#i had no idea jory was actually a name

[jinxedruby]

Febuwhump Day Six: "You lied to me"

Featuring Hyrule and Warriors. Heads up for minor character injury in this one. It's not super descriptive, but it's there

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->

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“Ma’am, how much further?” Warriors asked, ducking under a low branch.

The woman’s shoulders hiked up slightly, just as they had every other time Warriors spoke. A frown tugged at Hyrule’s lips as the woman turned, eyes darting all around, never meeting either of their gazes.

“It’s just- it- it’s j-just ahead,” she stammered, hands wringing the skirt of her dress. Her eyes met Hyrule’s briefly and she whipped back around, steps quickening. “He’s just- just through h-here.”

Hyrule exchanged a glance with Warriors. A wrinkle settled between the captain’s eyebrows, lips pursed. He reached up and tapped the hilt of his sword but Hyrule shook his head, despite the uncomfortable feeling in his gut. The woman had come to them, saying her son had gotten stuck in a hunter’s snare and she needed help freeing him. Hyrule was always wary of villagers, but they weren’t in his era and even if she was an ache, she would have revealed herself already. The furrow in Warriors’ brow deepened but he lowered his hand, even if his gait grew stiff and his shoulders drew back. The woman is just worried for her son, Hyrule told himself. That’s all.

They came upon a clearing and the woman suddenly jogged ahead of them. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Jory! Jory, where are you?”

Warriors’ hand immediately went back to his sword, jaw tight. Hyrule glanced at him, ready to attempt to calm him down when he realized what had set the captain off. If the woman’s son was caught in a trap and couldn’t move, why was she calling for him as if she didn’t know where he was?

The forest sprang to life around them. Warriors cursed as Hyrule’s heart leapt into his throat, both of them unsheathing their swords. They went back-to-back as monsters burst from bushes and behind trees, quickly surrounding the two heroes. Hyrule’s heart sank as he recognized all of them as monsters exclusive to his era. Several wosus prowled around them, snouts wrinkled as they snarled and brandished their swords. Hyrule’s heart sank further as he saw gumas and dairas interspersed in the crowd as well. He pressed his back harder against Warriors’, desperately trying to take comfort in the knight’s presence as his heart thudded wildly in his chest, fingers prickling where they wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

“The Hero of Hyrule,” a voice cackled. Hyrule threw his gaze left to see a mago fade into existence beside the woman. It looked to her and said, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“I- I-“ the woman stuttered, dress twisting under her hands. “I did what you- what you asked. W-where’s my son?”

The mago hummed and vanished. Hyrule’s grip tightened around his sword, looking around wildly for where the mago reappeared. He felt Warriors stiffen and twisted his head around to see the mago in front of the captain, just far enough to be out of range of Warriors’ sword.

“I asked you to bring the Hero of Hyrule alone,” said the mago, wrinkled eyes narrowing as it looked Warriors up and down.

“I- I tried!” the woman cried desperately. “Please, I- h-he insisted, I- I couldn’t-“ She cut off as a daira approached her, snapping its teeth, tail lashing.

“I don’t see a need to keep my word if you don’t keep yours,” said the mago.

The daira roared and the woman shrieked, hiking up her dress and sprinting away from it. Hyrule’s eyes widened as the daira lifted its axe and charged. He reached for his magic without thinking, preparing to cast something, anything to stop the daira from reaching the woman. Warriors moved before he could, switching to his bow faster than Hyrule thought possible and firing an arrow. The arrow struck true, punching through the daira’s scales and digging into the back of its neck. But the axe had already left the daira’s hand. The woman barely made a sound as it buried into her back, only letting out a soft squeak before crumpling to the ground. Hyrule and Warriors both froze, staring wide-eyed at the woman’s body. Then Warriors fired another arrow at the daira and all hell broke loose.

Hyrule lifted his shield as several wosus lunged at once. He easily blocked them, ducking under a clumsy swing and plunging his sword through the nearest one’s abdomen. He didn’t stop as it collapsed, yanking his sword from its body and immediately slashing through the next creature. He felt Warriors’ scarf flutter against his shoulders as the captain shifted behind him, moving in a familiar dance of block, parry, riposte. Hyrule cut down the last wosu just in time to see a mace hurtle through the air. He moved to dodge before remembering Warriors’ unprotected back behind him. He lifted his shield above his head, hastily casting Shield. The mace clanged off the metal, the pain that jolted through his arm muffled by the spell. Just as he lowered his shield, the guma threw another mace. Hyrule blocked it again, gritting his teeth at the blow against his arm. They couldn’t stay in one place like this. His eyes darted around, trying to find an alternative, but everywhere he looked, an enemy stood waiting. He could cast Thunder, but he didn’t know if there were more enemies out of range or where the mago had disappeared to. He couldn’t afford to waste his magic.

“Captain-“ Another mace clanged off his shield, his spell flickering as he grunted. “Can you make an opening?”

Warriors spun, slamming his shield against a daira that got too close. “I can try,” he bit out. “Follow my l-“

“Duck!” Hyrule yelled, crouching low. Warriors complied without turning to look. A mace whipped over their heads.

“Follow me, now!” Warriors shouted. He lunged out of his crouch toward a pack of wosus making up a part of the wall of monsters penning them in. Hyrule darted after him, ducking out of the way of yet another mace. The wosus snarled as the heroes approached, leaping forward to meet them. Warriors cut through two in one swipe. Hyrule blocked an attack and took out a third with a quick thrust. At least the wosus hadn’t gotten any stronger since he’d last fought them. Another slash, another thrust and they were clear. Hyrule lunged over a wosu’s twitching body, Warriors sidestepping the ones before him and running after Hyrule. Monsters surged in to fill the gap but not quick enough. A clang rang out as a blow glanced off Hyrule’s shield. Warriors dove into a roll to avoid a daira’s axe. Then they were through.

An enraged cry rose over the clamor of monsters. In a flash, the mago appeared ahead of the heroes, hands lifted, palms glowing with magic. With no time to warn, Hyrule dove to the side, colliding with Warriors and shoving him out of the way. A fireball streaked past them, singeing Hyrule’s sleeve. They barely had any time to recover their footing before the mago reappeared. Hyrule and Warriors lunged in opposite directions to avoid the fireball. Hyrule nearly ran headlong into a daira. It roared and snapped its jaw, axe raised. It dashed forward, axe spinning toward Hyrule in a blur. He lunged back, the axe narrowly missing his chest. The daira swung again, and again, Hyrule leaning and ducking, barely dodging each time.

He caught a glimpse of the mago out of the corner of his eye. The mago reeled back and Hyrule lunged to the side, fireball zipping past him and striking the ground. The grass caught like oil, flames taller than Hyrule erupting and blocking his path. The mago threw more fire that Hyrule didn’t even have to dodge. Flames exploded behind him and the blood drained from his face as he realized what the mago was doing. He scrambled to the side free of flames but the daira stood in the way, axe raised. Heat flared against his back, the daira closing in. Hyrule lifted his sword and shield higher, eyes wide, breaths quick and shallow. Warriors shouted something but he barely heard it, focus narrowing to the fire around him and daira. The daira lifted its axe and swung. Hyrule held up his shield and the axe smashed against it. Pain splintered through his bone and he shouted through his teeth as him arm buckled, the force of the blow throwing his weight to the side. He leaned back as the axe swung again, nearly backing into the wall of flames. The tip of the axe carved a shallow line across his chest, blood seeping from the wound. He yelped, pressing his shield tight against his chest, injured hand splayed over the wound in an attempt to keep the blood from spilling out.

“Preserve his blood!” the mago hissed from somewhere beyond the daira. Its cackling rattled around in Hyrule’s ears. He took a step back but jolted forward again when his heel hit flame. The daira loomed over him, raising its axe one more time. Hyrule threw up a hand and cast the first spell his panicked mind could conjure; Spell. The daira’s eyes widened for a brief moment before white consumed its body, its form shrinking down. Then the white receded, leaving behind a little blue blob of a bot. Hyrule slashed downward, cleaving the bot in two. The mago shrieked and he dove forward, escaping the cage of fire just as the mago made another wall to hem in where he’d just been moments before. He whipped around as the mago let out a guttural cry of frustration. It lifted a gnarled finger to him. Every remaining monster turned toward Hyrule.

“Get the Hero,” the mago snarled.

The monsters lunged and Hyrule spun. He cut down the first two wosus to approach him, ducked under a hurled mace. An axe whistled toward his head and he cast Reflect, sending it hurtling back into the daira it came from which went down with a howl. Somewhere beyond the horde he thought he could see flashes of green and royal blue as Warriors tried to fight his way to him. A wosu stabbed at Hyrule from the side and he lifted his shield. Pain sparked through his arm at the movement, the sparks turning to agonizing shocks as the wosu’s sword slammed against the shield. He cried out, arm crumpling, but forced himself to turn and thrust his sword through the wosu. A mace clipped his shoulder as he failed to dodge fast enough, a daira’s axe swishing over his head. His breath came in ragged gasps, vision growing fuzzy around the edges as he pushed himself past his limit. He cast Shield again, the lack of magic straining against his gut. Then an axe dug into his leg and he went down.

As he fell, all he could think about was the blood pouring from the wound, the blood decorating the blade of the axe. His blood, his blood that the monsters would take back to Ganon’s ashes, his blood that would spell the end of the world. He should’ve listened to Warriors, he should’ve trusted his gut, he should’ve known that woman lied to them. Just because they weren’t in his era didn’t mean he could let his guard down. As the monsters descended on him and he feebly held up his shield with a broken arm, all he could think about was how he could have prevented this. Maybe he deserved to suffer for his mistakes, but nobody else did. Yet they would.

Then Warriors spun through the monsters like a whirlwind.

Light magic blasted across Hyrule as Warriors whipped around and around in spin attack after spin attack. The range of his assault extended past the blade, glowing light ripping through the monsters and sending them flying. Warriors screeched to a stop beside Hyrule. He stumbled slightly, dragging in haggard breaths. He reached down and grabbed Hyrule’s good arm, hauling him to his feet. He ran, barely giving Hyrule any time to regain his balance and dragging the traveler along behind him. Hyrule’s gaze darted to the grass where he lay as he staggered along with Warriors, searching for any sign of red. He could feel the damp spots on his tunic and pants spreading, had he bled on the ground? Did the monsters- The daira’s axe. Hyrule spun his head in each direction on a swivel, looking around desperately for the axe. Where, where, had to make sure the monsters didn’t get it, where- Then he spotted it. One of the monsters Warriors had cut through, lying on the ground, axe on the grass beside it. And Hyrule’s blood on the edge of the blade. He jerked his arm out of Warriors’ grip, stumbling toward the axe even as the captain yelled. He scooped up the weapon as the mago screeched. His head whipped around just in time to see the mago launch fire at him. Hyrule darted to one side, staggered as a sharp spike of pain stabbed through the deep gash in his thigh. The fireball missed him by a hair’s breadth, searing the ends of his hair. Warriors dashed over, grabbed his arm, and pulled him along at just less than a full sprint.

“Stop them!” the mago howled. The remaining monsters ran after the heroes, grunts and cries filling the air. Hyrule pressed a hand to his thigh, threading what magic remained into his Life spell, slowing the flow of blood so nothing dripped onto the ground. That succeeded in numbing some of the pain as well, making it easier to run. He spurred his legs on faster, Warriors speeding up with him. They ran for what felt like hours, the sounds of monsters and the cries of the mago fading gradually. Hyrule could scarcely breathe, legs burning as his boots pounded against the dirt over and over again. But he couldn’t afford to slow down. They ran until long after the monsters’ cries dwindled into silence. They ran until Hyrule’s legs finally gave out and he tripped, crashing to the ground and rolling. Warriors collapsed to his hands and knees beside him as Hyrule lay spread-eagle on the ground, staring up at the sky. Hyrule’s chest burned, sides cramping as he gasped, ears ringing. Warriors said something but his voice muffled against the cotton in Hyrule’s ears, words lost. Hyrule’s eyes slid closed against his will and suddenly Warriors was shouting, shaking his shoulders. Hyrule blinked, vision blurred and dim.

“Traveler, stay… stay with me, o… okay?” Warriors panted, face flushed, forehead sheening with sweat and streaked with dirt. Blood speckled his cheek like he’d been sprayed and Hyrule hoped distantly that the blood wasn’t either of theirs. “We gotta… we gotta get… back to the… the others.”

Hyrule nodded but he barely felt it, nerves tingling with a numb sort of sensation. He tried and failed to sit up on his own, Warriors needing to help him. His stomach cramped at the movement, arms and legs tensing and relaxing sporadically.

“Can’t… br… breathe,” he gasped, throat feeling raw.

“I know, I… can’t either, but we… gotta keep… moving.” Warriors unsteadily got to his feet, helping Hyrule up. “Moving will… help.”

“Can’t…” Hyrule’s arm trembled as he clung to the captain, unable to even make a fist with his bad arm. “Can’t…”

“Yes, you… you can.” He could feel Warriors trembling from exertion but the captain took a step forward, pulling Hyrule along with him. “Just a little… further.”

“The axe,” Hyrule realized, turning his head sluggishly to see the weapon lying on the dirt. “Has my… my blood, we can’t… can’t leave it.”

If that confused Warriors, he didn’t show it, stooping down to pick up the axe without a word. He tightened his grip on Hyrule’s arm, casting a glance at him. Hyrule nodded at the unspoken question, taking a shaking step forward. Then, slowly, despite exhausted limbs and overexerted energy, they continued making the trek back.

[formulaforza]

diamond ring-- c.leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader word count: 990 a/n: i melt i melt i melttttt

He told Lorenzo he was going to marry you on the plane from France to Austria. He’d kissed you goodbye at four in the morning in your shared hotel room because you had a flight to catch back to Monaco for work that morning. You were supposed to leave the night before, right after the race on Sunday, but, you didn’t want to leave him to his thoughts, so you changed your flight. 

You’ve known her for eight months, his brother told him, eight months and you want to marry her? 

Charles had laughed, shrugged, nodded. “I just. I know.”

It wasn’t until after the season ended that he finally got to the jewelers. One in Paris, because he thought a million people would notice him ring shopping in Monaco. He’d made Pierre come along, for moral support, and FaceTimed his mother for a woman’s perspective. 

They were at the jewler’s for three hours, and looked at just about every ring there was in the whole place before Charles finally decided that he needed to create something custom for you. Sounds like your girl is one of a kind, the associate helping them said, maybe she needs a ring to match. It’s another hour and a half before he’d made his decisions. He calls them once he’s home and three days later and is still making changes. 

Once it’s actually in his hands, little velvet box and all, his worry shifts to how to ask you. It has to be perfect, he thinks. Something you’ll beam about in twenty years when you tell your kids all about Mom and Dad’s love story. He could do it on a Monday morning over coffee, him on his way to the gym and you barely up, pajama clad and hugging a coffee mug like your life depends on it. He could do it after a long day at the track, where he’s exhausted and looking for a fight and you let him be, let him feel what he needs to feel. He could do it whenever, wherever, and as long as it was with you, it would be perfect for him. 

It needed to be perfect for you. He thought about filling the apartment with a million roses and balloons and champagne. It was private but grand. He thought about the cinema classics–a restaurant full of people, a ring in the desert. You would probably swallow it, he figured. Maybe he could do it in an airport–no. That idea didn’t even last long enough to become complete in his mind. You would kill him, everyone else in the airport would kill him. Just, no. Scratch the aiprort. 

Maybe out on the water, in the middle of a day of fun. He could do it then, in the heat of the sun and in the salty air just off the coast. What if you said no? Then he’s stuck with you, on a boat, in the middle of the ocean. That’s like…nightmare fuel, the stuff that haunts his dreams for six straight nights. 

He decides he’s going to do it at the beach. One of the private ones that nobody is really supposed to know about but everyone does, the one he’d referred to as his secret spot when he’d first met you. The one you’d named with a deadpan expression on your face right after he said that stupid, cheesy line. 

He forced Joris and Antoine to hide in the bushes far out of your sight on the evening he finally did it. The sun was setting on the French Riviera and every color in the sky seemed to highlight something stunning about you, complimenting your eyes, your dress, your hair, your smile. The wind ran its fingers through your hair and danced in the flowing fabric of your dress and he thought he could never be deserving of you, all good and right and ethereal like this. He couldn’t wait to spend his entire life trying to live up to the standard that was you.

There was a picnic spot set up in the sand at the end of the beach. “I love that,” you’d commented when you saw it, clueless that it was there for you. “It's so sweet.”

"It's for you," he hums, voice shaky and nervous.

"What?"

He says your name, all sweet and soft and you know. You don’t know, because you never really know until it’s happening, but, you know. “Charles,” You beam back at him with giddy, hopeful eyes. You are just as enamored as he is. He repeats your name again, draws out the sounds of the last syllable and you both laugh, fight back tears because this is really happening and you don’t want a single memory to be clouded and fuzzy with love in its purest, saltiest form. 

“I love you in ways words will never be able to explain,” He starts. “In the early mornings and the late nights and the average afternoons, I am completely in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, trying to find the words,” he continues. You laugh, choked and teary, soft fingers on your smile in disbelief. He pulls a tiny velvet box from the inside pocket of his jacket and drops to one knee in the sand. “So,” he laughs, pops open the box and you’re eyes are too fixed on the man you love to even look at the ring. “Will you marry me?”

You smile, try so hard not to cry only for them to fall down your cheeks anyway. You nod, hold your left hand out for him. “Yeah?” He says, pulls the ring from the box and slides it on your finger. Perfect fit. 

“Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.” You grin, both laugh, curl over to kiss him while he’s still on his knees in the sand. “I love you so much,” you tell him, hands on either side of his face, kiss him again.

“I love you, too.”

[chlerc]

player ten ; charles leclerc

— summary; in which Charles find himself in at the San Siro stadium but his eyes are on you. Donning a number 10 jersey, which left Charles to wonder if you’re that player’s girlfriend. It’s still worth a shot, right?

pairing — charles leclerc x f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 925.

content — strangers to lovers, okay more like Charles one sided thing he has for you, or so he thought. You might be that footballer’s girlfriend but hey was he ever going to pass up on a girl like you?

NAVIGATION + author’s note: to thank the Monaco charity football match for captain charles ( future ballon d’or winner who fell head first! ) and that one picture he’s holding the barça jersey just got this idea, more like drabble, going. we deal with this until i finish the mason mount fic hehe 😓

The football pitch was millions of perfect grass strands as eager for the start of play as the fans who brought the stadium to light. Two armies of eleven walked onto the green to pitch war in the way civilised societies have come to.

The cheers warm the air as much as any sun ever could and rise around the San Siro stadium as bubbles in invisible champagne. Charles is right there by the VIP section of the stadium, in his customised AC Milan jersey he had just received from the team.

San Siro stadium was where he found himself with Joris, on a day without a packed schedule and stimulator drives. Football has always been his thing and he’s got a special knack for it, or he thinks so in that way.

His eyes are trained on following each Milan player as they played against Sampdoria yet the person on his left, an empty seat between them, had been pissing him off, which he embraced silently. Holy shit was she loud with all those jarring noises she had been making.

Charles cranes his neck a little, sneaking a glimpse at the lady who has been all but silent throughout the match. But to be fair, who would be quiet at a football match? Realising he had made the mistake of sneaking a glance, because hell was she so breathtakingly gorgeous. She’s so fucking beautiful it almost hurts to look at her.

Her face to his eyes was all the beauty a woman can possess, not for her features, yet for the light in her eyes and the gentle warmth of her soul. She has the rosiest cheeks and a pointy nose anyone could ever ask for. There was a warmth her brown hair brought to her features, a simple frame for that smile and eyes. The hue altered as the strands curled and moved, as free as autumn leaves playing in the dayshine with the evening wind picking up its pace.

One last glance, Charles had promised himself and swore to stick to that and so he did sneak another glance. Rookie mistake, she was donning the AC Milan jersey just like every other home supporter there, but shit she had a number 10 and the name Brahim printed on the back.

He recognises the number and name was actually a player on the pitch and not a customised jersey like his. VIP seats, a player’s jersey and cheering for him. Charles pieces his observations together, coming to a conclusion that she might actually be Brahim’s girlfriend.

Okay. It wasn’t like he was planning on hitting her up anyways, she was too noisy to be his type. But then again was he lying to himself, because hell who would actually pass up on a gorgeous woman who happened to love the same sport as him? On another note, she could just be a devoted fan, a girl can have her fantasies wearing the jerseys of the players they love.

It was the 63th minute where Brahim sent the ball to the back of the net, chants erupting throughout the stadium and a shout piercing through the left side of his ear. Fuck maybe she was his girlfriend afterall, there was no way was he making a move on her now.

He watches her every move as she looks for her phone in the beige bag sitting on her lap. With her phone in her hand, the screen lights up and he almost felt sanguine in this situation. Maybe he still had a chance after all, right? It definitely means something if he’s the person on her wallpaper, right?

Which is exactly why he slides over to the empty seat, settling down next to her. “Good game eh?” Charles finds himself striking a conversation with her, hoping she’d notice him. “Huh? Yeah yeah, really good game.” Her cheeks were the blush of roses, that peak of champagne pink. The colour infused cheeks dimpled with the blossoming smile

She wished she didn't blush so fast, that she had some ability to keep her emotions to herself. In an instant, her cheeks were rosy and Charles saw her feelings as if she wrote them in little notes and handed them out to him. “So…Brahim, your boyfriend? He’s really good with Milan, he’s adapted to the team well.”

“No no, not a boyfriend but yeah he’s really good.” He licked at his lips subconsciously, thanking every god for his fate of meeting the gorgeous and single lady right next to him. “Not a boyfriend eh? You’re in his jersey and all that.” She only lets out a giggle at his comment, Charles thought it was strange that she’s acting like she didn’t know him. “Loyal supporter is what I’d call it, been by him since Madrid.”

“My teammate’s a Madridista, you’d love him.” The ends of her lips lifted up into a smile so sweet, her eyes creasing into crescents. “I’d prefer the one who supports AS Monaco.” She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, mumbling meekly. “What’s that?” Charles questioned, not managing to catch what she had said but it wasn’t meant for him to hear anyways.

“Nothing important.” He nods curtly at her reply, sliding a piece of folded and crumbled paper he had tucked in his pockets earlier. She eyes him warily, taking the piece of paper in her grasp.

“I might have a knack for football but I’m better as a driver and we can take a picture to replace that lockscreen. Mia cara, call me yeah?”

[kerubimcrepin]

Wakfu Season 3, Episodes 1-6

//tw mentions of SA

Episode 1 - Fallen Heroes

I had a very long discussion with a friend of mine, who is a fan of medical settings, about how cool the existence of IV within the lore of Krosmoz is.

We didn't come to any conclusion. It was just us fanboying about this. Because my friend loves medical things and I love putting character into situations (some of which would not be survivable, if them being put on IV wasn't possible) (big fan of the concept of Joris getting poisoned and very sick and Kerubim and Atcham freaking the fuck out).

Funnily enough, during the making of my YouTube series, I discovered that there are two Sram-venerating women named Toxine in this franchise.

Adamai harbouring feelings of violence towards the members of the brotherhood is a good idea, (<- obviously the guy that wants Joris to beat the shit out of Kerubim would say this), but man, it could have been so cool if someone competent was working with this idea.

Episode 3 - Oropo's Tower

I should admit, this moment was probably a big win for Tristepin Mental Illness fans. Also, this is sadly the most explicit they can get with the reasons why Tristepin might hate being the Iop god in a cartoon.

He has plenty of reasons. Not only had Iop had 394824 demigods who hated him and felt abandoned by him while suffering fates worse than death (all gods have those) and just as many mortals he took advantage of using the power imbalance of godhood and promises of love (all gods have done that), he also canonically sexually assaulted a woman.

Ngl, if I was Tristepin, I would be considering killing myself — however, the kids and the wife would be sad.

They shuoild do this to Yugo too. He also had other wives. Albeit in an infinitely less insane way than Tristepin. Ankama.., please stop ignoring how existentially horrifying the Eliatrope demigods are.

In the Dofus MMO Kerubim pretty much calls the brotherhood of the forgotten an emo club of people with too much free time on their hands doing nothing but whining about their daddy issues.

And he was so real for that.

Btw canonically, Mishelle/Coqueline makes him feel intimidated (due to her grand age) while she herself doesn't really care about him (besides liking his good attitude towards animals), and is actually besties with Otomai.

Episode 4 - Beastly Girl

I like to headcanon that Joris's relationship with Coqueline is that he projects onto her ("oh god.... being 7 forever would make me kill myself.... even being 3ft tall is already horrible and makes me want to die..... the poor woman must be suffering") while she's like,, 1. probably doesn't think of herself as a "woman". I think she would describe herself as a creature, maybe a girlcreature, and 2. is literally chilling and doesn't give a single shit about anything but animal welfare and direct anti-god action.

I think talking to her would kill Joris because he'd realize that not every immortal person is as insecure about Literally Everything as he is.

She literally says, "the only good gods are ex-gods". We stan a leftist girlcreature?

This screenshot can be used as a reaction image for so many different shows. More fictional parents should say "my child is NOT ascending to godhood and shedding their mortality, becoming something beyond my comprehension, before they're of age. Fuck you."

Episode 5 - A Iop Hides Himself to Cry

You want to read @bitter-panacea's analysis posts about Goultard so bad.

Despite my negative feeling on s3, this is a WIN for Goultard fans, as far as I'm aware. (and Goultard enjoyers, since I kinda consider myself one)

I;'m going to walk into the sea.

Episode 6 - The Ecaflip's Scratching Post

YEAH BABY, A FULL ON IN-SHOW CONFIRMATION OF MY "USH HAS A DIFFERENT MOM THAN KERUBIM AND ATCHAM" HYPOTHESIS.

This might not seem like a contentious issue to normal people. Gods have... a lot of different lovers, so it seems normal to assume that Ush has one mom, while Kerubim and Atcham are twins like Eleley and Flopin, and have a different mom...

But a cancelled game that Tot really liked and still considers canon had really weird "there's an Ecaflip priestess who is the CEO of Giving Birth" lore, and was planned to be the mysterious mom of Kerubim and Atcham (and many other demigods), which contradicts a lot of previously established lore (ankama LOVES retcons. sadly).

I am quite open about thinking this is stupid and not considering this canon until they show her to me in an actual released media (and even then I will find a way to headcanon a better reality). Seeing the series itself acknowledge that Ush is not Atcham and Kerubim's full brother makes me feel quite better.

Hi Ush were you doing [SEXUAL ACTS REDACTED] upon cats again.

Cute...

A normal thing for a Bontarian to do. Blue-clad (metaphorically, he isn't wearing blue but white. Still very Bontarian though) man over here protecting kids and women. While also beating them up.

But unironically, I think it's cute that he has this gap moe of being an evil man who also saves people and cares about honour (because that's a proper thing to do) despite cheating constantly.

Somehow, his shallowness and "I mostly care about appearances, even if I do have a moral code" sort of behaviour is just as Extremely Bontarian as Joris's.... 30 mental illnesses.

THE OST IN THIS EP IS SO GOOD. ECAFLIP FANS WINNING ONCE AGAIN.

Hey past me! Maybe he really does pay these cats to put up with his insane behaviours. 🤨

Yugo, I'm gonna be real with you:

he's probably heard Joris and Kerubim say these exact words at least twice before,

He is reallllllly weird about cats and I am unsure if that's illegal in your setting,

He lured in people to kill in his tower for sport serial killer style.

He's bontarian. -20 morality and honor points immediately.

[toppersjeep]

Chapter 13- All For Love Charles Leclerc

Masterlist

(One more chapter left after this everyone!! Thank you for all the love on this book. It means the world) -AN

elenaleclerc✔️: I’ve been away from social media for a while now. But I really don’t think I can hide this anymore from the world. I’d like to introduce everyone to our baby girl. We thought you were gonna be a boy at first but we were very surprised the day you were born. Either way I’m so happy that you are here. I’m so proud to be your mom. I love you so much I can’t get over how adorable you are. I also can’t get over this picture like look at both my babies. With that being said I’d love to share her name with everyone. I’d like everyone to meet Jules Joy Leclerc. We knew immediately we wanted Jules but Charles had the most amazing idea for her middle name. In honor of my late mother. I hope you all stick with the three of us in this next chapter. We love you all so much.

Liked by 4 million

landonorris✔️: does this mean I can post the cute pics of me and jul??

elenaleclerc✔️: landonorris yes !! omg and send the cute family ones

adelinebellamy✔️: STAWP I LOVE BABY LECLERC

danielricciardo✔️: Jules 🥹

mercedesamg✔️: baby Jules she’s so precious

lewishamilton✔️: Roscoe misses Jules !! bring her by the paddock 🥺

charlesleclerc✔️: love you both more than anything my Ferrari girls 🥹❤️

ferrari✔️: baby leclerc maybe a future world champion like her mama 😉

maxverstappen1✔️: p says she misses Jules bring her by sometime:)

elenaleclerc✔️: maxverstappen1 I will most definitely bring Jules by the paddock soon

kellypiquet✔️: oh she’s beautiful has her moms smile and dads eyes 🥹

elenaleclerc✔️: kellypiquet so happy she had his eyes like I’m obsessed with her

I walked into the paddock carrying Jules. Everyone smiled and took pictures. The Netflix crew came up. I smiled.

“Hey Netflix this is miss Jules” I said she smiled. I then waved her little hand. “And we are off to Ferrari to see Dad race huh” I said. “Love her little Ferrari outfit” Christian said walking by.

“Isn’t it adorable” I said. “You sure she can’t have a Red Bull hat” Christian said. “What do you think” I said. Jules pointed to the Ferrari garage. “Ahhh I see just like her Dad” Christian said I smiled.

We then went to the Ferrari paddock. Everyone smiled as we walked in together.

“Aweee baby Jules” Joris said. “She’s actually pretty excited.. she napped till we got here” I said. “She’s adorable” he said. “Ready to go find daddy” I said she smiled.

We then walked into the garage.

“Oh look who’s here is that my favorite Leclerc” Carlos said. “Look it’s Uncle Carlos” I said she laughed. “Oh my goodness the whole Ferrari outfit aren’t you adorable” Carlos said. “Her little pants even have dads number” I said.

“Oh my god” Carlos said. “Oh my goodness is that my little girl” Charles said walking over. Jules smiled. “Who’s that baby” I said she laughed. “Oh my goodness come here” Charles said taking her. “She’s been so excited” I said.

“Oh I missed you my little princess” Charles said kissing her head. “We missed you too” I said. “You know I missed you my lucky charm of course” Charles said kissing me. “Lucky charms now” Carlos said. “Most definitely” Charles said looking at Jules.

“Did you see her outfit” I said. “Oh my goodness look at my little Ferrari girl” Charles said. “This is the cutest thing ever” Charles said. I took a picture of them. “So making this my lockscreen” I said. “Jules are you hungry let’s grab some food huh” Charles said.

After a long day of racing we went back to our house. Thankfully the race was in Monaco today. So we were all able to go.

“She’s having a hard time sleeping” I said. “Oh let me try” Charles said. “You can rest it was a long race day Charles” I said. “I got it” Charles said walking into Jules room.

“Oh honey what’s wrong” Charles said looking into her crib. She cried. “It’s alright daddy’s here I promise” Charles said. I leaned in the doorway. He then picked her up. “I’m not going anywhere” he said to her.

He then sung her a little song. And soon enough she was fast asleep with her little head rested on him. He then set her back into her crib and covered her up.

We both walked out of her room.

“See I don’t know how you get her to sleep” I said. “I guess she’s just a daddy’s girl” Charles said. “That makes two of us” I said. “So Mrs. Leclerc.. I believe we have a race to celebrate” Charles said.

“Yeah really oh who won today” I said. “I think your pretty amazing husband got P1 today” Charles said I smiled. “And what does he want” I said. “His prize” he said. “Mmmh..” I said kissing him.

Later…

“So will you ever come back to racing” Charles said. “Actually I am but not as a driver” I said. “What will you be doing” Charles asked. I snuggled up to him. “Toto offered me the job of a race strategist” I said.

“That’s perfect love” Charles said. “Yeah and Jules can come too” I said. “I do want to tell you after this year I’m retiring” Charles said. “You are” I said. “I wanna spend time with my girls” Charles said.

“We’d like that” I said. “And I’m thinking of opening up my own karting track for kids” Charles said. “I think that sounds like an amazing idea” I said. “Only if you’ll help too” he said. “I’d follow you anywhere Charles I have since day one” I said.

“And that’s why I love you” he said. “More that our daughter” I said. “I think I love you both equally” he said. Then Jules started crying again. “Speak of our girl” I said. “Get rest I’ll feed her love” Charles said.

“Thank you baby” I said he kissed me. “Mmmh go to sleep” Charles said I smiled. I couldn’t ask for anything better in life.

[morganlefaye79]

(📸 by @breezypunk) otp: pulling strings

(📸 by @breezypunk) otp: sing for the moment

Part 3 and unfortunately the last 😔 one of @breezypunks magic.

I love my boys, all of them, Kerry included of course, no fun without the old man. I wanted a pair protrait for both my otp, I rarely give directions since I want to see what others come up with, giving their ideas and creativity enough room.

Did you notice the bird in the first one? I didn't at first, it is blurred due to the dof but when I saw it, I squeed like a little girl. 🤗 Since both, Kerry and Val are workaholics and are always working on something this is actually a rare occurance that they take some time for each other. Love it! 💜 I'm not sure where the picture was taken but it looks to my like it might be in Kerry's garden or at least North Oak, which would fit perfectly. Although Val knew what he signed up for, and has to show presence at Kerry's side, he never enjoys it. Even more so since he is mostly referred to as "Kerry's husband" instead of saying his name. So he avoids it to go into the public if he can.

Now we're coming to my very special babies. I just always had a knack for rare and OC pairings 🤷‍♂️. What other can I say than complete harmony? I adore the soft- and tenderness in this one, it teared me up the first time I looked at it. I don't think I ever mentioned it, but Joris tends to flee into the badlands every now and then when he needs some quiet. It is also one of the rare cases that he will leave his cyberdeck at home. I have also a fun fact about this picture: Vicco is more the bike type, but they possess this thornton, and they hate it, everytime they have to use it (bad weather) they hope this rust bucket will finally break down, but it doesn't somehow. This one is just perfect it made me go from "awww" to "ohh" to *giggle*.

Thank you again @breezypunk for those lovely VP's! 💜 You can find her comm detes here.

[mistfallengw2]

A few words of ramble about my former alt-Commanders (in order of creation) that ended up being thrown into the same universe, just for funsies:

- my fursona-turned-charr is still my effective main in-game, but my ass feels out of place as an actual Commander, so into the background I go, doing things as a mercenary with unclear allegiances (in Aurelia's reformed warband under Reeva's command, actually a free agent, they're not part of the OoW but something sus is going on because they know a bit too much and they're always not far from where there's need of help with serious shit)

- Hel had too little personality in her own AU, and I didn't do much with that idea. She was supposed to be a more "evil"-oriented comm, but I got nothing beyond a vague "creepy necro vibes + I must undertand death + general bad choices, like stanning Joko because he's a powerful necro and wanting to learn from him". Now she gets to play off of everyone else, while still having her Elona arc in a much juicier way.

- Haidee was supposed to be roleplayed as co-comm with my partner's OC, but we never even started that, so now they're both in the background doing side quests (Haidee is totally not with the OoW what do you mean, nothing weird going on with the fact they're not in the Pact but always sort of contractors for it, they also just happen to help out Kas and Jory with evacuations in s4, and then end up in Taimi's krewe, and they were not gathering intel around Cantha, and possibly totally not involved with the Astral Ward)

- Ethanryel started as a sort of idealized-then-faaar-removed self-insert (sporting a mix of two potential names I used to consider for myself), but as a comm they felt off in some way. Then I found out they slotted better into a supporting role for the commander instead, being their own kind of Aurene's champion.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

101 of 2024

What's and If's

by spiralwave

1. If your personality had a flavor, what would it taste like? Fries and beer lol.

2. What’s a smell that instantly takes you back to childhood? Croque-monsieur, freshly baked.

3. What’s something you enjoy that most people wouldn’t expect based on your personality? Metal music.

4. If you had to relive one day of your life on loop for a month, which day would you pick and why? The day I had a meetup with my sister and cousin. It was a great day.

5. What’s a small, everyday thing that makes you feel like you’re winning at life? The fact of being alive.

6. What object in your house would have the most interesting story if it could talk? No idea. Probably the stairs.

7. What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever seen someone carry around in public? A street light. No kidding.

8. What’s a fashion trend from the past you’d love to see make a comeback? What I loved has actually made a comeback, all this 2000s fashion.

9. What’s the most recent app you downloaded and why? Some kind of mobile game, I want to try it.

10. If you had to pick a new name for yourself, what would it be? Joris.

11. What’s your favorite way to procrastinate? Doing surveys. It's definitely my favourite waste of time. 

12. What’s a song that you secretly love but would never admit to liking? I don't get the concept of "guilty pleasures". I like what I like and that's it.

13. What’s your favorite way to spend a rainy day? Walking on the beach, no kidding. Or reading a book under a blanket, with our cat next to me.

14. If emotions were colors, what color would you be today and why? Green. I'm in a pretty peaceful mood.

15. What’s a piece of advice you’ve received that sounded ridiculous but turned out to be surprisingly useful? "Listen to your heart". I'm normally a mind-focused person.

[secretobsessionstuff]

Sick!Jory

Living with one’s crush and co-worker is generally considered a terrible idea. But it hadn’t really been Jory’s idea, had it?

One day he showed up to the tattoo studio, roommate-less and utterly taken with another artist he worked with. By the end of that day, that same person had come out to him as genderqueer—or as Dev liked to put it, genderwhatthefuck—and they also announced that they needed a new place to live. Of course, Jory was the lucky winner who now had to share an apartment with the one person who turned his words into gibberish…well more gibberish than normal.

Jory did manage to find a few good things about living with his crush and co-worker, however. One of those good things was carpool. For the last two weeks since Dev moved into his two-bedroom apartment, the two of them had driven to work together nearly every day.

This new arrangement meant that he didn’t tell Dev how he felt about them, but he liked being able to spend more time together. There were no laws that said he couldn’t enjoy the company of his roommate. He wondered if there were laws about enjoying the sound of their laughter coming from the other room.

“I’m telling the others about my pronouns today,” Dev announced, without taking their eyes off the road.

Most days Dev drove because their car was nicer than Jory’s. That morning, they gripped the steering wheel tighter than usual. Dev didn’t like to broadcast their feelings too often, but their emotions still found a way out in the form of white knuckles and sweaty palms. Jory would have noticed if his eyes weren’t downcast the entire ride. He was bit more focused on the churning in his stomach than his roommate.

“Hey, did you hear what I said?” Dev asked, shooting a glance at Jory.

Jory blinked a few times and sat up straighter in his seat. “No, sorry. What was it?”

There was a pause while Dev looked at him strangely. If Jory gave any indication about how he was feeling, Dev didn’t mention it. “I’m telling the others about my pronouns.”

“Oh cool, cool.” Jory rubbed a hand over his aching belly and frowned. “I thought you weren’t ready for everyone to know?”

“That’s just my family. I know the guys at the shop will be cool.”

Jory nodded and went back to silently suffering. He wasn’t sure how bad his stomach-ache really was. It was definitely bothering him, but was it enough to cancel his appointments? Should he tell Dev about it? He sighed. There were so many things that he wished he could tell Dev, but just didn’t.

• • •

Dev didn’t have an appointment until the afternoon, so they went into the back office and messed around with a design on photoshop for a while. Theirs hands were still a little shaky after telling the rest of the team which pronouns to use now. It went well enough Dev thought.

“Okay…how do you identify?” one of the guys had asked. Of course, it was Will. That guy always needed all the details up front.

Dev didn’t like that question much. “As a really baggy hoodie.”

“Excuse me?”

“But like specifically a black hoodie with a few paint stains.”

Will just looked lost after that. It was perfect because that’s how Dev felt most of the time. But the hoodie wasn’t far off. It was a comforting image to keep in their mind.

It wasn’t long after that conversation that Will popped his head into the room where Dev was working. They didn’t look at him when he spoke. Thankfully his question wasn’t related to his last one.

“Hey, Dev, did you and Jory drive in together?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because his ten o’clock is here and he’s not.”

Dev looked up from the computer screen. “Well, where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t—”

“I found him!” Another artist appeared in the doorway. It was a guy named Monty and he looked more than a little awkward as he stood there. “But uh…he’s passed out and puking in the bathroom.”

“What!?” Dev’s chair rolled back into the wall as they stood up suddenly.

“Okay well he’s not actually passed out, but he is throwing up, and he’s in rough shape.”

Dev was already walking down the hall, making a beeline for the bathroom. Before entering, they turned back to Will and Monty. “Cancel both of our appointments today.”

“Yours too?” Will asked.

“I need to drive him home.” Dev let out a sigh. “…Damn, I thought he looked pale this morning.”

And Jory was even paler when Dev found him on the bathroom floor. They knelt down next to him in the large stall without saying anything at first. It’s not like Jory would have heard anything in the middle of him retching up his breakfast.

His red hair stood out against his face like blood on snow. There were pinkish blotches on his cheeks and dark sweat stains on his shirt. His shoulders rolled forward with each heave, sending partially digested eggs and toast splattering into the water below.

It was only when Dev put their hand on his back, and his stomach stopped squeezing out its contents, that he actually looked away from the mess in the toilet. He brushed his sweaty hair away from his eyes and let out a moan when he saw who sat next to him. “Aw, Dev, don’t watch this. Let me suffer by my lonesome.”

Dev chuckled. “Right, and let you choke on your vomit and die in the shop.” Dev grinned and cocked their head to the side. “Hmm, that might actually be good for business. The first haunted tattoo parlour.”

“I’m not going to die,” Jory slurred out. His glassy eyes were unfocused and half shut. He didn’t even realize that he was slowly sinking lower to the floor.

“Dude, you can hardly hold your head up,” Dev said, lifting Jory’s head by the chin. “You’re a fucking mess.”

Even sick and miserable, Jory still felt a jolt of electricity go through him when Dev grabbed his chin. Their stern expression didn’t hold a shred of patience and Jory thought it was insanely hot. Clearly, they weren’t going to leave him alone. He’d have to suffer the embarrassment of Dev seeing him like this.

Dev was still holding his face. They frowned. “You have a fever.”

Jory tried to wave them off. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes you do, Jory, I know what a fucking fever feels like.” Dev dropped his chin, letting his head fall to his chest. They stood up suddenly. “Get up. I’m taking you home.”

He moaned and wrapped his arms around his torso. “But my stomach still hurts.”

“Then I’ll get you a bag.” Dev helped him off the floor. He was like a sack of potatoes in their arms. “Come on, you don’t want to infect the entire shop.”

With great effort, Jory and Dev left the bathroom. Dev planted Jory in one of the chairs while they gathered their belongings from the back room.

He sat there with his hands on his stomach. It was awkward. Monty and Will were staring at him.

“How are you feeling, man?” Monty asked. It was stupid question given Jory’s appearance. Would a boy with the taste of vomit in his mouth feel anything but terrible?

“I feel like a phenomenal pile of poop, Monty. Thanks for asking.” But that wasn’t entirely true. He was still gushing over the way Dev touched his face.

Speak of the devil, Dev had come back to the main room carrying both of their things and the car keys. And they were also carrying one of the shop’s plastic bags. It had the shop’s logo with little devil horns above it. The horns were neon red obviously.

Jory gave an exaggerated pout. “No, I want the bag with the tattoo pitchfork on it.”

Dev looked at him as if they wanted to jam a pitchfork into his brain. “Are you fucking serious? You’re just going to barf in it. What’s the difference?”

“It might make the experience a little bit better.”

Dev closed their eyes and let out a long exhale. “Fine.” They gave the keys to Jory. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

Monty and Will were both laughing when Dev came back with the right bag. “Oh Dev, I do not envy you,” Will said.

Without looking back, Dev flipped them off. Yep, it was going to be a rough day with a sick roommate, but Dev didn’t think it would be as bad as those guys thought. There was something terribly endearing about Jory. It was infuriating and it wasn’t going away even when they saw Jory puking his guts up.

[astradrifting]

AGOT - Catelyn I (Chapter 2)

This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no names.

x

Her gods had names, and their faces were as familiar as the faces of her parents.

x

…his own gods were the old ones, the nameless, faceless gods of the greenwood they shared with the vanished children of the forest.

A lot of emphasis being placed on the old gods being nameless and faceless. I have no idea why, possibly just to drive in the differences between the North and the South? Setting up something with new gods, whose names and faces are very much known? 🦑🐉

****

A thousand years of humus lay thick upon the godswood floor, swallowing the sound of her feet, but the red eyes of the weirwood seemed to follow her as she came.

x

She could feel the eyes watching her, but she did her best to ignore them.

Bran looking at the past through the weirwoods maybe? I bet he’d want to see his mother again.

Oh no. I just realised, Bran didn’t hear about the Red Wedding before he went beyond the Wall. He’ll probably only find out when he returns, or if Lady Stoneheart does something really fucked up in front of a weirwood tree. Oh noooooooo 😭

****

“There are darker things beyond the Wall.” She glanced behind her at the heart tree, the pale bark and red eyes, watching, listening, thinking its long slow thoughts.

His smile was gentle. “You listen to too many of Old Nan’s stories. The Others are as dead as the children of the forest, gone eight thousand years. Maester Luwin will tell you they never lived at all. No living man has ever seen one.”

“Until this morning, no living man had ever seen a direwolf either,” Catelyn reminded him.

She’s right Ned!! Maybe if you’d listened to Gared’s mad ramblings a bit more closely you’d have heard just how gone the Others really are. And then how gone the children of the forest must be, following your logic.

****

Catelyn wished she could share his joy. But she had heard the talk in the yards; a direwolf dead in the snow, a broken antler in its throat. Dread coiled within her like a snake, but she forced herself to smile at this man she loved, this man who put no faith in signs.

Given how much the noble families associate themselves with their sigils, the Starks included, you’d think the message would be clearer to Ned. And though Catelyn follows the Seven, her own faith actually makes her a lot more open to signs from the old gods than Ned is.

****

“Prince Tommen is seven,” she told him. “The same age as Bran.”

Not the last time that Bran and Tommen will be linked together.

****

Ned squeezed her hand. “There must be a feast, of course, with singers, and Robert will want to hunt. I shall send Jory south with an honor guard to meet them on the kingsroad and escort them back. Gods, how are we going to feed them all? On his way already, you said? Damn the man. Damn his royal hide.”

Of course feeding them all is a concern, as it always is when a monarch turns up at your door with very little notice, carting along an entire retinue, complete with vicious fire-breathing creatures (in Robert’s case he brought along the Lannisters, which is pretty much the same thing). The amount of hate Sansa got (and still gets!) for asking a very logical question is insane.

****

final thoughts:

Catelyn was right about literally everything in this chapter. The Others stirring beyond the Wall, the direwolf killed by a stag being a sign of what’s to come, probably that the weirwood was watching her too!

[maxwell-grant]

OK, I know this will probably be painful, and I may be a bad mutual for asking but...would you be willing to identify what, in your opinion are the bottom five worst Shadow adaptations, and give a detailed breakdown of why they were so lousy?

Oh christ, okay. I don't think you're gonna get as much of a detailed breakdown for these compared to some of the others, because I take more issue with adaptations that do have good qualities but also big or deep problems to talk about.

For example, I can't include Garth Ennis's Shadow in this list because the comic has a lot of strong points to it, despite a deeply, deeply detestable take on The Shadow's character, where as the rest of the Dynamite run doesn't reach neither the lows or highs of his run. Likewise, Andy Helfer's run has a couple or a couple dozen moments every issue that make me want to tear something to shreds in frustration, but it's also at many points a really good comic with great art and some occasionally very inspired writing. Really, I'd just be repeating myself talking about what I hate in those.

But, fine, let's list some of the others.

I think I'm just gonna have to get the elephant in the room out of the way here, and address that I won't be including Si Spurrier's 2017 Dynamite mini in this list, and I think at least some of you might be angry it's not Number 1 by default. I'm doing this because I intend to one day really revisit it, think about it and it's reception and what it was trying to do, and talk about it on it's own, now that it's been 5 years and everyone has moved on and we can maybe talk about it without kneejerk hatred driving everyone nuts (your mileage may vary on how warranted it was).

I'm also not going to be talking about James Patterson's new novel, because I haven't read it. It seems to be considered a forgettable potboiler by mainstream critics and a resounding failure by everyone who likes the character whether they've read the book or not, and frankly I don't have it in me to learn what the fuzz was about anytime soon, I got my hands way too full as is.

And I won't be including the Batman x Shadow crossovers here, because again, they do have a lot of virtues that put them far ahead of some of the really worst Shadow media, and I've talked enough about how badly I think they mangled The Shadow, which is really the big problem I have with them (well, that and Tim Sale blatantly copying a Michael Kaluta cover, that was really shitty). I don't really hate them anymore, I just get tired and frustrated thinking about parts of them, I said my piece as is. Really, my frustration over this comic is what inspired me to start writing about The Shadow here, so I guess in a way I do owe it at least that much.

5: Archie Comics's Shadow

I think some of you might be wondering why this isn't ranked higher, but to be honest, I don't actually harbor any hatred towards this. I mean, I have to include it, but I find it kinda silly that some people even today actually care about the existence of this comic enough to hate it.

For fans back then? Oh yeah, obviously, but this dropped to such instantaneous backlash that it never really got to live past 6 issues. Really, everything wrong about it can be understood immediately from the covers, and I've actually read the comic in it's entirety to see if there was anything worth taking. I found only a couple of things of note but, no, this really is just a painfully mediocre superhero comic that happens to have a couple of Shadow names in it. If anything, it gets too much credit.

The actual contents of what it is are never going to justify it's reputation, but the existence of it and the disproportionate response to it is the funniest and most enduring legacy it could ever ask for. This whole comic is The Shadow's version of Spongebob's embarassing Christmas photo.

4: David Liss's The Shadow Now

This is another "The Shadow as an immortal in modern times" comic and I think you may have noticed the pattern with those by now. I may revisit this eventually and I do have some moments from it saved for reference, but overall: It sucks, and it doesn't even suck in a way that lets me talk much about it, it's a diet version of Chaykin's Shadow. If Archie's Shadow is a generic mediocre superhero comic wearing The Shadow's name, this is a generic crime story playing beats from movie. The Shadow is an asshole and not even a grandiose or sinister one, he just feels like a sleazy douche in a costume. The art is a 50/50 coin toss between appropriately moody and "Google images with a filter on them", I don't remember anything about the plot other than Khan had a bomb again and he had a daughter, and there were new versions of the agents and the Harry stand-in turned evil and Lamont shacked up with Margo's descendant which, uh, no. I don't really hate this but I really have nothing nice to say about this comic other than Colton Worley's art is nice sometimes. I can't really muster anything else to say here.

3: Invisible Avenger

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZ...

...uuh, wha-

Yeah, I remember nothing about this one other than it's painfully boring and nothing about it, nothing at all, works in the slightest and I drift off to sleep even now trying to give this a rewatch. To be honest pretty much every other Shadow serial not starred by Victor Jory sucks and I don't really have anything to say about them, this one is just the worst of the lot. I dearly wish there was a good Shadow tv series but, if it was going to be like this pilot? Good riddance.

2: Harlan Ellison's The New York Review of Bird

This isn't really a Shadow story as much as it's a Harlan Ellison story that happens to feature The Shadow, but man am I glad that Ellison's "Dragon Shadows" was canned, because holy shit what a goddamn nightmare Harlan Ellison writing The Shadow for real could have been, going purely by the one time he ever touched the character. New York Review of Bird is a purely farcical parody story that wears real, real thin even before "Uncle Kent" shows up, and we get to see in it what is by far the most detestable and irredeemable take on The Shadow ever put on print, and not even in a critique or deconstructive way or anything that could be remotely worth discussing.

I don't hold any particular affection for Harlan Ellison and his writing (despite liking some of it) and I've come to notice the major red flag that is finding someone who looks up to Harlan Ellison in any capacity as a person, and this story in particular really feels like Ellison aggressively trying to channel his jackass tendencies through every line, just him being nasty because he built a personal brand on being nasty. The only reason this isn't Number One is because it's a very short story that saw zero influence or reputation, and thus it only exists as a brief mention in The Shadow wiki, and a brief mention is all it really calls for.

1: Howard Chaykin's Blood & Judgment

I'm guessing most of you already knew this one was in the top spot before I started writing.

I would actually rather not write a big piece on Blood & Judgment, because I think (or at least I hope) it's influence on The Shadow has waned a lot over the years and I would prefer to draw it the least amount of attention possible, but if I HAVE to talk about this, I guess I'd rather just vomit this out of my circuits now instead of giving it it's own post.

I would prefer to use a less unpleasant image on my blog, but if I'm going to talk about this comic, there's no image to better convey it than this drawing of macho asshole Cranston holding a sexualized mannequin at gunpoint. By leaps and bounds, Blood & Judgment is the most misogynistic Shadow story I've ever read. It's ironic that Chaykin justified the rampant misogyny he gave The Shadow with the idea that this is just a man from the 30s would act like, when he admits in the same breath that he never even touched the stories, and he wrote a story more sexist and demeaning to it's female characters than anything, literally anything, written in the Shadow pulps. It's almost impressive even.

I'll paste some segments from Randy Raynaldo's review

In Flagg, he intended to present his own point of view on American society while keeping his work tongue in cheek and acessible. But this vision dimmed, and Flagg had become a vehicle by which Chaykin could play out fetishes and portray gratuitous and stylish violence.

In The Shadow, stripped of the political and social veneer which was supposed to make Flagg unique, Chaykin's sensibilities and excesses become disturbingly apparent. For all of his liberal posturing, Chaykin's work demonstrates zero difference from the same kind of mentality exploited and made popular by similarly violent popular culture icons like Dirty Harry and Death Wish.

More than half a dozen individuals are indiscriminately and violently murdered in the first issue. Although the victims are characters who played major roles in the myth of The Shadow, we feel little sympathy for them, even for those of us who knew these characters at the outset. Who dies is unimportant, it's how they die that is the fascination.

Chaykin uses sexual decadence as a means by which to establish villains, and undercuts this device by making the protagonists as promiscuous as the villains. For all of Chaykin's seemingly liberal leanings, he demonstrates very little sensitivity in his portrayal of women.

Because everything works on rules of three, this comic also follows the pattern with other works mentioned here, as this isn't Howard Chaykin writing The Shadow: it's The Shadow reimagined as a Howard Chaykin character. He looks and acts exactly like Reuben Flagg and the typical macho protagonist of Chaykin's other works, he's a cynical sleaze with an entirely new origin who half-assedly dons a garb to machine gun people, and I already wrote a separate piece on why the machineguns are kind of emblematic of everything wrong with this take.

I understand that Chaykin has, or used to have, a big following of sorts, and I've tried to wrap my head around this for years, but I genuinely still don't get why Shadow fans stomach this comic unless they happen to be Chaykin fans first and foremost, I really don't. Everything, fucking everything Shadow fans hate about modern depictions of the character can be traced right back to this. The parts that stuck and changed the character for the worse, like him being defined as an immortal, bloodthirsty warmonger who got all his skills and powers from a magic city in Tibet, or Lamont Cranston being a coward who fears and hates the Shadow, or his agents being expendable slaves, stuff that has been ingrained into the mythos through this and the Alec Baldwin movie and other comics, to the point that people now think of it as the norm, that it's the baseline of what The Shadow is, and I hate it, I genuinely fucking hate it,

I hate it so much that it's a big part of the reason why I created this blog and why I want so badly to get to write The Shadow, because I plainly couldn't stand not having ways to tell people that this is all wrong, that this is actively shooting down the character's odds for success, and that they are missing out on something really great, because the well has been tainted with garbage that won't go away and everytime I read the words Shambala in a Shadow comic, even an otherwise good or great one, I get just a wee bit cross.

The only semi-redeeming aspects I can think of for this comic is one or two cool moments, like when The Shadow hijacks a concert using his Devil's Whisper or when he tames dogs with a stare. Just breadcrumbs of "not garbage" amidst an ocean of anything but. I hate that talking about why I hate this comic in-length can almost feel like I'm still enticing people to check it out of curiosity, but if you wanna do that, fine, just know this: The worst part of Blood & Judgment, even if you don't care at all about what it did to The Shadow, is that it's boring.

It is a deeply boring comic. If you like Howard Chaykin to begin with, you'll probably like this okay (although even Chaykin fans told me that this is his weakest work and that even he seems to agree). If you don't, I plain don't see what you could get out of this.

The comic itself is just nothing. It's the comic book equivalent of a pre-schooler trying to get a reaction by swearing. It has nothing whatsoever other than half-assed attempts at shock value. The plot isn't there, the ideas are stale, the dialogue is needlessly oblique and comprised entirely of unfinished sentences, interrupted conversations and one-liners without build-up. The characters are all unlikable and uninteresting stooges with no personality, or joyless cartoons. There's no heart or emotion or logic, and it isn't even funny enough to succeed as just an outrageous exercise in 80s excess. There's nothing in here.

I get "why" it was popular enough at the time, a rising star creator penning a modern revival of an old character based on controversy that pissed off the old fans, it's an old story that still gets repeated today. But manufactured controversy is not a replacement for storytelling and it rarely ever exists to benefit the people who actually want to enjoy the stories, it only benefits those for the crude benefit of those who want to sell you something out of the controversy.

I guess they got their money's worth back then.

------------------------------------------------

Phew, okay, I did it, I finally vomited out a piece on Blood & Judgment and some others, allright, let's put this piece of negativity behind us now.

[agentrouka-blog]

When people say Sansa being tied to power will be miserable for her , they mean she will live her life in a cottage far away from her home and not be a threat to other characters. The game Sansa is wary of is the Littlefinger style of "Game of Thrones" which is based on lies and treachery. Even Ned disliked playing the game and power was suddenly thrusted upon him when all his life he was groomed to follow. At the end, Ned does a decent job and by ADWD, it's his legacy that is shining . Most of these arguments about Sansa not ending up in a position of power , are coupled with the idea of "she will never go north and will meet their favourite pedo and live with him for eternity ".

I don’t even know. I don’t care what motivates them. It’s simply wrong.

The thing is, the lemon cake quote the anon used actually proves the opposite of what they wanted to say, when used in context. Sansa IS interested in this stuff.

Ned is holding court as Hand of the King and notices her up on the gallery watching - and is pissed!

From his vantage point atop the throne, he could see men slipping out the door at the far end of the hall. Hares going to ground, he supposed … or rats off to nibble the queen’s cheese. He caught a glimpse of Septa Mordane in the gallery, with his daughter Sansa beside her. Ned felt a flash of anger; this was no place for a girl. But the septa could not have known that today’s court would be anything but the usual tedious business of hearing petitions, settling disputes between rival holdfasts, and adjudicating the placement of boundary stones. 

(AGOT, Eddard XI)

Followed by Sansa III, which is all about Sansa telling Jeyne what went on in the throne room in great detail and with much enthusiasm. Because - even if it is still colored by her idealised notions of chivalry - she cares about this sort of stuff.

“He wouldn’t send Ser Loras,” Sansa told Jeyne Poole that night as they shared a cold supper by lamplight. “I think it was because of his leg.”

Lord Eddard had taken his supper in his bedchamber with Alyn, Harwin, and Vayon Poole, the better to rest his broken leg, and Septa Mordane had complained of sore feet after standing in the gallery all day. Arya was supposed to join them, but she was late coming back from her dancing lesson.

“His leg?” Jeyne said uncertainly. She was a pretty, dark-haired girl of Sansa’s own age. “Did Ser Loras hurt his leg?”

“Not his leg,” Sansa said, nibbling delicately at a chicken leg. “Father’s leg, silly. It hurts him ever so much, it makes him cross. Otherwise I’m certain he would have sent Ser Loras.”

Her father’s decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she’d been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan’s stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. And then Father had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father’s decisions.

(AGOT, Sansa III)

She went there on purpose to watch, not knowing it would get exciting, she stayed there ALL DAY and then she thought about his various decisions and spent the evening telling Jeyne about them.

Yeah, she hates the intricacies of ruling. Not.

Arya has different priorities. Both in how she spends her time (”dancing”), and in what kind of interaction she prefers:

Back at Winterfell, they had eaten in the Great Hall almost half the time. Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. "Know the men who follow you," she heard him tell Robb once, "and let them know you. Don't ask your men to die for a stranger." At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories.

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was. She'd liked that a lot better than "Arya Horseface."

(AGOT, Arya II)

Arya prefers a more equal connection, an immersion in the people of the household. She wants to know them all and she gets into their business, the setting she prefers is semi-private and personal, related to practical details and bonding, not the formal exercise of power involving thoughtful political decision-making on a much larger scale.

So when Jeyne keeps interrupting Sansa, it is irritating because Sansa cares and the only thing that can mitigate it is the cause of the interruption: friggin’ lemon cakes. Alayne Stone bankrupted the entire Vale of lemons for a lemon cake. That’s the scale of how much they mean to her.

Jeyne yawned. “Are there any lemon cakes?” Sansa did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more interesting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. “Let’s see,” she said. The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya. The next morning she woke before first light and crept sleepily to her window to watch Lord Beric form up his men.

She still makes sure to follow up the proceedings of the court day by watching Beric ride off before dawn even though she stayed up late.

Are her thoughts about what goes on still immature? Yes, she is a 12-year-old girl. But she IS interested, she had the patience to listen to this stuff for hours and recalled the details with enough enthusiasm and clarity to nerd off about it to Jeyne, who clearly could not have given less of a flying horse shoe. That boring crap even Jeyne can’t bear to listen to? Sansa lives for it.

The idea that Sansa would be, specifically, miserable in this setting is simply fiction. The idea that Arya wouldn’t be is also a stretch.

Can and should they learn from each other? Yessss. Sansa would definitely benefit from more contact with the smallfolk. Arya’s strength there is something Sansa needs to emulate.

Does that mean their personal inclination for what they enjoy would change? No. In a formal courtly rulership position, Sansa is likely to thrive.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

sneaking out

*sigh*

I wasn’t going to do the @jonsa-halloween prompts cause I wanted to take a break from writing for a bit. But then I looked at them again today and this wouldn’t leave my brain so HERE WE ARE I GUESS.

Prompt: Wargs

read on ao3 here

.

Sansa paces her room in a fury.

It's the third night of Father's name day celebrations and a singer has come to Winterfell. A real singer! All the way from Kings Landing! And here she is, banished to her rooms, all because she and Arya got into another fight. Mother had scolded them both and called them too old to be acting this way (though really, this is hardly the worst fight they've ever had).

Perhaps it's true, she's six and ten now, old enough to marry, and Arya is no longer a child either. She loves Arya, but no one can quite get under her skin like her sister can (Sansa supposes no one can get under Arya's skin like she can, they know each other too well).

But there's a singer and she wants so desperately to hear him. When Father had turned down King Robert's offer as Hand, effectively turning down a betrothal to Joffrey, her dreams of going South had been dashed (though with everything that's happened in the South, she can't say she's too upset – Joffrey was poisoned at his own wedding and King Robert was killed by a boar. Father says the South is in chaos, but they're safe here, in the North).

Lady makes a soft noise when Sansa lets out an exasperated huff and suddenly she has an idea.

“Lady, how would you like to go to a feast and hear a singer?” Lady simply tilts her head but Sansa takes this to mean yes. Sansa opens her door slightly, then goes to sit on her bed and she closes her eyes and concentrates.

Of all her siblings, she knows she's the worst at warging. After they'd gotten their direwolves, bedridden Bran had learned to do it first, followed quickly by Jon, then Robb and Arya. Rickon was so young, it's hard to tell when he first started doing it. Bran was the best at it because he practiced the most, but Jon wasn't far behind, much to Robb and Arya's dismay. Sansa herself had never had too much of an interest and had only learned because it's what the others were doing. Plus, Father said it was a Stark trait and as much as she loves the idea of the South and takes after her Mother in looks, she is a Stark.

But because she never practiced very much, she finds herself only able to do it with Lady (Bran can fly with birds and she knows Arya often slips into the cats of the castle).

When she opens her eyes, it's with Lady's black and white vision and ultra sharp senses. Lady-Sansa makes her way out of the room (it's strange to see Sansa-Sansa laying on her bed with her eyes closed) and she trots through the castle halls, heading for the banquet. With Lady's hearing, the voices and laughter and music lead the way.

She's just about to head inside when Jory catches her. Most people are wary of the direwolves, but Jory is one of the braver men and he often handles them when the Starks are unable to. He sees her and sighs and catches hold of the fur on the back of her neck.

“Oh no, no food for you,” he chides and pushes to turn her away from the hall. He's no match for a direwolf, but Sansa has no desire to fight or hurt him, and so she lets out a whine instead. “I thought you were supposed to be the well behaved one,” Jory grumbles.

“I'll take her.”

She barely heard Jon's footsteps approach and Jory looks up in relief. He lets go of Lady-Sansa and nods to Jon and goes back to his post.

“Come on,” Jon sighs and leads her down the hall and around the corner. “Did you think no one would notice a Direwolf at the feast?” he asks her when they're out of earshot of Jory. “I know Lady's smaller than the others, but she's still the size of a small horse.”

He knows Sansa thinks and it's almost enough to break her connection, but she holds tight. How does he know?

Jon scratches at his newly grown beard in thought (he looks so much like Father sometimes, it's hard to believe he's actually their cousin. She's heard Uncle Brandon and Father looked alike, so she supposes it makes sense, but Jon looks more like Father than Robb does). He leads her through more corridors until finally they're at a rarely used servant's door in the back of the banquet hall, which he cracks open so that she can see inside.

“There, you should even be able to see him when he starts singing.”

She isn't sure how Jon knows she's in Lady and she isn't sure how he knows she came to see the singer, but she's grateful that he does. The singer is just beginning and her heart is filled with joy at the first notes of Six Maids in a Pool.

After a moment, Jon leans down with a smile and murmurs in Lady-Sansa's ear, “after this, you really should apologize to Arya, you were quite in the wrong,” and it startles her and she wants to turn to him and stomp her foot and say I was not! She's so annoyed that she loses her grip on Lady and she sits up abruptly in bed and nearly screams in frustration.

Jon, she thinks furiously, he did that on purpose. He knows she can't hold her warging when she gets upset.

Her heart is thrumming wildly as she tries to think of a way to get back at him. He likes teasing her the most out of all of his cousins, she's not sure why. He seems to enjoy arguing with her and riling her up (she can just imagine him, standing with Lady and laughing with his triumph, oh it makes her blood boil). She's not good at tricks and pranks, perhaps she will apologize to Arya and have Arya help her think up some retaliation. That will show him.

Yes, she resolves, she'll get back at Jon somehow.

[kerubimcrepin]

20th Anniversary Map, with commentary by Kerubim Crepin and Joris Jurgen

The frustrating thing about this map, is that nobody who got it has decided to scan or transcribe it, for documentation's sake. So I had to complete this list of all the commentary using tweets and unboxing videos.

But, at the very least, we now have documentation of what this thing actually says.

Joris and Kerubim's text is colour-coded for your convenience, and this post includes both the French transcription, and English translations.

La carte du Monde des Douzes. par Joris Jurgen et Papycha

The map of the World of Twelve. by Joris Jurgen and Papycha

ASTRUB:

J: Chez Papycha ♡ / Papycha's home ♡

J: Les Araknes, c'est dégueu-monstrueu! / Arachnees are icky-creepy !

J: Je pari que la tour du Xélor fou est par ici. / I bet the Mad Xelor's tower is here.

K: Perdu, mon Jojo ! / You lost the bet, my Jojo!

SUFOKIA:

J: de lourds secrets sont enfouis dans ses profondeurs... / dark secrets lay buried deep within this place...

ILE DE MINOTOROR / MINOTOROR ISLAND:

K: Croyez-le ou non, le Minotoror est terriblement chou... / Believe it or not, but the Minotoror is awfully cute...

FOIRE DU TROOL / TROOL FAIR:

K: Ma meilleure partie de pêche aux koin-koins ! / My best quaquack fishing experience ever!

J: Lorko -> 🚶‍♂️

(personal note: i have no fucking idea what a Lorko is.)

ILE D'OTOMAÏ / OTOMAÏ ISLAND:

J: contacter en cas de besoin 👍 / contact him should the need arise 👍

BONTA:

J: Là où j'ai taqiné la boufballe avec le giga gran Khan Karkass!! / Here I playd boufball with the supa-duper cool Khan Karkass !!

(personal note: This means that Kerubim and Joris started work on this map while still living in Astrub, but kept working even after the movie. Cute.)

(personal note: A French person who helped me decipher this part, said that Joris makes quite a lot of spelling mistakes here. I'm sure there are more that I didn't catch in other parts of the post. He's very wonderful, very cute.)

ÎLE DE MOON / MOON ISLAND:

J: autochtones sympas. ne pas rester pour le dîner. / nice locals. don't stay for dinner.

K: Bashy, mon pote d'enfance, semait la terreur aux ces flots ! / Bashy, my childhood friend, sowed terror among these waves!

ILE DE NOWEL / KWISMAS ISLAND:

J: Les cadeau sont mortels! (vraiment!) / The gifts are deadly ! (really !)

FRIGOST:

J: Bienvenu chez le Yech'ti! / Welcome to Yech'ti's !

K: Passe-lui le bonjour de ma part ! / Say hello to him for me!

PANDALA:

J: commander de la chichala à zato / order chichala from zato

(Personal note: this suggests Joris might be just as heavy of a drinker as Kerubim. Or at least into very intense drinks, similarly to Keke. He's so real for this.)

ÎLE DES WABBITS / WABBIT ISLAND:

J: éviter le wa... / avoid the wa...

J: L'île de La Likrone... Par là d'apré la légende. / The Unikron Island... This way, acording to the legend.

K: T'es à l'ouest, mon Jojo ! / It's to the west, my Jojo!

(Personal note: Joris wrote "d'aprés" with a mistake. I'll try to translate his little mistakes, if I notice them, or can come up with a way to do that.)

K: Le réceptacle des Dofus / The Dofus Receptacle

X Traverser le pont / Cross the bridge X Parler au chaman / Talk to the shaman X Boire un coup / Have a drink

(personal note: this is a reference to the quest "The Dofus Receptacle". The bridge referenced here is the bridge to Pandala.)

K: Je suis sûr qu'Indie a pris ce bateau ... / I'm sure it's Indie, who's on that boat...

VULKANIA:

K: Contre Grozilla, je me suis dépensé sans compter ! / I gave it my all, while fighting Grozilla!

Dessinée à l'ancre de Kralamour. / Drawn using Kralove eenk.

Propriété de Joris © / Property of Joris ©

Ne pa toucher / Dont touch

(Surtou si vous vous apelé Lilotte) / (Espeshaly if you're name is Lilotte)

[une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir]

random thoughts while i’m re-reading sansa ii and sansa iii.

but i haven’t yet written down properly for the project sansa thing

Sansa II

Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold.

Sansa II is about Sansa’s naive outlook in life. In here, she literally sees the world through gold tinted lenses.

The splendor of it all took Sansa's breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind . . . and the knights themselves, the knights most of all.

"It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies.

The knights, most of all. This chapter should give us Sansa’s true knight, amongst all the false knights.It may even not be a knight, a she begins with this chapter quite idealistic but ends it knowing true knights are cruel (Gregor Clegane), and who wins the Tourney of the Hand is Sandor Clegane, who’s not a knight.

They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last. 

Most likely, metaphoric for all of Sansa’s “true knight” candidates, or knights she finds through her journey. The Tourney of the Hand features in narrative order:

The seven knights of the Kingsguard took the field, all but Jaime Lannister in scaled armor the color of milk, their cloaks as white as freshfallen snow. > Sansa’s tenure in King’s Landing. These knights follow Joffrey’s orders in abusing Sansa.

Ser Jaime wore the white cloak as well, but beneath it he was shining gold from head to foot, with a lion's-head helm and a golden sword. > Jaime Lannister stands apart from the other kingsguard, as he ignores Cersei’s orders to find Sansa and instructs Brienne to find her, giving her a lion’s head golden sword. He’s actually portrayed as a fool in this chapter, could be Dontos Hollard.

Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, thundered past them like an avalanche. > Petyr Baelish is narrativelly connected to giants.

Sansa remembered Lord Yohn Royce, who had guested at Winterfell two years before. > Sansa’s tenure at the Vale.

Septa Mordane pointed out Lord Jason Mallister, in indigo chased with silver, the wings of an eagle on his helm. > A winged knight, still at the Vale.

The girls giggled over the warrior priest Thoros of Myr, with his flapping red robes and shaven head, until the septa told them that he had once scaled the walls of Pyke with a flaming sword in hand. > A priest of R’hllor and the wall, along with a flaming sword in hand. We can think of Jon at the Wall, but we can also think of Brienne and Thoros of Myr proper as well considering the end of ADWD.

END PARAGRAPH. Chronologically, this fits the narrative. It may suggest these knights are the ones that shape Sansa’s journey. I’m not convinced of this because of how many other knights are mentioned after this.

The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. (...) His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one. (...) It would be different if it had been Jory or Ser Rodrik or Father, she told herself. The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it.

As many have theorised, this may foreshadow Harry Hardying’s death. Indeed this guy dresses exactly like him, pretentiously with the Arryn coat-of-arms. Interestingly, Sansa says that she’d care if he meant something to her. Around the time Harry is likely to die, Jon is dead at the Wall. Sansa won’t care about Harry, but she’ll care about Jon.

Ser Loras (...) was the youngest rider on the field, yet he had unhorsed three knights of the Kingsguard that morning in his first three jousts. Sansa had never seen anyone so beautiful. His plate was intricately fashioned and enameled as a bouquet of a thousand different flowers, and his snow-white stallion was draped in a blanket of red and white roses. After each victory, Ser Loras would remove his helm and ride slowly round the fence, and finally pluck a single white rose from the blanket and toss it to some fair maiden in the crowd.

The ideal knight, dressed in blue, with the rose thematic. Interestingly, he fights against a Royce and wins. There have been many essays about Loras paralleling Jon here.

However, Brienne also dresses in blue, she wears a blue armour, and whose childhood features a bad memory about a Ser Ronnet offering her roses but was actually mocking her behind her backs. Jon is also thematically linked with blue and roses through his mother, who loved blue winter roses.

It is my conviction Sansa’s true knight is Brienne, not Jon.

    To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." (...) She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it long after Ser Loras had ridden off.     When Sansa finally looked up, a man was standing over her, staring. (...) "You must be one of her daughters," he said to her. He had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his mouth did. "You have the Tully look."      "I'm Sansa Stark," she said, ill at ease. (...)     "Your mother was my queen of beauty once," the man said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. "You have her hair." His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away.      By then, the moon was well up and the crowd was tired, so the king decreed that the last three matches would be fought the next morning, before the melee.

If we take this all in a chronological order, we have all the knights listed, then Loras Tyrell (Brienne, who started looking for Sansa in ACOK / ASOS), then we have Littlefinger seeing someone else in Sansa but she’s sure of whom she is (Petyr taking Sansa to the Vale, as Alyane Stone), the night comes (winter).

Sansa and Septa Mordane were given places of high honor, to the left of the raised dais where the king himself sat beside his queen. (...) She could not hate Joffrey tonight. He was too beautiful to hate. He wore a deep blue doublet studded with a double row of golden lion's heads(...). Sansa looked at him and trembled, afraid that he might ignore her or, worse, turn hateful again and send her weeping from the table.

A raised dias over everyone else (Wall), Joffrey in blue (Jon as a “Stark”), Sansa is afraid he’ll turn hateful and send her away. This is actually legitimate fear, as Sansa would go to the Wall, yet still afraid Jon would send her away. Jon actually thinks doing this to Arya somewhere in ADWD, the Wall is no place for a woman. It’s also in chronological order with the previous paragraph’s interpretation.

Instead, Joffrey’s perfectly civil, but we must remember he’s Jon’s anti-parallel so whatever’s written about the former reflects in the latter either as a parallel or an anti-parallel and that’s kind of though to figure out.

     He raised his hand to summon a servant with a flagon of iced summerwine, and poured her a cup. (...) The servants kept the cups filled all night, yet afterward Sansa could not recall ever tasting the wine. She needed no wine. She was drunk on the magic of the night, giddy with glamour, swept away by beauties she had dreamt of all her life and never dared hope to know. (...) And Joffrey was the soul of courtesy.      (....) A thick soup of barley and venison. Salads of sweetgrass and spinach and plums, sprinkled with crushed nuts. Snails in honey and garlic. Sansa had never eaten snails before; Joffrey showed her how to get the snail out of the shell, and fed her the first sweet morsel himself. Then came trout fresh from the river, baked in clay; her prince helped her crack open the hard casing to expose the flaky white flesh within. And when the meat course was brought out, he served her himself, slicing a queen's portion from the joint, smiling as he laid it on her plate. She could see from the way he moved that his right arm was still troubling him, yet he uttered not a word of complaint. Later came sweetbreads and pigeon pie and baked apples fragrant with cinnamon and lemon cakes frosted in sugar, but by then Sansa was so stuffed that she could not manage more than two little lemon cakes, as much as she loved them. She was wondering whether she might attempt a third when the king began to shout.

This is similar narrative to Sansa I, especially becomes it features the “return of the trout” and the queen imagery. I proposed in my post on Sansa I that its subtext was about Sansa becoming queen and that Joffrey was a stand-in for Jon, and that their day together foreshadowed the northern campaign. I also mentioned Joffrey’s behaviour could be seen under two different ways, either parallel or anti-parallel, especially when Joffrey is a little shit.

Entrées: no fucking idea, but apparently it involves Jon offering a “snail in honey” to Sansa. I’m... I don’t know.

Fish Course: To remember from Sansa I: “ It was a day for adventures. They explored the caves by the riverbank, and tracked a shadowcat to its lair, and when they grew hungry, Joffrey found a holdfast by its smoke and told them to fetch food and wine for their prince and his lady. They dined on trout fresh from the river, and Sansa drank more wine than she had ever drunk before. "My father only lets us have one cup, and only at feasts," she confessed to her prince.”

I proposed it was interesting because it included conquering the riverlands (exploring the caves by the riverbank would be checking out riverlords for their cause, tracking a shadowcat to its lair would be chasing the lannisters back west, and dining on trout meant taking Riverrun). This time, “her prince helped her crack open the hard casing to expose the flaky white flesh within.” can be seen as foreshadowing a siege of Riverrun that goes well

Meat Course: To remember from Sansa I, Joffrey is humilliated and consequently never forgivies Sansa, so she’d never be a successfull queen married to her (if he was planning on that at all, since he jumped so easily to Margaery). I proposed that Jon as Joffrey’s anti-parallel would be humilliated in battle but he’d move past it (this is basically what happened in the Battle of Winterfell, he got humilliated and he saved her arse, and even expected him to be angry with her but he went all targ sibling on her forehead instead).

In here, we see what I proposed for Jon to go past it reflected, as Joffrey serves Sansa the queen’s portion, smiling as if all is forgiven despite the source of humilliation being present as “She could see from the way he moved that his right arm was still troubling him, yet he uttered not a word of complaint.” Nice guy Snow, thank you very much.

Dessert: No idea, but a few infamous ones are featured. The pigeon pie  present in the purple wedding, cinnamon apples in one of Bran’s banquets (the one he’s given the king’s portion as well), and lemoncakes (three of them), magic number.

Sansa started as Joffrey laid his hand on her arm. "It grows late," the prince said. He had a queer look on his face, as if he were not seeing her at all. "Do you need an escort back to the castle?"

The nice atmosphere is broken because Robert is a dick and fights with Cersei. Joffrey then decides to be a dick as well. This also featured in Sansa I, a boy and a girl fighting, then Joffrey makes a dick of himself.

"You do not tell me what to do, woman," he screamed at Queen Cersei. "I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!"

Hopefully, that’s a metaphor for Aegon telling Daniella to go fuck herself, he’s the king of westeros and she does not tell him what to do. I did those dragon posts where Rhaegal (representative of Jon) seems to take take offence of Viserion (Aegon) getting trolled repeatedly.

Sansa could feel the Hound watching her. "Did you think Joff was going to take you himself?" He laughed. He had a laugh like the snarling of dogs in a pit. "Small chance of that." He pulled her unresisting to her feet. "Come, you're not the only one needs sleep. I've drunk too much, and I may need to kill my brother tomorrow." He laughed again.

Joffrey didn’t take Sansa back to Winterfell, but Jon did.

Sansa III

This chapter is completely “useless” at first glance, except for Sansa and Arya’s second squabble, which is when Ned has the ephiphany that Joffrey isn’t Robert’s kid. Other than that, it features a recap of the chapter before, two Sansa and Arya squabbles, and Ned’s "favoritism” (not really, just guilt over his sister) over Arya. So what is this chapter’s for outside of that? The subtext of course.

     "Father, I only just now remembered, I can't go away, I'm to marry Prince Joffrey." She tried to smile bravely for him. "I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies."     "Sweet one," her father said gently, "listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me." (...)

"Stop that weeping, child," Septa Mordane said sternly. "I am certain your lord father knows what is best for you."

Urgh. lmao.

Ned promises Sansa a high-lord, who’s brave, gentle and strong, that he is no aemon the dragonknight. The latter is the “easier” one, because Jon will remembers much later that he used to say he was Aemon the dragonknight in childplay. Just one out of all that, doesn’t seem promising, eh?

After this, there’s Sansa and Arya cluing in Ned over Joffrey being a bastard aprading as the heir to the Iron Throne, which is the anta-parallel to Jon. As I said in Sansa I post, this could be foreshadowed in the sisters squabbling over Rhaegar’s rubies. It comes in chronologically order, the motifs of the fight at the Trident are similar to what’s used all over GOT, etc etc. So Jon is here again (he was present in  that segment in Sansa I as one of Rhaegar’s ruby), for some reason.

Going back to the beginning of this chapter... the conversation is kind of odd, it goes all over the place. They talk of what happens in there, then Sansa randomly remembers a dream for no reason, and wanders in her mind over this and that. It’s kind of schizophrenic writing... unless it’s kind of awkward because it’s meant to say something else in the subtext... So...

“He wouldn't send Ser Loras," Sansa told Jeyne Poole that night as they shared a cold supper by lamplight. (...) Her father's decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she'd been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan's stories come to life. (...) And then Father had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father's decisions.

There have been plenty of essays comparing Jon to Loras Tyrell. This is especially important in Sansa II / Sansa III because Loras is wearing blue (odd choice, as his house colours are green) and roses, thematically connected to Jon’s mother. Ned thinks the kid is too young to be a hero, which is an interesting paralell to him refusing Jon to go to the Wall at first because he was also too young. We can also look at Ned taking Jon as his bsatard son, as taking away the chance to be the song hero. He went from a prince of roses (urgh) to a bastard.

That was when Lord Baelish had said, "Oh, I don't know, Septa. Some of her lord father's decisions could do with a bit of questioning. (...)" (...) He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow."

Ned’s decision of taking Jon as his bastard will be questioned of course and the truth will come out. Life’s not a song and Lyanna made Ned promise to protect Jon, because Robert would have killed him if he had found out. But Jon has a song, the song of ice and fire. Shut up Littlefinger.

    "Ser Ilyn's the King's Justice, not Ser Loras," Jcyne said. "Lord Eddard should have sent him."     Sansa shuddered. Every time she looked at Ser Ilyn Payne, she shivered. He made her feel as though something dead were slithering over her naked skin. "Ser Ilyn's almost like a second monster. I'm glad Father didn't pick him."      "Lord Beric is as much a hero as Ser Loras. He's ever so brave and gallant." "I suppose," Sansa said doubtfully. Beric Dondarrion was handsome enough, but he was awfully old, almost twenty-two; the Knight of Flowers would have been much better. Of course, Jeyne had been in love with Lord Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in the lists. Sansa thought she was being silly; Jeyne was only a steward's daughter, after all, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lord Beric would never look at someone so far beneath him, even if she hadn't been half his age.

(...) "I saw your sister this afternoon," Jeyne blurted out, as if she'd been reading Sansa's thoughts. "She was walking through the stables on her hands. Why would she do a thing like that?"

Instead, Ned chose Beric Dondarrion. There have been plenty of essays that compared Ilyn Payne to Ramsay Bolton (dead eyes and taking over the Stark legacy, etc), and Beric Dondarrion to Jon Snow (dresses in house targ clothes and was ressurrected by a priest of r’hllor, etc). The fact that Ilyn Payne is brought up by Jeyne Poole of all people and after an intermission with the white hart dream, she also mentions Arya, therefore it could be a heartbreaking nod to fake!Arya plotline.

As we also know, Ramsay and Jon have been locked into a bizarre war of wills up north, precisely over fake!Arya. Likewise Beric dying in the middle of his “mission” for the Starks and then ressurrected by a priest of R’hllor, Jon also died while he was going to retake Winterfell and save fake”Arya and its likely he’ll be ressudrected by a priest of R’hllor. In the show, Sansa took over fake!Arya storyline.

It’s interesting to note Beric is awfully old at “twenty-two”, because that’s Jon’s age give it or take it at ADWD if the timeskip between ASOS and AFFC / ADWD  have happened (he’s seventeen or so then). It’s worth noting that Beric is said to be “brave”.

“I had a dream that Joffrey would be the one to take the white hart," she said. It had been more of a wish, actually, but it sounded better to call it a dream. Everyone knew that dreams were prophetic. (...) "He shot it with a golden arrow and brought it back for me." In the songs, the knights never killed magical beasts, they just went up to them and touched them and did them no harm, but she knew Joffrey liked hunting, especially the killing part. Only animals, though.

This one is interesting, because it’s sandwiched between the Ilyn Payne and Arya Stark, which could be a mention to the northern tug of war between Ramsay and Jon mentioned above. As we know though, Jon is one that would fit Sansa’s dream, because not only he protected the direwolves who are magical beasts, he took the white direwolf for himself. “Only touch them and not harm them”, dare I say... gentle? Not only that, the anti-parallel btween Joffrey and Jon is fuelled further since Jon took Lady (and later, he’ll be brigning the white wolf Ghost) back to Sansa while Joffrey took her away.

     "There was a black brother," Sansa said, "begging men for the Wall, only he was kind of old and smelly." She hadn't liked that at all. She had always imagined the Night's Watch to be men like Uncle Benjen. In the songs, they were called the black knights of the Wall. But this man had been crookbacked and hideous, and he looked as though he might have lice. If this was what the Night's Watch was truly like, she felt sorry for her bastard half brother, Jon.

Yoren of the Night’s Watch and it’s self-explanatory, since Jon as a member of the Night’s Watch is even mentioned in this segment. It’s also worth noting that Sansa fantasises the Night’s Watch to be men like Benjen Stark, the black knights of the Wall... dare I say... strong?

It’s also worth noting Sansa’s disilusion with the Night’s Watch comes after a segment that may foreshadow Ramsay and Jon “fighting” over fake!Arya, then Jon being murdered and ressurrected. Which fits eprfectly with Jon’s own disillusion with the Night’s Watch that he felt in the beginning of AGOT but also in the show when he got ressurrected. Not a happy panda.

“And later these two brothers came before him, freeriders from the Dornish Marches, and pledged their swords to the service of the king. Father accepted their oaths . . . “

The Dornish Marches are slightly north of where Jon was born, at the Tower of Joy. Bascially, the next town towards the north is located at the Dornish Marches. In the show, Jon basically pledged his sword to Sansa (Ned’s narrative heir) as well, there’s even a close-in on his sword before they re-meet at Castle Black. Strangely, Sansa IV features Sansa believing Ned’s plans to take her back to Winterfell and the promised match is a hedge knight which is a freerider without a knighthood.

So, in summary, Sansa reports on three men “auditing” Ned. Loras Tyrell, the true hero, which Ned refused and could correspond to Jon as Lyanna Stark’s son due to the narrative uses of blue and roses and refusal. Beric Dondarrion, Ned’s chosen hero, and could correspond to Jon and Ramsay’s tug-of-war with Arya. Finally, Yoren, and could correspond to Jon defecting the Night’s Watch for being disillusioned after being killed by them, something that was rpesent in the show’s foreshadowing all the way back in season 3. Not only is the story presented chronological, after Beric being “brave”, Sansa randomly recalls the white hart dream (”gentle”) and Jon as a black kngith of the wall (”strong”).

So, Jon could actually be lurking in the subtext of that bizarre conversation between Sansa and Jeyne Poole.

The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansa went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Arya.

The dessert again.

The next morning she woke before first light and crept sleepily to her window to watch Lord Beric form up his men.

The men preparing to war. Still goes on well chronologically with the conversation before. It had stopped at Jon quitting the Night’s Watch and pledging to Sansa.

     "Liar," Arya said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed between her fingers.      "Go ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace." She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap.      "You have juice on your face, Your Grace," Arya said.

So from the subtext from Sansa I and Sansa II, I’m convinced Sansa will become queen MUCH sooner than in the show. This squabble over here is interesting, because Arya calls her “your grace” as if she was already queen. So in the subtext that may correlate to that.

This of course, comes with a very strong imagery of wedding consummation. Sansa is wearing a white dress, that gets stained by blood orange juice (red in colour) at the lap (crotch area). Are they related?

The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. "I hate her!" she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top of the ashes of last night's fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her underskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly, threw herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep.

In addition, this white dress has red blood, but it also has black fire when it’s thrown into the ashes of the hearth. The words of House Targaryen are fire and blood, the colours are red and black.They’re all there, in this white dress. So it's a Targaryen (virgin, ehem) wedding dress... for Sansa. There are only two male left for that to happen and only one of them has been lurking in the background.

And after this, comes Ned’s covnersation about Sansa’s true match. So Jon’s all over the subtext, of a chapter with wedding consummation imagery and Ned Stark’s promise of the “true one”. Why, if not to marry his arse to Sansa? I do not know.

[morganlefaye79]

Can I get 34, 40, and B for all of them?

Hi Wash! Thank you for your ask! 💙

34. How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? 

Valaire was an assassin and he killed many and feels guilty for every single one of them. He has problems to shake the guilt off he feels. Especially the hit on Faye's parents.

Killing goons during gigs is different to him, they know what they signed up for and he will not have sleepless night because of this filth.

Vicco killed also many people during their life, most of them to survive. They doesn't feel guilty for any of them. It was either him or them and he chose his own life is more important to himself.

Joris won't kill anyone that stays out of his way. But if you do he will be ruthless and will not have the slightest remorse.

40. How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Valaire knows his flaws, and he hates them. He struggles accepting that no one can be perfect. He will by time though.

Vicco, does he even has flaws? Who knows? He is good in hiding them.

Whatever flaws Joris has, and he does have them, he accepts them.

B) What inspired you to create them?

I just wanted a male V in the first place when I created Valaire, and he even didn't have that name then. He also evolved much. In one of this asks I showed first versus last Valaire but there are so many more stages here:

Between the first and second picture should be another one similar to the first, but much older looking. But I couldn't find any of those for some reason. Whatever, he is my main oc and my only V. If you look closely in the second last picture Valaire has 2 cyberarms, so yes I wanted to take both his arms, but I decided it would be too cruel of me and just took one.

Vicco was first planned as a V, but during my playthrough (he was always a joytoy) I found so many things that won't work for him being V. He hated Johnny, and didn't get along with Panam, so he would only have the devils ending, he would take it, because there would be at least a small chance to live, but it is my least favorite ending. I didn't want to drop him though, and so I incorporated him into Valaire's story and extended Valaire's backstory.

Now I had the problem that Valaire was happy with Kerry, but Vicco was left behind heartbroken. None of the ingame NPC did fit for him that well and so I needed yet another oc: Joris.

Joris and Vicco weren't planned as a romantic couple, but only as best friends. (I explained this already but well, here we go:) I didn't want to do this because I know that it is difficult to have a partner who is a sexworker so I actually didn't want to go into that niche. Yes Vicco and Valaire already were there but bc this would be the past I didn't need to provide too much details. With Joris at this time being asexual it would have worked well.

But then I got sabotaged by a friend who said, but what if?

I wrote a 2 chapter what if fic, and I fell in love with them and the idea of them being a couple, or better getting together.

I changed Joris to pansexual as Valaire and Vicco and here we are.

Joris and Vicco only had minor changes in their appearance which I already showed in a previous ask so there's not much more to say there.

Joris was from the start supposed to be Valaire's twin, and Valaire would have never knew about him if he had died from the relic.