#anyway people who say this woman is 'too intense' or similar baffle me

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Hol up you drew the gold scars yourself? I thought Aylin just had them in game on her model?

I did! And she does, to an extent - the ones on her head I didn't have anything to do with. Unfortunately, on the in-game body model Aylin uses, the scars just end around the neckline of her shirt and kind of fade out partway down her back.

So I decided to learn a bit of Substance Painter and texturing, and went to town, using the above as a starting point. Getting it to export right and show up in the game properly was the main challenge! I wrote a post about some of the process here.

Of course, me being me, the most fun part of the thing was overthinking and deep(ish?) lore cuts. I'd like to share some of the concept art that inspired this and that I referenced in that post. This is from the artbook:

(That pillory-looking thing made up of Myrkul-ish triangles? Damn.) Then we have this, by concept artist Konstantin Porubov who has a lot of great stuff posted on his ArtStation:

(Unrelated but shoutout to him for this lineup of Isobel outfit variants which I look at every other day because there are so many bangers.)

As you might have noticed in these, there used to be a whole thing about "the Nightsong's heart" (eerily enough, the item's still kind of in the game) which in the final story ended up "just" being Aylin getting repeatedly stabbed and ritualistically murdered. Along with dialogue about the magical "spear intended for [her] heart" and such. So I decided I wanted to have the big golden patch on her chest as a reference to all this.

Meanwhile on her back we have the aftermath of Balthazar's handiwork. This is one of those notes that, on your first playthrough, you probably read before having any idea about the Nightsong twist and you file it under the giant "Atrocities, Various" pile that is Balthazar. And then some time later it hits you and you think it's really convenient how you have a save file you can load just to go kill him again.

[ashesandhackles]

The Hogwarts Express scene in Prince's Tale: A Sirius and Snape analysis

I really, really enjoy Sirius and Snape as characters and their respective narrative functions in story. But what gets me most about them is how much Rowling hints about their backgrounds and so much of it makes sense with regard to who they are as adults. So I am going to be breaking down a very small scene from Prince Tale and getting into long winded hypothesis about their respective childhoods.

So, let's start with Snape. The scene begins with Snape rushing to find Lily, already in his Hogwarts clothes. Harry notes he must have been eager to get out of his clothes - ones that look like he borrowed from his mother, as Petunia spitefully pointed out. This has always been a very interesting detail to me - first off, it indicates how poor Snape's family is. Second, this indicates his tiny rebellion from his father - he refuses to wear clothes of the abusive man, and prefers his mother's. I admit, I am partial to the reading that Snape refuses to associate with his father in tiny ways, rather than Tobias refusing to hand his son clothes.

(I have seen readings which say that it is also a sign of neglect - perhaps his parents bought clothes that simply don't fit him, but I am more inclined to think it's a hand me down, simply because Harry identifies so strongly with it. Because Harry knows what it is like to wear a hand me down that don't quite fit, that are too big for you, or the ones that make you look ridiculous.)

Lily and Petunia's relationship is fraught with Petunia's jealousy. And young Lily is upset over it when Snape meets her. "I am not talking to you. Tuney hates me" she tells him. "Because we saw the letter from Dumbledore". Young Lily shows signs of being extremely emotionally reactive and this scene is one of them. It's easier for her to deal with Petunia's rejection of her by telling Snape she doesn't want to talk to him. It's a childish displacement of her hurt over her sister's rejection. (I am genuinely baffled by interpretations that Lily and Hermione are similar. Hermione is very cognitive person, Lily, as we have been shown repeatedly in memories, is not).

Snape, however, with his bad history with Petunia and his inability/ poor social skills to understand why this matters to her, goes: "So what?"

Lily, who throws him a look of deep dislike, says "So she's my sister". This seed is important because this is what develops into "he doesn't get me" feeling she later displays in her teenage scenes with him. Interestingly, most of Lily's personal relationships have deeply interwined love and dislike - Petunia (whose rejection bothers her but she cheerfully informs Sirius that Harry nearly broke a vase her sister sent - which means there is resentment on her end too), James - who she was attracted to even before 7th year but also disliked at one point, and Snape - again, a contentious friendship filled with love and distance.

"She's only a -" we dont get to hear what Snape intended to say. And given his own acrimony with Petunia, it could be anything. However, I read it as "She's only a Muggle" because it ties into his feelings about his father. Snape, who is proud of being half a Prince, emphasizing his magical lineage from his mother's side, his refuge in a violent, neglectful home. (Barty Crouch Jr and Snape with their disappointing fathers - I imagine Voldemort is supremely attractive leader to people with broken homes like this)

Snape, by all accounts, shows a disorganised attachment style. His caregiver, his mother - and perhaps the only parent he seems to have regard for, is too preoccupied by her own abuse to be there for her son - we see this in glimpses Harry sees in OOTP: " woman cowering" where a man shouts at her, and a young, neglected Snape cries in the corner. Children born in homes like this have trouble regulating their emotions, simultaneously displaying tendencies to aggressively lash out or show disassociative symptoms. Both of which Snape displays. Statistically, this is also seen more in low income households where economic instability and resulting domestic instability creates an unsafe environment for the kids to safely form ideas of their identity, or express emotions in healthy ways, modelling instead out of behaviour seen at home.

Then, Snape reminds her that they are going to Hogwarts. He is already in his Hogwarts clothes - now, Snape gets to be the impressive figure. The one who told her about magic, who theorised about how Muggles get letters from magical people, the one who told her about Dementors and Azkaban. He has already left behind the Spinner's End version of him, he wants to bigger than that, and is keen to be in place of magical learning and to join Slytherin. Essentially, he shows signs of unstable identity, insecurity - all prime for grooming into a cult.

And here comes along James Potter, who looks around at the mention of Slytherin. James's comment uses Snape's line and directs it to Sirius instead and it becomes a conversation between them, as a way to bond more with a fellow "rowdy boy" Sirius. Effectively ignoring the other two.

Sirius as we see here, "does not smile" when James talks about Slytherin. He essentially says something that can be construed as a way to nip that conversation in bud: "My whole family has been in. Slytherin". This suggests to me that there is some loyalty to his family there and his disillusionment with them isn't entirely fixed yet. After all, Sirius's intense loyalty to his friends, more specifically James, did not come out of thin air. It is reasonable to suggest that he felt some loyalty to his family at some point and the intensity with which he regards his friends is a reaction to burned off and being a "displaced person without a family" as Rowling put it.

Interestingly, while his reaction to his mother and Bellatrix are obviously sore spots, his response to Regulus is comparatively quite soft. ("Stupid, idiot" - something he calls James later on in the same book, OOTP). I imagine Sirius has quite complicated feelings about his brother and he is capable of nuance (when the person isn't Snape, where his dislike seems to be borne of an intense projection): "The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters". As someone who is grown up among them, Sirius would understand that.

His framing of Regulus's need to please his parents also further highlights what exactly is the source of disillusionment. He calls Regulus "soft enough to believe them" - which means he is crediting his own intelligence to see through his parents bigoted world view. Clearly, bigotry is not something the Blacks explained in a way that Sirius, eldest of their male line and their heir, bought it. It also probably didn't help the Blacks case that Grimmauld Place is in a Muggle neighborhood and that their eldest son is a bit of a wild boy with interest in pushing boundaries. His intellectual disconnect leads to the righteous rage he later feels but it began there. (Boy, it must suck to discover that everything you have been taught to value in the world and in yourself as the heir is essentially rubbish). Since his differences with his family began with seeds of intellectual disconnect rather than on intense empathy with downtrodden, it makes him, as a pureblooded privileged boy, unable to truly understand Lupin's fears regarding his lycanthropy. Hence, the Werewolf prank (I am not getting to the Snape bit, just the Lupin bit). To James' credit, he does understand what that means for Lupin and saves all three of them from different set of consequences.

Anyway, back to the scene. James, who has made an ass of himself in front of his new friend, who he was getting along with fine until now, then goes "Blimey, I thought you seemed alright". (Btw, I find James wildly large ego kind of hilarious here, especially in light of Snape's comment about him to Sirius in OOTP: "You will know he is so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him"). Sirius, who I believe has been raised like "royalty" as Blacks would, has good enough social skills to defuse a situation. He grins and says: "Maybe I will break the tradition".

This line is an indication of Sirius's desire for independence, an identity seperate from his family. The use of the word "tradition" is interesting. It sounds like Sirius is expected to behave in a certain way, the heir of Black family whose parents thought being a Black "made you practically royal". Adult Sirius is contemptuous of this, or their "valuable contribution to Ministry" which means they just gave gold - it tells me that any and all conditions put on him by his family were to fulfill tradition that is either worthless or holds no meaning in his eyes. The root of the emotional abuse Sirius suffers from his family is this - realising his parents love for him is conditional on him being a certain way. (In fact, you can read Regulus desire to emphasise his connection to the family as a reaction to what he sees with Sirius - Sirius does not behave, Mum and Dad don't love him). As a child with unconscious knowledge of lack of love, Sirius then acts out, they react, rinse and repeat "until he has had enough". Sirius chafes against boundaries well into adulthood and doesn't react well to people enforcing it on him, even if it is out of love for him. Cue the fire scene with Harry where he behaves as if Harry is rejecting him instead of protecting him.

Sirius asks James about where he wants to go, and Snape, who is incensed about James being insulting about a House he put stock in, which he made part of new identity (so that he is no longer that Snape boy from Spinner's End) and was in general trying to be impressive about in front of Lily, "makes a disparaging noise" once James talks of Gryffindor. Snape's response to James' : "Got a problem with that?" is interesting. He says: "If you'd rather be brawny, rather than brainy-"

This is an important value for Snape. He knows he is clever and values it. He spends his spare time inventing hexes, making great shortcuts to Potions. He has genuine thirst for learning and he hones it. In SWM, we see that he has written far more longer answers than anyone else, he is poring over his paper after exams. He even mocks Hermione's lack of inventive answers: "Answer copied word to word from the textbook, but correct in essentials". He values originality. It may be me stretching this, but I am partial to the reading: this is his way of rejecting his father once again, who is implied to be a violent man. (in other words, someone who is hypermasculine - "brawny". In fact, Snape's rejection of hypermasculinity is a huge post on it's own - Potions (brewing, cauldrons - coded as feminine arts), the doe Patronus, his proficiency in Occlumency and Legliemency (intuitive mind arts, again seen archetypically feminine) etc).

"Where are you hoping to go, seeing as you are neither?" - Sirius is quick with emotionally cutting insults. Snape hasn't even finished his sentence, but Sirius is already on his case. Which suggests growing up in a household with sharp tongues. It's a fair assumption, given Mrs Black's half mad portrait. It also tallies with Sirius's talking about his mother: "My mother didn't have a heart Kreacher, she kept herself alive out of pure spite" . The wounds are fresh enough on this. (Another interesting way Snape and Sirius act as inverse mirrors - Snape rejects his father, Sirius rejects his mother. Sirius acts as proxy for James for Harry while Snape takes on Lily's role of protecting him). However, you know who else is spiteful? Sirius.

While James is the physical bully (the tripping Snape, doing most of the bullying in SWM), Sirius attacks emotionally. ( Sample the one about Snape's appearance - "I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment, there will be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word" or even the carelessly vicious- "Put that away, before Wormtail wets himself in excitement"). Curiously, with all that talk of how his mother being spiteful, it's her room he spends time in when he is depressed. (Again, in inverse mirror way, we can talk of how Snape looks for a father figure in Dumbledore - craves his validation and is proud of Dumbledore's trust in him). We could argue it's also because Buckbeak is there, and perhaps it's the largest room in the house, but it's very telling that's where Sirius spends time when he is "in a fit of sullens". Sirius's sense of abandonment from his family, makes him look for family connections with friends - a trait he shares with Harry. Interestingly, the first time he glimpses Harry in Privet Drive, Harry is also running away from home - just like he did. Anyway, I could go on.

[candyshua]

It’s a Long Way Home | Chapter 2

Pairing: Joshua x Minghao x Reader

Synopsis: It was dark, and then it was light. You’re finally lucid. After 15 years of not being conscious, you wake up in a desolate and post-apocalyptic earth where infected flesh-eating beings roam the streets. Soon enveloped into a mysterious group of survivors, you consistently wonder who they are. But most importantly, who are you?

Genre: Heavy angst, some fluff here and there

Warnings: Gore, bad language, physical & verbal abuse

Word Count: 2.5k

"Who are you, Y/N?" The stoic man asked you. He had a porcelain complex to him. His cheekbones were high and defined, with slick black hair that was gelled back. He wore a white lab coat, and his hands were folded on the table as his icy blue eyes bore into you like a snake staring at its prey. The question you had been asked was supposed to be responded with an automatic answer, and you knew better than to try and rebel. You were coaxed into being what they wanted you to be, so you reluctantly spat the words,

"I am Y/N, patient zero, and your loyal subordinate." You boomed emptily, the repeated and hollow words falling from your chapped lips like poison. You looked into the man's eyes again, wanting to test him. At this point, you had nothing to lose.

"Good, now back to sleep." The Doctor ordered, and suddenly everything went black.

The pain was horrendous. The overwhelming force ripped you from the depths of reality, into another painful dimension. Minghao was holding you desperately, constantly asking if you were okay. You didn't know if you could open your eyes, for the ringing in your pain ridden head was too great. Your heavy breathing soon slowed within a few minutes, while Minghao continued to hold you frantically.

You forced your eyes to open, and Minghao's deep brown ones looked at you in a concerned manner. You hadn't been greeted with these irises before, only the cold sarcastic ones, but these orbs were filled with worry. "I'm okay." You managed to mumble, unclasping yourself from his hold while forcing yourself to stand up. Suddenly, the realization of what just happened hit you.

You had remembered something.

The situation seemed somewhat familiar to the one you were in now, being asked questions by a man that demeaned you.

"What the fuck happened?" Minghao asked worriedly, and now it was your turn to laugh.

"Still don't believe me?" You daunted cockily, tilting your head to the side with a smug smirk etched on to your lips.

-

You were forced to go to the community's "clinic" to get checked up on. Their doctor was a young med student, who managed to flee the city when the outbreak first started. He went by the name of Seungkwan, and he was a very sweet and nervous young man.

You had found out that the community you were currently residing in was named "Fort Lockwood". The name came from the street the community was, a mere one way road with a decent amount of houses on both sides. You had also learned that Minghao wasn't the leader, but he was high in command. The leader was Joshua, who appointed several other people to be in charge of certain things. He was just in charge of making sure everything was in shape, that his citizens were safe, and he dealt with the serious problems along with the other leaders. Minghao was in charge of the weaponry, and he trained new citizens on how to fight, use a gun, knife, etc.

You learned that the short-tempered Junhui was in charge of gathering supplies, and often went on escapades for a few days by himself just to come back with a van full of goodies. Hansol, the soft boy you took an immediate liking to, was in charge of defense, and making sure the walls were maintained regularly and that "the infected" were led away from their base.

Seungkwan was in charge of medicine, and the health of the citizens. You kind of scoffed at the mention of how many men were in power, until you heard about Margo and Cleo. Margo was a teacher, in charge of educating the youth of Fort Lockwood. Cleo was apparently "a complete technology wiz" and got the power working in the community again. So, she was in charge of that, along with trying to communicate with the army through the radios she miraculously fixed and walkie-talkies.

Another woman whom you had yet to meet by the name of Sonny was a botanist. She was in charge of the gardens and growing enough food to feed their small community. About five hundred people lived in Fort Lockwood, some families living by themselves, and other people camping together in houses. It was a lot to take in, especially with your limited experience, so you were left to relax in Joshua, Minghao, Junhui, and Seungkwan's house until you were further situated into a better living situation. You pondered the thought of escaping, but the possibilities of you doing so successfully were quite slim.

Not only that, the community was nice. People worked together to help rebuild what was lost, and you appreciated that. You appreciated their will, and their determination. Although you didn't know yourself well enough yet, you knew that you lacked hope for some reason.

Then you found yourself thinking about the man with the icy blue eyes, and the memory that had transpired. You knew it happened, there was a certain clarity in the situation that you relived which led you to believe that it was pure and real. You sighed, the detrimental day kicking in, and soon you felt like you wanted to cry. Humans cry after under a lot of stress, right?

But, your agony was no match to your stubborn side. You refused to let the tears fall, for they symbolized vulnerability. You don't know why you thought that, you just did. And, to put it simply, you were fucking confused. Waking up in a post-apocalyptic world can take quite a toll on somebody, nonetheless somebody with no memories before what had just happened.

So, you just sat on the mattress splattered on the floor of the cold attic you were staying in. You assumed autumn was here, the season fresh and ripe. You then decided to look through your bag, which was stripped of its gun, but nothing else. You had some clothes in there which looked like they'd fit you, along with a lighter, some rope, matches, ammunition, a water bottle, and a blanket. As you got to know yourself throughout the day, you figured out that you were actually quite intelligent, but just kept in the dark. So, the bag filled with all the supplies a girl like you could need was somewhat baffling, which only added to the list of questions you couldn't answer.

You soon heard a knock creaks in the wooden stairs that led up to the attic, which led to a knock on your door. You came face to face with Joshua, the leader of the grand scheme. "Hello." He said somewhat sweetly. His voice was soft, and it contrasted with his rugged looking figure. He had blackish brown hair that fell down his forehead, with his ears poking out slightly. His angled brown eyes were kind of distant, but sage. He was skinny, ragged, yet muscular - similar to Minghao in that sense. He wore a black jacket and brown cargo pants, with an old pair of brown boots aged with experience. His eyebrows were slanted naturally, which gave an intimidating vibe. If you were different, you would've considered yourself intimidated.

But his soft voice contrasted with his scary exterior. His voice was something you could almost drown in, it was rich and thick like honey, but smooth and intoxicating. "Hi." You muttered, returning the intense eye contact he displayed to you.

"Minghao told me what happened...I may seem like an asshole, forcing you to stay here-"

"You don't seem like one - you are one. But continue." You interrupted ripely, your feisty attitude kicking in. Instead of getting pissed, he gave you a lopsided smile which oozed with something you'd consider respect.

"Anyway, I hope you know it's just for the safety of my people. You see, many people want to be a part of our community, or they want to destroy it. But, our location is quite hidden if you haven't noticed, it's a street many miles away from the city, in a town that used to be a peaceful suburb. But, I believe that you're alone and that you have no group. But, I want you to stay here: where it's the closest thing to safe in this world." Joshua explained, inching his way closer to you, which resulted in him sitting on the wooden floor of the dusty attic, directly across from you.

"But why?"

"Because, Y/N, you saved our lives. Usually, lone survivors would let us die as a distraction for the infected, so they could get away safely. What you did was not normal, but highly appreciated. I'm sorry that not everybody showed their gratitude, but they were still processing what had just happened. They're much calmer and more thankful now." Joshua had rasped, and you listened intently.

"Thank you for your kindness. I know my explanation seems like a complete lie, but I promise you it's not. The truth is, when I passed out when talking to Minghao, I believe a memory had came to me. And, that memory scared me." You huffed, finding it odd that you were admitting your fear to a man that you barely knew. "I also take back the thing about you being an asshole, you're actually quite nice." You had joked hoping to lighten the mood.

"I assumed so. But, can you tell me about the memory?" Joshua had requested, a sliver of a smile creeping onto his face.

"I was talking to a man, he looked like a doctor. He asked me a question, and I knew what to say. I had told him I was his subordinate, and that I was 'Patient Zero'. I think I was much younger than I am now in that memory, but he said something along the lines of 'Go back to sleep', and everything went blank. Then, I woke up." You lamented confusedly, your head fuzzy and tired.

"There are many things in this world that we cannot explain, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt and trust you, Y/N. Please don't break my trust." Joshua said, his last sentence more longing and desperate than intimidating. You nodded automatically, under his hypnotizing gaze. Soon, he led you downstairs to dinner, where you were face to face with some familiar faces.

The atmosphere was quiet when you walked into the kitchen, where Seungkwan, Minghao, and Junhui were sitting. They were eating what looked like steak, until you realized that it was deer.

You ate it ravenously. You didn't realize how empty your stomach was until you smelled the food, and you downed it within minutes. Minghao was amused at this, and Joshua merely smiled. Hell, even Junhui scoffed a bit.

Soon, everybody laughed, which lightened the mood severely. Then, you were being assaulted with various questions from everybody.

"Where'd you learn how to fight like that?" Junhui had asked, and you merely shrugged. You also had extensive knowledge in the field of medicine, the useful information placed in your head mysteriously.

"I'm better." Minghao deadpanned, and you just scoffed and rolled your eyes.

The conversation drifted on until you revealed the information that you didn't know how to wield a gun. That was Minghao's area of expertise, so you were going to be picked up by Minghao tomorrow, where he'd take you out of Fort Lockwood and teach you how to use one.

Soon, you were the one asking questions. You acquired the information that nobody knew exactly how the outbreak started, but a state of emergency was declared within 3 days, and civilization was reversed back to its old ways within a week. And then the military disappeared after six weeks, and the world truly "went to shit" according to Minghao. The "infected" went by many names, such as "stragglers", "walkers", and "lurkers". You preferred calling them infected.

Soon, dinner was finished, and you decided to take a walk around the fort to take in your surroundings. While you were just about to walk out the door, Joshua stopped you. "I'll join you." He cheekily said, and you smiled weakly.

Joshua showed you around the community, giving you an excellent and lighthearted tour. You let yourself soak in the lightness of your conversations, knowing that your upcoming days were to be filled with nothing but heavy dread. You grew quite fond of Joshua, or Josh (he preferred that nickname) and hoped that you wouldn't break his trust, either.

-

The next morning you awoke at dawn, and you assumed it was six am by the positioning of the sun (another thing you had no idea where you learned it from). You were supplied with clothes and shoes, so you changed into a somewhat heavy slick, gray jacket along with camouflaged pants. You slipped on black leather combat boots and tied your hair up in a low ponytail, due to its shortness.

All the women you had come across had short hair as well, and you assumed it was merely safer to have it. You went downstairs, and everybody was already up making breakfast. You smelled eggs.

"Where did you get eggs from?" You exclaimed, kind of excited over some stupid eggs.

"We have a farm, it's small but it gets the job done." Seungkwan humbly explained, and you nodded and took your eggs gratefully. Minghao ate next to you, going on about the danger of guns. You nodded, trying to soak in the information being rapidly spewed at you.

Soon, you were in a car with Minghao, the vehicle being supplied with various forms of guns, from rifles to pistols. Minghao drove out of Fort Lockwood, and to a very desert land of grass of the highway. It was surrounded by woods, which irked you slightly. You didn't like how anybody could be hiding in those woods, but Minghao insisted that nobody was, and you had no choice but to believe him.

Soon, you were given a breakdown on guns, how to hold them, when to shoot, how to aim, and how to disarm somebody. "I don't want you to be scared of these things. They can end your life, but they can also save it." He had prospered, in which you gulped eagerly.

To put it simply, you were a fast learner. Your aim was impeccable due to your perfect eyesight, but you were not fond of the loudness that boomed from the guns. "Can't the infected hear this?" You asked.

"They can, but we'll be out of here before they can arrive. Plus, we have silencers if it gets out of hand." He explained, and you found yourself not wanting to know what "getting out of hand" meant.

You couldn't disarm Minghao, merely because he flourished in this area, but he had struggled trying to disarm you. You had noticed that Minghao's once playful attitude was replaced with a firm, dominant one when he was teaching you. He commanded respect, and you gave it.

"I think we're done for the day. The infected will be here soon, so let's get back home." Minghao had ordered, and you hopped in the car reviewing every bit of information you had just learned.

After driving for a bit, you two came to a halt when a series of cars blocked the road. Men with guns stood smugly there, and you soon realized that the infected weren't going to be your problem.

[hufflepirate]

Why I Cried About the New Dixie Chicks Song

Ok, alright, so I’m having Extremely An Emotion about the return of the Dixie Chicks, and I know a lot of folks on here are either too young to remember the blacklisting or weren’t in the country scene at the time, so here’s the whole story the way it felt to a 12-year-old girl who loved them.

You should love and support them!! This story is why!! The vague recaps of the situation in articles about the new release don’t cut it!

*********

So. Let’s start at the beginning (for me). It’s 1998. I’m 8 years old. My parents aren’t really into Christian radio, but we’re also Good Southern Baptists, so obviously the only radio we really listen to is classic rock/oldies and especially country. You can’t trust those pop music stars these days. Or, God forbid, rappers. They don’t make music the way they used to. (Yeah. I know. But I’m just telling it like it was.)

I hear “There’s Your Trouble.” The singer’s boyfriend is constantly comparing her to his ex and she is Calling Him Out and I have never thought about such a thing before because I am 8, but I am deeply certain that any woman deserves to be loved by somebody who sees her for her. This is important to me. I don’t understand why.

It’s still 1998. I have recently moved west and I am still only learning to process the new geography. I am a child. I do not yet feel the full impact of “Wide Open Spaces” the way I will come to as an adult. And yet... already the idea that part of freedom is having “room to make a big mistake” matters to me. Instinctively, I know that one day, this will be a thing I need, even if I don’t right now. I am right.

We don’t get the album. That’s fine. They’re on the radio a lot. They top the charts multiple times. They win grammys. They sell more cds than all other country groups combined. They are, if you read writeups of them, “not yet political,” but there’s something about the idea that a girl can not only want but need space and independence, need it as a necessary part of growing up, that is setting the stage for what they will become, at least from the perspective of someone who grew up hearing ‘feminist’ used as a dirty word for women who have been brainwashed by... someone?? into having a victim complex. (Again... just telling it like it was.)

The next year, I am 9. They drop Fly. I am never the same.

The first single to hit the radio is “Ready to Run.” It is bouncy and happy. The singer is not getting married, because she does not want to get married. She knows what she wants and she won’t be pinned down by expectations. I am Living, and the feelings I did not yet have about “Wide Open Spaces” are Here In Full because it is hard to imagine being a grownup for the first time, but it is easy to imagine taking off to be yourself instead of doing what everyone else wants and it makes me feel alive.

“Cowboy Take Me Away” is deeply romantic and makes my little 9-year-old heart swell with feeling. It will be years before I realize that is because she is living her life and talking about what she wants and he is just... there. She is doing what she wants and he holds her when they sleep and smiles at her in the daytime and that is all we know. It is the peak of romance, and I, too, want to walk and not run, skip and not fall. I too want to grow something wild and unruly and that thing I want to grow is me.

My parents buy the album.

“Goodbye Earl” is released as a single and starts getting played on the radio. I grab the CD out of the basket we keep them in and it lives in my CD player until my mother begins to worry about the degree to which I am obsessed with this song about murder. I do not have the words to explain that the appeal is not the murder, it is the solidarity. I am being bullied very hard in school. I have only one friend, and she is often mean to me. It will be many years before I understand the true extent of the truth they are dropping in this song, but the details are chilling and honest and disturbing and when Maryanne flies in from Atlanta on a red-eye midnight flight, I feel something I cannot put into words.

It has been 21 years and I still do not have the words to explain “Goodbye Earl.”

Trigger warnings for domestic abuse and I guess also for poisoning domestic abusers and like, murder is bad or whatever.

The album is a masterpiece. It is an experience. I am 9 years old and I do not want to fall in love, because I am 9 years old, and I am learning right now that if a boy falls in love with me when I clearly do not want to date him, that is his own damned problem, and I am singing at the top of my lungs to tell the world that I don’t want to fall in love but if I do, then screw them, I will drag everyone else down with me.

There are limits to how many vids I can drop in here, so I was just gonna drop in the ones that were important to “Hey, you should love them!!” but I can’t resist dropping this one in. This one was never a single but also like... y’all. Do you know how many times in my life I needed songs that told me it was ok to not be in love/pursuing love/dating people? And I’m not even aro/ace? Anyway, this one sounds so sad but feels so good. An indulgent vid choice, but this is my post, so??

Also the album had some bops. These will probably not convince you to like them if you don’t like the country sound/genre, because the Dixie Chicks sound was always very country, but I dug the sound of 90s country then and I dig it now, so here you go.

Some Days You Gotta Dance

Sin Wagon (Fun fact about this one, which is like........ aggressively country I can’t even. It was not a single but it did get enough radio play to chart anyway.)

And then. The end. (For then.)

It’s 2002. They drop a new album in August. I am 12 and their cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” has me all up in my feels on the radio. In December, they drop “Travelin’ Soldier,” a cover of a shmaltzy song about an 18-year-old soldier who dies in Vietnam after writing letters back and forth with a high school aged waitress who loves him. It’s sad. It features a couple young enough to be relatable to a 12-year-old. I am not so foolish, at 12, that I don’t realize even though they say Vietnam, I’m supposed to be thinking about the fact that we’re at war in Afghanistan and they’re talking in the news about how we might go to war with Iraq and Congress had passed a resolution saying we could.

Here’s the thing that sometimes gets lost in things about what happened next. This song was popular. It’s anti-war, but it’s not particularly toothy. The actual text of the song is just that a young soldier goes to war, a girl he met right before he left gets his letters and is faithfully his girlfriend because... soldiers?? and then he dies and she’s sad. It’s not supportive of war, but you have to be pretty far out there not to agree with a premise like “We should be sad when soldiers die,” or “There is/should be someone who cares about every individual soldier even if other people just see them as one of a list of names/a statistic.” The song charted. The album sold well and won awards. And I missed all of it, because it takes a while for things to trickle down to a 12-year-old whose friends, at that point, listen almost exclusively to showtunes.

On March 10, lead singer Natalie Maines told a London audience, “Just so you know, we’re on the good side with y’all. We do not want this war, this violence. And we’re ashamed the President of the United States is from Texas.”

Country music listeners lost their shit. Some people didn’t, of course, but a lot of people did. They called radio stations. They dramatically and publicly destroyed or threw away their CDs. People in the industry got involved, many of them in abusive ways, but I didn’t know much about that. All I knew was that one day they were ubiquitous, and the next, they were completely banned from the radio.

My local country station, or at least, the one my family listened to, was owned by Cumulus Media, who instituted a 30-day ban on the group’s music at all of their country stations (though not their general top-40 ones, apparently? I did a google this morning.) Other large media corporations mostly let their individual stations decide, though Cox Media also did a general ban. Lots of stations banned them individually, some for much longer than 30 days.

My parents didn’t make me stop listening to my beloved Fly. But the clampdown was, at least where I lived, intense and immediate. It felt like all of a sudden, they were gone. Dead in the water.

It fundamentally did not make sense to me. My parents shrugged it off with a similar attitude to President Bush, whose response had been, “The Dixie Chicks are free to speak their mind. They can say what they want to say,” but also, “They shouldn’t have their feelings hurt just because some people don’t want to buy their records when they speak out.” This was all, to me, baffling. Sure, people could decide they didn’t want to listen to them anymore, but why did they get to decide for everyone else that we couldn’t? Why did they get to ban their music?

I was 12, soon to be 13, and this whole thing was, to me, the antithesis of what freedom of speech was meant to be. I believed in freedom of speech. I believed it applied to everyone. I believed that even though, in my confused, hurting, terrified, post-9/11 12-year-old mind, I liked the President and thought we should go to war, no one should be stopped from saying we shouldn’t. I believed freedom of speech was a moral imperative, a principle for interacting with other people and respecting them even if you disagreed. I believed it meant protecting people you disagreed with, because otherwise who would protect you when the disagreeing one was you?

It was utterly baffling to me that one comment - one comment that she apologized for, because she said she’d phrased it too harshly - could so utterly shut me off from something I loved. I assumed, when she apologized, that even though she said she still didn’t believe in the war, that things would soon go back to normal. They didn’t. I turned 13 a few months later, and the Dixie Chicks were still not on the radio in my town.

By the time they put out their next album in 2006, I was running with a crowd that listened to CCM and classic rock and never country, and when I listened to country at home, the radio still wasn’t playing them, not necessarily formally, but certainly in practice. I heard that Natalie Maines had come out and said she wasn’t sorry about what she said, after all, and I didn’t like that she’d said she didn’t think the President deserved her respect, but I didn’t even realize she’d said it in the context of new music.

The 2006 album, Taking the Long Way, was a commercial success. Their song about the event “Not Ready To Be Nice” also did very well....... but not on country radio. I was still listening to country radio at the time, not exclusively, but enough that when I looked up songs that had topped the charts, I recognized more of them than I didn’t, by title alone.

I never heard the Dixie Chicks’s new album on the radio.

Here’s what my local station didn’t play. What they were too scared to play, maybe, or maybe what they didn’t want me to hear:

So, yeah.

That happened.

Badass.

But it happened without me, because the radio station was instead still playing “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk,” a song about women’s butts that a bunch of men wrote in a club in an hour while, presumably, staring at women’s butts. A song that sparked slogans on t-shirts in a little t-shirt shop my friends and I visited that year on a school trip. A song the middle-aged man who worked there (and with whom we were alone) referenced when he leered aggressively at my 16-year-old friend and made suggestive comments to our whole group (4 teenage girls) that made us run out of the building and race back toward the fast food places nearby where we hoped to find some of our teachers.

Country music was never the same for me after the Dixie Chick blacklisting. I knew it didn’t believe in freedom, even as it bandied the word about aggressively. I knew that it relied on everybody saying the same things and believing the same things, and it didn’t have room for me not to agree, and that was not then and is not now any kind of freedom. As the years went on, there were more and more Honky Tonk Badonkadonks, and I was less and less willing to give men a pass for being sexist and disgusting and entitled.

I miss country music, in the sense that I miss the Dixie Chicks, and I miss women like Jo Dee Messina and Sara Evans who were singing similar stuff at the time and might still be but aren’t on the radio because they’re over 40 and not also white men. I miss the way county music women made me feel in the 90s. I miss women who called out the men who’d done them wrong, who stated their own value and self-sufficiency, who sang about independence and made me believe in it. But more than anything, I miss believing in them. Some of that is of course still happening. But as much as I love Carrie Underwood and Miranda Lambert and Kacey Musgraves, I can’t ever get back there. Not really.

The thing is, I believed the Dixie Chicks when they told me I could have the space to make mistakes. I believed them that women could and would stick together. I believed them that I could be single and happy about it, that I could say no to men I didn’t love, even if they loved me, that if I wanted to fall in love, I could find somebody who would love me without ever tying my wings. And I believed I could be and do those things and still fit into the culture of country music.

I still believe the rest of it. But I’ll probably never believe that last part again.

Anyway tl;dr you should love them because they tried to be themselves and tell the truth and because they tried to buck the system, and you should love them because they never backed down, even when the system pushed back so hard that, from where I sat as an impressionable preteen, dependent on my parents and the radio, it completely destroyed them.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader -“Obsession”

The Joker has an obsession: you. He doesn’t really need another one added to the pile but…anyway, here it is. Brace yourself  you lucky girl - you’re in for a treat. 

Related to this: http://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/162770482096/the-joker-x-reader-yuki

– He keeps on dropping things on purpose so you can pick them up, this way he can stare at your butt.

You know, for being the Joker, your boyfriend is pretty clumsy: he keeps on dropping stuff all the time. Like, right now, he just dropped his pen and you are fast to bend over and get it for him.

Intense purring immediately follows.

– J took you shopping and you were so excited when you smelled “Gucci Guilty” for men. You thought it’s a divine scent and he got 10 bottles without you knowing, replacing his current cologne with the Gucci one. He has those stashed all over the place while he still keeps in sight his usual fragrance: Clive Christian - “No.1” .

You have a feeling he smells like “Gucci Guilty”.

“Are you wearing Gucci Guilty?” you sniff the air around him with a huge smile on your face.

“Nope,” The Joker keeps on piling up money in boxes, trying to ignore you.

“Are you sure?” the insistent question pops up because you got a vibe you’re onto something here.

“I think I know since I’m the one that put it on, hm? Stop pestering me!!!” he barks your way and you just turn around, biting on your lip, stricken with fascination: your boyfriend does smell like GG, no point in denying it. Where is the damn bottle? (Well… bottles, but you have no clue there are 10 of them).

– You love knives; they are your favorite weapons. Mister J believes it’s classy as hell: in a world of guns, his girl is sooo stylish using sharp blades. You don’t know yet, but he ordered 50 personalized gold plated knives with your initials on them. He plans to give them to you for your 2 year anniversary.

* J totally loves it when you use him as target practice: such a turn on when the blades shriek by him, he gets very impatient.

“Don’t move, baby, I wouldn’t wanna cut something you might need to use later, hm?” you always wink at him, teasing even more just because you can.

Your boyfriend loves guns. So you will surprise him for you 2 year anniversary with a special gift: you will order 20 personalized guns for him from the place that all Gotham’s underworld knows about. Upfront they sell jewelry but the basement it’s a different story.

“I want to order 20 customized guns: half green, half purple background, gold plated,” you start your order.

“Sure, may I ask who they’re for? We can personalize even more,” the guy offers, pointing towards the multitude of catalogues lying around.

“Daddy,” you reply, absent minded since some fancy grenades caught your eye.

“How old?”

“Ummm…Probably… around 39,” you debate, deep in thought.

“Oohhh, OK,” the seller finally understands.”Got’cha!”

You smack your lips and it clicks for the person.

“Hold on, is the order for Mister J ?”

“Of course it’s for him, who else?!” you frown, irritated by the question.

“Oh my God, so sorry, I didn’t recognized you with this purple hair!”

“Whatever!” you grumble, grouchy he needed so many hints to figure it out.

“Would you also like to add his logo on all the guns?”

You roll your eyes, exasperated:

“Well, duh, HE IS The Joker, isn’t he???!!!!”

“Such a Goddam temper,” he thinks, aiming not to annoy you since you are famous for your short fuse.

* You totally love it when J uses you as target practice: such a torn on when the bullets shriek by your ears, you get very impatient.

“Don’t move, Pumpkin, I wouldn’t want to shoot something you might need later, yes?” and he always takes his shirt off, teasing even more just because he can.

– He likes to watch you sleep. Sometimes The Joker spends hours just staring at you. One night he cut off a small strand of your hair and hid it in the nob of his favorite cane since it’s hollow, this way he always has a piece of you with him. He detests being so infatuated but he can’t help it.

You like to watch your boyfriend sleep; you spend hours just staring at him. One night you cut off a strand of his hair and hid it in the pendant he gave you last year and never part with, this way you always have a piece of him with you. You hate it that you are so infatuated but can’t help it.

And you love his hands. When he’s asleep, you just like to look at his fingers, pressing your palm against his, caressing the soft skin. Sometimes he wakes up.

“What are you doing, Princess?” he opens just one eye, not knowing what’s going on.

“Nothing,” you are fast to reply, kissing his knuckles and keeping one of his hands prisoner for the rest of the night.

– Once every 3 months or so, your boyfriend is in a good mood so you try to take advantage of the rare occurrence. This time, for example, you convinced J to let you put makeup on him because you want to have an idea on how he looked like before the “Ace Chemicals” incident. A little bit of foundation to cover the scars and tattoos, bringing the skin and lips to a natural tone plus a dark blonde wig with a similar haircut to cover the toxic green locks.

“Wow, you were so gorgeous before too!” you gasp, admiring your work and how flawless The Joker seems. In your opinion, of course; Batsy wouldn’t share the same belief.“So this is how you looked like before?!”

“More or less,” he smirks, loving to see you so worked up about the whole thing. “Can’t argue with that statement though, I am a very good looking guy.”

You take a picture of him like that and set it up as your new screensaver, gulping when he gets up all shirtless, taking the wig off, being done with the experiment. A miracle doesn’t last for long - just like his patience.

“I’m gonna go and wash this stuff off,” he stretches and heads towards the bathroom when you block his way.

“Noooot so fast, handsome. I was kind of thinking to have a one night stand with this stranger I’ve just met,” you lock your arms around his neck, determined to have fun with him like that.

“Well, this stranger’s services are very expensive. I come with a high price. Still interested?” The Joker grumbles in your ear because he doesn’t want to say no to some crazy stuff for sure.

You just snicker and push him on the couch, starting to undress.

* Later you both go to one of your clubs to enjoy a night out. While you change your dress in the VIP room upstairs, one of the waitresses brings J his drink, thinking she can finally get you in trouble with your man. She despises you but you wouldn’t know since you never pay attention to those girls.

“E-hem, Mister J?…” she clears her throat, getting ready to talk crap.

“What?” he snarls, watching over the club from behind the smoky windows.

“Sir, I’m sorry to bring the bad news, but I think your girlfriend is cheating on you,” she blurs out and he lifts his chin up to finally look at her.

“Is she?”

“Yes, Mister J, I saw it with my own eyes. Y/N keeps on glaring at the screen saver she has on her phone; definitely not your picture sir. I caught her kissing the image and she turned off the cell right away, pretending nothing happened.”

He sighs, tapping his cane on the floor.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir, I swear!” a smile appears on her face, happy you are probably a goner now.

“That woman! How dares she?!” J huffs and pushes her away, then strolls upstairs while she silently follows.

He barges in the VIP room, slamming the silver door behind him.

“Almost done, baby,” you cheerfully announce, putting on another coat of mascara.

“Who is that asshole on your phone?” he raises his voice and the waitress bites on her nails, enticed at your misfortune.

“Umm…My boyfriend?” you giggle and turn to face him, wondering if you’re playing roles again.

“Boyfriend?! How dare you sleeping with somebody else behind my back, huh?” and he tosses the cane to the floor with all his strength, making the woman jump on the other side of the door.

Oh, she’s gonna get it ! she victoriously chuckles to herself, silently clapping.

You are going to get it, but not in the way she thinks.

“I couldn’t help it,” you play along, not having a clue about what’s going on but if he wants to go this way, heeeeyy, works for you.

“You are so paying for this, nobody cheats on me!!!!” J yells, starting to rip your dress off while you do the same with his shirt.

She’s going to pay for it ! I hope he kills her, the woman gets all excited, waiting for the bad turn she is responsible for.

You are going to pay for it, but not in the way she thinks.

She hears a loud thud, your scream and The Joker grunting, then …moans?!

What the hell is going on?!  she wonders, baffled, still listening at the door for a few more moments before leaving.

Needless to say nobody saw her again after that night. Who knows what happened? People disappear all the time, right?

– You can fix things and J goes insane for it. He breaks shit on purpose. “Doll, we have a water leak under the kitchen sink !” he shouts and places his elbows on the table, waiting for you.

“Again?!” you reply from the balcony, but go and get the tool box so you can take a look. You get under the sink and begin to work on the problem.

Intense purring immediately follows.

You don’t know how, but something always breaks around the penthouse. It’s a mystery since everything is the best quality money can buy. Like, why do you have another water leak under the sink?! You just had one two days ago. And The Joker is purring so loud. Why is he all excited about?!  

– You love huskies so J got you a puppy. Best present ever! Since you love Japanese names, you named the fur ball Yuki. The first trick you taught your doggie makes you melt when you watch it in action:

“Yuki, go bite Daddy!” The puppy jumps from your lap and charges at your boyfriend, grabbs his shoelace and pulls on it while growling up a storm:

“Grrrrrrr!!! Grrrrr!!! Grrrrrr!!!!”

J would love to break its neck, but how can you kill something that kind of growls like you?!

“Cut it out, mutt !” he threatens but bends over to pet the puppy. He hears you whistling with admiration.

“Wow, nice ass baby!”

* The puppy likes to sleep on your tummy. You are watching a movie with J and it’s boring so you need something more interesting to see.

“Yuki, go bite Daddy!”  The doggie’s ears go straight up and he rushes to get the enemy, pulling on the t-shirt he didn’t take off yet.

“Grrrrrr!!!! Grrrrr!!!! Grrrrrr!!!!!!!!!”

“So annoying!” The Joker complains, but caresses the fluffy pest and as a response he gets licked all over his face. And barked at too, in between.

You are absolutely and utterly thrilled.

“Now I have two sets of blue eyes I adore,” you grin with admiration, and your boyfriend doesn’t like that.

“I’m the only one you adore. Period,” and he starts growling.

Yuki’s tail wiggles with eagerness while jumping up and down by The Joker.

“Grrrr!!! Grrrrrr!!! Grrrrr!!”

J growls some more; Yuki is stunned and continues to growl also.

“Are you two having a contest?” you start laughing, reaching over to separate the two feisty males. The puppy cuddles in your arms, barking at his other owner.

When The Joker’s arm reaches towards you, Yuki hops on it, keeping it in place, not having any of it.

“Stop it, mutt ! I need my girl!”

His fingers are softly getting chewed on and more growling follows.

“Seriously?! I want to have sex with my woman, get lost!” and Yuki gets lift up and locked outside the master bedroom, but not before it gets more petting and squeezing. His intention was to break the puppy’s neck, but how can you kill something that kind of growls like you?!

– J hopes you are not going to notice how much he’s obsessed with you. It will get to your head and he already spoils you too much.

You hope that your boyfriend won’t notice how obsessed you are with him. It will get to his head and you already indulge his every whim. Even if he is soooo clumsy. Like, right now, J just dropped his gun and you are quick to bend over and get it for him.

Intense purring immediately follows.

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Sixteen: Thunder & Revelations

Chapter Summary Izzalea questions her silent, insolent scout, before finally making it to the stronghold that contains her enemies and stolen soldiers.

Note For the Abner fans out there, this one is a biggie. Enjoy!

[Read Chapter 16 on AO3]  or [Start from the Beginning]

-Izzalea-

She hates this place.

Izzalea truly hates this Maker forsaken bog. Ever since she arrived, it’s been days of rotting corpse after rotting, fucking corpse. They seem to attack at every turn. Merely touching the waters surrounding her crew, wakes the undead that are lying in wait within. They’ve tried to avoid the water as best as they can, but at times it has been impossible not to walk through it, in order to get across channels, or washed out and flooded areas.

And the smell… Maker… the smell. Izzalea fears that the disgusting scent of death and decay will never leave her skin. She is obviously cursed to forever permeate her surroundings with a gut wrenching, reeking stink, and causing all in her path to wretch as she passes. She groans to herself at the thought, her stomach tightens and flips. She knows it is irrational, but the horrendous smell of rotting death is driving her insane. She is desperate to leave this marsh behind. Leave this muck and filth forever. Her desperation in turn has made Izzalea more determined than ever to find the abducted soldiers and get them home.

Izzalea rolls her neck in an attempt to release the tension building within it. She stretches and pinches at her shoulders, secretly wishing they could be massaged by a big, strong, pair of hands. Like Cullen’s hands. A smile spreads on her lips as Izzalea leaves the wretchedness of the bog, however momentarily, to envision the beautiful and handsome face of her commander. She blissfully imagines how firm and calming his touch would be on her aching shoulders. Like magical medicine, his presence would ease all of her tension. All of her worry. All of her stress.

Izzalea is snapped back to reality due to a particularly loud clap of thunder. The sound makes her jump, a quick, sudden cold sweat shimmers on her skin. She is never this jumpy, her frayed mental state is obviously taking its toll on her. She inhales deeply to calm her nerves, missing those brief thoughts of tranquility.

There has been one continuous storm roaring over the Fallow Mire ever since they arrived. Everything is waterlogged, everything is awful. But she must bring her attention back to the mission. She needs to focus. Izzalea must successfully complete this task, and she needs the assassin’s secrets to do so.

They learned that Abner was somehow kin to the clan that has their men. However, she has been tight lipped and unapproachable since her secret was discovered. What little of it was discovered, anyway. Izzalea can’t even tell what the woman is thinking. Is she scared? Is she angry? Is she forming a plan? Is she thinking anything? How is Izzalea to know what-in-the-void is going on when Abner, her Avvar expert, refuses speak? She is growing increasingly annoyed, impatient with the scout’s insolent behavior. Izzalea is the Inquisitor, after all, why is she not more forthcoming?

Izzalea watches as Abner moves about camp. Silently, the assassin helps pack everything for the day’s journey. She watches her act as if nothing’s happened. Acting as if a bomb of ‘What the fuck’ didn’t just go off in front of everyone. They all have questions. Izzalea sees it in everyone’s eyes. Hawke currently sits on a boulder on the edge of camp, paying far more attention following Abner with a discerning stare, than he is to mending his robes that lie in his lap. Everyone has been watching her, wondering what her story really is. What does she know? How is she related to these people?

Izzalea’s perplexed curiosity on the subject of Abner’s origins has been eating away at her. Observing Abner incessantly, she notes her movements, scans her features, looks for clues, but alas, she has come up empty. Abner looks nothing like the Avvar. For one, they are enormous, if the shaman they met is any indication. Abner is so petite by comparison. Izzalea cannot see how the women of these people could possibly be so small and still produce men of that size. It is baffling. Impossible.

Another loud, jarring, crack of thunder makes Izzalea tense her shoulders again. She’s got to get out of this pit, soon.  Abner was sent here for a reason, she needs her to talk. Izzalea feels herself glare at the woman, her thoughts turning fiery. She will not have the reason for her being stuck in the misery wasted, just because Abner has specially guarded secrets.

The group is almost finished packing away camp, for hopefully the last time before they find the stronghold holding their enemy and their soldiers. Determined to know what she knows, Izzalea decides she has been kind to her scout for long enough. It is time for her to share everything she knows about the ‘Hand of Korth.’

Taking a deep breath Izzalea stands straighter and squares her shoulders. Marching over to Abner, she affixes her best Inquisitor face. Izzalea exudes seriousness and above all, authority. There is no time for sugar coating. “Alright, Abner. Tell me everything about Hand of Korth,” she says sternly as she stares into the young woman’s dark, impertinent eyes.

Abner is unmoved. Her eyes, mouth, and voice are all flat, unimpressed. “He’s an ass,” she says simply.

In no mood for the ‘run around’ from this woman, irritation seeps from Izzalea’s voice as she speaks through clenched teeth. “Would you mind expanding upon that, scout?” She sighs and crosses her arms. Acting as if she is annoyed that Izzalea is pulling rank on her. Why does she think she’s here?

Abner looks to be searching for the right words, or the information she will choose to share. “Okay…” she begins, her voice only moderately lifted, “He is one of the sons of Movran the Under. I doubt Movran has anything to do with this. He isn’t a bad guy, but his son is.”

She pauses a moment as she thinks of what to say. Scrunching her face, her eyes move rapidly in the distance, searching her mind. She sighs as if she is surrendering an inner struggle and looks at Izzalea with a saddened gaze. Izzalea’s chest drops Abner appears to have suffered a miserable loss. She softens her posture and waits for Abner to speak.

“Alright,” she begins with a sigh, slumping her shoulders forward slightly, defeated. “So… Ofred.”

“You mean, Hand of Korth?”

Narrowing her eyes, glaring with an intense frown, she clenches her fists. “No,” she corrects, “I will never call him that. His name is Ofred.” Abner loosens her fingers. Huffing a sigh of tension loose, she shakes a thought from her head. “So, here’s what you need to know. He is waiting for you, yeah? He won’t be waiting alone. He won’t fight with honor, either. That’s not his way. He will probably have archers posted all over the hold ready to make you a pin cushion.”

Izzalea nods and thoughtfully rubs her chin, gliding her gloved fingers over her mouth. Speaking through the leather with a concerned expression, she asks, “But why does he want me? Could he be working with Corypheus?”

“No,” she says plainly. The petite and willful scout takes a deep breath and stares up at Izzalea seriously. “Alright look… You believe that the Maker is the one true God, yeah? And Andraste is his bride? She fought for him and he rules everything?” Izzalea nods with a shrug as Abner continues, “Well, the Avvar don’t believe any of that. They believe that there are Gods in everything. The sky has a God, the forests have a God, the mountains have a God. That last one is who he named himself for, Korth - The Mountain-Father. Avvar regard the mountains highest in all things, so this twat is trying to say he is all high and mighty, too.

Where you come in, Inquisitor, is you have the title ‘Herald of Andraste’. That is very similar to his, but of the wrong beliefs. The wrong God. He scoffs at you and thinks he can prove to you, his Gods, his people, and your people, that you’re full of it… by killing you. He will then be reaffirmed as the Hand of Korth, and you will be nothing.” As she finishes she drops her gaze from Izalea and looks at the ground, kicking at it uncomfortably.

Izzalea chews on her lower lip. Squinting at nothing, she falls deep in thought, processing this new information. A crazy person wants to use her death as a message, and it has nothing to do with the real problems Thedas is in enthralled with currently. She should be focusing on Corypheus and his ever growing army. She should be focused on saving Thedas from a monster who wants to be a God, and burn her world to the ground. Instead, she is here. In a bog. Because some idiot wants to puff out his chest to his people. Izzalea quickly becomes consumed with irritation. He has disrupted the Inquisition for nothing more than his ego.

Placing her hands on her hips, Izzalea stares at Abner vehemently, “Alright, how do we stop him?”

Her eyes sparkle in the faintest way, and a smirk flashes across her face. “Let me handle him,” she says with a soft purr. “Have the mages control the archers, send Cole to dispatch as many of them as he can. I want to go in ahead of you. Keep Bull at your side and keep your shield up… and no matter what happens,” she glares a bloodthirsty glare, but not directed toward the Inquisitor. Instead, she stares off into the distance. “I want to be the one that gives that bastard his killing blow,” she says with all seriousness of a scorned woman.

Izzalea peers at the assassin, taken aback by her ferocious body language. Her jaw is set, she seems as if to be picturing the man, imagining herself killing him. Her breathing is heavy but slow. Her fists are clenched again, the leather on her open fingered gloves creak, the knuckles of exposed flesh glow white.

“Abner… How do you know this man? Are you Avvar?” Izzalea asks her hesitantly. She reaches out to the woman, to touch her shoulder in an attempt to retrieve her from her murderous thoughts. Abner snaps her eyes to Izzalea’s hand and backs away, returning her attention to packing camp.

Silently, she grabs her knapsack and readies her horse. Refusing to look at the Izzalea any longer. With cold, steely confidence, she says, “You have the information you need, Inquisitor. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep that bit to myself.”

“Alright, Abner. Thank you for the information,” Izzalea responds, deciding to allow the woman some privacy, for now.  She leaves Abner’s side to ready her own horse.

--

“There are too many of them!” Solas calls out from the fray. He shoots a bolt of ice from is staff. It flies through the dark, wet air, sharply piercing into the skull of an undead horror. “We must make a run for the gates!”

Izzalea and her team explored and fought through the day, long into the night. It seems they have finally found the hold harboring the Avvar. However, the road to the gates is teaming with a never-ending mob of rotting, walking corpses. For every ten they kill, another fifteen seemingly spawn in their place. It is exhausting. At this rate, they will never make it to the captured soldiers. Izzalea cannot be so close to succeeding and fail now.

As loudly as her tired body can muster, which is just enough that they hear her over the roaring thunder and fighting, Izzalea cries out, “Everyone, run to the gates!”

Hawke flings a wall of fire behind them as they all race forward. They slam and shove past undead, only killing those they absolutely have to in order to advance. To Izzalea’s astonishment, as they make their mad dash, the gates of the keep’s battlements rise.

The Avvar have been watching them. They are ready.

They are waiting.

As soon as they arrive, stumbling, through the gates they begin to shut. The group kills a handful of undead that managed to follow them through, and then turn to face new enemies.

But no one is there.

Cautiously, Izzalea steps through the entry archway under the battlements, into the courtyard of the old, and until recently, long abandoned keep. She scans her eyes everywhere, looking for bodies or movement during flashes of lightning. The only constant light comes from the soft glow of the moon, softly illuminating the run-down keep through wild, whipping storm clouds.  Izzalea detects no one, nothing seems to move. She feels an eerie chill spark down her spine as she wonders where the Avvar are hiding.

“Where are they? The cowards!” Bull hollers and grunts in frustration, slamming his axe into a rotten wood crate. He howls a booming, growling sound into the thunder, “Cowards!”

“They wait. Inside. Come to us,” Cole mumbles ominously next to her. Izzalea silently calls upon the strength of the Maker, calls Andraste to her side.

She can do this.

Izzalea glares in the direction of the doors that lead inside of the keep, feeling a proud smirk bloom on her face. With all of the pent-up rage within her for having to be in the blasted keep in the first place, she cannot help but be pleased that she’s finally arrived. Bloodthirsty rage bubbles within her, excited to sink its teeth into her enemy. “Let’s not keep them waiting,” she grins wickedly. Gesturing toward the door, Izzalea looks confidently into the eyes of everyone in her party. With determination, she says, “Shall we?”

She leads the group to the door assertively, but cautiously. Her shield raised, her eyes scan every inch of their surroundings as she sees them. Solas refreshes a barrier over everyone as much as he is able, without greatly depleting his energy. They enter the keep and creep through its halls. It is damp, dark, and smells of rot and mold. The only light comes from the glow of the moon and the thundering lightning. As flashes flicker through windows, crumbled walls, and portions of missing roof slats, the white light gives them a glimpse of what surrounds them.

Izzalea’s guard on high alert, she waits for something to strike from hidden in the shadows. They turn down a large hallway where she can begin to see the glow of torches or braziers in the distance. This must be the way. The Hand of Korth must be waiting for her down this hallway.

Waiting in that room.

Abner creeps up beside her and murmurs softly, “Remember to keep your guard up, the mages will control the archers, Cole will silently take down who he can. Stand firmly and confidently. I will sneak my way behind him, through the shadows.” Izzalea nods in agreeance. She wonders how Abner can be sure as to how their enemy will trap them. She hopes Abner is right.

Almost to the end of the hall, they stand in front of what looks to be a throne room of some kind. That’s when Izzalea hears a man bellow from within, “Is that you, Herald of Andraste? Come to prove your worth?” He sounds menacing and large, voice deep and booming. But Izzalea is not afraid. Hand of Korth will not intimidate her.

“I am here,” she growls as she takes slow, calculated steps to the room’s entrance. Abner silently slips into the shadows and sneaks into the room. Feeling the soft static of a refreshed barrier Solas placed over around her, she steps past the threshold. They enter a large mezzanine, with steps reaching balconies of either side of the room. Balconies holding groups of archers, whose arrows are drawn… and pointed at her.

Straight ahead of her are a few grand stairs leading up to a dais. Large, broken and tattered windows line the wall behind it. They flash and rattle with every roll of thunder and lightning. Standing on the stage is a behemoth of a man. His body covered in red and white paint, animal furs, and torn leathers. His face partially covered by a red hood, small cut-outs for his eyes, a larger opening draped, exposing his nose down to his chin. Large, threatening, ram’s horns loom from either side of his head. He holds an equally menacing mace, the metal head of which is reminiscent of a two-headed beast.

Izzalea glares at the man confidently, priming her stance for attack. He may think he is intimidating, but she has faced dragons. He is nothing.

The man roars in foreboding laughter, “Good of you to come, Herald of Andraste. I’ve been expecting you.”

Izzalea wants to keep him talking, giving Abner enough time to sneak up behind him. She will try her best to allow Abner the honor of killing the man… if she can. She is ready for the alternative, if the need calls. “Where are my men, Hand of Korth. Have you injured them?” she asks, hatred dripping from her hardened, set jaw.

He chuckles and swings his mace indifferently, “They are safe… for now. But I am afraid upon your defeat, all will die.”

Izzalea snarls at the titan, “Perhaps we should fight with honor. One on one.” She gestures to the archers lining the balconies, “Call off your dogs and fight me like a man.” However, this monster deserves no honor.

Suddenly, an archer yells from the balcony, “Behind you!”

Korth swings his massive mace around violently, but misses Abner as she leaps backwards. He stands there, stunned momentarily upon seeing the woman, but then begins laughing. He holds his chest in great amusement, body shaking as each sound roars through him. He calls back to Izzalea over his shoulder, “Perhaps I should be thanking you, Herald of Andraste. It seems you have brought home my insolent and treacherous little wife.”

Stunned in silence, Izzalea is unsure of what to think. Did he just call her his wife?

Movement in her peripheral catches Izzalea’s attention, pulling a glance to the balcony on her left. With everyone’s eyes now on Korth and Abner, Cole is able to begin backstabbing, snapping necks, and  slicing throats of archers lining the left side of the room. With deadly accuracy, he silences each one, lightly eases their limp bodies to the floor without a sound. Izzalea snaps a look to the balcony on her right. Hawke and Solas have silenced the remaining archers, freezing them in place. Frozen still, waiting for Cole to send them to eternity as well.

No more warnings will be given to the distracted miscreant on the stage.

“I am not home to you, you foul bastard,” Abner growls between her teeth, a maelstrom of hatred swirls in her smoldering eyes. Body crouched in bloodlust, her blades drawn, ready to pounce on the man when given the opportunity. “I am here to kill you.”

The malevolent goliath of a man continues his looming laughter, “Oh, Abner, you always had such a mouth on you, my little half-ling princess. You never did respect the favor I bestowed on your tainted blood. You should have been pleased to have married a chieftain’s son.” Methodical, threatening, and malicious, he slowly paces towards her. Iron Bull and Izzalea gradually advance on him, approaching the dais, taking precautions to not make a sound in doing so.

“Because my love for you runs so deep, dear wife, I think I will keep you alive today. I will make you mine once again. And I promise you, my little half-breed bitch… the marriage will not be as amiable the second time, as it was the first.” He is growling at her, hunched forward, holding his mace as if he considers breaking her body first.

Abner screams in a bloodcurdling, murderous rage as she lunges at the man. Her action is far less calculated than Izzalea has come to expect from the assassin. She can only imagine that the fury within her has clouded all judgement. Izzalea panics for Abner’s safety and runs down the mezzanine toward the two, no longer concerned with the silence of her advance.

Izzalea is too late. Before she reaches the steps, Abner has leapt at him. He quickly responds with a colossal swing of his mace, connecting the head of his metal beast to her ribs. Upon contact her body is flung into the air, she soars backwards and lands limp on a pile of rubble with a broken thud. Izzalea is unsure if Abner is alive or dead. Her rage boils, surging through her. All she sees is red. Iron Bull booms with mountainous vigor, charging alongside Izzalea with the fury of a fiend.

Roaring with all of her might, Izzalea storms toward the monster. She slams her shield into the tough, large muscles of his back, the sharp, metal edges rip at his exposed flesh. These Avvar may be large, but they need more armor than paint, bones, and skins to protect their bodies from her.

The battle ensues with the speed of the lightning striking outside. An onslaught of screaming, bashing, striking, and parrying fills the cold, damp air. The Avvar spins while arcing his mace. Izzalea braces for the impact against her shield, calling upon all of her strength and training in becoming an impenetrable force. As his blow crashes into the strong metal between them, it sends shockwaves down her arm and into her shoulder. The pain is substantial, excruciating, but Izzalea is unmoved. A prideful, determined snarl spreads on Izzalea’s face.

Korth parries an attack from Bull’s axe at his flank, a distraction lasting just long enough for Izzalea to strike. She bares her teeth, screaming a guttural, primal sound as she lunges her sword forward. Piercing through his ribs, slicing through his flesh, the giant warrior’s blood sprays onto the front of her shield.

He howls in pain as he and Bull slam their weapons into each other again. The pain of his wound slows his skills, and he staggers back a few steps. Bull connects a blunt blow to the Avvar hard into the thick furs armoring his legs. Izzalea slices another deep swipe through his flesh, this time the cut spreads along his stomach. Their enemy stumbles rapidly backward, dazed and unable to breathe.

Bull and Izzalea creep in menacing pursuit, closing in on the bloodied, coughing, stunned form in front of them. Movement to her left captures Izzalea’s attention, as Abner is staggers toward the man as well. Izzalea motions to Iron Bull to halt his advance, allowing Abner her wish.

The Hand of Korth sputters and coughs thick blood. He sees Abner limping toward him, her long daggers in each hand. Blood drips from his lips as they curl into a sneering smile. He drops to his knees in front of her, spitting and gurgling. As he lands, Abner crosses her blades in front of her, slicing each one against his throat simultaneously.

Izzalea steals a glance behind them, to ensure the rest of her team is okay. She finds that there are no more archers, living, anyway. Solas, Cole, and Hawke stand in the middle of the mezzanine, watching Abner in astounded silence. Izzalea shivers with a sense of relief seeing that they are unharmed, and that the fight is over. They have won. Resuming her attention back to Abner, Izzalea witnesses the Avvar man slumped on the floor, dead, his blood quickly coating the stone below his body. Red and white pigments of his war paint mix with the deep, dark red of his blood, swirling together in a pool of death.

No one speaks in the hall, the only sounds echoing against the cold, wet stone are that of the ever-roaring storm. Abner stands completely and perfectly still, silently staring at the corpse lying at her feet. Izzalea worries about how badly Abner had been hurt. She had been limping and the blow she took was substantial. Nervous for her wellbeing, she softly calls out to her, “Abner…”

Slowly, Abner turns to face her. She is covered in the blood of her… husband. Her entire face, neck, and chest are glistening, soaked in gore.  Her face is flat and emotionless. Her eyes are black and empty. She treads slow, jagged footfalls up the stage, walking past Izzalea to descend the steps, down to the mezzanine. Izzalea reaches out to her, but is ignored. She grows more and more concerned with not only Abner’s physical wellbeing, but her mental wellbeing, as well.

She staggers and trips on the stairs, toppling limply down to the base. Solas and Hawke surge toward her. “Lay her flat on her back,” Solas orders Hawke as he grabs healing potions from his pack.

Izzalea slowly approaches the scene. Overcome with worry about the woman she barely knows, her chest feels tight and heavy. Will she be okay? Even if she lives through this, did the Inquisition push her too far? Will her mind heal? Izzalea watches sullenly, while trying to also allow space for the mages to work.

Solas tips her head and aids her in drinking a potion. Hawke lightly touches her ribs, through her light armor, where the mace impacted her body. She screams a heart breaking, reverberating cry and recoils at his touch.

“Will she be alright, Solas?” Izzalea asks in a hushed tone. Her shoulders slump, she slowly eases into a crouched, sitting position on the steps. Her eyes never leave the young woman sprawled out on the stone floor. Abner’s breaths are heavy and labored. Her face cringes with each inhale.

“Yes. But she will need to take care for a few days.” He looks at Izzalea earnestly, but she stares blankly at the scout. “Inquisitor… do not forget why we came.”

Izzalea slowly lifts her gaze to Solas, eyes blinking. What is he talking about? Abner needs help. He scowls when she doesn’t speak or move, “The soldiers, Inquisitor. You must find the soldiers. I will heal Abner’s injuries, but you must go.”

Right. The soldiers. Solas is right. Izzalea shakes the daze from her mind and looks for Cole. He is beside her, because… of course he is… “Cole,” she says softly, voice croaking, “Do you know where they are?”

“Yes, they are close. Follow.” Cole says and rises to his feet. Izzalea mimics his movements, trailing behind the spirit as they exit the throne room. Bull rests a hand on Izzalea’s shoulder, striding beside her. She looks up at him as he gives her a sad, but encouraging, smile.

They follow Cole through the hallways as he senses the presence of their trapped people. Izzalea’s mind is buzzing with worry and exhaustion, a whirling dervish of emotion. What happened in there? What happened in Abner’s life? Are the soldiers okay? Will Izzalea be able to safely get everyone back to Skyhold? She is so very tired. Her senses fried from this entire experience.

She rolls her neck and stretches her shoulders again, an attempt to relax at least a small amount before the discovery of her men. They need to see her as a strong force, not a nervous and fatigued fool. Finally, they reach a locked door. Cole kneels in front of the lock while producing a small set of picks from his belt. He works the lock deftly until Izzalea hears a click.

The most beautiful and wonderful sounding click Izzalea has ever heard. She exhales a sigh of relief as she hears the voices of her people murmur through the door. Izzalea stands firmly, smiling while Cole opens the door and she sees their lost soldiers inside.

“Inquisitor!” one man exclaims upon seeing her face. Izzalea steps into the room, scanning over everyone to check on their wellbeing. At first look, they seem little rough, but very much alive. And that is lovely sight to see. She inhales deeply, releasing the days of worry she had accumulated within her muscles. Izzalea beams warmly at the Inquisition forces in the room.

“See, I told you she would come,” a woman announces proudly to the others.

If only for a fleeting moment, Izzalea shares in her pride.