that delayed Kinloch's travels - this delay may have been due to uncertainties around finances and the recently started American Revolutionary War:

Letters from England have convinced Mr Kinloch to move his planned journey forward to the autumn. - Johannes von Müller to his brother, June 1776

Müller later makes a reference to Kinloch leaving in the fall, which aligns more with the Laurens-Kinloch letter:

Kinloch is leaving, when? I do not know, but certainly before the 10th October, for three days to Iverdun; I am not going with him. - Johannes von Müller to Karl Victor von Bonstetten, September 18, 1776

Even in these various mentions of Kinloch's Italy trip, there is no mention of the possibility of Kinloch meeting up with a woman or even rearranging his departure due to the health of a woman. I have wondered if this could be a sort of avoidant behavior on Müller's part. Müller seems to have experienced same-sex attraction, as made particularly clear by a fake love letter scandal (a former student put on a fake male identity and exchanged passionate letters with Müller in an attempt to defraud him). Müller also clearly expressed a deep love for Kinloch, so it's possible that Müller was jealous of or saddened by the possibility of Kinloch seriously courting a woman. Interestingly, there are a couple likely mentions of Miss Stephens in some letters from Kinloch to Müller, written after Kinloch's trip to Italy:

Mon americaine, as you are pleased to style the Lady I saw at Florence, n'est point de tout mon fait_ She "altius tendit," now whenever I marry, it w[ill] be some Woman who thinks She could not possibly have done better_ besides I know a poor man who is desperately in love with the Lady in question_ - Francis Kinloch to Johannes von Müller, May 16, 1777 If ever I marry any Woman, this will be my choice; for as to the Americaine I saw at Florence, il n’en est pas question_ - Francis Kinloch to Johannes von Müller, May 30, 1777

Here are English translations of the French and Latin (French translations provided by @my-deer-friend):

My American, as you are pleased to style the Lady I saw at Florence, it is not of my doing_ She "aims higher," now whenever I marry, it w[ill] be some Woman who thinks She could not possibly have done better_ besides I know a poor man who is desperately in love with the Lady in question_ - Francis Kinloch to Johannes von Müller, May 16, 1777 If ever I marry any Woman, this will be my choice; for as to the American I saw at Florence, there's no question of it_ - Francis Kinloch to Johannes von Müller, May 30, 1777

Presumably, this woman is Miss Stephens, as she is American and met up with Kinloch in Italy (both of these points were noted in the Laurens-Kinloch letter). This presents a very different picture of the Stephens-Kinloch relationship than the one presented in the Laurens-Kinloch letter. Kinloch traveled to various cities across Italy during his trip, and he seems to have only briefly met with Miss Stephens in Florence. It does not appear here that he made the trip to Italy with a large focus on Miss Stephens or her health, as Laurens's letter suggested. Additionally, there is finally an acknowledgement of Miss Stephens by Müller - and he seems to have perhaps encouraged Kinloch's relationship with Miss Stephens (or teased him about it). In the May 16, 1777 letter, Kinloch writes that the "Mon americaine" nickname given to Miss Stephens was not his idea but rather Müller's. Perhaps Müller had met her in Geneva prior to her move to Italy. And most importantly, we finally have an answer as to why Kinloch never married the Miss Stephens he was supposedly courting - she rejected him! Kinloch was apparently a little bitter about it. He quickly deflects by making a reference to his family's motto (altius tendo - aim higher) and is in disbelief that Miss Stephens could find a better partner than him. He also notes that there is some other "poor man" who loves Miss Stephens and may marry her - clearly he sees this man as a step down from himself. My opinion? Miss Stephens 1000% could have done better than Kinloch and was right to reject him. Way to dodge that bullet, girl. I hope you lived a happy, fulfilling life without him. Me in 2024 reading about Kinloch getting rejected ~250 years ago:

While we may never know much more about the mysterious Miss Stephens, it was great to finally get some closure about her relationship (or lack thereof) with Kinloch. Thanks to @my-deer-friend for help with the German and French translations!

[xandytheghostface]

my headcanon about habit n evan, hear out mee

he is pansexual fr, where there is a hole, he has a goal (in my native language it is "those who ignore holes are city hall", I don't know if you understand)

HE WATCHES SOUTH PARK

he is definitely Damian from SP

he has already tried to pierce his ears and so incredible as it may seem: IT DIDN'T WORK

his love language is physical touch and quality time

he loves horror films and spends nights just judging the special effects of films/series

he often uses Kyle's swearing vocabulary in SP for obvious reasons , and his jokes are like Cartman, lmao

he hates waking up early, even though he doesn't even sleep, when Evan's body passes out, he has to sleep for two days (?) and he usually wakes up in the morning, he hates the mornings

he likes old bands, beatles and Freddie Mercury

he plays FNAF, his favorite animatronic is Bonnie

he has no way with children and always scares anyone who makes too much noise.

he judges those who like alex g/mitski, because evan listens to it all the time and the habit just gets fed up LIKE "BRO, DON'T YOU HAVE OTHER SONGS TO LISTEN TO?"

he watches hello kitty & my little pony

he LOVES scaring others and playing pranks

he is a discord user (this is a joke

he has pointy canine fangs

he thinks it's stupid but his favorite flowers are purple hydrangeas

his latest taste is phonks

different from habit, evan is a morning person

(if habit is not in possession) evan is always awake for five to seven hours in the morning

he is a light sleeper, but due to lack of rest and insomnia, he began to sleep extremely heavily

his muscle memory is to protect Jeff, despite Habit being much stronger than his will.

he is so lana del rey, billie eilish n melanie martinez coded

he is afraid of insects, especially cockroaches

In elementary school, he was the kind of nerd who was too studious but also the one who kept interrupting classes because he talked too much to his friends

your favorite season is autumn

he is aromantic, doesn't care about gender, what matters for him is the reciprocity of love in a relationship and daily communication

he has daddy issues and isn't that fond of alcohol.

he loves sharks

he has red hairs on the back of his neck

his favorite animal is cats, regardless of color/race

he may be agnostic or catholic

he is afraid of thunder

his preference for white chocolate is clear

he loves Annabelle films

he has practiced volleyball

he started school early due to his parents' strictness and reads TOO quickly

bro has astigmatism but didn't take it seriously and doesn't like glasses

in his childhood he had asthma

he tries as much as he can to stay physically healthy

It's 4:24 am and I'm insomnia, someone help me, my arms totally hurt 😭💔

[nolsaesthetic]

♡Crowley♡ Headcanons

Idc what anyone says, he likes his hair being messed with

Mommy issues, the original

Favorite season is autumn because even though they hate the cold, getting to cuddle up with Aziraphale to get warm is worth it

Love language is quality time but shows it through acts of service and gift giving

Once free from Hell, they volunteer (orphanages, soup kitchens, shelters, ect.)

Doesn't enjoy pop music all that much

Gave Beelzebub a 'how to care for your angel' guide as a honeymoon gift

Still checks in on Warlock and Adam, secretly

Retains a small amount of faith in God, but none in heaven

Is very annoyed that Gabriel got a happy ending, kind of bittersweet about it

Has no idea what flower language is and just thinks Aziraphale really likes orange tulips

Learn how to be more independent and have their own life after season 2

Disappeared off the face of the Earth after season 2, maybe literally, and then reappeared up to two years later like nothing happened

Afterward, Nina and Maggie try to get him to talk, but he'll usually just leave once the mention Aziraphale

Hadn't entered the bookshop since the fight, got really drunk one day and broke in. It scared the shit out of Muriel

Has a whole self care and skin care routine

(Sorry) Was left in complete confusion right after her fall. No one told him anything, and she was too afraid to ask anymore, so she waited until she could figure it out on her own

Tried to keep a duck as a pet once. It didn't go well, and he settled for just having a duck he silently named St.James

One time, an old dude shouting at the street yelled that they were going to Hell for being gay and they could they laughed so hard the guy left

Has had the "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven" pick up line used on her way too many times

Grows an apple tree in her garden at the South Downs Cottage

Still refuses to go back to Hell even after Aziraphale left, holds out hope that he will come back soon

Doesn't eat anything anymore, other than alcohol, reminds them too much of Aziraphale

Wants to be spiteful towards Aziraphale and Heaven, but doesn't have it in them

I'm so sorry this was a bit more angsty than I was going for. As always, if you have more headcanons, let me know about them ♡

[pinturas-sgm-aviacion]

1941 01 13 Wellington over Venice - Graham Turner

Wellingtons over Venice, 12/13 January 1941 Eyewitness accounts that describe Bomber Command's operations to Italy often speak of the long duration (some 9 hours) of the trip, and a boredom that was only punctuated by the joy in seeing the snow-covered Alpine peaks and the short-lived drama of bombing the target. Yet the earlier attacks on Italy, in 1940 and 1941, often proved to be much more wild adventures. Individual aircraft selected their own way of getting to the target and, once there, they would not just drop their bomb load but often engaged in 'further activities', such as the low-level shooting-up of flak positions, airfields, road convoys, moving trains or - in this case - ocean liners. In early December 1940, 4 Group had been taken off Italian operations owing to the need to conserve its Whitley Mk Vs for large fire-raising operations against German cities, and the 'Italy assignment' was transferred to 3 Group, which operated the Vickers Wellington MxIc.

The operational instructions issued by HQ Bomber Command stated they were to attack Italian targets, but only with a maximum number of 15 aircraft; they were given a fixed list of German targets from which to choose alternatives if weather precluded attack upon Italian objectives, but clearly the latter was the priority.

On 4 December, 3 Group undertook its first Italian operation, when 15 aircraft were detailed to bomb the Royal Arsenal in Turin, and Wellingtons were also sent to italy on 18 and 21 December, and on 11/12 January 1941. The following night, seven Wellingtons were ordered to attack the oil refineries at Porto Marghera, near Venice, and the progress of this operation is depicted in this battle scene. The bombers scored direct hits on the target area: one 1, 000lb boob dropped from 700ft scored a direct hit on large buildings at the oil refinery, causing a massive explosion with reddish/white smoke and flames to 400ft, whilst further bombs caused oil storage tanks to explode and a large building to collapse and disintegrate. Fifteen minutes into the attack, the target area was described by aircrews as being a mass of flames. Yet 3 Group's aircraft had not travelled that far (a round trip of 1,500 miles) just to drop their modest bomb loads (at that range about 1,500lb).

With little chance of being intercepted - in early 1941 the Regia Aeronautica had yet to train for the night-fighter role - the Wellingtons used their machine guns to strafe the oil refinery and flak positions. Two aircraft got down very low - to about 300ft and 390ft respectively - to attack the Italian liners Rex and Conte di Savoia, which were being used as troop ships to North Africa. The raid report stated that another Wellington on its return journey attacked Padua aerodrome from an incredible 20ft. Such activity encapsulates the brave - if at times reckless - endeavour of the early bomber attacks on Italy. Operations did become a lot more organised, more controlled and, ultimately, more devastating from autumn 1942 onwards, though a final 'wild ride' would be the daylight operation to Milan by 5 Group's Lancasters on 24 October 1942, which culminated in some low-level flying and strafing by machine guns (...). As for the two Italian liners, the next time the Rex was attacked by the RAF, in conjunction with Beaufighters of the South African Air Force, was on 8 September

[akpaley]

Kaijja's slightly complicated love life has been made more complicated by the fact that Kavsa's dead wife was, in fact, undead and still around, raising important questions like "why the fuck would you promise to stay with me if I die if you couldn't bend your oaths for your actual wife?"

If you want to read about Kaijja's divorce, a couple thousand words about that under the cut.

You sit together amidst the scattered light beneath the trees, resting your tired body while somewhere across the golden grass Tanvi waters the quards. Jean has looped an arm around your waist, fingers lightly touching your belly as he softly enumerates all the work he looks forward to suffering at your side and things he cannot wait to show the child within.  "Give me some time to finish growing the little one first, hmm?" You quirk your lips at him and he pulls you to the side until your head rests in his lap. You reposition to lay on your back and look up at him, still holding his hand. "What are we going to name her?" "Her?" He smiles warmly. "How do you know it's a girl?" "I was visited by Saint Adja herself, she told me so in a dream." You laugh together at the ridiculousness of presuming to know the future and imagine your daughter laughing with you. 

Summer winds its way through the Issanari, the sun tilting south in its journey from Al Anar to the distant western shores. Your band of votaries mend structures, resolve disputes, carry the news and cure the sick. Dawn prayer comes early and sunset prayer late. The child in your belly grows and you administer prayers for safe childbirths and safe sex with special reverence for the stories and scripture. From the way you speak of it Jean would think the petitioner saints invented motherhood. You accuse him of taking you literally, which he is, and he accuses you of attempting poetry, which you are. You imagine leaving your daughter summers of poems, gathering a collection of fleeting moments to remember and show her when she has her first child. This was what it was like. This was you.

Jean no longer wants you to hunt for pests or drive off predators, and you easily relinquish tasks that you never had talent at to begin with. A wyvern harasses a community deep in the northern hills and you tell Jean and Tanvi to make preparations while you ride to ask assistance from the folk you know cultivate the forest upriver. You can feel his relief, but he insists on riding you to the edge of the wood before sending you on your way. More contentious are the tasks you will not relinquish. You don't need to investigate rumors of a demon, he says, you met Shiral's band two days ago, send word and let them handle it. It turns out to be a medial, but Jean is furious with you for leading the ride to meet it. Were it actually a demon you doubt he would have been able to convince it to leave himself. That's not the point, he tells you with uncharacteristic tautness in his voice, you could have been killed. The fact that you could also be killed if your quard spooks and you fall seems unconvincing, as much as the reality that you are, in fact, fine. 

Autumn brings storms, but not like this. Lightning shouldn't strike upward, so there's no fight as you curve your path into its shadow, but the silence is tense and worried. As you near the center you can feel the air crackle, sharp and angry against your skin. The quards bleat in agitation as you bring them to a stop in the settlement at the base of the hill, a small collection of wooden structures spread across three dirt roads. Your companions dismount quickly. Tanvi helps you down off your own testy animal and you feel a clip of static as your feet touch the earth. People stand close to the buildings, hum of nervous chatter playing against the cracking thrum of lightning arcing off the hill above. You issue orders quickly.  "Split up, find out if anyone's hurt. Go."  Jean hesitates. "What are you going to do?" "I'm going to find out what happened." His eyes linger on you, not quite trusting you not to do something foolish and extreme, so you don't tell him what you're going to do. Instead you say "It's fine, love. I'll be careful," and he goes.  Once both are out of sight, you will slowly climb the hill, lightning arcing between streaks of red earth all around you. You are not nimble under the best of circumstances, but you are not afraid. You can see yourself in your mind's eye, the image of motherhood ascending through crackling purple death for these people, and you know this will only ever happen once. You are too you not to become a story. 

When you descend alongside the Second Son, lightning drawing back into the earth, you return a symbol. When in a month people you have never met speak your name, it will be for this moment and they will not bother to undercut its virtue. The entire rest of your life will be predicated on what you have done today. Jean cannot even look at you. 

"I have stood by while you did terrifying deadly things, but it's not just your life you're risking anymore. He could have killed you both and there would have been nothing either of us could do about it." Anyone but Jean would be shouting right now. Instead his voice is hard and rough, deriving emphasis from speed rather than volume.  "Folk are safe and a man lives and I am fine," you answer in soothing tones. "I knew I was going to be." "Kaijja, you could not possibly have known that. Fuck the scripture for one moment, I know you know what gods are. That man is more dangerous than any demon. He could kill you in pique and forget you ever existed. Damnit, you're lucky he didn't kill you by accident!" He has bypassed the argument that you did not know it was a god at all and a demon might not have been so conversational. "He wasn't going to kill us." You smile. "Ishxaar is powerful and careless and an ass, but he is still a person." Jean looks at you with despair in his eyes. "People kill each other, Kaijja." He doesn't seem to be getting the point, so you reiterate. "Look, Jean, I knew. I felt it. It was right and I was right. Call it fate or intuition or whatever you want, but--" "I call it gambling, and you will stop doing it with our child's life." In fifteen years of knowing each other it is the first time Jean has ever snapped at you, so you comply.

For what it's worth, Tanvi thinks going home was probably a good idea anyway. "You'll have a community there. The three of us could raise the kiddo on the road, but it's harder." She would know. 

Your mother is thrilled. She cheerfully rearranges her home to accommodate the two of you, enlists you in spinning thread, and chats to you about parenting you and your siblings in exchange for stories from your travels. Your siblings and friends (yours, theirs, your parents'--your parents' home has always been a parade of friends) make or bring you things--clothing outgrown by your little brother's kid, food from the market and the herds, dry bone and scrap wood for your own crafts. Your father delights in feeding the procession. Your siblings adopt Jean into their routines when he is not out in the community doing votary work, and he blooms as he always does with your family. 

For your part you try to handle the transition gracefully, moving from care to transcription work when spending your days on your feet becomes a problem. At some point the people around you refuse to let you walk up to the cathedral to do it and bring the paper and scripture to your parents' home. You grill them for news and draw them into discussions of stories and scripture and natural philosophy. In what is going to become a theme, you do not like putting aside your work no matter how necessary it is for the child that you rest. Stillness has never been your forte, but as everyone will not stop reminding you, your body is currently doing quite a lot of work. You're just going to have to figure out how to let it. 

You lodge another strike against your motherly intuition by joyously welcoming a son, tiny and screaming and dark like his father. Your parents coo over the little boy while you and Jean insist on speaking to the infant like a tiny adult. "Saiif," your sister tells the baby, "Your parents want you to grow up to be the most erudite child in all the land. I think you should disappoint them by fucking off to be a shepherd in the mountains," and laughs when your mother tries to chase her out of the room for swearing at a baby. 

Saiif doesn't particularly like to sleep, much to your household's chagrin, and you often spend nights wandering the dark of the city with Jean and the restless baby, telling the stories of the stars. Your little brother's four-year-old asks his fathers absurd questions about the new cousin with the grave sincerity of a child tasked with helping the adults. The parade of friends through your parents’ home doesn't stop, but now it comes with parenting advice. You are regularly shooed out of your own home to work or pray or spend some time together. Often, you talk about Saiif anyway. Increasingly, you return to your work.

And then one day during one of your little exiles Mirjat finds you at the bath house, soaking in the warm waters. She joins you in the water and, after a bit of chat, your old mentor informs you that the Herald to Iokhar is intending to retire next year. Does she have any idea yet who the candidates might be to replace him? With things getting complicated in the North it's going to need to be someone who's not afraid to stand up to a difficult god. Ideally someone with an eye to conflict resolution and the record of deeds to prove it. Inevitably unexpected folk will put their names in the ring, but the Clericy always has a shortlist. Who are they going to ask? Well, the Clericy of the Petitioner Saints was thinking about you.

When you share the news with Jean that evening he is uneasy. You have been so wrapped up in planning how you might run a campaign that you had not considered he might not be equally enthusiastic about the thing. When he finally speaks on the matter it is to ask, "Are you certain this is a good idea?" He is concerned that your ties to Adrar--You don't have any--Your husband and son are visibly Adrari. For all that Jean is a votary of Issanar, for all that his parents will never meet Saiif, Jean is Adrari. He does not want the attention your candidacy would bring. He does not want to parade Saiif about to the communities you must convince, does not want your son to be the subject of strangers' scrutiny before he is old enough to speak for himself. 

You chew on that for a little while. You concede Jean’s trepidation is warranted. Perhaps if it were Kahili things would be different, but you want to be Herald to Iokhar, and Adrar is still very much a live security issue for communities in the North. But this will only ever happen once. While Heralds can be unseated, it is rare, and even with advocates of difficult gods oft serving fewer terms, you will never be a more salient figure than you are now. The Clericy has put your name forward because they expect you would be well suited, and they suspect that in the current environment you would win. This is your opportunity to shape the world, to serve your people, to do great works and be part of a lineage that reaches all the way back to the Petitioner Saints. Jean agrees, but he does not want his traditions to become politics. He will not be forced to prove he is Issanari enough to those who would have kept him out if they could. He will not expose Saiif to the same. Your conversation goes in circles for weeks, but ultimately there is no solution to find. You can do this, but he cannot do it with you. You will have to choose.

Later you will argue through tears of rage that Jean cannot leave Tanrilar, cannot take away the son you have barely seen since he started speaking. You will rail against the consequences of your actions as if you had not made the choices, and Jean will listen. Eventually when you have run out of things to say you will fold your arms and lick salt tears from your lips and the man who was your husband will say his piece with a calm but absolute resolve. "I've known you for a long time, Kaijja. For years I enabled you while you took terrible risks and made wonderful things. Now you can do more of both, and I am happy for you. But Saiif is never going to be your priority. So I am going to do what is best for me and for our son." His voice softens, gentler but no less certain. "I love you Kaijja, but this is stronger than your gravity. I promise you will always know where to find us." You know even then that he is right, but in that moment you will argue and hurl vicious insults regardless, and he will stand there taking it until you have run yourself ragged and worn your voice to sandpaper. It will be almost another year before you apologize. 

Many years later still, over tea Jean will remark without malice that your relationship with your god is kind of perfect. "All the power and love with none of the inconvenience of daily compromise."  "I compromise!" you complain, smiling. "Not when someone doesn't convince you that you'll like the new outcome anyway."  "Not when I don't have to," you'll finally be ready to concede. 

[gyuzoh]

“UNKNOWN RIDER” JEON WONWOO—°

summary: you ride at late hours of the night through south korea’s biggest city, often accompanied by a male with a deep husky voice, who you’ve never seen the face of. “hey, you dropped your polaroid”

playlist: idfc (blackbear), nvrmnd (soulbysel), 6 in the morning (yvng jin)

warnings: swearing, mentions of smoking/vaping, sex and drugs.

next (coming soon)

prologue.

your long black hair blew in the wind, the cold air brushing against the bare skin of your arms, and the city lights guiding your way through the busy city.

music was blasting from your airpods, the visor of your helmet protecting your eyes drying out from the wind. cruising through the city alone was the most relaxing feeling.

it was as if though you were riding away from all your personal issues, the burden of upholding the family expectations, the stress of failing university, and the immense frustration of your drug dealing boyfriend.

you pull up to a nearby gas station as your fuel ran low, putting down the kickstand and hopping off, you’re shocked by a deep, husky voice. “you gotta dress for the slide, not for the ride.”

turning your head to face the male two meters to your left, you make eye contact with him, taking notice of his monolids that glanced at you up and down. the black shoei helmet of his was equipped, but you had a hunch that without it— this man who was judging you, is drop dead gorgeous.

“i don’t go fast enough to slide,” you respond, removing your gloves, then pulling off your own helmet and placing it on the seat of your yamaha r3.

you open your gas tank, filling it up as the male makes his way toward you, the scent of sandalwood and peaches overwhelm your nostrils, making you scrunch your nose. the unnamed male checking out your ride intensely.

whilst waiting for your fuel to fill, you take your sweet time observing the broad shouldered stranger in front of you, who was clad in all black, a zip-up hoodie worn over what you could tell was protective gear.

“you’re right, not fast enough,” he mutters, looking up at you from observing your bike, “but still better safe than sorry.”

he wasn’t wrong, the outfit you were wearing tonight was not slide safe at all. black tights and a black tight fit cropped tee, but you were in a rush to leave home, wanting to get away from all the toxicity, forgetting to bring even a jumper to protect you from the autumn breeze.

you scan the barcode of the station, paying with your phone, then shutting your gas tank, plopping yourself onto the seat of your bike.

going home wasn’t an option right now, especially not after what you had witnessed just an hour prior.

you held your helmet in your small hands, licking your chapped lips before speaking to the male that towered over you, who was still standing beside you. “you wanna cruise?”

he stares at you intently for a few seconds, then unzips his jacket, throwing it at you and walking to his own bike. kawasaki ninja. he flips the ignition on his bike, signalling for you to do the same.

“you think you can catch up?” he taunts, a smirk finds its way onto your face. you rush to put on his jacket and flip your own ignition on.

“it’s on.”

both you and the stranger speed past the slow moving cars, splitting lanes dangerously. not a word has been said since the two of you left the gas station half an hour ago, but the silence between youse was comforting.

you were constantly behind him, catching up every few minutes, just to be left behind again as he picked up his speed slightly.

your cruise with the stranger ends at daecheon beach, the two of you both equipping your kickstands and unmounting your bikes.

just as previous at the gas station, your remove your helmet, him keeping his on. “you kept up,” he says, a chuckle following suit as he takes a few small steps your way.

you roll your eyes at his teasing, pushing strands of hair that was blowing in the opposite direction out of your face. “only barely, you kept leaving me behind.”

you notice how his eyes crinkled as he smiled, how thick his well kept brows were, and how tall his nose is. you wanted a peek at this strangers face, and you wanted it now.

your slim fingers reach out, grazing against the clasp of his helmet, your eyes noticing that his were half-lidded, his lashes short. “can i?”

the taller figure nods his head, leaning down slightly with his head lowered for you, ready for you to remove the expensive head gear. his large hands held onto your waist, pulling your slim body closer to his. the smell of peaches once again entering your nose.

as you’re about to lift his helmet off his head, the ringing of your phone splits through the silence, pulling the two of you apart from one another, snapping you back to reality. your rummage your belt bag for your phone, glancing at the screen.

shit, it’s already past midnight. the contact name read your boyfriends name, min yoongi.

you struggle to remove your gloves, sliding your finger delicately across the screen, answering the phone call. “where are you?”

the anger in his tone was evident, and the way he asked sent a chill down your spine, though maybe it was the fact you were underdressed for the weather.

“i’m at daecheon,” you answer, your hand making its way to your lips, perfect whites now gnawing at your nails in anxiousness, “with jennie.”

you didn’t know why you lied, you could’ve just said you were alone, but for some reason you felt as if though you needed to keep this spontaneous cruise with the stranger who stood before you, a secret.

“you have an hour, i need you to do a drop for me.”

the call ends abruptly, and you pull the phone away from your ear, watching the screen of your device turn black. you lift your head up to notice the stranger getting back on his bike, kicking the stand up and revving his engine.

it was late, and yoongi’s was a 45 minute ride, so you needed to leave now. but, you enjoyed this man’s presence, his mysterious allure.

you call out to him, “can i meet you tomorrow?”, the boy looks at you intently for the second time tonight, evidently thinking.

he replies, “11pm, here.” his large hands push down the visor of his helmet and he speeds off into the dimly lit streets of the city.

leaving you with his hoodie, and a polaroid hidden deep in its pocket.

[ask-de-writer]

SUBMARINE! 1812 an Alternate History

Chapter 7, part 3 of 6

Winter in England

by

De Writer

Return to the Master Story Index

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We forged on, guided by compass alone for most of the time. The storm finally failed and we rose to periscope depth. Looking about I saw no ships in sight but there were welcome breaks in the cloud wrack above us, letting me get a navigation sight. That sighting combined with our chronometer reading and some figuring showed that we were over half way to our destination but had been carried further north than I would have liked.

Laying in our corrected course we proceeded to stalk the Beast of Britain.

~ ~ ~

The Gazelle pulled out of the rough waters of the sea and into the calmer waters of the Thames estuary. Carefully picking her way westward up the river, she passed the London Bridge and pulled up to a river dock close by to the Houses of Parliament, where she discharged her diplomatic pouch and returned down river to the sea, turning south and into the English Channel. Her weather was, for a wonder, clear as she made her way to the crowded Harbor of Portsmouth to resupply and give her crew a well earned shore liberty. This last crossing had been a rough one.

In London, the Foreign Office disclosed Sir Lional's Note to the Prime Minister who erupted in rage! “This is an outrage! Sir Lional proposes that we seek to have peace with the Continental Congress over this? Mere Congreves?”

The Foreign Officer nodded, “We feel the same. It is true that their battle group did us great harm this summer and autumn past but they have withdrawn and we are even now working to equip two Ships of the Line with our best Congreves. We have already consulted with Whitehall and we all agree with you. We need to recall Sir Lional at the least.”

The Prime Minister leaned back in his thickly upholstered chair and took a long pull at his pipe. He let out a cloud of smoke before replying, “There is but one possible difficulty with replacing Sir Lional. His Majesty King George III. He has the Right of Review and can simply say No to anything that we or Parliment propose.” He held up a hand and went on, “Therefore, let us repair to Buckingham Palace and get His Royal approval first. With that in hand, we and Parliment can proceed without issue.”

They had to delay some at the Great Gate of Buckingham while the Guards verified that the King was willing to see them at this late hour of the day. They were ushered to a modest room deep in the Palace, where His Royal Majesty was having a quiet supper.

He gestured hospitably to chairs at the end of his table, but they knew that it was a blunt command. “Gentlemen, I do hope that your business is urgent. My audiences for the day are closed. So, what is it that demands such a violation of Protocol?”

“It is, Your Majesty. This very day, the message Packet, Gazelle left a diplomatic pouch from Sir Lional Humphries, Ambassador to the Continental Congress. In it, besides his usual reports and the like was a Note filled with outrageous claims and recommending that we conclude a treaty of peace with the Continental Congress, lest we feel their wrath on our Home Island.”

“Indeed, Gentlemen, that does not sound like the Sir Lional that I know. He is normally very level headed. I would expect that he has some sound reason to write such a thing. Have you the Note itself?”

The Prime Minister nodded, “We have, Your Majesty. Here it is.” He passed the Note to a servant who carried it to the King.

He spent some time examining what was written there. Tapping his finger upon the calculations concerning the Continental Congress' new missiles, he inquired, “Have you considered, Gentlemen, that these might be correct and the ranges publicly announced are far short of the reality? We have very direct evidence that they do possess some quite good Congreves. We have lost a good many ships to them.”

“We have, Your Majesty. We have spent the afternoon consulting many experts, including Sir Congreve himself. Besides not having enough ships to mount a serious invasion, we feel that the missile demonstration that he recounts had to be some sort of hoax.

“We wish to at the least, recall Sir Lional to be interrogated by Parliament. This call for an end to a war that we did not declare may be treason. Therefore, Your Majesty, we seek your approval before hand so that Parliament can handle the details of his recall without fear of a Royal Review.”

“I see.” He signaled a courtier and scribbled a note. “Have this prepared for my signature at once. One original and three file copies.”

For once, the nearly always obstreperous Parliament was in agreement. Doing it's business still took long into the night simply because every MP and every one of the Lords wanted to weigh in and have their speech in the record.

The actual vote to replace Sir Lional Humphries as Ambassador and recall him to be questioned before Parliament was a formality and quickly done. Choosing a properly hard line man as Ambassador to the Continental Congress took longer.

Speeches were still going on and general indignation about Sir Lional's cowardly advocating of Peace terms, when Sir Cootinar took horse and set out across the London Bridge and raced through the streets of London on his errand. By midnight, he was well out of the city, on his way to Portsmouth Harbor.

In spite of some rough weather in the English Channel, the Kraken proceeded silently and stealthily to round the eastern end of the English Isle. Entering the Thames Estuary, guided by periscope alone, we made for a particular and exacting location, actually well into London town as evening was falling.

I called cheerfully, “Set both fore and after hooks! The bottom here should be sound enough for our needs! Gentlemen of the Kraken, you wondered why we bypassed so many fine targets on our way here!? This is the answer. We are going to strike at the very heart of the British Empire.

“The tide is rising. When it is near full, and well after dark, we shall surface, held firmly by boyancy and our anchors. That will give us the stable platform to deliver our message to the Beast of Britain. They are Not Safe even in their most secure places!”

It took several hours for the tide and time to be right. Rising up until our decks were only a foot above the river, hatches opened. Lifting equipment was set up and pulled up launchers that were placed along the length of the deck.

The lean and deadly rockets that Sir Lional so rightly feared, were hoisted up and set into their launchers. Careful bearings and angles were passed down the line.

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[laszlossweetcheese]

hii! may i request laszlo x gender neutral reader whos a supernatural being? they could be a werewolf, or a ghost or even a witch, up to you tbh!! fank you <3

It's been too long, but I'M BACK! Thank you so much for your request! I think I'm going to do a second part to this one, so apologies in advance if it's a bit slow going here.

Laszlo x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Reader is a witch trying to make it on their own as a healer. They encounter an interesting new visitor.

Warnings: None

Growing up as a witch in the south had its issues when it came to cultural beliefs about other supernatural beings. You were taught by your mother and her coven that witches were above all, and despite constant arguments with your elders, they remained stuck in their centuries old ways, unwilling to change. As a young witch with a natural talent for healing and the desire to use this skill for the betterment of all supernatural beings, that was something you couldn’t stand for. So, you made the bold decision to move from your home in Georgia, all the way to Staten Island. 

You’d heard that witches near more progressive cities had more of an open mind about equality in supernatural society, but upon your arrival to the big city, you found things weren’t much better than they were back home. It was very kind of the coven that had taken you in to welcome you so warmly, but after a couple of months watching your new witch-siblings make plans to extract the semen from local vampire clans in rather outdated and barbaric ways, you decided to fly solo. 

Returning home would only prove to your mother that you couldn’t handle life that far away from all you’d ever known and you were desperate to prove her wrong. Determined to improve your healing methods and expand your knowledge of other supernatural species, you began visiting the local night market to speak with other beings and collecting as many books as you could. Understandably, most of the other spooks haunting the area were wary of you and your motives, but you pushed on, thankful your stubbornness was finally useful for something. After a while, you had gained something of a clientele, and your humble townhouse became a magical clinic of sorts. 

Being on your own for the first time in your life felt strange at first, but now you had settled into a comfortable routine. Most of your clients preferred to visit you under the cover of night, so you spent your days resting and gathering supplies in preparation for your nighttime patients. It wasn’t the highest paying job by any means, but you finally felt like you were doing something meaningful with your life. Those who couldn’t pay for your services with human money had the option of paying you with knowledge of their species or various ingredients for your remedies, so  you were making great progress in finding new treatments for a much wider variety of ailments.

It was a quiet Autumn evening when your doorbell rang, signaling your first visitor of the night. You left your mortar and pestle on your kitchen island and wiped the remnants of various herbs from your hands onto your apron as you hurried to the door, excited to have company. “Oh, Guillermo! Welcome back, it’s been a while,” you say with a smile to the darked haired man on your stoop. As you step back to let him in, you notice another man standing a few feet behind him, looking rather skeptical of you. His dramatically gothic attire was enough to let you know he was a vampire, even without your witchy senses and you understood his hesitation. Witches and vampires were historical enemies. “And who’s your friend?” You add, offering the vampire a friendly smile in an attempt to gain his trust. 

Guillermo had become somewhat of a regular after stumbling upon your apothecary bundles at the night market. He’s your only human customer, but you’ve welcomed him nonetheless, having found his company to be rather enjoyable. “Hey, good to see you! This is Laszlo, one of the vampires I live with…he’s…well, he’s sick, so I brought him here hoping you can help him out,” Guillermo replies, rubbing the back of his neck a bit nervously as he leans in closer to you. “He’s still not totally on board with getting help from a witch, so…I apologize in advance for anything he’s about to say or do,” he whispers.

“I can hear you Gizmo,” Laszlo huffs, earning an eye roll from the familiar. “And I will not be apologizing for telling this semen stealing demon to fuck off if things get too handsy.” “I’m so sorry,” Guillermo sighs. “It’s alright,” you laugh, standing to the side and opening the door wider for them to enter. “I understand the hesitation, Laszlo. I promise your semen is safe.”

Laszlo is still hesitant, but he follows Guillermo inside, watching you carefully as you close the door behind them. “Please, make yourselves comfortable on the couch. Do you want any tea or anything?” You ask, waiting for them to get settled. Guillermo politely declines your offer and the two men sit down on your sofa, Laszlo still looking tense. You sit down in the plush chair across from them, your hands folded in your lap. “So, Laszlo, what seems to be the issue?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, witch,” the vampire huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Now that he’s in better lighting, you can see dark circles under his eyes. He looks exhausted. 

“He hasn’t been sleeping,” Guillermo spoke, not wanting to drag this out. “And he’s having trouble turning into a bat.”

“Shut the fuck up Gizmo, you’re giving the witch too much information!” Laszlo hisses.

“Hmm…not sleeping…can’t shift…Laszlo, you have dirt from your homeland under your coffin, yes?” You ask, ignoring the insults. 

“Of course.”

“Alright. And have you been feeding regularly? Nothing’s changed with your diet recently?”

“No, nothing different.”

You think for a moment, getting to your feet and walking over to the bookshelf reserved for your texts on supernatural beings. You pull out a book on vampire anatomy and skim through it until you find what you need. “How long has it been since you’ve had a virgin's blood?” Laszlo takes a second to think it over before giving an answer. “Several months now that I think about it.” He turns to Guillermo, pointing a finger at him. “Thanks to this shit familiar not doing his job.” 

Guillermo gives you a deadpan look, making you struggle to hold back a laugh. “Well, it seems to me like you just need a dose of virgin’s blood to get a good night’s sleep. Once you’re well rested you should be able to use your bat form again,” you explain, closing the book and returning it to its place on the shelf. 

“Great,” Guillermo sighs, looking exhausted himself. “Guess that’s up to me then.”

“Not at all!” You interject, stepping into the kitchen. You return with a cold bloodbag straight from the fridge marked ‘virgin’ with black sharpie. You hold it out to Laszlo, who takes it and looks it over. 

“Right…so I drink this and boom, I’m cured? And you’re not going to take my semen?” Laszlo asks, cocking an eyebrow at you. 

“Like I said, your semen is safe. If I wanted your semen I would’ve taken it already,” you tease, nudging the bag into the vampire’s hand. He finally takes it, still eyeing you as he bites directly into the bag and sucks the whole thing dry within seconds.

He lets out a satisfied hum, licking his lips clean. You watch him with a smile, proud of yourself for your diagnosis. “That blood is going to hit you soon, so I recommend you get going. It’s going to be a lot like taking a bit too much NyQuil when you have a cold,” you explain for Guillermo’s sake so he knows what to expect. “He’ll probably be out for a few days straight to catch up on sleep.”

“Thank you. Seriously, he has been such a pain,” Guillermo says, standing up to give you a handshake, which you return happily. “How should we pay you back? I brought you some spearmint seeds, but I don’t think that’s enough for the blood you gave him.” 

You take the packet of seeds he holds out to you. “That’s perfect, Guillermo! Thank you.” You look over at Laszlo, who looks like he’s fighting off sleep the best he can. “On second thought…I think I’ll be needing that semen as payment.” You bite back a laugh at your own stupid teasing.

“I told you, witches are not to be trusted!” Laszlo slurs, stumbling to his feet and pointing at you. “I don’t care how sexy you are, you are not taking my semen!” 

Your laughter can’t be held any longer at his reaction and you put a gentle hand on his shoulder to help steady him. “Laszlo, I’m only kidding! How about this, you both have to promise to visit me again.”

“We’ll see, witch,” the vampire replies, still swaying from drowsiness. 

“I think we can manage that,” Guillermo chuckles. “Thanks again, you really saved me a lot of trouble.” He hooks an arm around Laszlo to help hold him up and you open the door for them. 

“Anytime! Let me know how he does,” you say, giving them both a wave as they head outside. Guillermo gives you a wave in return with his free hand and then turns his attention back to helping Laszlo stay upright, the two bickering as they stumble off into the night. You watch them with a fond smile, laughing to yourself as you head back inside.