#she towers over the children she should SUPPOSEDLY be part of the group were she ACTUALLY the age that her name “indicates”

[cestacruz]

Ushiwaka <3

[combat-wombatus]

Anti-Asian Racism (Pt. 2)

so if you haven’t read my (long) post about historical anti-asian racism, you can find it here. i tried my best to put things in chronological order, so you might want to read that before you read this one!

i got really tired writing that one bc it was super long and i only covered up to like...the 1920s?? and so here’s a second part bc i couldn’t fit it all into one post oopsies

WARNING: this contains some graphic descriptions of violence. i don’t want to accidentally trigger anyone, so please read at your own discretion. however, i do feel that it is important to be educated on the parts of history that schools often overlook, so if you can handle this, please read it.

the watsonville riots—january 1930

as US nationals, filipinos had the legal right to work in the US, and employers exploited these workers relentlessly as they assumed the filipinos were unfamiliar with their rights. they were paid the lowest wages among all ethnic laborers. the immigration acts of 1917 and 1924 allowed filipinos to answer the growing demand for labor in the US, and many young filipino men migrated to the US. due to gender bias in immigration & hiring, filipino men courted women outside of their own ethnic community, contributing to mounting racial tensions. white men decried the takeover of jobs and women by filipinos and resorted to vigilantism to deal with the “third Asiatic invasion”, and filipino laborers in public risked being attacked by white men who felt threatened by them. eventually, on january 19, this culminated in 500 white men gathering outside of a filipino dance club—owned by a filipino man—with clubs and weapons intending to take the white women who lived there out and burn the place down. they were turned away by security guards and the armed owners, but returned later to beat dozens of filipino farmworkers. they dragged filipinos from their homes and beat them, threw them off the pajaro river bridge, attacked them at ranches—and at a labor camp, twenty-two filipinos were dragged out and almost beaten to death. the mob fired shots into filipino homes, killing 22-year-old fermin tobera: no one was ever charged for his murder. in stockton, a filipino club was blown up—the blast was blamed on the filipinos themselves.

many filipinos fled the country. filipino immigration plummeted. anti-filipino violence continued in california in the months after the violence ended.

japanese internment camps—1942–1945

established during ww2 by FDR through executive order 9066. shortly after the bombing of pearl harbor, FDR signed the executive order, supposedly to prevent espionage. military zones were created in california, washington, and oregon—states with a large population of japanese americans—and the executive order commanded the relocation of americans of japanese ancestry. it affected the lives of around 117,000 people—the majority of whom were american citizens. canada soon followed, relocating 21,000 of its japanese residents from its west coast. mexico did the same, and eventually 2,264 more people of japanese descent were removed from peru, brazil, and argentina to the camps in the united states.

even before the camps, discrimination ran rampant. just hours after pearl harbor, the FBI rounded up 1,291 japanese community & religious leaders, arresting them without evidence and freezing their assets. a month later, they were transferred to facilities in montana, new mexico, and north dakota, many of them unable to inform their families. most remained incarcerated for the duration of the war. the FBI searched the private homes of thousands of japanese residents, seizing “contraband” (looting).

1/3 of hawaii’s population was of japanese descent. some politicians called for their mass incarceration. 1,500 people were removed from hawaii and sent to camps on the US mainland. japanese-owned fishing boats were impounded.

lieutenant general john dewitt prepared a report filled with proven lies—such as examples of “sabotage” (cattle knocking down power lines)—and suggested the creation of military zones and japanese internment camps. his original plan included italians and germans (because we were at war with them too!) but the idea of rounding-up americans of EUROPEAN descent was not as popular.

california’s state attorney general and governor declared that all japanese should be removed at congressional hearings in february 1942. general francis biddle pleaded with the president that mass evacuation of citizens was not required, pushing for smaller, more targeted security measures. FDR didn’t listen, and signed the order anyways.

around 15,000 japanese americans willingly moved out of prohibited areas. inland states were not keen for new japanese residents, and they were met with racist resistance. ten state governors voiced opposition, fearing the japanese would “never leave”, and demanded they be incarcerated if the states were forced to accept them. eventually, a civilian organization called the “war relocation authority” was set up to administer the plan, but milton eisenhower (from the department of agriculture) resigned his leadership in protest over what he characterized as incarcerating innocent civilians. 

no one really cared back then, but we appreciate the sentiment. however, this led to a stricter, military-led incentive to incarcerate the japanese civilians, so you didn’t really win, mr. eisenhower.

army-directed evacuations followed, and people had six days notice to dispose of their belongings other than what they could carry. anyone who was at least 1/16th japanese was interned, including 17,000 children under 10, as well as several thousand elderly and handicapped. 

these camps were located in remote areas, the buildings not meant for human habitation—they were reconfigured horse stalls or cow sheds. food shortages and poor sanitation conditions were common. each center was its own town, with schools, post offices, work facilities, and farms—all surrounded by barbed wire and guard towers.

in new mexico, internees were delivered by trains and marched two miles, at night, to reach the camp. anyone who tried to escape was promptly shot and killed, no matter their age.

when riots broke out over the insufficient rations and overcrowding, the police tear-gassed crowds and even killed a japanese-american citizen. three people were shot and killed for “going too close to the perimeter”.

in 1942, fred korematsu was arrested for refusing to relocate to an internment camp. his case made it all the way to the supreme court, where he argued that the executive order violated the fifth amendment. the supreme court ruled against him.

the camps were finally closed in 1945, after mitsuye endo fought her way to the supreme court once again. the government initially offered to free her, but endo refused—she wanted her case to address all of the internment camps. she was successful; the court eventually ruled that the the war relocation authority “has no authority to subject citizens who are concededly loyal to its leave procedure.”

the my lai massacre—march 16, 1968

during the vietnam war, US army soldiers entered a vietnamese hamlet on a search-and-destroy mission. they didn’t encounter any enemy troops; they did, however, proceed to set huts on fire, gang-rape the women, and murder around 500 unarmed civilians—including approximately 50 children under the age of four. army leadership had conspired to sweep this massacre under the carpet—the my lai massacre triggered a cover-up by the army that served to keep the atrocities committed a secret from the american public for 20 months during an election year.

american soldiers stabbed, clubbed, and carved “C [for Charlie] Company” into the chests of their victims (alive); herded them into ditches and blew them to bits with grenades. they cut off victims’ heads and slashed their throats.

this was more than spontaneous barbarism; for years, the army had dehumanized the vietnamese people as “gooks” and depicted women and children as potentially lethal combatants.

army officers who heard eyewitness reports of a massacre were quick to discount them. they issued a press release that informed news coverage—with lies. they claimed that their troops had killed 128 viet cong forces, even though they had been met with no resistance and suffered only one self-inflicted wound.

after word of the massacre reached the general public, more than a dozen military servicemen were eventually charged with crimes, but lieutenant william calley (the leader of the charlie company who was the main perpetrator in the massacre) was the only one who was ever convicted. pres. richard nixon reduced calley’s sentence to a light punishment—three years of house arrest.

three years of house arrest, and for only one person. for slaughtering 500 unarmed civilians. you do the math.

deportations

in 1975, more than 1.2 million refugees from southeast asia fled war and were resettled in the US—the largest resettlement for a refugee group in US history. in 1996, the illegal immigration reform and immigrant responsibility act (IIRIRA) expanded the definition of what types of crimes could result in detention & deportation—this broader definition could be applied retroactively, resulting in more than 16,000 southeast asian americans receiving orders of removal—78% of which were based on old criminal records.

islamophobia (article 2 preview) (article 3)

after the 9/11 attacks, islamophobia was especially prevalent in the western world, although it was also prevalent in other places without large muslim populations. from a small percentage of violence, an “efficient system of government prosecution and media coverage brings muslim-american terrorism suspects to national attention, creating the impression that muslim-american terrorism is more prevalent than it really is”, even though since 9/11, the muslim-american community helped security and law enforcement officials prevent nearly two of every five al qaeda terrorist plots threatening the united states. globally, many muslims report feeling not respected by those in the west, including over half of those who live in the US. in late 2009, the largest party in the swiss parliament put to referendum a ban on minaret (a tower typically built into or adjacent to mosques) construction, and nearly 60% of swiss voters and 22 out of 26 voting districts voted in favor of the ban—even though most swiss say that religious freedom is important for swiss identity. a network of misinformation experts actively promotes islamophobia in america. muslims are more likely than americans of any other major religious groups to have personally experienced racial or religious discrimination in the past year—48%, compared to 31% of mormons, 25% of atheist/agnostics, 21% of jews, 20% of catholics, and 18% of protestants. 1/3 (36%) of americans say that they have an unfavorable opinion about islam (gallup polls).

in the aftermath of 9/11, the US government has increasingly implemented special programs with hopes of “curbing and countering terrorism” and “enemy combatants.” these policies—such as the USA Patriot Act and the National Security Entry-Exit Registration System—have been targeted towards and disproportionately affects arabs, south asians, and muslims in america.

of course, the most lethal terrorist groups active in america are white supremacist groups, but people tend to overlook that because it’s always easier to blame something you have zero understanding of.

the non-profit advocacy organization South Asian Americans Leading Together (SAALT) cataloged 207 incidents of hate violence and xenophobic political rhetoric directed towards south asian, muslim, middle eastern, hindu, sikh, and arab communities between nov. 15, 2015, and nov. 16, 2016. approximately 95% of those instances were animated by anti-muslim sentiment. also, “approximately 1 in 5 of the documented xenophobic statements came from president-elect donald trump.”

that’s who america hired to run our country in 2016. this was way before his misdeeds in office, yet it took us so long—and such a hard fight—to oust him. did it really take that long for everyone to catch on?

police brutality—(christian hall) (angelo quinto) (tommy le)

“CHRISTIAN HALL was a 19-year-old chinese american teen who experienced a mental health emergency on december 30, 2020. pennsylvania state police were called and requested to help de-escalate the crisis. rather than providing aid or assistance, the troopers shot and killed christian. his hands were up in the air as he stood on the SR-33 southbound overpass to I-80, posing no threat to the armed officers.”

they shot him seven times, with his arms up in the air.

“I miss my son so much. I love him so much but if his death is the catalyst for change, then so be it. Let his name be remembered. His name is Christian Hall.” —Fe Hall, Christian’s mother.

a video, shot by his mother, shows ANGELO QUINTO, a 30-year-old Filipino immigrant, unresponsive on the floor after officers subdued him with a knee to the back of his neck. the video shows him bleeding form the mouth after police knelt on his neck when he was experiencing a mental health crisis in his family home. he died three days later in the hospital without waking up. the antioch police had no body camera footage, nor has the department named the officers involved.

“I was just hoping they could de-escalate the situation,” his sister said in an interview. she called 911 when her brother had been experiencing mental health problems and paranoia. she says that she remains conflicted about calling the police that night: “I don’t know if I will not feel bad. If it was the right thing to do they would not have killed my brother.”

“TOMMY LE, a 20-year-old Vietnamese-American student, died hours before he was scheduled to attend his high-school graduation in June 2017. He was shot multiple times by sheriff’s Deputy Cesar Molina after responding to reports of a man armed with a knife. Deputies discovered after the shooting that he was carrying an ink pen, not a knife.

The office reported that Le had lunged at the sheriff’s deputies with a knife and had been threatening residents, shouting he was “the creator.” An autopsy showed that two of the three bullets that struck Le were in his back, and a witness said that Le was shouting he was “Tommy the renter.”

despite the challenges our communities face, AAPI communities receive less than one percent of philanthropic funding.

covid-19

i’ll try to keep this brief. there have been so many instances of violence perpetrated against the asian community during covid-19—not to mention the casual snipes at our culture, the microaggressions we face every day, the verbal and sexual harassment we encounter, sometimes even on the way to the grocery store for a supply run.

VICHA RATANAPAKDEE: a thai-american, he became known as “grandpa” throughout his neighborhood, where he’d made it a ritual to go on morning walks each day. it was during one of those walks on january 28, 2021, when the 84-year-old was forcibly knocked onto the ground. he was transported to the hospital, where he died two days later.

“He never wake up again. He [was] bleeding on his brain,” his daughter said in an interview. “I called him, ‘Dad, wake up.’ I want him to stay alive and wake up and come and see me again, but he never wake up.”

between march and december last year, the organization Stop Asian American and Pacific Islander Hate recorded nearly 3,000 reports of anti-Asian hate incidents nationwide. the new york city police department also reported a 1,900% increase in anti-Asian hate crimes last year.

i think senator tammy duckworth put it very aptly.

“Most people, I don’t think, think of Asians as being the subject of racist attacks, but we have been. And we’re the one community that’s often always seen as the ‘other’. I—to this day—still get asked, ‘So where are you from really?’“

i don’t think i’ve ever related so much to something a senator said.

actor and activist daniel dae kim talked about an encounter he had with a pollster who said asian americans are “statistically insignificant” in polling models in a congressional hearing:

“Statistically insignificant. Now all of you listening to me here, by virtue of your own elections, are more familiar with the intricacies of polling than I am, so undoubtedly, you already know what this means—statistically insignificant literally means that we don’t matter.”

do we matter? are we really “statistically insignificant”? blips in the machine, to be used and then thrown away once we become too “fussy” or demanding?

testimonies from victims showcase the array of xenophobic and racist insults they’ve encountered. i’ll put an (x) next to the ones i’ve personally heard.

“Go back to Wuhan and take the virus with you.” (x)

“You are the reason for the coronavirus.” (x)

“Damn, another Asian riding with me. Hope you don’t have covid.”

*fake coughing* “Chinese b—” *more fake coughing* (x)

now for some really “creative” ones that i’ve personally encountered:

“Cock up my dad’s botton, Chinease cunt”

“You don’t got the kung-flu, do ya?”

“Ever ate a dog?”

Along the same vein, “ever had any bats? Heard they’re delicious.”

“Wouldn’t want ya to pet my dog. Ya might steal it and cook it for dinner!” *hyena laugh*

a little personal anecdote

i debated whether or not to wear a mask to school in early march. my aunt lives in china, and she’s a first-responder (trained paramedic & contact tracer) and we knew how bad the virus was going to be in late february when we facetimed her, quarantined in her apartment. her toddler was staying with her husband at her parents’ house because she was afraid of infecting them. she didn’t see them in person for four months, working 14-hour shifts in the back of an ambulance decked out in a hazmat suit.

my mom cried when she facetimed us the second week of her grueling shift. i couldn’t stop thinking about her when i went to school that day. my mom sent me another picture during art class, and i just couldn’t control myself. i started crying during class.

i asked my mom whether or not i should wear a mask to school, and she said that if i did, i would be singling myself out. i wouldn’t be protecting myself—far from it. if i wore a mask to school, people would think that i had the virus, not that i was trying to protect myself from it.

gossip spreads like wildfire, and the next day, everyone knew i had relatives in china. most of my friends were sympathetic, but they were wholly removed from the situation. it was early march, and they never believed that the coronavirus would spread here. they were firmly rooted in their opinion that it was an easy situation, grossly mishandled by the chinese government, and that we’d do much better if it ever washed up on our shores.

i do hate the chinese government, and back then, i didn’t think too much of their antagonism. yes, the situation was mishandled. it was like a repeat of the SARS outbreak in 2003—first a cover-up by the local government, then a cover-up by the national government, and finally, a realization that no, in fact, they could not handle it in secret. yes, the media had to get involved. no, dead bodies were not piling up in the hallways while they waited for doctors to triage care. yes, we have capacity! look at these documentary mini-videos, forcing doctors and patients to leave a wing of the hospital empty and operate below maximum capacity so they could shoot propaganda videos for the lunar new year, boasting about how well they’re handling it!

i won’t argue that in the beginning, this was mishandled. i will argue, however, against the idea that asian countries are incompetent. that western approaches are oh-so-much-better.

in wuhan, they built a makeshift hospital spanning three soccer fields in the span of a week, with properly-functioning utilities, hospital beds, decontamination, and security. people rallied together and donated everything from money and supplies to food and ventilators, from all across the country. doctors and medical staff shaved their heads so they could better wear masks and volunteered to go to wuhan, where the situation was much more dire than in other areas. thousands of medical students from shanghai were transported to wuhan to fill the personnel shortages.

china reopened in june.

what did we do?

we didn’t ask the asian countries for experience. china, japan, and korea had handled the 2003 SARS outbreak and knew what kinds of things needed to be done. from the beginning, they wore masks. they halted travel, they did routine testing, performed contact tracing, set up programs for bringing food to the immunocompromised, elderly, and disabled, and worked as a cohesive community.

on the other hand, we resorted to childish infighting, political games, shunning masks and blaming it on asians, when we could’ve learned from them instead. we didn’t do contact-tracing. our testing systems were sorely inadequate. borders were closed with china, yes, but the majority of the cases in the US arrived from italy and other european countries who had already been infected. banning travel between the US and china was nothing more than a political gimmick.

states fought each other for basic medical supplies. there was no national unity. we were fractured in two, and COVID became more fuel for the fire dividing the two parties, when it could’ve been something that unified us.

and instead of blaming china, we would’ve been better off recognizing our own failures.

you can say that the virus caught china by surprise.

it shouldn’t have done the same to us.

we knew it was coming. but we still botched it.

blaming the virus on asian communities is a sign of immaturity and a lack of accountability. own up to your failures.

anyways, my mom was right. whenever we wore a mask in public, people really did think that we were “dirty, foreign chinese.” we stocked up on groceries so we wouldn’t have to go out, because every time my mom did, people would look at her weirdly. they didn’t wear masks.

one time, she was accosted by a blonde woman when we were at a supermarket. i’d gone with her that time because it was right after practice, and i was in the car anyways. the lady came up to us (without a mask: this was in may) and said, “excuse me, you don’t have the virus, do you?” with a pointed look at my mom (who was masked up).

my mom, being the polite person she is, simply responded “no, i don’t.”

the woman didn’t let us go after that. she pushed even more. “well, you see, i was just making sure...with this chinese virus going around, it’s scary, you know?”

i wanted to ask her why she wasn’t wearing a mask if it was “so scary”, but i couldn’t get a word in before she asked another question.

“by the way, y’all aren’t chinese, right?”

yes i am. yes we are. why does it fucking matter. we’re wearing masks, you’re not, get the hell out of my face.

honestly, i don’t know how my mom does it. she has the patience of a saint. she said “mhm”, grabbed a gallon of milk, and walked to the self-checkout area. the lady looked at me and raised her eyebrow, and i said “so what if we are?”

she looked like she’d been slapped in the face. i turned and followed my mom, but she said “now hold on young lady!” i ignored her and kept walking.

i don’t owe her anything. why do people think it’s okay to talk to others like that? we’re human beings too. we’re allowed our basic dignity. basic respect. we’re not something for you to joke at, to laugh at, to fetishize or bully into submission. i don’t understand why it’s so hard for people to realize that. i don’t understand why it’s so hard for people to treat others like human beings.

to people like that lady in kroger:

why do you feel the need to do it? is your opinion of yourself really that high to think that you’re superior to others who are different from you? are you really that conceited to think that you’re the perfect image of a perfect human, and anyone not like you is unworthy, considered lesser? or is your opinion of yourself really that low, to think that whatever you say, it doesn’t really matter anyways? why do you find derogatory jokes and demeaning comments funny? why do you think it’s okay to harass a stranger just going about their day? is your life really that boring, and you have nothing else to do with your time? why? would it be okay if i came up to you and asked if you ate rotten shark meat, then laughed it off and said “oh, i thought you were from iceland”? is that okay? can i ask if you eat cockroaches? how would you respond if i asked “where are you from?”? you would say america, right? and if i asked again? europe? where in europe? oh, you don’t know? are you illegal? was your mother a prostitute? are you a communist? why are your eyes so big? do you speak europeanese? crut iveroij aeish poient. oh, those aren’t words? well i think they sound like european words. what’s your name? je-re-mi-ah? like jeeryyy-miiiaaaccchh? oh, that’s not right? sorry, my tongue just won’t bend that way. your names are so weird! why would your parents name you that? oh, it means something? well, i don’t know the language, so don’t expect me to say it right. have you ever eaten haggis? oh, that’s scottish? oh, you’re not scottish? sorry, you all look the same to me. scots and italians are just so similar, you know? what’s your name? your last name is anderson? i know an anderson! she lived in texas. are you related to her? oh, you don’t know her? sorry, i thought you were all related. yeah, like i said before, you all just look so much alike, you know? are you lazy? oh, nothing, i just heard from my dad that all french people are lazy. oh, you’re not french? well, you still look lazy. are you good at english? oh, nothing, i just assumed that all white people were english. i know you like to assume that we’re good at math. oh, you got an A in english? isn’t that normal? i can’t help it, you’re just smarter. you probably don’t even study. oh, you do? well, you’re smart anyways, so it doesn’t matter. you’re so good at math for an american! oh no, nothing, i just assumed that all americans were bad at math. *starts playing with her hair* oh, that’s making you uncomfortable? but your hair’s so silky, and it’s so smooth. what kind of hair products do you use? i want to learn how to make my hair look exotic like that. oh, you’re not exotic? but you’re foreign. of course you’re exotic. you know, *leans in and whispers* men like you this way, yeah? they just looveeee exotic ladies. *winks*

can you see how this is demeaning? can you see how this diminishes our culture, our hard work, our accomplishments?

racism isn’t funny. it’s not cool, it’s not a joke, and it’s hurtful. it makes us question our capabilities, forces us to have unrealistic expectations of ourselves, makes us feel unworthy and “other”. just stop? stop making hurtful comments. stop stepping on other people to feel better about yourselves.

[crossdressingdeath]

@uzunofu:

And, and! The fucking retconning of Dalish mage culture from "mages are extremely valuable and respected, with none of them becoming abominations because they're treated normally" to "my clan kicked me out because we already had too many mages". The Dalish were an example of what happened when you had no Towers. They were the alternative system — which worked! But if there was to be Grey Morality, then that system had to be either very flawed or fail. And I wouldn't mind if they did it from the very beginning, but we got a poor retcon instead and _that's_ what's infuriating.

(From this post, but I figured this would get long and it's off-topic so it gets its own post.)

Yeah, the thing with the Dalish was... a particularly ugly bit of retconning. Like... pay attention to what Velanna says about her clan. Look at Merrill, shipped from her birth clan to another because mages are so rare and so precious to her people. The only thing I can say is that it's entirely possible the people who talk about the Dalish throwing their mages to the wolves are mistaken. If memory serves it comes up with Minaeve (who was... what, seven at the time? How many clear and detailed memories do you have from that age? It wouldn't be hard for the Circle to convince her her clan kicked her out and they saved her; it's not like she'd ever get the chance to ask her clan about it), Vivienne (all she has to go on is what the Circle says and they have ulterior motives in teaching mages that they have no other place to go) and Bull (who's probably extrapolating based off of whatever Dalish told him; we don't know how honest she's being or how much she's told him, it's entirely possible she just said "I'm travelling on my own" and he assumed that she meant her clan kicked her out because it's 'common knowledge' that the Dalish do that and she didn't correct him for whatever reason). And I've seen a couple things that have suggested that maybe in dire circumstances the Dalish are occasionally forced to sacrifice a mage child for the sake of the rest of the clan, which would... really reflect more on the people hunting them than they themselves.

Honestly my main issue is that a Dalish Inquisitor isn't really allowed to... argue? I mean, it's entirely likely that they themselves were moved from their birth clan to Clan Lavellan if they're a mage, and if they're not they likely know someone who moved clans! But if memory serves at most you can say that your clan never did that only to be told that oh, not all clans are the same or something like that. Because it's not like the clans meeting up to share information is a thing or anything, no, this Circle mage who probably hasn't seen a Dalish elf since she was seven knows better than you about your own people. It's just so transparent that it's a desperate attempt to discredit a system that works and has worked and is a much better solution to the "problem" of mages than the Circles and part of the game-long campaign to take a group of people desperately clinging to whatever they can reclaim of their culture after the Chantry stole it from them, who are now understandably wary of outsiders and especially Chantry faithful, and turn them into small-minded ignorant children who just need to learn how to play nice with the imperial religion that doesn't think anyone else should be free to worship their own gods, like it's their fault Orlais and the Chantry tried to wipe them out. I am still not over Cassandra asking Lavellan if their pantheon has room for one more and not considering that maybe the Chantry should remove the ban on worshipping the Dalish gods.

Basically the "Dalish clans abandon their mages to die if they have too many" bullshit retcon is a symptom of Bioware suddenly realizing that they made the Dalish really fucking sympathetic while wanting us to side with the Chantry so (instead of making any attempt to make the Chantry look better) they had to make the Dalish look worse and fast. And... kind of did the opposite, honestly, especially if you headcanon that the people saying the Dalish abandon their mages are misunderstanding the situation and in actuality pursuit by the Chantry/Templars/random Chantry-faithful people means that sometimes a clan has to sacrifice one child to save all the rest and it's awful but not really their fault. But even if you don't subscribe to that theory... the Inquisitor, supposedly the most powerful and important person there, is expected to just stand there and listen to people who aren't Dalish telling them what their own people do and can't even tell them to shut the fuck up. It says a lot about how respected the Dalish are when the Herald of Andraste can't make people stop slandering their culture!

[gaarasgirlfriend]

claimed

bakugou x reader - demigod/pjo au!

in which the son of ares guides the cute new camper to her cabin 

“dude have you seen the new arrival? she’s smokin’ hot! 10 drachmas says she’s an aphrodite kid.” kaminari, son of apollo, told his friends.

hours ago, kaminari was on his way to bother chiron again, wanting to go on a quest because he was ‘bored out of his mind’ but before he could even get a word out he was met by a stranger. a very beautiful stranger. a stranger who kept glancing down at chiron’s hooves.

ah. she was new to the camp.

chiron was telling the girl about the camp’s layout, pointing over to the volleyball court where kaminari’s sister, jirou, also a child of apollo, was playing with momo who was a daughter of athena.

“i know it’s a lot to process.” chiron said, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“no kidding. the other day i was just taking a nap trying to do my algebra homework and now you’re telling me that greek gods exist and that medusa and minotaurs are real and would very much like to kill me.” the girl said.

“the woes of being a demigod...” chiron mused.

the centaur looked up to see kaminari watching the pair, “ah kaminari my boy, come here.”

‘gladly’ he thought, checking out the girl.

“y/n this is kaminari son of-”

“kaminari, son of apollo. it’s a pleasure.” kaminari grabbed her hand and kissed her hand.

“do all children of aphrodite do this? because i’m more creeped oout by this than any gorgon sister honestly.” y/n said, taking her hand back after kaminari kissed her hand.

“i’m actually a child of apollo but i’m sure that my good looks confused you~ it’s okay~” he chuckled.

“this whole interaction will be so funny if i ended up being a child of apollo.” she suddenly mentioned, which made the blonde-haired boy freeze up. 

“i- are you-” he started to say.

“don’t worry though, it’s my mom who left.” she said, with a slightly hurt tone that kaminari picked up on, after feeling the same way for 13 years he could recognize another lonely person from a 100 miles away.

he suddenly smiled, “ don’t worry, you’ll find family at this camp.” he patted her back as he directed her over towards the cabins, waving bye to chiron as he left to scold mineta, a satyr, for harassing yet another wood nymph again

“bet you’re hoping that you’re not part of that family after flirting with me.” she snorted.

kaminari’s face flushed, “it’s a habit!”

currently he was telling the bakusquad (nickname given by mina after the five of them were on a quest) about the girl he was with earlier.

“ i hope she ends uo being your sister. that’ll really teach you not to flirt with every girl you see.” sero, child of hermes, said while shaking his head. 

“i guess falling for relatives runs in the family. izuku’s dad for example.” mina joked. izuku’s father, zeus, wed his sister, hera, who had no children at this camp out of loyalty. 

“be careful saying shit like that you pink haired dumbass! you never know when zeus is feeling less merciful than usual.” bakugou, son of ares, seethed.

“aww! bakugou~ you care for me~” mina teased the boy who was sharpening his sword.

a pair of crimson eyes rolled as the owner scoffed, “better pray to morpheus because that would only happen in your dream you fucker.”

the group laughed at the blonde boy who continued raging at the pink-haired girl. 

“anyways, i’ll take you up on your offer kaminari! we had an aphrodite kid two weeks ago so i don’t think we’d have another one so soon.” kirishima said.

the redheaded son of hephaestus was sitting on the floor, tinkering with some weapons, with sero and mina sitting down with him. 

“me too.” bakugou’s gruff voice called out.

the group looked back at him, eyebrows raised.

he gave them a wicked smile, “i’m just praying that she ends up being a child of apollo.” he started to cackle, the rest of the group, excluding kaminari, joining him.

“where is she now? i want to meet her!” sero said, standing up. 

“yeah me too!”

“same here!”

“i was going to show her around but then jirou and momo took over. jirou said that i ‘wasn’t to be trusted with any girl’. it hurt! i wasn’t going to pursue her until after she got claimed!” kaminari sighed, shaking his head.

“as they should. they probably saw you kissing the poor girl’s hand and decided to save her.” mina said.

“yeah, yeah, whatever. anyways sero! you ready to fight bakugou?” kaminari said.

the boy got his sword and stood up, “been ready but you were on that tangent about that chick.”

“whatever. anyways let’s start.” bakugou said.

meanwhile while they were fighting, you were with momo and jirou. it really surprised you when you found out that they were brother and sister, given his bold personality and jirou’s chillness.

“okay so sero is going to show you to the hermes cabin, where you’ll be staying at until you’re claimed.” momo explained to you.

“got it! is sero a son of hermes?” you asked.

“yes, he’s been at this camp since he was 12. most of the campers have been here since they were 12 but once in a while we get an older kid like you.” jirou explained.

“how about you guys? how long have you been here?” you asked curiously.

“we actually arrived together. we went to the same school and we er, ran away together after a cyclops attacked us while we were camping.” momo said.

“oh gosh, that was probably terrifying.” you mumbled.

“it was. but luckily there was a satyr there who helped us.” momo said.

talking a bit more, you guys finally made it in front of the arena where sero supposedly was. the arena was a huge conference building that towered over most of the other buildings. it was between the cabins and the armory.

“oh my god, this is the arena?? it looks like the roman coliseum! it’s huge!” you said, amazed by the big building.

“wait till you see the amphitheater and climbing wall.” jirou snickered.

“a climbing wall? what?” you looked at jirou.

momo chuckled, pulling you inside of the building, “come along now.”

walking inside of the building, you were met with about 50 people inside of the building. a few of them spared you a glance or waved to momo and jirou but other than that, everyone went back to their training. the room was lined with dummies and weapons. the sounds of angry grunts, yells, and swords clashing seemed to fill the air as you looked around in amazement.

‘holy shit! that kid’s hands are glowing! and he’s? making the dummy levitate? who is he the child of and can i have magical powers too?’ you thought to yourself.

you looked towards the back of the arena to see a small group circling two swordsmen. one of them had black hair and pale skin, although he seemed to be knowing what he was doing, he was losing to the other guy.

‘oh damn.’ was your first thought when you looked over at the blonde haired boy.

he was tall, with a muscular build that was adorned with a black tank top and sweats which was a bit strange as most of the other campers were donned with the standard orange shirt. but you weren’t complaining. he looked good. his body was coated with sweat, and his muscles flexed with each swing of his sword. he was gaining distance on his opponent. his crimson eyes were narrowed in concentration, a slight scowl on his face as the black haired boy dodged his sword.

that soon ended when the blonde guy suddenly disarmed the ravenette, his sword clanging on the floor as it fell about 5 feet away. the blonde boy had his sword pointing at the other boy’s chest, his own chest heaving up in down.

the black haired boy sighed, with his hands up, “i give up.”

the blonde haired boy smirked, and you could feel yourself almost gasp.

you would’ve believed in all of this greek mythology shit a lot sooner if they showed you this boy. he was literally carved by the gods themselves.

the boy went over to his friends as the small crowd dispersed. a red-haired boy handed him a towel.

“hey sis! hey momo! bold of you to show your faces around these parts when you stole y/n from me.” kaminari said.

jirou rolled her eyes, “i have a legal obligation to protect all women in this world from you. thank god the hunters of artemis haven’t met you. you would’ve been killed on the spot.”

“whatever! hey y/n! missed me?” kaminari said, walking up to you.

“how could i miss the guy who may be my brother even though he flirted with me?” you chuckled.

he suddenly looked up to the sky, “whoever y/n’s parent is please claim her! u-unless it’s you dad!”

they laughed at the boy’s dumb antics. kaminari then took them over to where his friends were sitting.

“hey guys! this is y/n! she’s new here so be nice! looking at you bro~” kaminari said.

you looked over to see he was talking to the guy who won the fight. your eyes made contact with his before he suddenly looked away with a small ‘tch’.

“he’s like that sometimes. you get used to it. i’m kirishima, son of hephaestus, nice to meet you!” the redheaded boy said as he was putting together a weapon. he seemed like a very kind person.

“hey girl! i’m mina, daughter of dionysus!” the girl with pink hair waved to you.

“i’m sero, son of hermes! i’ll show you to your temporary cabin!” the black haired boy grinned.

“nice to meet you all! i’m y/n, like kaminari said and i hope we get along!” you said.

you looked over to bakugou since he didn’t introduce himself yet, “and who might you be?”

“...bakugou, son of ares.” he mumbled.

“son of ares huh? that makes sense. he’s the god of war right? you were amazing with that sword! well granted i don’t know much about swords or anything like that but it looked badass! you too sero, you did amazing!” you said.

“thanks! i wonder what kind of weapon you’ll wield...” sero said as he tapped on his chin.

kirishima suddenly jolted, “y/n! you have to let me build your weapon once you find out what you like!”

you nodded, “of course!”

“we’re gonna be heading out now! bye y/n!” jirou and momo called out to you.

“bye guys, thanks for showing me around," you called out to them.

you turned back to face the group when sero suddenly said, “we should probably head out soon too-” he was interrupted when a young boy around the age of 8 or 9 came up to him,

“sero! you’re still gonna train me right? i haven’t gotten the hang of my new sword that kirishima built for me.” kirishima grinned at the fact that the young boy was taking training so seriously with the weapon he built for the boy.

sero squatted down to the small brunette boy and ruffled his hair, “of course lucas! let’s go over to that dummy to practice!”

“yay! thank you sero!” the boy said, energetically dragging the older boy towards the dummy.

sero looked behind him to look at you, “sorry!”

you only smiled back, “it’s okay!” if a kid as cute as lucas ever asked you to do anything, you didn’t think you could say no to him either.

“well now that sero’s plans have been foiled i will take it upon myself to deliver y/n to the cabin of hermes.” kaminari declared.

“oi dunce face, i’ll take her. after what happened earlier i don’t think you’re to be trusted with another girl for at least another 100 years.” bakugou snorted, earning a laugh from you.

kaminari pouted as bakugou gestured you to follow him. the remaining bakusquad members only stared at the leaving duo as they made their way out of the arena. 

“no way.”

“i agree.”

“bakugou just offered to walk a girl back to her cabin? kaminari did you hex me again?” kirishima said. 

“so what’s the story behind the nickname dunce face?” you asked as you walked beside the tall boy. 

finally being close to him you could see him even closer. he had faded scars littered all over his arms, but there was a scar that was underneath his collarbone that stuck out to you. it was quite big, probably from a monster’s claw. his skin was slightly tanned, from being outside training, you assumed. his spiky hair looked very soft and you had to stop yourself from touching it. but oh lord did you want to pat his head.

bakugou snorted in response to your question, “that idiot was in a prank war with the hermes cabin. he tried to hex them but messed up and ended up hexing himself to be dumber than usual for a whole 24 hours. amusing as it was, it was tiring taking care of him.”

you laughed, “i barely know the guy but i can say with full confidence that that is something he would do.”

his lips quirked up for a second butt you didn’t seem to notice, “yeah he’s a dumbass.”

“how long have you been at this camp? and how long did it take for you to get claimed?” you asked curiously.

he shrugged, “about 6 years. a hellhound attacked me while i was on a school trip but chiron was disguised as my substitute teacher so after a phone call to my mom, we arrived here. it took about 3 days for ares to claim me. it was right after a game of capture-the-flag, my team won courtesy of me. i guess dad was so proud he decided to proudly show me off or something.” he smirked.

“woah, that’s cool!” you said, looking at bakugou in amazement.

“damn right it is.”

a few minutes passed as you guys walked towards the cabin.

“how’d an idiot like you even find this place? a satyr help you?” he suddenly asked.

“yep. his name was mineta, i think? i was about an hour away from this place before a hellhound attacked me. mineta was nearby oogling at some chick and he helped me here.”

bakugou suddenly looked at you, “MINETA? that perverted bastard? i hate his ass, he should be fed to cerberus.”

“i agree with you on that one buddy, while we were hiding he kept on staring at me. what a creep. but he was pretty helpful when we were running away. guess he decided his life was more important than a pair of boobs and actually got serious.”

bakugou’s ears suddenly got very hot as he sputtered, “y-you idiot girl! you’re even more perverted than that dumbass mineta!”

you only laughed in response.

“we’re here.” bakugou said.

you guys had reached the cabins and you were gazing at them in awe. all of them were huge. there was one that was made out of pure gold, one was made of silver, one looked like a mini aquarium, another was covered with barbed wire and housed some very loud kids. you guessed that that one was the ares cabin.

you saw a kid with half red and half white hair come out of the black cabin that looked like a haunted house. he went up to the house in the center of the half circle of cabins to meet up with the green-haired boy walking out of the cabin that had a big lightning bolt etched into it. 

“woah…” was the only thing you could say.

“okay bye.” bakugou said, suddenly walking towards the cabin cabin that had a pair of kids wrestling in front of the doorsteps as other kids cheered for them.

“huh? wait!” you grabbed his hand.

“let go of my hand dumb idiot!” he said, a small blush on his face.

“you have to walk inside with me! I don’t know anyone.” you pouted at him.

he rolled his eyes, “only if you let go of my hand.”

once you let go of his hand, you guys headed inside.

the cabin was normal enough, but it was slightly bigger than the other cabins. you assumed it was to take in unclaimed demigods such as yourself. it was filled with about 50 bunk beds. but only about 20 kids were in their bunks, most of them taking naps.

“incoming!” you heard a feminine voice say from above you. 

before you could look up, bakugou pulled you into his body as he moved towards the right. a storm of water balloons that seemed to be enchanted was hurled at the stope you were standing at. 

“rin! you said you would finally get them outside the cabin this time! at this rate the apollo bastards are gonna win.” you heard a girl say.

“relax yuki! i’m gonna make it this time i can feel it!” rin said.

“sorry about that!” they both called down to you.

you paid them no attention. how could you when you were chest to chest with bakugou right now? you could feel his firm chest against yours and you could’ve sowrn you felt a set of abs underneath that thin tank top. 

“dumbass, you didn’t even move out of the way. just accepted your fate, huh?” he teased.

he gently pushed you away and saw the slight blush you had on your face, “did being that close to me have that much of an effect on you?”

“shut up~” you whined as you hid your face in your hands. 

he chuckled and you suddenly looked up at him, he was cute when he laughed.

“hey! are you a new camper?” an orange-haired girl walked up to you.

“looks like it, poor thing has been following this aggressive bastard all day. i saw them in the arena!” the blonde boy next to her laughed. he was suddenly elbowed in the stomach by the girl. you decided that you liked the girl.

“i am! y/f/n unclaimed and at your service,” you said.

“so lame…” you heard bakugou mumble underneath his breath. it was now your turn to elbow him.

“i’m kendo! this is monoma! both children of hermes!” the orange-haired girl said.

“i bet she’s a demeter kid. i get nature vibes from her.” monoma said.

“what the tartarus does nature vibes even mean?” bakugou asked. was he getting offended on your behalf? how sweet. also what the hell was tartarus?

“she looks weak-” bakugou’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the boy’s response.

“anyways! we’ll take over from here bakugou!” they walked away, motioning for you to follow them.

you took a step towards them before glancing at bakugou, “thanks for bringing me here bakugou! it was nice talking to you, you’re a fun guy to be around!” and with that, you walked away. 

‘a fun guy? me?’ a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

it suddenly dropped, “oh shit.”

he suddenly looked up towards the sky, “dad, please tell me you kept it in your pants for her mom.”

the sky gave no response.

“ya know, i usually hate the color orange but i’m liking this shirt! makes me feel like i’m apart of something exclusive!” you told kendo as you checked yourself out in the bathroom mirror.

“i know the feeling girlie! but you look good in that shirt! also what’s up with you and bakugou? you two a thing?” she teased to which you blushed in response.

“n-no! i mean he’s cute but-“ 

“aha! i knew it! you two are so cute! but i’d wait until after you get claimed… ya know… so you know for sure you’re not siblings.”

“oh it’s fine! it’s my mom who’s gone!” you said.

“oh then you’re good!” she smiled at you.

“but does he know that?” 

your smile dropped, “uh oh.” 

“DUDE! can’t believe you’re in the same boat kaminari was in!” kirishima howled as he clutched his stomach.

“SHUT UP BEFORE I HAMMER YOUR FACE IN WITH THAT NEW SHIT WEAPON YOU MADE!” bakugou growled.

“i mean i would ask her if it’s her mom or dad that’s gone.” kirishima said after calming down.

bakugou went quiet. he often did this when kirishima said something that bakugou did not think of. like this for example.

“thanks.” he mumbled very quietly. to the untrained ear, it would’ve sounded like bakugou said nothing. but kirishima knew better, “go get her buddy.” 

it was finally time for the campfire and you were excited! granted, any situation that called for s’mores made you happy. walking to the campfire where most of the students were, you waved at monoma and kendo before heading over to where kaminari and sero were.

“hey guys!” you smiled at them.

“hey y/n! liking the shirt!” sero said.

you laughed, “finally one of you guys!” 

“how was the hermes cabin?” kaminari asked you. 

“chaotic. there was a prank war going on between your two cabins. but it was kinda fun! monoma swiped me some apollo kid’s bow but i had no idea what to do with it.” you shook your head.

“y/n! hi! ohh i see you’re finally one of us now!” mina said as she arrived with bakugou and kirishima.

“yep!” 

“gather around campers!” chiron said before starting the camp fire songs.

you couldn’t really participate, as you didn’t know any of the songs, but you were still enjoying the experience.

“hey.” a gruff voice called out to you, breaking you out of your stupor.

“bakugou! woah you’re actually wearing the orange shirt for a change… consider me impressed.” you teased.

with a minuscule smile on his face, he sat down next to you on the tree log as you both stared into the fire. his body heat was arguably hotter than the fire itself. he was very warm and you wanted to cuddle up in his arms. 

“so how was your first day of camp?” bakugou asked.

“kind of crazy honestly, never thought that satyrs or centaurs would exist. nor did i expect to be attacked by a scary ass dog while i was just strolling through the city. but it is nice to finally get some answers as to who i am. plus i met some pretty cool people along the way.” you looked into his eyes and grinned.

he laughed, “yeah, i find kaminari cool as well. even if that shithead is currently burning his tongue with that marshmallow.”

you rolled your eyes and punched his arm, “i hate you.”

“hate me? you’ve literally been following me around today like a little duckling. i don’t know if you could call that hate.” he nudged her with his shoulder.

“who else was going to show me around? kaminari? would you have let him?” you mused, leaning a bit closer to him.

he chuckled, a smile on his face, “maybe, who knows.”

he suddenly realizes that you’re very close to him and he leans back, both of your faces hot.

you realize that you need to tell him about your mother before he decides to stop to pursue you. 

“hey bakugou… i need to tell you about my parents…” you suddenly say, bakugou meeting your eyes once again.

“yeah, what about them?”

“well my mother is actually-” you started before you noticed he was staring above your head. you looked around to see almost every camper looking at you. you looked up to see the image of a glowing pink dove.

“huh?” was all you could say before you looked down to see yourself in a white ancient chiton dress. you lifted your dress and saw yourself in golden sandals. your arms were adorned with gold bands. you touched your hair and felt that it was done perfectly. you felt your lips coated with gloss, so you assumed your makeup had been done as well.

“the fuck…?” you muttered before looking up at everyone. 

they all were bowing to you, bakugou included.

“all hail, y/n l/n, daughter of aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty.”

“well at least he doesn’t havent to worry now.” kirishima mumbled to his friends.

“nice meeting you camie and shindou!” she waved at the pair. they were her siblings. that would take a while to get used to.

“call me sis!” camie squealed while shindou rolled his eyes at her and walked away towards the rest of the aphrodite kids.

“looks like kaminari didn’t have to worry after all.” you heard bakugou say behind you.

when you turned around to look at him, you felt him suck in a breath. did you look that different?

“looks like it.” you smiled.

“s-so what was that thing you were going to tell me?” bakugou cursed himself for stuttering. but who wouldn’t curse while in your presence? makeover or not, you were still probably the prettiest girl bakugou has ever seen.

“oh… i was going to tell you that my godly parent was my mom, not my dad.” you mumbled.

“oh?” he smirked, “and why did you feel the need to tell me that?”

you rolled your eyes, “you know why you idiot.”

“please enlighten me.”

“it’d be really weird to want to date your brother, so i just gave you the go ahead.” you said, suddenly finding the ground very interesting.

“did aphrodite make you bolder too along with that makeover?” bakugou questioned, snickering to himself.

“huh? i’ve always been bold! remember when i talked about boobs-”

he clamped his hand over your mouth, looking around the camp to make sure no one overheard.

“you’re crazy. wouldn’t be surprised if you were a dionysus kid.”

“whatever…” you rolled your eyes, a smile on your face.

a moment of silence pass as you looked around the camp, many of the campers were heading back to their cabins and you decided it was time to leave.

“i think it’s time i head out, everyone is leaving.” you said.

“see ya.” you heard him ay, a slight look of disappointment on his face.

you took one step towards the cabins before you turned back towards the blonde haired boy, “actually i can’t seem to find my way back to my new cabin. could you help me out?”

he smiled, “you really are a dumbass.”

[sarah-writes-marvel]

Imposter (2/2): Avengers x gn!Reader

S.S: sorry about the wait on this second part, havent had a lot of motivation to do much for a while. Im not sure how much I like this ending but I hope yall like it!

p.s::: Also, I write these as my own character first so if there are mentions of an OC let me know so I can fix it so everyone can enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, language, nothing else I dont think...

Word count: 1449

MASTERLIST  Pt1

=================================================

My door slammed behind me as rage fumed from my being.

“What a bitch.” I muttered moving to my bathroom and stripping from my sweaty clothes and turning on the shower.

The lukewarm shower felt nice against my hot skin, creating a calming effect. It was nice. Relaxing almost. Until a sudden pounding at my door broke the peace.

“What!” I yelled, not bothering to get out of the shower not really caring who was there, just the fact that they interrupted my relaxation.

“Y/N, open the door we need to talk! Now!” Tony’s distinct voice called through the door. Mumbling a few curses as I reluctantly stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my torso and opening my bedroom door to an angry looking Tony and Steve face of disappointment.

“Im kinda busy, what do you want?” I asked.

“What the hell did you say to Brooke? She's in tears.” Tony barked, eliciting an eyeroll.

“What a drama queen.” I mumbled under my breath.

“The hell did you say?” Tony said, gripping my wrist. I glared at him ripping my wrist from his hand.

“I said she’s a drama queen. Get over it.” I said clearly. “I told her that I didn’t trust her. I have the right not to trust someone who has been a part of Shield for the last 4 years, just come out about her powers.” I restated the conversation from earlier.

“Why would you say that to her? She's just trying to fit in.” Steve said in a sad sympathetic tone.

“Well, she seems to have fit in quite well, now hasn’t she.” I sent the two a fake smile “I’m going back to my shower.” I closed the door, ignoring the pounding knocks on the door as I walked back to my shower. 

The pounding against my door finally ceased and I got out a few minutes afterwards, changing to sweats and a loose shirt. 

I ran my finger through my tangled hair as I made my way to the kitchen to grab something to eat. As soon as I turned into the living room, the team was there coddling to the sniffling Brooke on the couch.

“Seriously, you’re still crying? It’s been an hour and a half.” I scoff at the sight, eyes all turning to me, looks of rage across each face.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to be an asshole or something?” Sam questioned, standing from his seat and making his way towards me.

“I’m just trying to show you that not everything is as it seems.” I sneered peering at Brooke over his shoulder.

“You’re a monster.” She whimpered quietly.

“Then maybe you should watch yourself. Monsters are dangerous.” I mocked moving past Sam to the kitchen. 

Suddenly the quiet room went into chaos as Brooke stood up, placing her hand onto my clothed shoulder turning me to face her. Her hand still on my shoulder I took her wrist into my hand, tightening the grip.

A collective gasp came from the group, many standing from their spots on the couch. Brooke's eyes widened, frozen in shock before she realized that she was supposed to collapse right about now. As soon as I felt her knees buckle, falsely, I gripped her shoulders.

“Don’t play games with me. Don't ever, ever think you’re capable of that.” I chided, staring into her brown eyes.

Her mouth opened like a fish out of water, still in shock that her facade had been broken.

“I saw who you are. You really are a monster. The people you killed, families, innocent children.” She said, loud enough for the Avengers to hear, thinking she was really doing something. And she was, her words got under my skin. 

“Oh ya? What else did you see? How I killed them? How I watched each of their souls leave their body before I determined it was a completed mission?” I sneered, seeing the tears in her eyes.

“You killed so many.” she whimpered pathetically.

“Do you know why?” I asked, truly testing her. Noone really knew the reason behind my mercenary days, they believed that I had been manipulated like Bucky and forced into it. Which was accurate if you looked at it sideways and squinted.

“You were manipulated. You were under Hydra’s control.” she stated confidently, tears still evident in her eyes. Another false. 

“Bravo, you've read my file.” I smirked, “I was never manipulated into anything. And It wasn't Hydra, it was called The Mist.” 

Brooke’s eyes widened, being caught in her lie, tears dripping down her cheeks. She took a timid step back, which I responded with taking a step towards her.

“Believe me, I've brushed against your skin plenty of times before this. If your powers were true you would be curled up on the floor in unconsolable tears right now.” I remarked.

I looked over her shoulder to the Avengers standing guard, Tony looking through archives coming across a secret file under my name. “You really should have done your research before coming after me.” I directed to Brooke looking at her again.

“Well, I’m sure now that your true past has been exposed they don't want anything to do with you anyways, considering how awful you really were.” Brooke sneered.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t want to have someone untrustworthy on the team.” I started. “But I’ve proven myself trustworthy enough times to show that I’m not some bitch trying to wiggle her way into the Avengers.”

“I’ve been loyal to them, showed them they could trust me.” she argued her defenses high.

“I’m sure you have, every time you told them something from their past, something that could be found within a file.” I countered. “Every time you touched someone, even though you supposedly avoided contact, just so one of the guys could catch you and coddle you.” I moved towards her, causing her to step backwards. “Every mission that someone had to come to your aid because you couldn't handle fighting like an Avenger.” 

Her legs hit the couch and her knees buckled causing her to fall into the cushions. I planted myself in front of her, towering over her terrified figure.

“Your nothing but a liar. You’re not Avenger material, and after this scheme you're not even worth being a SHIELD agent.” I sneered. Her brown eyes widened as tears threatened to spill. 

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” she muttered quietly.

“God! You really don't know when you’ve lost do you? Get over yourself. You lost. You don't deserve a spot on this team or in this organization. Get out before I do something I might regret.” I emphasized. 

At that she leapt up from the couch and retreated to her room, packed her bags and ran through the compound exiting the doors.

“Friday, call Fury. Tell him we have a stray agent.” I call out, turning back to the kitchen.

My way was blocked by a broadening figure. I looked up to see Steve, his face twisted with regret.

“I don't need an apology from any of you. I get it. Misguidance can be one hell of a factor in doing something you regret.” I stated before brushing past the Captain, hiding the rageful tears in my eyes.

I heard the sound of footsteps following me through the doorway, the sound of boots against the wooden floor of the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Tony questioned. His tone was soft and filled with worry.

“Well, considering the welcoming party thrown for Bucky, that was talked about all over the world, I figured that if you truly knew my history my party wouldn't be as kind.” I turned to face them with a knowing look.

Ranges of guilt and empathy passed over the faces of the heros in front of me.

“Besides, ‘The Mist’ was disassembled eons ago after I left. I didn't think it was appropriate to bring up a ghost story of another evil organization. We have enough shit to deal with.” I gave a half-hearted smile to them, which was slimmly returned.

“We’re sorry. For everything.” Nat apologized, her green eyes boring into mine. I gave her a soft smile.

“Like I said, Misguidance is a hell of a thing. So no more apologizing let's just get back to the way things were and hope to God that Wanda comes home soon.” A quiet chuckle rumbles from the few in front of me as they move in for a quick hug.

Though there was still some healing to be done, everything went back to normal and we were the compatible team that people believed we always were.

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S.S: Again tell me what you think! Let me know of any errors or anything so I can fix them!! Thanks again for reading!

[anika-ann]

No Apologies Needed - Pt.4

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader       Word count: 2630

Warnings: swearing, mentions of PTSD, Natasha and Sam being children

Summary: In which Steve is moping and pining and his friends are the worst.. possibly the best?

Story Masterlist

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“Call her.”

Steve raised his gaze from the phone spinning in his hand in alarm, only to see the source of the voice standing two steps from him with an amused smile. He stopped the absent motion with his hand and laid the phone next to him on the couch.

It had been several days since the incident at the bar and what followed it – including the medical attention given to the injured woman in the Tower –, but it was still very fresh in his mind. He was not about to admit that in front of Natasha Romanoff though.

“Call who?”

“Don't play dumb, Rogers. It doesn’t suit you,” the redhead huffed, rolling her eyes. Steve just sighed. Of course she knew.

“Why would I call her?” he asked, honestly curious.

There was no single reason to do that. He had selfishly used her as a cover at the bar, he had got her kidnapped and injured, but at least he had apologized profusely, made sure her injuries had been treated and they had parted ways with an offer for her to contact the Tower if she found herself in any trouble.

Not one reason to call her, no matter how much of space she had been occupying in his head.  

“To ask her out, naturally.“

Well.

Naturally, Natasha would pick up on that too. So what, maybe there was more than just one reason why he was thinking about the woman and the character of some thoughts was very inappropriate given the trouble he had caused – just another thing to discourage him from making the call. Steve was almost ashamed of thinking about kissing her again to be honest.

“I'm not gonna do that,” he stated rather calmly, sure of the exclamation. He wouldn’t say he didn’t want to, because he didn’t like lying. He wouldn’t text her or call her, because he had to leave her alone. She deserved a peace of mind after what she had been through.

“Um, yes, you are.”

“I can’t do that,” he rephrased, staring into Natasha’s eyes with determination. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t.

“Wrong. You have to do that. You were making googly eyes at her. So was she.”

“I got her kidnapped!” he blurted out hastily, straightening in the seat.

“So? You handled one crisis together already.”

“Natasha-“

“And I didn't hear any complaints about the kiss either,” she noted with a knowing grin and Steve internally groaned, feeling the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. Now she hit the nail on the head precisely and Steve actually was ashamed.

“That's— that's not relevant!

“That good, huh?”

“Romanoff!”

“Grow a pair and call her, she was cute,” the spy invited him with a friendly smile, just like hundred’s times before when she had been trying to set him up with someone. Steve had thought there were over that.

Apparently not.

“I'm not calling her.”

Natasha shrugged and held out her hand. “Alright, then I will.“

“I swear to God, Natasha-“

Her eyes left his for a second and then she sighed, raising her hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. I won't. And if you really don't wanna talk about it, I'll drop it.”

Steve blinked in surprise. Since when she was giving up so easily? There had to be a catch… except Steve couldn’t quite see it.

“Um… really?”

She shrugged again. “Yes. Really. Not a single word. It’s none of my business.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, a bit taken aback by the kindness and sympathy in her voice. She smiled at him warmly and he allowed himself to sink back into the couch, slowly relaxing. She patted his knee.

“You're welcome, Steve.”

Then she looked up again, watching something behind Steve’s back. It was when he finally noticed someone else had entered the room, now standing few feet behind him. Steve quickly spun to face the intruder, only to meet Sam Wilson’s grin and raised eyebrow.

“So… have you called her yet?”

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It was a movie night. A very tiring movie night which Steve was hoping to skip, but the others wouldn’t let him.

They all gathered in the common room – where Steve found his phone he had been missing ever since the harassment time starring Natasha and Sam –, putting on the first episode of some TV series about a vigilante archer, because apparently it had been Clint’s turn to pick a movie.

Honestly, Steve was barely paying attention, his brain otherwise occupied; he was still thinking about contacting the woman from the bar, for multiple reasons. He was toying with his phone absently with one hand, turning it over and over, while he pretended to follow what was happening on the screen.

He almost had a heart attack when his phone announced an incoming text.

Tony and Clint shot him dirty looks for disturbing the atmosphere, while Sam and Natasha looked his direction with almost excited expressions. Bruce just ignored it – until another beep followed the first one.

“Sorry,” Steve uttered, opening the text from an unknown number with a frown. Most of the people having his number were in the room with him, hence had no reason to text him.

When he read the words on the screen, his jaw dropped.

Hello, Steve. It’s nice to hear from you. I’m fine, except for my distaste for bars growing and occasional nightmares. Thank you for caring. I’m sorry if you beat yourself over what happened, because you don’t have to. I’m coping. ...

The text ended there, and Steve opened the next one on autopilot, seeing the message was simply too long to fit into one text.

… If you want to see for yourself, we can meet. Just give me a call when you’re free, I’m sure your schedule is more busy than mine. P.S. Of course I remember the wings and Sam. Just like Natasha Romanoff or you. You are all hard to forget. In a good way, I mean.

Steve simply stared at the screen speechless, unaware of Clint pausing the movie, the lights switching on or everyone observing him with suspension way more intense than when watching the movie.

Was it really who he thought it was? But… how? Why? And— ‘nice to hear from you’? ‘Thank you for caring’? How would she know she was still on his mind-

He quickly rolled up the page; and there it was, an undeniable prove of the conversation not being one-sided and not starting with her texting him.

There were texts sent this afternoon. Right after he had been teased by Sam and Natasha. Right after he had left his phone behind – or had he? Or had someone just snatched it from his pocket?

His ears started ringing, his pulse hammering in his temples, the edges of his vision getting a red frame. It didn’t take a genius, it really didn’t. His eyes found Sam, who was now looking everywhere but at Steve, while Natasha gave him a small smile.

Steve’s blood boiled. They were both in this. Both of them. Steve was about to commit not one, but two murders tonight.

“Cap? You alright there?” Clint asked, honestly concerned.

Steve felt like he was choking on air, unable to form a coherent sentence to answer the archer.

“What is she saying?” Natasha pried instead, leaning in. Steve turned off the screen, slamming the phone to the armrest, not even reading the messages he had supposedly written.

“Out. Natasha and Sam, stay,” he strained through his teeth, his jaw almost hurting with how tightly he clenched it.

“What-“

“Let’s go, Tony,” Bruce interrupted him, sensing the thick atmosphere suddenly falling on their group. Steve didn’t care for the curious and confused looks he received. He had bigger problems at hand.

And murders to commit, because what the hell-

“Before you say anything-“

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Steve exploded, rising to his feet to hover above his friends. “Are you out of your mind?!”

“Well, technically-“

“I don’t care about technicalities, Sam!”

Natasha rolled her eyes and snatched Steve’s phone before Steve knew what she was doing. Then, he just threw his hands in the air helplessly, his blood pressure probably rising alarmingly high. She wasn’t even trying to look ashamed while going through the reply! She even read the messages out loud for Sam!

Steve crossed his arms on his chest, glaring at the pair murderously as they wore a matching grin. His ribcage was expanding wildly with every breath at the sight of them.

“Are you done?” he asked icily and Natasha looked up before levelling herself with him – at least as much as she could; Sam rose to his feet too.

“Why is this a bad thing, Steve?” the spy questioned calmly, almost gently.

“Why is this a-“

“She wants to meet you, that’s great, man,” Sam supported Natasha and Steve shot him a look that would have him lying in a pool of blood if eyes could kill.

“Except I’ve never offered her a meeting, Sam.”

“Well, according to what the texts say-“

Steve grinded his teeth and grabbed the phone so he could at least read what ‘he’ had written. There were three texts and an attachment. Because the amount of text just wouldn’t fit into one. It took a lot of restraint not to crumble the device in his fingers at the revelation.

Hello. It’s Steve Rogers. I am very sorry for the numerous troubles I caused you and I feel bad for what happened, for how we parted ways. It feels like I should do more for you. Please, if you would be willing to meet, text me or call me at any time, I’ll try my best to answer. I hope you are well. SR

I’m aware that the way we met was disturbing at best and that I need to give you some sort of an identity confirmation. There’s a picture of Sam (He’s the man with wings, do you remember him?), showing how fed up he is with my moping and moral dilemmas. SR

Of course, if don’t feel like meeting, I understand and I promise you will never hear from me again. SR

The supersoldier was left speechless, not sure if it was from anger or surprise.

He had to give it to his friends – these texts, they were… very authentic. He could see himself sending those; polite and long, signed at least with initials, which was something his friends teased him about endlessly, always reminding him that texting was about being brief, contrary to love letters, and once someone had saved his number, he didn’t need to sign.

Also, the picture of Sam was a very plausible copy of his expression when he was being done with Steve. And all the words written were very true, luckily leaving out the fact that Steve was thinking of the woman in question in more than just one way. Natasha and Sam had both done an excellent job.

Except they hadn’t because texting in Steve’s name was just unacceptable – more so when it was about contacting a woman whom he had caused a trauma she was most likely trying to forget.

He glared at his friends, feeling his nostrils flare.

“You had no right to do this! If I leave aside that you invaded my privacy-“

“You left the phone on the couch and you don’t even lock that thing, Steve,” Natasha protested calmly.

“That still doesn’t give you the right to take it and just do what you want!”

“Probably, but it gives me the opportunity to do that and that’s on you, Cap.”

“Ugh! That’s not the point, Natasha!” he shot back frustratingly and she arched her eyebrow in a silent challenge. ‘And what is?’ “Did it cross your mind that she might be trying to forget the traumatic experience she lived through because of me? That she just wants to leave all of that behind?”

“Of course it did, Steve. But she wasn’t even hurt-“

“She’s a civilian, Natasha! Just because she only had bruises and burns from the ropes – which are still injuries, by the way – and wasn’t shot or something, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t suffer the consequences. Not everyone is used to this level of stress, not like we are-“

“Sorry, Steve, but she was just fine when I talked to her,” Sam interrupted, crossing his arms on his chest as well, as he referred to the meeting after she had been treated. “And from what the texts say-“

Steve whined in frustration, running his fingers through his hair, fighting the urge to just rip it out.

This was unacceptable! This was bordering with harassment, it was hurtful and— and just incredibly wrong!

“It doesn’t matter what the texts say, Sam! You of all people should know how PTSD works! She could just-“

“Exactly, I know-“

“Alright, stop it right here, boys,” Natasha interjected, stepping between the two men and Steve realized that he was leaning into Sam’s space, his hands curled up in fists and possibly ready to strike. “What’s done is done. You know you have to talk to her now, Steve. And preferably meet her, because reaching out and then not responding is a shitty thing to do.”

Steve aged several years only because he did his best not to hit Natasha for the nudge. Was she really trying to guilt him now? Seriously?

Why was it fucking working?!

Because you don’t want to disappoint her. Because you do want to meet her.

Steve closed his eyes, taking a very deep breath to calm down. He massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Of course I will text back or call now. Then I meet her to explain that it was not me who contacted her in the first place.” He snapped his eyes open, giving his teammates a pointed look. “And you two, you will come with me to apologize for hassling her.”

“Won’t do, Big Guy. How do you think she would feel when finding out it wasn’t you who cared – or at least decided to do something about it? We wouldn’t want to upset her like that, right? Now be a good guy and call your sweetheart, would you? We promise not to listen in…”

“Romanoff…” Steve growled and she only gave him a cheerful challenging smile.

“Tell me it won’t upset her if she learns the truth, Rogers. I dare you.”

Okay, that… that did pull the rug from under Steve’s feet. Just like when she had been guilting him. He didn’t want to upset the woman further. It would be a wrong thing to do and… and he liked her, so it would be even worse. Not that lying would be any better.

“I… I-“

Sam patted his arm patronizingly and Steve inhaled through his mouth harshly at his next words.

“You’re welcome, Buddy. Good luck.”

“Now let’s invite the others in so we can finish the pilot, alright? You go make your phone call.” Natasha didn’t even finish the sentence and already went to open the door for others.

Steve was tempted to toss the phone after her. Except despite all the circumstances being perfectly terrible, he felt a flutter of butterfly wings in his stomach at the thought of hearing your voice.

He was an awful person.

He walked past his friends out of the room and went to his own, hoping that at least there he could get some privacy. A lump grew in his throat as he dialled your number, stage fright creeping up his spine.

And then your timid ‘hi’ sounded from the speaker and Steve found himself smiling unwittingly, which was something he would later deny, especially in front of Sam and Natasha.

If the meeting which you had arranged for only two days’ notice went well despite him admitting what the truth about the texts was, he was not about to tell them either.

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart​ @winter-scolder​ 

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Thank you for reading and letting me know in any way what you thought; thank you for reblogs and comments especially :-*

If you’re interested in more of my (usually fluffy) writing, check out my Marvel masterlist or specifically S.R. masterlist.

Have a lovely day and stay safe ♥

[larissel]

Memory Lane

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Odyssey

Ship: Kassandra/Daphnae

Words: 3549

Summary: Before her fateful meeting with Layla, Kassandra took a trip down to a museum.

A/N: This was long overdue to be posted because after working on this for about a month, I forgot to do the thing so this is at least three weeks late. But I still like how this turned out so I’m posting this now before that feeling goes away and I work on it again for the third time, I hope you all enjoy reading this.

[AO3]

It’s only been a week since she arrived with a very few of her belongings, but this was the first she had ever stepped out from her hotel – her room– and it was quite a stormy day in Ancient Thera or, what is now known by many, modern day Santorini. No longer were there any dirt roads where the air was easier to breathe in without the smog; simpler time where people walked about or rode on their horses. So much has truly changed over the two millennia—so did she, too, have changed.

Throughout hundred and thousands of years, she had traveled far and wide when there’s nothing left for her in Greece; the time when the names of the old gods and stories she grew up with were being forgotten. She been to many places, witnessing what this world has to offer her and there’s no parts of this world where she hadn’t been to before, untouched by her steps. But there are still places Kassandra never expected to find herself at: a museum.

There’s a first time for everything, like in this case.

After shaking her head and declining to take the change of money she now doesn’t have any need for, Kassandra flashed the clerk a charming smile as she leaned forward and swiped the ticket off from the woman’s hand whose face started to turn red. The young woman started to turn her eyes down to her hand where their fingers brushed against one another then looked back up, stiffed on her own feet. She did her best to maintain composure when this finely dressed woman whose face seems to have been molded by the gods and a body chiseled by the heavens offered her to have a pleasant day, thanking her too late when the well-dressed woman was already gone.

It was wrong of her to teased like that, but Kassandra’s was still swelling up with pride as the very corner of her lips began to twitched upwards in a slight smirk. She dripped with confidence. ‘I still got it.’ She thought to herself while finally striding into the warm building after her ticket has been scanned. Her gaze was immediately transfixed on the marble statue of Zeus who stood tall and in the middle of the lobby, towering all those who were walking about with his eyes piercing at them all. There was an eagle perched on his shoulder with its wings spread out, one where she couldn’t help it but to feel a small ache in her heart when the bird reminded her of Ikaros who has passed a long time ago. And while the statue was a marveling sight, it doesn’t compare to the one that once stood on Kefalonia.

Slipping her hands into her pockets, Kassandra looked around for a moment before she shrugged her shoulders, walking into the first exhibit that caught her interest. “Ancient pottery.” She said to no one.

It was fairly empty, quiet even—well, except for the handful of school children running amok while their exasperated teacher tried to calm all of the kids down. She might’ve been tempted to help if it weren’t for one of the students getting sick, vomiting all over the floor; it’s best if she does not get herself involve, one of the reasons why she doesn’t have kids of her own.

She went back wandering around on her own, however it wasn’t long until she ended up following a group of tourists who all doesn’t seem to mind the terrible weather that was currently happening outside. She stood at the far back, not wanting to draw attention on herself as they were all shown artifacts that have been dug up. Unfortunately, many of them were just…good replicas. If only she could pity them rather than finding humor in this, many of these said relics have been long lost or destroyed by the Romans while others have been sold in the black markets.

Luckily, she managed to keep several with her, hidden away in a storage unit. She left the location for Layla back at her apartment in Sparta, the closest thing she can call home.

Kassandra took a few moments longer to admire the false relics being displayed before striding to the others, in time to hear the tour guide telling tales of influential figures; the likes of Perikles and Socrates, how their legacies can even still be felt in today’s society. She bowed her head down so others won’t notice the fond smile that came crossing her features, remembering those two all too clearly despite the fact that it has been thousands of years. She still remembered those she’d met, their faces still fresh in her mind. However, it didn’t take long for her smile to turn into an annoyed scowl when the tour guide shifted the story to Aspasia. ‘Fucking maláka…’ It was unfortunate that history won’t know the truth about that traitorous snake.

Just before that familiar and old rage could take hold, Kassandra felt warmth suddenly surging up in her arm, feeling chills going down her spine. Looking down, she sees the Staff of Trismegistus, disguised as a watch, taking on a dim glow only she noticed. She knew what this means: her long awaited and fateful meeting with Layla, at last. As she was about to make her leave, she suddenly stopped in her tracks and stood rooted on her spot when the tour guide told another story, a story she was familiar with…

The legendary and mighty Eagle Bearer.

“Eagle Bearer?” one of the tourists said, sharing the same perplexed looks the other tourists were exhibiting. It was obvious that none of these people have ever heard of the name that was once so infamous, striking a mixture of admiration and fear. They’re all unaware of the owner of that name is currently with them, listening closely. “Who is that?” The tourist asked.

“A misthios, or a mercenary,” the tour guide answered, “who traveled throughout the Greek World during the Peloponnesian War – playing on both sides, I should add – taking on the tasks that not even the bravest of men would dare to take.”

“Why were they called the Eagle Bearer?”

“They say an eagle, sent by Zeus himself, accompanied the misthios during their journey.”

Kassandra refrained herself from having to fact-check the tour guide. Ikaros has always been with her.

Questions from the others came at an instant, pouring out from each and every one of them. Their hands were raised up with an eagerness of a child, clear interest written all over their faces. Sadly for them, many of the questions that have been asked went unanswered for the tales of the Eagle Bearer have been lost and many experts aren’t sure if they ever exist; another myth.

“But there's still one story that has been apparently proven to be,” the tour guide said, pausing for a moment to make sure she had gotten all of their attention, then continuing soon afterwards, “the tale of the Eagle Bearer…and their lover, Leader of the Daughters of Artemis; a devoted and proud follower of the Goddess of the Hunt.”

Kassandra’s world came to a sudden halt, eyes widening. ‘Daphnae…’ She felt the air in her lungs leaving, leaving her breathless as her chest started to tightened. She thought both of their history and names have been washed away and forgotten, but then again, the relationship wasn’t a secret and it didn’t stop the Daughters from whispering. Perhaps it’s an excellent time for her to go now, however she stood rooted on her spot and unable to willing move, rather she listened closely.

Throughout time, many stories and tales have all been greatly exaggerated as time went by like in this case. She did not remember an epic battle occurring between herself and Daphnae when they stumbled upon each other, a battle that supposedly lasted for days. ‘Do people really thought that actually happened?’ Then again, this was something others from a long time ago would have said as well. People truly haven’t changed much.

But there was one thing that was true…

She remembered how it felt when her eyes laid upon on the beauty, a wave of desire drowning her and pulling her deep into those gazing dark eyes of the huntress’s—alluring. It didn’t take long for their shared attraction to turn into something more, something deeper and more meaningful.

“After their worth has been recognized, a series of trials was given to the Eagle Bearer: slaying all eight legendary beasts.”

Maláka. Another memory, one that was more on the unpleasant side; fighting against those beasts was difficult and that boar…the fucking boar that farted constantly…shuddering at the thought, oh how its smell still lingers in her mind. But by the gods, it was still worth it at the end, those bloody cuts and bruises she sustained was all worth it just so she can see Daphnae again.

“Beast Slayer, it’s so good to see you again.”

“It was said that the Eagle Bearer would spend the night with their lover upon each of their return, presenting the huntress with the beasts’ pelts.”

Lips finally meeting one another, armor and pieces of fabric were hastily casted aside as though it had been eternity since they last saw each other. The desperation in both of their tones was clear, hands roaming all over each other, touches that were familiar to them both. And as they were both on the ground with Kassandra on top, giving her a wolfish grin before she started kissing her way down, finally.

This was something she often dreamed of and fantasizes about: the sweet, sweet taste of heaven.

Kassandra could still remember every passionate night they spent together under the bright moon and shining stars, every ecstasy-filled moment they shared by the fire, how could she ever forget? Especially with those lustful looks Daphnae would always give her, but perhaps the only thing she didn’t miss much was the huntress’s strong grip—very strong grip.

Her hair felt like it was going to be ripped out from her scalp within any given moment, but it’s still worth it at the end just to hear Daphnae’s cries of pleasure, visibly grimacing when Kassandra felt another hard tug. But she didn’t let the pain stop her from relentlessly moving her tongue between Daphnae’s wet folds.

A deep rumbled left her chest as she held Daphnae’s hips down, preventing the other woman from squirming around so much, pushing her face forward as her tongue drove in deep. It delighted her to hear the huntress moaning loudly into the night. And it fueled her.

Her eyes were shut as memories kept flowing back into mind, remembering those nights when her name left Daphnae’s lips—crying her name out like a prayer.

“Kassandra!” Hearing that final cry – tasting her fully – Daphnae did know how to make her feel as someone who’s more than the Eagle Bearer, more than another weapon for the cult. The feeling of belonging she never truly felt, not even when she was just a little girl back at Sparta.

Time with Daphnae was nothing but short-lived, finding herself feeling regretful for being away far too often and how peace is nothing but a privilege, how it never lasted long enough for them both to watch the sun rising together. Always leaving before Helios could ride his Sun Chariot to bring about a new day.

“I have to go now.”

“I know.”

“So…what happened next? What happened when they completed their task?”

There it was – her eyes slowly opened as she took in a deep breath, pulled out from her memories and back into reality – that dreaded question. She would do anything to forget that.

“When the final beast has been slain, the Eagle Bearer was sent to Chios – home of the Daughters of Artemis – for their test was not yet over; a final task,” the tour guide said, placing a hand on her chest for a more dramatic effect, “but it was a task they couldn’t go through.” She said, letting out a heavy and tragic sigh.

“The task of killing the one you hold closely and dearly to your heart.”

The tourist who asked the last question scoffed loudly which caught the attention from the others, rolling his eyes when they all looking at him now. “Weren’t they like…an assassin?” He said, arms crossing together and was completely confused by this. After all, weren’t all warriors supposed to be badasses? And this figure in the tale sounded like they can have anyone else they wanted.

“It’s not as easy as you would think,” the tour guide said, rolling her eyes. This wasn’t exactly the first time she had to deal with men who were like this.

“Wasn’t killing part of their job?”

“Could you do the same then? Killing someone you loved?”

That got the tourist stopped talking, moving his head to the side as his cheeks turned into a lovely shade of red from embarrassment when all eyes were on him all the while he wasn’t aware that the Eagle Bearer herself was gazing at him piercingly. “No…” He said, sighing heavily; he could never even bring himself to yell at his own beloved dog back at home.

“And with the Eagle Bearer’s inability to go through the final task,” the tour guide said, finally able to continue the story, “a rift was formed between the two.”

“But did they ever make up?” someone else asked, raising a hand up.

“I don’t know, no one knows unfortunately, the story just ended there,” the tour guide said, “but I like to think they did.”

A sad smile appeared on Kassandra’s face, wishing that were the case. In reality, their paths never crossed again. A constant reminder plagued her after that doomed meeting she had with Daphnae, coming upon a group of the Daughters of Artemis or gazing upon the statues of Artemis, gazing at the goddess with contempt. It wasn’t only until she finally got to see the huntress again when time and the years has caught up to her, death claiming her soul peacefully; watching her body burn at the very next day from a safe distant.

“Okay!” the tour guide exclaimed, her mood brightening up again while clapping her hands loudly together to get the others’ attention. “We’re now moving on to ancient potteries, follow me!”

The tourists all oohed and excitedly followed their guide with the story of the Eagle Bearer quickly forgotten.

Kassandra, on the other hand, found no offense at the sudden change of topic. She turned simply and left the museum without having anybody else noticing her presence was among them. As she stepped out, it was still raining heavily and she could hear the distant thunder booming in the sky, not bothering to bring an umbrella in the first place. She smiled sadly as her thoughts drifted back to the woman who broke her heart. It has already been so many years and there hasn’t been a day where the pain went away...still, it gets easier with each passing day. After all, her time is up.

‘Wait for me.’

xxx

So this is what it feels like to die.

After the Staff of Trismegistus was passed off to its new owner, the effect was immediate to take a hold of Kassandra when she lost her balance and started to stagger. Her body ached, could barely move around as her vision blur and didn’t notice Layla caught her before she fell onto the ground, cradling her closely. Memories flooded her mind like waves, wondering if this is what many others had said when they say every second in your life starts flashing before your eyes. However, unlike most people, she wasn’t afraid to finally greet death.

She lived a very long life.

But it was still a good one…a good life she had.

She remembered the very first time she left Greece after she helped the Greeks to fight against the Romans, but even with her prowess wasn’t enough to stop them. Everything was left behind when she escaped with the others—her home, her legacy, and all the memories she held dearly, all gone in the fire and leaving only ashes in its wake. Afterwards, Kassandra lived in the shadows, staying hidden and not to involve herself in fights that others can handle on their own.

She had seen the rise and fall of many empires before another would rise up to take its place, then the vicious cycle repeats itself. She had seen societies joining together as one, fighting against an unjust. At the end, when the dust has settled and freedom was returned to the people, greed never failed to cloud one’s judgment. The world hasn’t change much, leaders of this so-called free world were no different than the kings and queens, emperors and empresses. This world is still standing divided and unity is nothing more than a laughable dream. And even after all these years, the long life she lived, her only regret was that she didn’t do much to help make that change.

As her breathing continued to labor and her vision grew hazier, Kassandra’s thoughts were on her family, the family she brought back together and friends she made…then having to watch them all grow old and die. Once more, she was all alone in this world.

Her mother was the first to go, just a few years after the family has finally became whole again. An illness had overtaken her, something that shocked them all. A shock turned anger on Kassandra’s end, cursing loudly to the night and the terrible fate her mother must endure…and how truly cruel the fates are. She felt nothing but helplessness, a cure that’s never discovered until decades ago. Her mother deserved a better ending to her story, but Myrianne already made peace with herself a long time ago, knowing that everyday life is fleeting. And just with that being said, Kassandra had accepted the fate that was bestowed upon her mother.

A year later, Myrianne died in her sleep. Surrounded only by her family and people she’d met over the years of her journey came by to pay her one last respect. Kassandra never realized how loved her mother was until everyone who knew her crowded in the same room.

Alexios, her younger brother, followed mother a year after her death. Kassandra doesn’t know the cause of it, but she suspected the Cult of Kosmos had something to do with it. After all, they were the ones who poisoned his mind since his infancy, they have abused his body, treating him like a rabid animal, and only using him as a weapon; never human. She knew how he suffered over time and how he struggled to undo what the damn cult had done to him. He tried and fought as hard as he can, but it seems it wasn’t enough at the end. And his body gave out where he was found days later by Spartan soldiers who were patrolling around Mount. Taygetus.

He was buried next to their mother the very next day and Kassandra hoped that he found peace in death.

Nikolas was the next to pass, a death that certainly shocked those who knew him—a death no one would have expected from a renowned general like him. Struck by common, measly thief, stealing whatever little drachma the Wolf was carrying all for a cheap wine. It wasn’t long for the thief to be found, apprehended by Kassandra who returned the favor. Nikolas may have committed atrocious actions, things that she would never forgive him for. Over time, her anger lessened. She’d lost too much, she didn’t need to lose him…someone who was also once so important in her life.

He’s given an honorable burial, wrapped in a beautiful red cloth with his helmet and prized sword, and Kassandra was proud to call him her father.

Finally, there was Stentor…who was the last to die, unfortunately.

She and Stentor…they never got along, even when they’re both stuck with each other once they’re left together. But things between them mellowed after he found someone who tolerates his terrible attitude, Kassandra truly loved his wife though; a complete opposite to Stentor, getting along with her and his children. He died at a very old age, surrounded by his family from what she heard from far away.

She started to think about all of the others she had the privilege to met over the years, people she was proud to call her friends: Barnabas, Herodotus, Phoibe, Ikaros, and many more, but Daphnae was her last thought. To have the huntress in her mind one last time was comforting.

She’s ready to join them.

“Gaía…máter pantós…chaíre…” With those words recited under her breath, Kassandra smiled. At last, she can finally rest with all of her worries left behind, trusting Layla and her team to finish the work she couldn’t complete. And as her eyes fluttered shut for the final time and breathing out her last breath, she heard these final words whisperingly lovingly into her ear as a greeting.

“Beast Slayer, it’s so good to see you again.”

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 71-72

These goddamn chapters are so long I want to d ie

The Queen of the Fae was exactly as Aelin remembered. Swirling dark robes, a beautiful pale face beneath onyx hair, red lips set in a faint smile

Of course Maeve is also drop dead gorgeous. Somebody gotta put a cap on the amount of beauty in SJM’s novels, it’s becoming too much.

With [Maeve’s] attention elsewhere, Lorcan took up a place at Aelin’s side—as if they were somehow allies in this, would fight back-to-back. Aelin didn’t bother to say anything to him.

I mean, Lorcan being on your side gives you a much better chance of rescuing Elide, but sure Alien, be like that.

That ripple of Lorcan’s power the day Ansel’s fleet had closed in … [Aelin]’d known it was a summoning. The same way she’d summoned the Valg to Skull’s Bay. She’d refused to immediately explain Ansel’s presence, wanting to enjoy the surprise of it, and he had summoned Maeve’s armada to take on what he’d believed to be an enemy fleet. To save Elide.

This seems kinda weird to me? Elide has stated to Lorcan numerous times that she’s on Alien’s side, so wouldn’t Maeve consider her a threat and an enemy? Why would Lorcan summon her to save Elide, then? But whatever, the less time we dwell on shitty writing, the quicker we get this shitshow over with.

Elide was trembling; every bone, every pore was trembling

Every pore??? Lmfao is SJM just giving up at this point?? She can’t shoehorn in sexual references when her protag is confronting the villain so she wants to just get it over with.

Lorcan betrays them and Alien is shocked, but like... why are y’all surprised Lorcan was literally only with you guys for Elide, he has no reason to like anyone else in Alien’s group of jackasses.

Flame danced at Aelin’s fingertips. No. Her magic had been emptied, still hovered near burnout.

Maeve kick her ass please I am begging you, wipe the fucking floor with her

Maeve returned Aelin’s smile. “(...)Of course, the fools didn’t realize that when you had drained yourself on their armies, I’d be waiting. You were already exhausted after putting out the fires I had my armada ignite to tire you on Eyllwe’s coast. It was a convenience that Lorcan gave your precise location and saved me the energy of tracking you down myself.” A trap. An enormous, wicked trap. To drain Aelin’s power over days— weeks.

Alien’s tiny mind is fucking blown by this but no fucking shit!!! You’re a dumbass who thinks wasting her magic on shooting fireworks out of her ass is a good idea, of course someone would notice and take advantage of you!! Does Alien even have a goddamn brain???

“The armada was a precaution. Just in case the ilken didn’t arrive for you to wholly drain yourself … I figured a few hundred ships would make for good kindling until I was ready.” To sacrifice [Maeve’s] own fleet—or part of it—to gain one prize … This was madness. The queen was utterly insane.

I mean. Maeve is an evil bloodthirsty monster, but she’s way smarter than any of these dumbasses. Honestly, I’m starting to root for her. She figured out her enemy’s weakness and used it against them, which is more brain power than Alien is capable of.

Flame slammed outward, red and golden—just as a wall of darkness lashed for Aelin. The impact shook the world. Even Manon was thrown on her ass.

Love how SJM tries to make this showdown all ~epic and uhmayzing~ but then throws in Manon falling flat on her ass. The rivalry between Maeve and Alien is barely developed so I’m hardly excited for Maeve to kick Alien’s ass. Makes me wish I could be reading Death Note instead, now there’s a good power play between rival characters.

Lorcan grabs Elide while Maeve and Alien duke it out and he tries to get her to run.

[Elide] would not. She’d sooner die than flee like a coward, not when Aelin was going to the mat for all of them, when—

Going to the mat? Wtf??? Yes I know it’s an expression of struggling/fighting until defeated or victorious, but this completely threw me out of the story when I read it. This is a (supposedly) medieval setting, and this saying just seems out of place in this setting.

A whip of black sliced into Aelin. She went down. And Elide thought the impact of Aelin Galathynius’s knees hitting the sand might have been the most horrible sound she’d ever heard.

Elide was literally enslaved in a tower and abused by her uncle but seeing some stupid queen she barely knows getting the shit kicked out of her is the worst thing she’s ever witnessed. Okay, SJM, okay. Elide deserves so much better than to be reduced to a fangirl to splooge over Alien.

Aelin crawled backward, blood sliding from her right nostril. Dripping on her white shirt.

*clenches fist* fragmentsssssss. A comma or the word and would’ve sufficed better there.

Aelin tried to rise. Tried, but her legs had given out. The Queen of Terrasen panted, fire flickering like dying embers around her.

I’ll admit, I rather like the symbolism of the embers dying out around her, highlighting how she’s utterly failed and gotten her ass whooped. Very nice.

Fenrys and Gav roll up to the party while Maeve continues to beat Alien. I know it’s cruel to say, but I’m rather enjoying Alien getting her arrogant ass whooped after unfairly winning literally every confrontation with no effort in this novel.

But Maeve let the darkness around Aelin part. She was curled on her side, bleeding from both nostrils now, more blood dribbling from her panting mouth.

Considering she’s getting whipped and stabbed by black magic, I think she should be bleeding from actual wounds than having just a nosebleed lmao. Maeve starts grilling Gav.

“Did I or did I not tell you to execute Lorcan on sight?” “There were … circumstances that prevented it from happening. We tried.” “Yet you failed. Am I not supposed to discipline my blood-bonded who fail me?” Gavriel lowered his head. “Of course—we will accept it. And I will also take on the punishment you intended for Aelin Galathynius.”

NOOOOO I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD SJM IF YOU KILL OFF GAV FOR ALIEN TO LIVE I WILL FUCKING FIGHT YOU

So Maeve kicks Gav out of her court and dishonors him, but he lives, thank god. If Gav ends up dying in this series I’m gonna have to have a long angry chat with SJM. Gav basically disappears for the rest of the scene even though he’s right there? Whatever spares him from the agony of this shitty book I guess.

Elide splooges about what a badass assassin Alien was and how she’ll wait for the right moment to strike, before Maeve removes all of Alien’s weapons for that exact reason. My sides hurt from the fucking cackling I did at that. Can’t believe I am about to stan Maeve, but she’s a ruthless, badass, calculating villain who is capable of thinking about things other than sex. Nothing but respect for my evil queen.

“What a powerhouse you two would be—[Aelin] and Prince Rowan. And any offspring of that union …” A vicious smirk. “You and Rowan could rule this continent if you wished. But your children … your children would be powerful enough to rule an empire that could sweep the world.”

Ungh, c’mon Maeve, I know you’re just fucking with Alien, but don’t make me read that garbage. Can’t wait until there’s a sequel series to Thr0ne of glass about Alien’s goblin kids being even more uber powered special snowflakes than their mother. C’mon, you know SJM would.

“It was so easy to tug on the right psychic thread that day Rowan saw Lyria at the market. To shove him down that other path, to trick those instincts. A slight altering of fate.” (...) Maeve said, “So your mate was given to another. And I let him fall in love, let him get her [pregnant]. And then I broke him. No one ever asked how those enemy forces came to pass by his mountain home.”

Great, so Lyria was nothing but a plot point to get Ratlin together now? Fuck off SJM, stop reducing your other characters as nothing but plot points for your precious OTP. Lyria deserved so much better than this.

“[Rowan] took the blood oath without question. And I knew that whenever you were born, whenever you’d come of age … I’d ensure that your paths crossed, and you’d take one look at each other and I’d have you by the throat. Anything I asked for, you’d give to me. Even the keys. For your mate, you could do no less. You almost did that day in Doranelle.”

Lmfao I love how one of the main selling points fans use for this series were “it depicts love accurately, Alien has more than one love interest!1″ and SJM fucking killed any chance of using that as a positive of the series hahahahaha I am actually fucking dying. Chaol, Dorito, and Sam didn’t mean shit because her one true love was Rowboat all long. Couldn’t have written a shittier plot twist if I tried, SJM, hats off to you. That deserves a slow clap.

Maeve ignored [Elide pleading]. “Well? When did you know [Rowan was her mate]?” “At Temis’s temple,” Aelin admitted, glancing to Manon. “The moment the arrow went through his shoulder. Months ago.”

Nothing turns me on more than my abusive boyfriend almost dying by an arrow to the shoulder. I know, I know, the mating bond in AC0TAR is different than the ones in T0G, but still.

Maeve shrugged. “If it’s any consolation, Aelin, you would have had a thousand years with Prince Rowan. Longer.”

Go tf off, Maeve!!!! I’d read an entire book of Maeve just ripping Alien a new one tbh

Turns out Alien is due to Settle in five years or so. What a relief, SJM’s precious Mary Sue won’t ever have to grow, god forbid, old and ugly! Phew, really dodged a bullet there!

Maeve calls out Cairn, the asshole dude Lorcan brought up many chapters prior.

A handsome, brown-haired warrior walked toward them from the cluster of escorts. Handsome, if it weren’t for the sadistic cruelty singing in his blue eyes.

So is he handsome or not, SJM? These two sentences are so contradictory. Maeve gives Alien a choice whether to come willingly or to refuse and let Elide be dragged along. Alien is a selfish shitlord, but she cares about Elide despite barely knowing her, so we all know which she’ll probably choose.

Next chapter, finally, holy shit that one was so long I had to skim most of it.

Aelin’s body hurt. Everything hurt. Her blood, her breath, her bones. There was no magic left. Nothing left to save her.

It’s funny how this is framed as we’re supposed to feel bad for poor Alien but I’m laughing my ass off. Act like a little shit, get hit, Alien.

Aelin simply nodded at the Fae Queen. Her acceptance and surrender.

Surprise, surprise. I’ll at least give Alien a little credit for considering the safety of somebody else besides herself or Rowboat’s Fae peen. Man, the bar is set pretty low, eh?

And because she had won, Maeve even loosened her power’s grip on Aelin’s bones. Allowed Aelin to turn to Elide and say, “Go with Manon. She will take care of you.” Elide began crying, shoving away from Lorcan. “I’ll go with you, I’ll come with you—”

Wtf Elide, no, you’re smarter than this!!!! Alien is sacrificing herself so you can be free, you run and get Alien’s comrades and then you have a chance to free Alien afterwards!! Goddamnit SJM you’re making me repulsed by Elide because all she is now is a tool to fawn over Alien dhfkhfksdh I'm so goddamn mad

Aelin’s soul splintered as she saw the iron box the escorts now carried between them. An ancient, iron coffin. Big enough for one person. Crafted for her.

Oof, so there’s the coffin bit I’ve been hearing about. Can’t really say I’m sorry for Alien. Yeah I know that’s mean, but she’s a massive unlikable selfish asshole who gets everything handed to her without her doing any work, so forgive me for not feeling bad when she finally gets a good deserved kick in the bottom.

“And tell Rowan,” Aelin said, fighting her own sob, “that I’m sorry I lied. But tell him it was all borrowed time anyway. Even before today, I knew it was all just borrowed time, but I still wish we’d had more of it.”

Again, good concept, just wasted on an absolute shit tier ship. Someone write an AU of this but with a good ship, yeah? And, y’know, rewrite most of the plot so it makes sense.

Maeve lowered the mask and drawled to Aelin, “Rumor claims you will bow to no one, Heir of Fire.” That serpentine smile. “Well, now you will bow to me.” She pointed to the sand. Aelin obeyed.

I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am, but ahhh feels so good to read Alien get taken down a peg or two after being so irritatingly arrogant! Feels good, feels organic.

“Take off your shirt.” Aelin tugged her shirt out of her pants and slung it over her head, tossing it in the sand beside her. Then she removed the flexible cloth around her breasts.

So.... a bra, essentially? Is she wearing a bra? Or was SJM unsure of whether or not medieval women wore bras and was like “Ehhhh I’ll describe it as just a cloth, that way nobody can point fingers at me for shitty world building!”

Aelin didn’t fight as [the Fae warriors] each gripped her by an arm and hauled her up. Spread her arms wide. The sea air kissed her breasts, her navel.

Man, given how there’s only a few chapters left, this may be the last unnecessary focus on a female character’s breasts we get in this novel. And it’s right before our main character endures a harsh whipping. Oh SJM, you never disappoint.

Cairn halted. [Aelin] felt him studying the tattoo on her back. Rowan’s loving words, written there in the Old Language. Cairn snorted. Then she felt him revel in how he’d destroy that tattoo.

Evidently, SJM never learned what nuanced characters are. Cairn whips Alien some until Maeve orders them to chuck Alien into the iron coffin. Manon peaces out with Elide, and I hope SJM lets them run away with Abraxos to a better novel.

Time—[Aelin] was grateful Elena had given her that stolen time. Grateful she had met them all, that she had seen some small part of the world, had heard such lovely music, had danced and laughed and known true friendship. Grateful that she had found Rowan. She was grateful.

Another good example of good concept that’s wasted on a shitty character. This should be breaking my heart, but it’s about Alien and I fucking hate Alien more than almost any other fictional character. So alas, I’m left just feeling hallow and tired.

So Aelin Galathynius dried her tears. And did not fight when Maeve strapped that beautiful iron mask over her face.

Seems odd Alien would describe what is essentially an object meant to torture her as beautiful, but alright. We’re almost done folks, buckle up for the final leg of this shitstorm of a journey.

[thingsarered20]

Jeremie Belpois and Jerlita:Part 2

Well my new puppy is finally asleep which means I have time to do part 2 of this essay . It will focus on season 2. 

(I don’t even know why I chose this pic, I just wanted an opening pic) 

Ready to get thrown into Sector 5? Then let’s go!

In the season premiere New Order, we learn Jeremie improved on the Superscan so that way Aelita would no longer have to spend every waking moment on Lyoko(prior to improving the Superscan Aelita was their only way to know if a tower was activated, the Superscan was merely a supplement to Aelita and had to be run manually). I find it cute how he actually took the time to upgrade the superscan so she wouldn’t have to spend the whole wait till he found an antivirus stuck on Lyoko. 

(Obligatory pic of them for reasons)

Later in the episode while Jeremie is walking with Aelita in the  woods to work on a project for Mrs.Hertz’s class, they talk about horror films and Jeremie states he does not have time for movies as he has his hands “full with X.A.N.A”). This quote sums him up pretty well, he won’t let himself rest or have any fun until X.A.N.A is gone for good. This is important because a common piece of dirt he gets thrown at him is that he doesn’t spend enough time with his friends. Wait...you’re telling me you’d rather he party then work as hard as he can to defeat the demonic entity that is constantly trying to kill him and his friends? There is also something else I don’t get about that, people claim because Jeremie doesn't go to Lyoko he doesn't do anything to fight X.A.N.A. Yet those same people also complain he works too much. So, which is it? Does he do nothing to fight X.A.N.A or does he do too much to fight X.A.N.A?

At the end of the episode Jeremie gives Aelita a cellphone as a gift and it is adorable!

(Yeeeesh how loaded is this kid? Cellphones are NOT cheap)

In Mister Puck, the visions Aelita had been having since first entering the Hermitage become too much to keep ignoring or to keep writing off as nightmares. So, when they all head to Hermitage to see if they can put a stop to them Jeremie reassuringly holds her hand.

(D’awwwwww)

As for St.Valentines’s Day I already talked about that episode in a separate post. However, I would also like to point out if you wanna demonize Jeremie for being a 12-year old kid experiencing his first bout of jealously then be my guest and frankly, everyone gets jealous at some point in their lives. I personally feel it does Jeremie a favor by showing he’s a regular kid with flaws like the rest of us rather then making him seem too perfect.

(”YELLOW!””PINK!” You guys are cool and know where that reference is from right?)

In Final Mix, Jeremie is hard at work trying to find Aelita’s anti-virus so they can defeat X.A.N.A and is too busy to fix a mixing board so Aelita does so in lieu of him. After fixing it she discovers she has a talent with the device and is picked to be the DJ for the school party later that night. When Jeremie hears he states he considers the party a “waste of time”(Gasp!). “What a jerk!”I can already hear people  saying but, wait...there’s more to it then that. Jeremie was already established as a hard worker in season 1. There’s no reason why in season 2 this would be any different. It makes sense why he considers working hard to beat X.A.N.A more important then partying. Sure enough, X.A.N.A does end up possessing Jim and kidnapping Aelita. This shows Jeremie is very much properly paranoid. Every event people get mad at him for blowing off to work gets wrecked by X,A.N.A in some way. Don't get me wrong saying it was a waste of time was harsh but I understand where that thought process comes from.Getting rid of the evil demonic A.I comes before partying in Jeremie’s eyes. I’d also like to point out he does not actively prevent her from going. He’s not happy about it but, he’s not gonna stop her from doing what she wants. Much as he likes her company and probably wants the extra help on his research, he knows she’s no little doll he can keep on his shelf and play with whenever he wants.

(Opening up about an addiction is tough)

In Temptation, Jeremie begins behaving very strangely to the point of getting rude and defensive for no reason. Even making unwarranted returns to the past despite knowing they make X.A.N.A stronger(they learned this in episode 30″A Great Day”) and starts blowing off classes that are not P.E to work. Aelita goes to tell him he should take a break but he responds “Oh yeah, does X.A.N.A take breaks?!”. When Aelita says she does not want to lose him, Jeremie realizes she really is concerned and gets his mind back for a second and goes to explain what’s been going on with him but right when he is about to open up to her X.A.N.A attacks “You see X.A.N.A never takes breaks!”Jeremie declares. After a RTTP Jeremie is found passed out on the floor. He cannot be woken up and is in a coma. Aelita hacks into his video diary and they find out that Jeremie has been using an neuronal headset to increase his intelligence with each RTTP in hopes of being able to find Aelita’s antivirus faster. It comes with a cost though each RTTP with the headset takes a drastic toll on his mental and physical health(explaining the moodiness and the coma). he knew this but still used it to try to save Aelita faster. What happens to him don’t matter as long as Aelita comes out the other end of it safe. In the end Jeremie is able to break away from addiction to the RTTPs and breaks the headset.

(What would you do if some girl came up to you and accused you of kissing her in front of your de-facto girlfriend?)

In X.A.N.A’s Kiss X.A.N.A plays on the groups emotions in a divide and conquer bid. Naturally Jeremie and Aelita are part of this and have a falling out as a result of it. When the realize they were doped they still need to find Aelita. Jeremie knows right away where she is and the fact that they polymorph got there first does not take away the fact that he knew right where to find her. Aelita is able to tell Jeremie about from his double because as she puts it the real Jeremie “Would not have kissed her like that” some take this to mean its’ because the clone kissed her without having consent and she knows that the real Jeremie would not use kissing her as a weapon to gain her trust. Wether you agree with that interpretation is up for you to decide.At the end of the episode guess what? Aelita and Jeremie both share their first onscreen, no X.A.N.A shenanigans, no ulterior motive behind it kiss with each other and it is beautiful. It’s even the trope image for “Post-Kiss Catatonia”.

(I would’ve put a screencap but it must be viewed in all its gif glory)

(Here’s a screencap anyway)

(I just liked this shot)

In Franz Hopper, the titular man himself shows up in the lab one day and deactivates the five towers that were activated without having to set foot on Lyoko. He then vows to help the group defeat X.A.N.A by finding Aelita’s anti-virus. The next day is Jeremie’s birthday and it is revealed that he parents still want him to consider going to the school for gifted children that was previously mentioned in “Plagued” and has been keeping this quiet from his friends considering he doesn't have any intentions to leave them. What follows after his dad call is a cute scene were his friends all wish him a happy birthday and he is given a cute drawing by Odd as a gift.

(Cute)

They then all go the factory to meet up with Franz who is shocked that they have been using the scanners to go to Lyoko as it is a “very dangerous procedure with serious side-effects such as cell degeneration”. Ulrich and Odd check out fine but Yumi is apparently suffered cell degeneration in her brain. The others upset about Yumi and most likely wanting a scapegoat pic on Jeremie as he is the “brains of the operation”and Franz names him the one who let “X.A.N.A destroy my(meaning Franz’s)diary”. This is not true, Jeremie didn’t “let”X.A.N.A  destroy the diary. X.A.N.A took over his body and made him do it. Everyone except Aelita treats him horribly and his role as operator is taken over by Franz during their mission to supposedly get the data to program the anti-virus for Aelita. Jeremie points out it in unfair he is being blamed and that they all decided to be in this together(which I point out in part 1 they did). Upset at being treated this way and having had enough Jeremie agrees to switch schools and calls his dad to take him the next day. He realizes while sitting in his room that there’s no real the real Hopper could’ve known about the diary. Only him and his friends knew. That leaves only the one who did the crime in the the first place:X.A.N.A! Forgetting his anger, Jeremie goes to rescue his friends. He stops Aelita before she can be virtualized into Franz-X.AN.A’s trap and sends the Scyphozoa a decoy of Aelita instead which gives it indigestion. Then he trolls Franz-X.AN.A and fixes the damage X.A.N.A did to his friends on Lyoko. The tower is deactivated and the next day Jeremie assures his friends that is not angry with them and that Yumi never suffered from cellular degeneration.Jeremie immediately  letting go of his anger at the way he was treated and being blamed for something that wasn’t even true the minute he found out his friends were in danger is a great show of how big this kid’s heart is. When he dad comes to pick him up he declines and instead elects to stay at Kadic with his friends. When Jeremie states his father is great, Ulrich states “like father, like son” and honestly I couldn’t agree more.

(D’awwwwww... again)

In The Key, following the revelation that Aelita is not an A.i but a human being, the girl develops a complex about her humanity and anger towards her father Franz Hopper for taking her life from her, shuts down the Supercomputer thus killing herself. However, Jeremie realizing the computer is not responding goes to the factory and finds her and is able to revive her from her attempted suicide. He comforts her while cradling her in his arms and tells her that they will save the world from X.A.N.A together and then she can start a whole new life.

 (Sniffs)

Having a suicidal friend/partner/family member is not easy, not matter how old you are but, the fact that this 12(well 13 now)year old boy was able to handle that kind of situation and talk her out of any more attempts on her life is impressive to me. When Aelita is saved by her father after having all her memory stolen by the Scyphozoa when she returns to Earth, Jeremie catches her and pulls her into a comforting hug,

(Stop making me cry episode!)

Jeremie later assures the other that while X,A.N.A may be free he’s not giving up and that he feels X.A.N.A is not invincible. He also assures Aelita that fighting X.A.N.A is not her job alone and that it’s there job. He then initiates a circle of friendship hand hold and the season concludes on that.

(If I don't stop crying I'll ruin my computer)

The fact that Jeremie, one of the least social of the Lyoko Warriors initiated the hand hold gets me every time. Well that’s it for season 2!

(What I’m going to attempt do now(meaning going to sleep)

Part 3 will come...eventually

[kitten1618x]

Scale of Dragon, Tooth of Wolf: ASOIAF and the Wars of the Roses

The hardest thing about writing this meta was literally, where to begin? I will apologize in advance, as I will try to keep my thoughts as tidy and streamlined as possible, but I have a lot to cover and do tend to run away with my words at times. This is a collaborative meta of sorts, as I drew insight, inspiration and help in constructing this massive baby from the wonderful @thewesterwoman (who also contributed parts of it, as noted within).

So, I suppose we’ll start where I begun. A few weeks ago, I stumbled onto this meta about Jamie Lannister and how he may actually be TPTWP. Now, before you shrug that off, I suggest you read this:

https://thewesterwoman.tumblr.com/post/163650220053/azor-ahai-and-the-matter-of-jaime-irony-and

And while you’re at it, make sure you give @thewesterwoman a follow because her brilliant analytical mind is a blessing to this fandom. Yes, she even ships Jonsa (but less flailing and more logic). 😉

After reading her meta,  I was definitely intrigued, so I began some research of my own, and this theory is actually a lot more popular (especially with book readers) than you may think. It prompted me to send her this ask:

https://thewesterwoman.tumblr.com/post/163779372473/so-if-you-think-that-jamie-may-be-the-one-who

Her answer only served to intrigue me more, and we struck up a private convo discussing all the War of the Roses similarities, and how GoT might actually come to its bittersweet end -and so this meta was born. It will be part tinfoil/part actual history. Let’s begin.

What’s in a Name?

So with that said, let us first focus on the last three major houses left in GoT: the Lannisters, the Starks and the Targaryens -and the three* major players of the War of the Roses: the Lancasters, the Yorks and the Tudors. Marinate on that a minute. Okay? Good. Here’s what you should have came up with:

Lancasters/Lannisters

Yorks/Starks

Tudor (Plantagenet)/Targaryen *

*History shows us that the War of the Roses actual main players were the Lancasters and Yorks, but for all of you who are not historian buffs (me), they both descended from the same royal house: Plantagenet and ended with Tudor. Think of them as Alpha and Omega.* Oh, and wouldn’t you know -what an incestuous web they wove, but that’s a meta for another day. 😂

As per Wikipedia (and because I’m lazy):

The House of Plantagenet (/plænˈtædʒᵻnᵻt/) was a royal house which originated from the lands of Anjou in France. The name Plantagenet is used by modern historians to identify four distinct royal houses – the Angevins who were also Counts of Anjou, the main body of the Plantagenets following the loss of Anjou, and the houses of Lancaster and York, the Plantagenets’ two cadet branches. The family held the English throne from 1154, with the accession of Henry II, until 1485, when Richard III died.

One other thought ( @thewesterwoman adds )- as many have noted, Westeros is obviously a continent-sized, fantasy-version of Britain (with the North more or less standing in for Scotland). Westerosi history is similarly based on British history, which saw several waves of migration from foreign invaders that greatly resembles the Westerosi invasions by the First Men, the Andals, and finally the Targaryens.

The Targaryens in particular seem to represent the Norman invasion of England, which was led by William the Conqueror, who I take for a direct analogue to Westeros’s own Aegon the Conqueror (a foreign invader who united several warring kingdoms into one country under his reign). This is relevant to our theory because the royal English House of Plantagenet (and thus the House of Tudor as well) is more or less directly descended from the dynasty founded by William the Conqueror, just as the Targaryens are from Aegon the Conqueror.

Amidst the War a King is Born

As you all know, the War of Roses was put to an end by Henry Tudor, or King Henry VII -also known as the first King of the Tudor line. I’m not going to dive fully into his entire biography -just the parts/similarities that fit in the GoT narrative.

The War of the Roses broke out prior to his birth on May 22, 1455 and Henry was born on January 28, 1457 -the son of Lady Margaret Beaufort, and Edmund Tudor, first Earl of Richmond (half brother to King Henry VI). Edmund, a Lancastrian, was taken prisoner by Yorkist forces mere months after his marriage to Margaret, and died in captivity less than a year later, leaving behind a 13-year-old widow who was seven months pregnant with their child -whom she birthed at the tender age of 14.

This sounds vaguely familiar -like a lovable bastard prince we know, who’s mother birthed him at a tender age, his father dying in a “rebellion” of sorts -War of the Roses/Roberts Rebellion. But wait -the similarities don’t end there. While Margaret didn’t die like Lyanna -Henry would be her only child. The birth was described as “particularly difficult; at one point, both the Countess and her child were close to death, due to her young age and small size”. She never gave birth again. After his father’s death, Margaret and Henry were taken in by Edmunds brother Jasper (Henry’s uncle), the Duke of Pembroke.

Now here’s where it gets tricky … because I’m about to split Henry’s upbringing into two parts, or rather -two characters: Jon Snow and Danaerys Targaryen.

Jon Snow:

When Edward IV became the first Yorkist King in 1461, Jasper fled abroad and Castle Pembroke, along with the Earldom were given over to the Yorkist, William Herbert -who then took over guardianship of the 4 year old Henry and his mother. Henry lived in the Herbert household until 1469 (he was 12) when more York/Lancaster drama ensued and Henry VI reclaimed his throne.

Daenerys Targaryen:

At some point, fearing her son’s safety, Margaret sent Henry into exile with his uncle Jasper -where he remained, garnering French and Welsh support before returning to lay a claim to the throne. When Henry Tudor invaded England, his army consisted of French mercenaries and Welsh warriors – which would be considered a largely foreign group (foreign invaders -Dothraki and the Unsullied).

So, you see how in comparison to Henry’s early life, we could easily divide aspects of it between both Jon and Dany. Being raised by an uncle, being exiled for safety, garnering foreign support and returning to claim their “birthright”.  It’s also important to note that with his father dying prior to his birth, Henry fought claims of illegitimacy (bastard) for most of his life.

A Dragon and a Prophecy

Henry also made some political capital out of his Welsh ancestry, attracting military support and safeguarding his army’s passage through Wales on his way to the Battle of Bosworth. He came from an old, established Anglesey family that claimed descent from Cadwaladr (a Welsh King depicted in legend, the last ancient British king), and on occasion Henry displayed that Welsh standard.

That Welsh standard Henry fought and conquered under? Well I’m glad you asked … The flag of Wales (Welsh: Baner Cymru or Y Ddraig Goch, meaning the red dragon) .

A red dragon! You don’t say? Where have we seen that before? Oh, right …the Targaryen house sigil.

But Henry’s welsh dragon isn’t just ANY dragon, but -a dragon that’s attached to a prophecy: Y Mab Darogan.

From Wikipedia (again because I’m lazy):

Y Mab Darogan (pronounced [ə mɑːb darɔˈɡan] meaning “The Destined/Prophesised Son” or “Son of Destiny”) is a messianic figure of Welsh legend, destined to force the English out of Britain and reclaim it for its Celtic inhabitants. A number of figures have been called Y Mab Darogan in history (other titles include Y Gŵr Darogan and Y Daroganwr). An extensive corpus of medieval Welsh prophetic verse, beginning with Armes Prydain (10th century?), is centred on the figure of Y Mab Darogan.

A prince who was promised? Ya don’t say?!?!

Several historical figures have thought to have been this “Son of Destiny” -even King Arthur of Camelot. With poets and supporters labeling Henry the prophesied prince, it certainly didn’t hurt in strengthening his claim to the throne. Later, his reign over England was believed to be the prophecy fulfilled -a belief that he encouraged by naming his firstborn son Arthur.

Two Roses become One

As most of you know, Henry later wed Elizabeth of York. They were third cousins -both great-great grandchildren of John of Gaunt. The marriage unified the two warring houses and gave any of their future children strong claims to the throne. The unification of the houses of York and Lancaster by this marriage is symbolised by the Tudor Rose -a combination of the white rose of York and the red rose of Lancaster.

*Remember this, because we’ll come back to this later when I make my endgame predictions.

I would also like to present to you, the Tudor house Coat of Arms (under Henry VII and the first half of his son, Henry VIII’s reign):

A red dragon, a white dog (wolf) and a golden lion sitting atop the crest, amid the Tudor roses.

As Alice (in Wonderland) would say: Curiouser and curiouser ….  

The White Rose (of Winterfell?)

A red-headed beauty -Elizabeth of York was described as fair of hair and face. The eldest child, she had two younger brothers (known as the Princes in the Tower) who disappeared shortly after her father’s death -thought to be murdered by her uncle.

From Wikipedia (and you guessed it, because I’m lazy):

“The Princes in the Tower” is an expression frequently used to refer to Edward V, King of England and Richard of Shrewsbury, Duke of York. The two brothers were the only sons of Edward IV of England and Elizabeth Woodville surviving at the time of their father’s death in 1483. When they were 12 and 9 years old, respectively, they were lodged in the Tower of London by the man appointed to look after them, their uncle, the Lord Protector: Richard, Duke of Gloucester. This was supposedly in preparation for Edward’s forthcoming coronation as king. However, Richard took the throne for himself and the boys disappeared.

Compare this if you’d like, to Sansa’s brothers  Bran and Rickon “disappearing” -first thought to be murdered by Theon, then Rickon actually being murdered, and Bran essentially dying as well, now that he’s the 3 eyed Raven. This may be a bit tin foilish, but Bran was also pushed from a Tower -which sent the whole chain of events in motion.

Despite being a political arrangement at first, the marriage between Henry and Elizabeth proved successful and both partners appear to have grown to love each other. Jon and Sansa have already proven to share a powerful loving bond rooted in trust.

But wait!

Aren’t the Starks (Yorks) supposed to be the good guys, and the Lannisters (Lancasters) the bad? I’m glad you asked, and I’ll hand you over to @thewesterwoman for that …

When it comes to the Wars of the Roses, one side - the Lancasters - has traditionally been presented in a far more positive light than the other - the Yorks. This is because the Tudor dynasty which ultimately emerged the victor of the war was descended in the male line from the Lancasters, making them the ‘winning’ side. As such, the vast majority of primary sources from after the war paint the Lancasters in a flattering light and the Yorks in a negative one, in an effort on the part of their writers to gain favor with the current reigning monarchs of England.

Today, this is especially noticeable in Shakespeare’s ‘history plays,’ several of which - Henry IV Part One, Henry IV Part Two, Henry IV Part Three, and Richard III - deal directly with the historical events of the Wars of the Roses. Shakespeare was writing during the reign of Elizabeth Tudor, and had an obvious motive for depicting her forebears as the heroes of the story that ultimately led to her rule. This is especially notable in Richard III, where the evil schemes of Richard of York lead England into chaos until the heroic Henry Tudor (a Lancastrian, and Elizabeth’s direct ancestor) finally emerges to defeat him and save the realm.

GRRM seems to have taken his fictional noble houses Stark and Lannister from the real-world Yorks and Lancasters, and they retain vestiges of the stereotypes of their historical counterparts. House Stark is strongly associated with tradtionally ‘evil’ motifs: ice, winter, death, and wolves (connoting the Big Bad Wolf of many fairytales). House Lannister, in contrast, has many ‘heroic’ connotations: warmth, sunlight, gold, and lions (which incidentally are on the royal coat of arms of England). From a distance, the Lannisters - with their wealth, beauty, and natural charisma - would seem like a natural fit for the protagonists of any story, while the Starks - known for their grim and gloomy dispositions and ominous House words - would seem like more natural antagonists.

But this is of course not the case. GRRM has both reversed the traditional historical narrative of the good Lancasters versus the evil Yorks, and the traditional motifs that we associate with good versus bad characters. In ASOIAF, the Starks are the heroes and the Lannisters are the villains, despite their respective surface appearances. This is both very interesting and very typical of GRRM, who loves to invert our expectations of fantasy narratives.

And now it’s time to put your tin foil hats on, because it’s endgame prediction time ….

So what does this all mean?

So if Jon and Dany are actually the two facets of Henry’s life prior to the crown -the exiled conqueror (Dany) and the “bastard” prince (Jon) raised by a Yorkist (Stark) -also his uncle, where does that leave Dany? Well, I’m pretty sure Dany will meet her death on the other side of the wall.  

Let us return to Dany’s time spent in the House of the Undying -to simplify, we’ll use the show version. We’ll come back to her time in the throne room later, but first -remember when she stepped through what looked curiously like the gates to the other side of the wall -into the wintery beyond?

Here, she was reunited with her true love and husband, Khal Drogo and their son, Rhaego.

Here, she was reunited with her true love and husband, Khal Drogo and their son, Rhaego.

Perhaps this was a foreshadowing of sorts, that she will die in battle beyond the wall during the Long Night, and in death, be reunited with her son and husband -who wait for her in some form of purgatory, so they can all ride together into the Night Lands?

Drawing from the Henry Dany/Jon parallels, and if you’d like to get real tinfoil-y, we could look at Targcest as a way of melding these two halves of Henry into one. Maybe Dany perishes before the showdown with Cersei -leaving that war for Jon to be the parallel to Henry’s Battle of Bosworth -the battle that won him the crown by conquest -as to which he strengthened by then marrying Elizabeth of York.

*I’d like to make that very clear. He didn’t use his new wife to seal the deal, he used conquest (in defeating his rival) -he strengthened his throne (and future line of succession) in marrying EoY.

Returning back to Dany’s visions in The House of the Undying, she enters the throne room and it looks destroyed -although the throne still remains intact. Some people think it was ash falling through the broken ceiling -others snow. I’m going with the latter. Here’s why:

Dany approaches the throne, but does not touch it -instead she walks out the door which led her to the other side of the wall (to her family). She’s come to Westeros, but she will never be the queen. Instead, Jon will be the reluctant King -again thrust into a position of leadership that he doesn’t necessarily want, but will accept for the good of all. He will not be a King who conquered, but instead a King that was chosen.

Since Jon is both a Stark and a Targaryen, but his Targaryen lineage is what gives him a right to the Iron Throne -ironically, a Targaryen will once again rule Westeros. With Dany’s death, so dies the old House Targaryen that she represents, with Jon being the start of a new (and as @thewesterwoman points out -less incestuous) dynasty. This would again mirror the fate of House Plantagenet.

But will he rule as a Targaryen? Or a Stark? Maybe neither?

Perhaps he will rule as a Snow -which considering the connotations, and how being a bastard plagued him his entire life, it would certainly be rather poetic. The Snow falling in the throne room could be a foreshadowing of this. The Targaryen structure is destroyed, but the throne that Targaryen and Lannisters have sat on, is intact.

And remember this? The blending of the Lancaster and York roses into the Tudor rose?

This also leads me to believe that Jon might start a new house entirely, and create his own house sigil -combining the Targaryen and Starks somehow, but allowing BOTH original houses to die off -much like both the Lancasters and Yorks, with no male heirs left to carry on the names. In the books, snow is a big theme in a lot of Sansa’s arc -especially the time she spends as Alayne in the Vale. Many have already drawn these parallels to Jon.

There Must Always be a Stark in Winterfell

(Inspired by the ask I sent thewesterwoman)

Bran has made it pretty clear that he is NOT the Lord of Winterfell. Bran technically isn’t even Bran anymore. *Think of Elizabeth of Yorks two brothers (the princes in the tower). If Arya marries, she will take her husband’s name -same with Sansa. So, if Jon doesn’t take the Stark name, the Stark name perishes, too.

Consider if you will, that Winterfell falls in the Long Night. It was built by Brandon Stark (aka: Bran the builder), one of the “First Men”, as well as the founder of House Stark. He also is said to have built the Wall -“raised it with the aid of Giants”, according to legend. Ironically, the Night King is known to be one of the First Men, too. Supposedly, Bran Stark is in the Winterfell crypts, although some have speculated that he’s actually the NK.

What if there’s something “magical” behind Winterfell and it’s crypts? When Bran asked undead Benjen to come with them to the other side of the wall, he said he couldn’t, as there was magic carved into the foundation of the Wall, and as long as it stood, he could not pass. Maybe there’s something magical connected to Winterfell and the phrase “there must always be a Stark in Winterfell” and, that it’s all somehow connected to the Night King.

If the Night King is defeated once and for all, and Winterfell falls, there’s no longer a “need” for a Stark to be there -giving credence to the theory of Jon starting a new house entirely.

With the Starks being the “good guys” and the story mostly framed around them, Jon and Sansa as Ned/Cat 2.0 yet, the end of House Stark sounds pretty bittersweet to me.

Of course, this is all just speculation …

War of the Roses was only one of many things that GRRM drew inspiration from.

*credit to @sardoniyx for this AMAZING manip work!*

[thran-duils]

Rise For Your King

TITLE: Rise For Your King PAIRING: Reader/AU King!Castiel SUMMARY:  The reader was betrothed to the Prince but when a neighboring King decides to dole out justice to your future father in law, he destroys the royal family, leaving you with the two youngest Princesses. The mage king takes an immediate liking to you, letting you live. What will you do with this opportunity?WORDS: 1,492

Part 2 || MASTERPOST || Fanfic masterpost

The screams were continuing outside and you were being hurried along by our handmaid. The neighboring kingdom had come to capture the capitol of Bidueiro to take out the king and overthrow. The king was supposed to be your father in law in a month’s time. Was.

“Hurry, Y/N!” Aideen hissed at you as she tugged you along down the stone staircase to the passage that would lead out of the castle and to a boat.

Your heart was racing and it was hard to see your footing with only a torch to light your way. The passage had not been lit today considering they didn’t believe it would be needed. How wrong they were.

There were two soldiers with the pair of you, following closely behind, their swords drawn.

Turning a corner, you came face to face with a group of soldiers and they were marked with the gold hand of their mage king. You let out a scream, unable to stop yourself, recoiling quickly.

It was quick. Their hands on you, pulling you to them and them slaughtering the soldiers with the two of you. You tried to wrench away from the one who had a hold on you and you were met swiftly with the back of a hand almost causing you to lose your footing.

“How dare you!” Aideen hissed at them and you would have kissed her cheeks for her fierceness if you were able. She was not wavering or cowering. “That is the Princess of Bidueiro!”

“Not yet as we understand,” another one off to the side snorted. “And I’m sure she will find her dear Prince Davin slain by the true king.”

You swallowed sharply, forcing back the tears that were threatening to show. You had not known Prince Davin for very long – a month and a half at best – but you had had a connection with him. Which is more than someone could ask in an arranged marriage. And now that he was gone… who would protect you? You were going to die. What use were you to these men? Let alone to the mage king?

“Then I should die with him.”

Your voice sounded far off, like it wasn’t you speaking.

Aideen gasped quietly beside you and you heard her try to move to you but she was yanked back.

The man who had spoken sauntered over, peering at you through his mask. He tipped the mask up and smiled down at you, giving you a good look at his face.

“I don’t think that’s going to be the case, dear. I was told to bring you to the throne room.”

His smile was unkind and you felt a chill pass through you.

<> <> <>

Queen Birgit had been killed by one of the soldiers when she refused to allow them into the chambers of the youngest children and had tried to take one of the swords. She had managed to kill one of the enemy soldiers before she was stabbed straight through. Her body was laying at the steps to the throne having been brought in. Your eyes were trained down the stairs to her body. The throne was empty close by.

The two youngest children – twins, both three years old – were hiding in yours and Aideen’s skirts. They had been born a decade after Bron, the first females Queen Birgit had given to King Orin. Aideen and you were trying to shield them from seeing their mother’s body but it was pointless, really. They had seen it already and were crying softly. They had always been quiet and it was natural that they would take this grief in the same manner.

All three princes and the king had been killed, the mage king’s forces too powerful; himself too powerful for that matter.

You didn’t dare look out the windows to see the blood flowing in the street.

Dipping down, you pulled Gwyinth away from your skirts and wiped at her tears. “It’s going to be alright. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you,” you vowed to her quietly.

“Quite a big promise to making coming from such a young woman,” one of the soldiers gibed, causing the soldier next to him to chortle.

You threw a glare up at them, noting the sparkle of amusement in the green eyes of the one who had teased you. You would have to do something rotten to him later.

Gwyinth sniffled, “They hurt us?”

“No!” you exclaimed, brushing her hair away from her face, moving your attention back to her.

“But, mommy…” Oriana whimpered, her face still pressed against Aideen’s legs, but eyeing you.

What could you say to them that would comfort them about that?

Before you could think, the door to the throne room was pushed open and the soldier near you, grabbed your arm and yanked you to your feet. “Stand for your king.”

You bit back the words that he wasn’t your king, fearing the retaliation.

The soldiers parted, falling to their knees as the mage king strode, his head held high. You felt your breath catch seeing him for the first time in the flesh. His armor was magnificent, gleaming silver but it was hard to ignore the splatter of blood staining it. His helmet was tucked under his arm, his face exposed.

He… he was stunning. He was supposedly centuries old and yet looked exquisite. His eyes – the color of ice – were focused ahead on one of the soldiers standing down by the bottom of the stairs, near Queen Birgit.

Stopping in front of his soldier, his eyes flicked down to the queen before training back on the soldier.

“I know you wanted her alive but she resisted. Killed Daer,” the man informed him. You watched the king’s eyes run over him and the soldier shifted uncomfortably. Although he towered over the king before him, he was obviously threatened by his presence and possible anger.

The king was quiet for a few moments before he cocked an eyebrow and responded, “Pity. She would have been an asset to moving forward. Not to mention her beauty.”

Suddenly, his eyes were on the small group of you still alive and his gaze zeroed in on you. His eyes were mesmerizing. Holding out his helmet for the soldier to take, he moved up the stairs towards the group of you after the soldier had done so.

There was electricity between the two of you and you tried to ignore it. You wondered if it was his magic radiating off of him. Gwyinth’s hold tightened on you from behind and she pushed more of the fabric from your gown to her face.

The king was staring you down, ignoring the others with you. His eyes trailed down your face, to your lips and further down. You felt heat creeping up your neck at the way he was admiring you so freely, without humility and modesty.

“I do not even know how to address you,” his voice came out, gravelly and low. His eyes were on yours again and there was a tug of a smirk at the corner of his lips. “Lady? Certainly not Princess. Unless there was a ceremony I am unaware of.”

When you didn’t respond, the green-eyed soldier next to you hissed, “Answer his majesty, girl!”

The king held up a hand and said, “No need for that. She’s simply still in shock. Let’s not push her too much.” To you, he continued, “I am sorry for your loss, Lady Y/N. It’s truly disheartening for me that King Orin had to interfere where he was not welcome and get his entire kingdom taken and captured. But, he made his choice and now the debt has been paid.”

His eyes moved down towards Gwyinth and Oriana and he smiled softly. “Good to know some of the royal family survived.” The two moved closer to you and Aideen and you saw amusement flickering in his eyes.

“I am happy you were fortunate enough to be standing in front of me, my lady,” Castiel addressed you once more. He was paying no heed to Aideen, knowing well she was of no importance to him based off of her chain around her neck, marking her as a servant. “It’s an honor to be in the presence of such beauty.”

You felt your heart flutter at the words and immediately felt ashamed. This man had killed your fiancé. Had taken the kingdom you were to inherit. Killed your future family in law. You shouldn’t feel weak in the knees around him.

Finally, the king turned back to face the room.

The man next to you announced, “Rise for your king. King Castiel.”

The room did so in unison, even the castle staff and court that the soldiers had managed to capture. You didn’t have to see Castiel’s face to know that he looked satisfied.

You, on the other hand, were anxious.

~~~

CASTIEL TAGS: @prince-halfblood, @splendidcas, @klaineaholic, @letsthedogpackandthecats, @alexastacio, @winchesterforever12 @seirensou  @tacos-and-trenchcoats @the-amaranthine @intheir-dreams @study-me-misha @marisayouass @demonicguardianangel @afanofmanystuffs 

[miniaturefiction]

Welcome to Trump Prison Tower and Casino

April 2, 2021

Atlantic City, New Jersey

A fist that appeared to be a plump ham grabbed my collar and stopped me where I stood. I looked up to see a face that matched the hand: a round, pink one without a single hair, a grimace, and a nose that looked remarkably like a snout.

"You lost?" the bouncer growled while tuxedos and evening gowns filed past him and his leather jacket-bound front door enforcers.

I opened my mouth to explain, but a yelp was all I could manage as the razor sharp high heel of a woman wearing a sparkling red gown gouged my foot.

She stumbled, snapped her head around to snort her disapproval, her nostrils flared and furious, and went on her way, into the entrance alongside a distinguished silver-haired man with an unlit cigar dangling from his lips. Behind them were two men: one wearing diamond-encrusted sunglasses, the other using a flaming fifty dollar bill to light a comically oversized cigar. All I could think was that if he was really a high roller -- the kind that come to this place on a Friday night -- he would've lit that thing with a Franklin.

"I'm with them," I told the bouncer. There was nothing I could do about the quiver in my voice. "Over there."

The hefty bald man followed my pointing finger and saw the group of five bedraggled men and women, dressed as nicely as they could be and still looking like slobs.

"If you're with the content generators," the bouncer said, shoving me toward the group, "then stay with the content generators."

I slumped back to what would've been called the press pool, back in what seems like a generation ago. We're now known as a content generating grouping. CGG for short. Waves of newsroom arrests three years prior had brought reforms to the journalism industry. I got into the content generation industry shortly after the Newsroom Shock campaign of '17.

"CGG folks, this way," shouted the old lady who served as our guide for the night. The lady, Margaret, took a drag of her cigarette and motioned for us to enter. And in we went, heads down as we passed the extraordinarily rich guests, who stopped and stared at our scuffed up shoes and oversized button-down shirts.

The Trump Prison Tower and Casino was practically buzzing.

The din of excited chatter was close to deafening in the enormous structure that had been erected in the final months of President Trump's first term in the White House, when temples to American excess began sprouting up from coast to coast. The federal government subsidized the massive undertaking in hopes that these odes to merciless toughness and unconstrained frivolity would spark an economy that had plunged into a veritable black hole.

The president had shuttered the prison in Guantanamo Bay, riling Republicans who called for his impeachment. The party's outrage ceased when President Trump unveiled plans for fourteen Trump Prison Tower and Casinos to be built across the country as a sort of public works project that would not create new roads and bridges and infrastructure, but playgrounds for the ultra wealthy. The towers would house the Guantanamo Bay detainees, along with hundreds of suspected terrorists held in secret prisons the world over.

"It will be the greatest, most important undertaking in this nation's history," the president said from the Oval Office, which now had sparkling gold walls. "We will show our enemies that we win, win, win -- not just on the battlefield, but at the craps table too."

The first spectacle my content generating grouping saw was a children's play zone, where parents would leave their spawn before engaging in the decidedly adult activities on the tower's top floor. There were a few dozen kids, all wearing virtual reality helmets, sleek and silver, as they kicked and punched and pointed their hands here and there in the shape of a gun. The expansive room was otherwise empty, with padded floors on which kids occasionally dived and rolled.

A content generator asked our tour guide, Margaret, exactly what we were witnessing when a roar came from a bar area across the marble floor. It was what became known as a Fantasy Bar, where people came to play fantasy sports in real time. Bar goers stared into holographic TVs and screamed at baseball games as they unfolded. One emaciated young guy with a mop of black hair sat, hunched over at the end of the bar, and wept amid the holographic players running to and fro.

Margaret cleared her throat. "These children are engaging in the latest in video game technology," she declared in her raspy voice. "What they're playing now is a new release in the emerging field of civics education technology -- a way to experience civic engagement firsthand."

I asked Margaret why this brood of children was kicking and punching the air in front of them.

"Because they're experiencing the 2017 Detroit riots," Margaret said with a smile. "Their mission is to vanquish the terrorists who refused to work."

"You mean the protesters at the work camps," I said.

"American employment stations."

"Right."

Off we went, up a steep escalator into the glow of the tower's top floor, where legendary debauchery supposedly unfolded. Tales of orgies and open air drug markets and mob hits and men wrestling bears and lions were told everywhere in the years after the president built his towers. This Atlantic City location was supposed to be the most debauched -- a place that would make Caligula call for order.

But at the top of the escalator was nothing that would make you question your eyes. There was gambling, sure, but it was mostly mild mannered folks wearing less-than-formal clothes trying their hand at blackjack and craps and poker. They mostly ignored their surroundings: the walls around the gaming area were made of some sort of thick glass, with brown skinned men sitting and standing behind the see-through walls. They looked down at the ground, they paced back and forth, none of them talking. On a few walls were sprawling flat screens showing American military vehicles storming across some faraway desert, interspersed with images of lifeless bodies lying in rubble, exploding balls of orange flame, and smiling U.S. troops walking alongside happy brown children.

My content generating grouping moved through the gamblers, concerned with their growing and dwindling stacks of chips while surrounded by what Margaret called "the worst of the worst" in "the war on Muslims."

My story assignment was "27 Ways People Live It Up At Trump Prison Tower and Casino," so I asked Margaret if I could speak with a customer. She obliged and approached a man leaving a blackjack table. "Excuse me sir," Margaret said, "but would you mind if this young man spoke to you? He's creating content today and hoped to interface with some of our guests."

The man nodded politely. "Sure," he said. "I enjoy content."

His name was Oliver Newton, a middle-aged black man wearing a button-down checkered shirt that stretched over a protruding belly. Oliver wore a well-groomed goatee inexplicably dyed black underneath his mostly-grey crop of hair.

"It's nice to get out and have a good time," Oliver told me as Margaret nodded toward one of the security cameras overhead. "But it's also nice to be able to do your part in the war. We should all contribute."

I asked him what he meant. He guided me to a small screen near the edge of the glass-enclosed prison surrounding the casino games.

"Look here," Oliver said to me, pointing at the screen. "I can decide how the government punishes these folks, these bad guys."

I looked over the multi-colored buttons dotting the black screen. The yellow one read "water boarding," the orange one said "sleep deprivation," the purple one read "electrocution." There must have been another half dozen options that I had no time to read because Oliver, an otherwise good natured man, an ordinary man, hit that purple button.

The screen went blank and behind the glass enclosure, a door slid open and an armed guard emerged. Head to toe in body armor, the guard swung his automatic rifle behind him and grabbed a prisoner sitting with his back against the glass wall. The prisoner hardly seemed to mind being yanked up by his shoulders and dragged out of the zoo-like jail, through the door, and out of sight. The door slid shut. The other prisoners appeared unfazed, resigned to their fate.

Oliver smiled. "It feels good, my man."

"Feels good?"

"Yeah," he said, "it feels good to help your country. Feels good to contribute to the cause in whatever way you can. In school I used to hear a lot about participatory democracy and whatnot. Well, this is it. We're living it today."

Oliver was downright jovial. A black man, happy in an America without the Voting Rights Act, an America with the nascent Freedom Party re-segregating public schools and services throughout large swaths of the South. But there Oliver stood, smitten.

"Time's up," Margaret said from behind me. "Interview's over."

"Where do they take the prisoners?" I asked.

Margaret lit a cigarette, took a drag and blew a puff of smoke from her nostrils. "That's confidential, sweetheart."

We were led to a craps table, where a group of women threw dice and screamed no matter the result. There was lots of screeching and laughing between content generators asking questions about how much these gamblers enjoyed the atmosphere of Atlantic City's Trump Prison Tower and Casino.

One of the women, after rolling a seven that temporarily killed the table's buzz, said she had been to the Prison Tower and Casino in Los Angeles, where prisoners had staged a hunger strike that Margaret said had not been reported for national security purposes, and should remain unreported. The gambler, a white lady firmly in the grips of softening middle age, finished her glass of wine with a flourish and said it was unpleasant to see the starving men lying around in their cages.

"But then you remember that the president promised to kill all their families and it makes you feel better, knowing they'll get what they deserve," she said as another scream came from somewhere.

I was distracted while my fellow content generators were given 60-second interviews with customers. Where were all the glamorous hordes I had seen file into the Prison Tower and Casino? Where were the striking women and exquisitely dressed men who practically reeked of money? The pristine limousines lined up outside this palace of degeneracy hadn't dropped off Oliver and the gaggle of 40-something women shucking it up at the craps table.

I scanned the entire floor for any hint of the man in the diamond sunglasses or the woman whose heel had spiked into my now-throbbing foot. All I saw were regular people: jeans, button-down shirts, semi-formal wear on some of the women, a few guys in casual sports jackets. What I saw was somewhere between working class and middle class, all engaged in the mindless distraction of being expert at chance, all of them ignoring the brown men shackled behind the glass, except when a gambler got tired of gambling and suggested a kind of torture for the people on the other side of the wall.

There was escapism and indifference as far as the eye could see.

I had almost put my quest for the rich folks out of my mind when another content generator, a mustachioed guy named Bruce from Fun Time News, asked Margaret if he could use the bathroom. Margaret considered it for a moment and pointed to the nearest men's room, about a hundred feet down the casino, by the rows of slot machines -- with names like All Lives Matter: The Game and China's Tricky Trading -- ringing and dinging without stop.

Bruce took off, and I slid behind him, knowing that if Margaret caught me, I could be on the wrong end of a bouncer's fist, or his boot, or the piece he surely had tucked away somewhere. But old Margaret had her head down, trying with no luck to spark her lighter for another cigarette that hung from her bright pink lips. Bruce unknowingly escorted me away from the content generating grouping. He swung a left into the men's room and I continued forward, walking as fast as I could without looking like an escaped prisoner -- which, in a very real sense, I was.

Margaret's smoke-ravaged voice could be heard across the casino when she realized I had left my content generating grouping. She yelled something indecipherable and flagged down a bouncer standing solemnly by an ATM. He removed his sunglasses and scanned the floor until he spotted what must have been my petrified stare as I tried without a shred of success to play it cool.

The maze of slot machines would offer some place to run, but I could never hide from the behemoth now striding toward me, his face becoming grimmer by the step. I had but one choice, and even that one seemed destine to fail in a decidedly miserable way: I had to backtrack into the men's room, where Bruce had gone just moments before.

I ran into the bathroom and made a beeline for the long line of stalls, beyond the row of urinals where Bruce had camped out with a dozen other guys. I threw open a stall door, slammed it shut and slid the lock closed. I jumped on the toilet seat and tried to slow my breath and calm my heart, which slammed against my chest so hard I thought it might just burst through.

There was a commotion at the bathroom entrance as the bull entered the pee-stained china shop. The bouncer's footsteps were tremendously loud. I could hear every footfall from my spot on the toilet, even over the constant chatter of casino customers and whatever 80s hair metal song was blasting over the loud speakers. Each one of those almost cartoonish footfalls inspired new fear that flooded my imagination and sent my adrenal glands into a frenzy. What would happen to my poor, faultless face if this guy's fists were anything like his feet?

One bathroom stall door slammed. Then another. Then another. Someone I could hear but not see fled one of the stalls as the marauding bouncer moved down the line, silently terrifying the clientele.

Call it survival instinct -- maybe some sort of firing in the ancient part of my brain whose only concern is staying alive -- but with my potential executor two doors away from my stall, I reached up, managed to pry my fingers beneath the ceiling tile above my head, and yank it loose. I lunged off the toilet that had hid my feet and pulled myself, as best I could, into the space above the bathroom -- whatever was there. My spindly arms could never have pulled off the sort of lift required to get into the above opening, but there just so happened to be fifty gallons of unfiltered adrenaline flooding every inch of my body.

The banging of the bathroom stall doors continued somewhere in the distance as I scurried along the narrow corridor. The space was hot. I banished the thoughts of being in a metal coffin while I crawled further and further into a yawning blackness that, combined with the elevated temperature, felt like an empty version of Hell.

I scurried along on my hands and knees for a long while, and as the barking of the bouncer faded into nothing, a new sound emerged -- this one in front of me. Through the darkness I moved, my mind moving away from the extraordinary physical discomfort to the almost crippling curiosity about what lied ahead of me. There was laughing and screaming, music and chatter, like a half dozen kinds of parties happening on top of each other.

It was an oddly exhilarating mixture of terror and wonderment that gripped me as I fled from the casino area, with its normal people and normal scenes of folks doing what they do in a House of Distraction, toward something that at least sounded foreign, unusual, unseen.

I finally reached the end of the air vent and there sat a small grate. It came off with little effort and below was a familiar scene: another toilet in an open stall. But this bathroom was nothing like the bathroom I had left with a furious bouncer on my heels. This bathroom glowed red, with a strobe effect somewhere in the room. There was no going back. Maybe the bouncer had managed to jam his thick torso through the open vent and was on his way to turn my face into a fine paste. It was too hot to stay in the vent anyway -- my hair was matted onto my forehead and sweat dripped down my neck, onto a shirt that was soaked almost to my navel.

I told myself to stop thinking just as I dropped from the opening in the bathroom ceiling. I landed hard on the toilet seat, bounced off the stall wall, and ended up face first on the floor. I shot up, and after a deep breath and an attempt to redeem my sweat-drenched hair, I walked out of the stall and into the red glow of the room. There by the door stood a butler holding a golden trey with a pile of white, blue, and red tablets. The butler wore what appeared to be a goat mask, with two enormous rubber horns protruding from its head.

I stopped in front of the goat butler, unsure of the protocol. "What's your pleasure?" a man said from underneath the cold stare of the goat thing. I could hardly hear the baritone voice over the unearthly sound coming from behind the bathroom door. The goat-butler motioned toward the pills.

I forced what must have been a terribly awkward smile and said no, thanks.

The goat-butler straightened up and looked straight ahead. “Pleasure is but a perception,” it said.

The noise, when I slowly opened the door, consumed me. The sound invaded my senses: I could hear it and feel it and see it. I swear I could taste it, though in hindsight I can't find words to explain what I mean. It wasn't just the music -- some semblance of heavy house music and electronic notes that bombarded every part of the floor.

What I saw was as assaulting to my senses as what I heard. I was stunned, and not in some figurative sense. I couldn't move. I wouldn't have been more terrified and confused if I had been transported to an alien planet. Because what I saw that night was so deeply inhuman, inhumane, anti-human.

It was a compact area compared to the sprawling casino floor I had left minutes earlier, with a much lower ceiling, below which were about a hundred people -- all adults, most middle aged or older, with a few baby faced men and women sprinkled in. Part of the scene there in this secret room of the Trump Prison Tower and Casino was as ordinary as any highfalutin shindig anywhere elites gather to talk and drink: people clanking glasses, laughing and smiling, leaning in to hear someone's words over the raucous chatter and music.

Nothing more than moneyed folks having a good time fueled by the power of exclusivity.

Other parts of the room were less conventional. There was a bar, tucked away in the corner of the room, composed entirely of bricks of cash, stacked on top of each other underneath a clear case in the shape of a bar. Above the bar, connected to the ceiling, was a cage, and inside that cage sat an emaciated brown-skinned man with a lengthy black beard.

A woman was in the cage with him, dressed in nothing but an American flag thong. Her breasts were bare. Her wavy brown hair flowed across her naked white skin. She writhed to the electronic music that blasted from the myriad speakers wired into the room's walls. The dancing woman would break from her routine to rub the crotch of her stars-and-stripes underwear against the head of the shirtless man, who sat with his head between his legs. His body convulsed as he cried silently. The men at the bar -- there was the guy with diamond sunglasses, drinking straight from a champagne bottle -- hollered when the dancer grinded on her fellow prisoner. Her bright red lips curled into a mischievous smile as she humped the brown man, and the bar mates screamed in delight.

They high fived. They smacked the bar made of money and told the dancer that they loved her, among other things.

Next to the bar was a dense group standing around a clear tube that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The group's anticipation was palpable. I had to see what was in that tube that had attracted a throng of onlooker dressed in clothes that probably cost more than the rent I paid to live in a flat with two fellow content generators. Terrified of being spotted by any of the elites who gathered in this secret spot in the Trump Prison Tower and Casino, I lowered my head and took a few steps toward the crowd.

There, by the skinny clear tube with a vent for a floor, a bouncer donning the familiar leather jacket escorted a man dressed in rags toward a door at the front of the tube. It swung open and the man -- a grey and brown beard, hair knotted in greasy dreadlocks, the back of his long-sleeved shirt ripped from one armpit to the bottom -- entered with some trepidation. The bouncer whispered something to him and closed the door. The disheveled man, his eyes round as saucers, stared back at the beautiful people waiting, watching.

There was very suddenly money everywhere -- dollar bills being blown around the clear tube by some unseen fan, perhaps underneath the vented floor. The bills went this way and that and the onlookers let out mocking cheers as the bearded man reluctantly snatched the bills out of the air. He lazily stuffed them in his pocket and plucked a few more from in front of his face. Then the man got into the little exercise -- this lonely cash grab -- and began leaping to nab the bills that had floated well above his head. He jumped and fell to the floor, where he scooped up some of the fallen bills. His pockets stuffed to the brim with cash, the man in the tube let out a joyous laugh. It was greeted by a loud mocking cheer from his fans, who were very clearly waiting for something to happen: something beyond this silly one-person game.

My efforts to remain inconspicuous in this foreign land of elites and their behind-closed-doors games ended when the money grab ended. The man in the tube smiled and pumped his fists, clutching wads of money, when the swirling bills dropped in unison and a blinding orange flame exploded from the vent at the bottom of the tube. The crowd swayed back as one unit as the heat of the flame bathed the entire floor.

It roared for no more than three seconds, but it seemed to me, seated on the floor after falling back, that the burst of heat went on for an hour.

The fire subsided and a crispy corpse lay on its back at the bottom of the tube. The onlookers let out screams of delight, like children at a birthday party. Some pointed at the charred remains of the poor dead man and laughed until they collapsed into each other. Others screamed at the dead man. Still others smirked and moved to the bar area, off in search of another drink.

I couldn't rip my gaze away from the blackened skeletal corpse in the tube. Smoke wafted off of his midsection. His face had melted off. Head tilted, he stared off into the beyond. His fists were still balled tight, holding whatever remained of the cash he had gripped in the waning moments of his life.

That's just about when I backed into the woman in the red, sparkly dress and the spike-heels that had drilled into my foot an hour earlier at the entrance of the Trump Prison Tower and Casino. She did a double take. I could see in her dark eyes outlined with a thick layer of liner that she was drunk. They were unfocused, wandering around until they fixed on my face, as I remained firmly planted on the floor.

The lady in red yelled something incoherent and pointed at me. "He's a, he's a," she stopped and pulled in the air required to belt the words over the throbbing music, "CONTENT GENERATOR."

The music died a second later. The roaring chatter stopped. The laughing ceased. The smell of the scorched skeleton wafted by.

And then the bouncers, all four of them, rushed toward me, their faces twisted into some strange combination of panic and fury. I had no illusions that I could outrun these fiends; they were all tall with lean athletic builds, with strides to rival a racehorse. I could see one bouncer's hamstring muscles through his pants. I'm just a guy with no discernable physical prowess. I was the fourth fastest person on my own softball team in those days.

But I had to try.

I took off in the only bouncer-less direction, as two of the enforcers came from the same spot on the casino floor. I barreled through a trio of men and saw the diamond-encrusted glasses fall to the floor as their owner fell backward, grabbed a cocktail waitress in a vain attempt to stay upright, taking her down with him. Drinks flew everywhere. I was splashed with what smelled like a very good whiskey.

An old man with a handlebar mustache flexed his knees and extended his arms as I approached two blackjack tables. I couldn't dodge the would-be tackler so I ran through him -- quite easily, thanks to the terror that compelled me. The mustachioed man smashed against the edge of the blackjack table to the horrified gasps of a woman many years his junior.

I came to a door -- a door I hadn't seen before my flee to freedom -- and did not hesitate to turn its handle and barge through. I had precisely one choice, and that was it. A hand grabbed the back of my shirt before I slammed the door on the attached arm. I did not hear a scream of pain because the place I had entered was deafening with the hollering of men in a frenzy -- a primal, animalistic frenzy that I still think about, all these years later.

Twenty, maybe twenty-five men, dressed as gorgeously as those in the adjacent room, stood on a balcony. Twenty feet below the crazed mob was a metal table with a man strapped to it, his arms and legs pulled taught by leather straps connected to each corner of the table. One look at the man, now stripped down to a tight pair of white underwear, told me I had seen him before. It was the man who had been hauled off from the main casino floor. I had interviewed the man -- good old well-meaning Oliver -- who had pushed the button that summoned someone to take this prisoner into an unseen room.

The mob of men leaning across and over each other, trying like hell to get a good look at the festivities below, seemed to be betting on what was about to transpire. I'm not sure what exactly they wagered on, but their monkey-like gesticulation and the way they clutched hundred dollar bills and waved their cash at each other told me they were deadly serious about what was coming.

"Waterboard his ass!" one man screeched over the others.

"Fry him!" another one yelled. "Give him the juice!"

It was dark in that room. I remember three or four floodlights pointing down at the prisoner on the table, but the faces of the men on the balcony were darkened, invisible, anonymous -- as if they could've been any one of us. That struck me right in what I can only describe as a slow motion moment, with a group of rage-filled beasts on my heels, seemingly trapped with nowhere to go. The balcony bellowers swayed as one, furious and aroused and intoxicated on the prospect of human suffering. That was their drug and they were stoned.

I was reintroduced to real time with a swift fist to the cheekbone. It felt as if my brain rattled inside my skull when that enormous hand of a bouncer swung and smashed into my face. The bouncer grabbed for me -- my arm, and once that slipped, my hand -- but it was too late. The momentum from his punch sent me reeling toward the edge of the balcony. My hand and fingers slipped through his grip and off I went, over the rail of the balcony and hurdling toward the floor below.

I had a distinct thought, while tumbling through the air of that tucked-away torture chamber in the Trump Prison Tower and Casino, that I should protect my head at all costs. But there was the ground, as unforgiving as it ever was. And there was a crack, somewhere near my left shoulder, which took the brunt of the fall.

The drive to survive is a hell of a drug, so I was up in an instant, frantically scanning the area for a way out. The balcony crowd was back at it, screaming with neck veins bulging and fists shaking toward the interloper in their presence.

A door slid open, somewhere in the round room. I jumped this way and that, looking for the source of the sound, which I could hardly hear over the finely-dressed animals twenty feet above me.

"Kill him!" two voices from the balcony screamed in unison.

It's not often that someone in immediate danger can look ahead and see the potential punishment for his misdeeds. But there I was, frozen in place, looking at a frail brown-skinned man stretched out on a shining metal table. He looked at me too. Our eyes met with an instant, and I'm sure he saw in mine the panic and fear he once had, whenever he had been black bagged at whichever camp he was held in, or while hiding from the roving federal agents who blended so seamlessly into society.

In his eyes I saw surrender, despair, and concession. The prisoner was powerless, at the whims of the powerful: the powers that committed the torture, and the powers that cheered while it happened, who wagered on what sort of misery he would experience. That poor man surely knew that one power could not exist without the other.

But back to the door: my only way out. I held my throbbing left arm in place - something broken jostled around - and rushed the opening. The two men standing there, dressed in military fatigues with the familiar red-and-black T patch on their chests, reached for the weapons on their hips. I attacked one over the other, and I suppose I picked the one with eyeglasses because they made him look weak and vulnerable. He was a good bit shorter than the other one too.

I tackled the bespectacled soldier and without a thought, bit his neck as hard as I could. I tasted blood. The man screamed just as the mob on the balcony quieted. The other soldier fired a shot, then another. One bullet sunk into his partner's chest. The other grazed my already damaged left arm and drilled deep into the soldier's hip. He yelped again as I rolled off of him and scrambled through the sliding door.

That's how I remember it, anyway.

To say that the rest was a blur would give too much credit to the clarity of a blur. I felt blinded by pain and fear. I knew what happens to content generators who violate principles of the New First Amendment. My crimes would offer no chance at life in prison. A far more terrible fate awaited me if I were tracked down by the security forces scrambling to find me inside the Trump Prison Tower and Casino.

I ran. I pushed through people. I believe I hurdled a craps table. My head on a swivel, I smashed into a slot machine with the USSR hammer and sickle blinking furiously. I may have seen our tour guide, old Margaret, in the corner of my eye as I sprinted through the main casino floor. People screamed. People threw cups and food and poker chips at me. An alarm sounded somewhere.

My next memory - one I'm sure of, anyway - was of passing in and out of consciousness in an alleyway a few blocks from the Trump Prison Tower and Casino. The adrenaline pumping through my veins had run its course and I was left to deal with the resulting hangover and the agony of a broken arm gushing blood from the graze of a point-blank bullet. I could hardly lift my chin off my chest. I was drenched and sweat. I shuddered with every gust of a bitter autumn breeze.

I could hear the echoes of alarms screaming from outside the sprawling casino. The occasional siren woke me from my drifting. A police car with its sirens blazing ripped past the alley and toward the casino. Then another. Then another.

I suppose I succumbed and drifted off from the combination of exhaustion and blood loss. I was awoken with a jostle of my shattered arm. I figured this was the end. They had found me and I was as good as dead.

But no, it was a man wearing a faded orange Baltimore Orioles hat and dressed in layers of filthy clothes. He offered me a mostly toothless smile. Beside him stood an equally unkempt lady, probably much younger than she looked. Her face was dirty and she wore stained grey sweatpants tucked into mismatched shoes: one laceless brown boot and one white sneaker. She smiled too, lips pursed.

"You need some help?" the man said, tugging at the thick brown coat draped atop his layers.

I shook my head and broke eye contact. The woman held out a half empty bottle of water. I felt bad taking her offer, knowing that bottled water was a luxury outside of the most well-to-do cities and towns. But I drank greedily from the bottle until nothing was left.

The man stepped away from us and peaked around the corner of the building on which I leaned, squinting to see the Trump Prison Tower and Casino through a thickening night fog.

He removed his orange hat and scratched his bald head. "Sure hope nothing too bad happened at the casino tonight."

"Oh, lord. Me too," the woman said. "The president would be so upset." She shook her head and gave me a look of distress.

"God damn right," the man said. "I voted for that man twice."

Her grimace transformed into a grin. "And I'd do it again."

"Damn straight."

I steadied myself against the wall and walked away, into the blackness of the dank alley. It was so dark, and darker with every step. But there was nowhere else I could go, so I walked, until it was full dark.

*From the American Empire Museum archives.

***Special Guest C.D. Carter with a not-so-short story***

[meanderingthoughts]

'Twas the night before Halloween...

...when all through the house not a creature was stirring except for a ghost'

It's the time of the year when ghouls and ghost wander the streets along with lots of hungry children dressed in bin bags masquerading as a witch cape (true story of a Halloween outfit I wore)

Have you ever been interested in the paranormal or do you hide behind the cushion at every unoriginal jump scene in a scary movie? In my last blog I described myself as someone who wants to believe but is also very sceptical. I've been lucky to visit a few of the UKs scariest locations, here's my run down of some of my unexplained moments along with some other locations you might want to check out...if you dare.                                       The Tower of London

It's hard to avoid this imposing historical building set alongside the Thames in London. The earliest part of the Tower dates back to 1078 and over the years have seen many an execution and an end to many a life. Some of the most famous ghostly occupants include Anne Boleyn, Lady Jane Grey and the Princes whose tragic tale ends with the supposed murder of two young princes. I've visited the Tower and didn't experience anything unusual but I wouldn't like to be locked up here at night like many of it's past occupants.

                                          Edinburgh Vaults

Edinburgh is one of the most gothic cities I've had the pleasure of visiting, it's history is dark and it is home to several places I would recommend any would be ghost hunter. One of the must do's is the Edinburgh vaults, it is split into several different parts, I took a tour with Mercat tours to explore this dark, damp underworld. It is made up of chambers below the arches of a bridge In the 18th century. It soon became a home to the poor, illegal activities and supposedly a spot for the infamous Burke and Hare, the body snatchers. Ghost walks run regularly and you can understand why when you delve into this dark world with the most famous resident 'Mr Boots'. Whilst I was visiting down there I was part of a large group that stopped for a talk. Whilst everyone was still and engrossed in the talk I heard definite footsteps behind me where there was no one! A few people in front of me turned around at the same time, did we hear the footsteps of Mr Boots?                                             Bodmin jail

Set in the town of Bodmin in Cornwall lies the gothic ruins of the 18th century jail. As you walk around the cold dark building its displays tell of executions and prisoners of the past. The execution pit you can see outside of the jail where over 50 people met their end by hanging after committing some heinous crimes. Whilst in one exhibit I felt something pull my hair not once but twice! I checked for cobwebs and any other evidence but I couldn't find anything. Was this the disturbed spirit of the young prisoner? I wouldn't visit here on my own. Bodmin moor is also close by which provides plenty of myths and legends as well as the famous beast of Bodmin.                                         Other places to visit...

Edinburgh Greyfriars Kirkyard: This most gothic of cemeteries lies in historic Edinburgh. Carvings of skulls and bones scatter the graves and bars prevent the 'resurrectionist' (exhumation of bodies for scientific use) of the past. The most famous spook being the Mackenzie poltergeist. Also Harry Potter fans should check out many of the graves that provided JK Rowling for names. Edinburgh Mary King Close: A very historical but eerie place to visit. This 17th century close is located under Royal mile and is also very close to the vaults. It was covered over during the building of the Royal Exchange above. It's said the a possible 300 were left to die here when it was bricked up during the plague. Tales of hauntings are abound including that of a young girl in which visitors are welcome to leave presents for her. This particular room was very cold. Is she still there?

Ancient Ram Inn: This 12th century Inn resides in Wotton-under-Edge in Gloucestershire. Many a ghost hunter have come here to discover why it is dubbed one of the UK's most haunted locations. It is certainly a creepy and atmospheric building. It is open to ghost hunts and occasionally is opened for open days.

Have you ever had a ghostly experience or visited any of these locations?

Happy Halloween!

Vicky // Meandering thoughts

Find me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/MeanderingVicky and Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/_meanderingthoughts_/

[vickeyeppunitarj42insurance-blog]

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[bestfriendforhire]

Children of BFFH, Entry 2

 "Messy, are you guarding the flag?" asked Four, gazing at me too seriously.  He tried too hard to be like the Boss, but I appreciated that he always asked.

 The Boss, also known as James Michael Somerset III, was owner and CEO of the largest company in the universe.  Even Mom listens to him, despite being perfectly capable of doing whatever she felt like, whether spontaneously creating a galaxy or destroying one.  She was far older than the Boss, despite looking younger than me.  He, of course, was easily over a thousand years old already, spending months at a time away on business and returning within an hour due to time travel.  Most didn't know, since no one who knew was allowed to say.  The Boss didn't like thinking about his age.

 He was more of a father to me than he was my Mom's "boss", and also the only person in the universe allowed to hurt me if he wished.  Thankfully, he was very kind, even when I accidentally killed a few people.  He ordered Mom to give them life again, which she did with a big grin.  My Mom was Death herself, so no one could really force her into anything.  

 I had tried complaining to the Boss the first time Mom used me to kill someone.  She had shot a gun at me when I was barely three, knowing precisely where I'd deflect the bullet.  The man who died turned out to have been a target for assassination.  When I asked why Death did such work, she claimed that she did it so no one else would.  The Boss didn't argue the point when I complained, though he did his best to comfort me while explaining that most people had a set time to die on this planet.

 Not long after, I was taken for the second time to see the Lilly Slayer, a goddess who would be born years from now.  She was the one responsible for this world’s immutable future and assured me that possibilities opened up once more after her ascension, allowing for an infinite number of alternate Earths.  Supposedly, she was something more similar to Auntie Raine at one point.

 Auntie Raine wasn't related to any of us by blood, but she was a very important part of our family.  Right now, I could sense her in the form of a kitten sleeping next to the house.  She didn't have to be anywhere near us to protect us, but she often was.  If, for example, Aid lost his temper and started reducing someone to ash, Auntie Raine could casually absorb his power while healing the injured, all within a fragment of a second too tiny for me to witness, and I could move very quickly by human standards.

 Out of the children, I was the strongest, and I would continue to grow for thousands of years according to Mom.  She could have made me strong enough to destroy this universe at birth, but she wanted me to have friends and grow with them.   Apparently, I would have had much more difficulty relating to others with more raw power at birth.  Of course, Mom lied frequently.  Well, “misled” might be more correct.  Either way, she enjoyed messing with everyone.

 Nodding to Four at a very human speed, I said, "Sure."

 Being me already made winning too inevitable if I was on the offensive and using all of my abilities, so there was a silent agreement early in our battles that I would defend and purposely constrain myself, shutting out some of my awareness and mainly acting physically against aggressors.

 Nodding, he said, "Okay, team.  We're up against Crazy today, so be safe.  None of us are likely to guess her plan, so we're going for caution over aggression.  The other fortress is likely to change continuously, so Aid might not catch a violation of the rules.  Watch out for those explosive fruits she likes, tell us immediately if you're not feeling well, and be ready for the ground to give way to a dangerously long fall.  I'm sure Doc will try reasoning with her, but there's never better than a fifty-fifty chance that Crazy will listen."

 Crazy was my niece, technically, though she felt more like a cousin, being three years younger than me.  As a granddaughter of Death, she was incredibly dangerous by the standards of most, especially since she was completely ruthless.  To Crazy, Auntie Raine's protection meant that anything should go.  She didn't see why most of the group protested pain.  I wished she’d grow tired of the Boss’ lectures, but everyone wanted to be around him when he wasn’t angry.  Even she wasn’t crazy enough to push him that far again.

 "Aiko, do your best to slow Aid if he attacks.  I do want you on a cannon as Messy suggested.  If you can mask the body heat of our defending team, that'd be fantastic." stated Four, patting her shoulder.  "Maimo, I want you on the offensive.  Counter Stormcrow if we run into him.  Remember to adjust your voltage to stun.  We have Deo, so you don't have to worry too much about hitting the wrong person, but watch out for illusions.  After Messy makes our flag, I'm going to mask it on the North tower.  Deo, mind showing us your best Crazy impression?”

 “As long you protect me if she gets mad!" he replied, looking nervous.

 Four smiled and assured him "I will.  I want you on defense as well, messing with our opponents.  We're going to use an illusion over a staff to make it look like our own flag.  Hopefully, you'll be able to run their team away from our base.  Just allow them to tag you out if Aid or Crazy catch on."  Turning to his sister, Four said, “Luce, watch my back if we get Aid and Crazy on us at once.  Given that snowballs are the ‘kill shot’ of this battle, I’ll be counting on you to keep us dry.  Even one hit, and we’re out.  Also, remember the signal for our fallback strategy.”

 She nodded, smiling as she said, “Easy.”

 Creating an actual second flag would violate our rules of engagement, not that Crazy would care, but an illusion cast by any of us was worthless against Aid, requiring far more precision to match the cloth’s heat with the breeze than any of us could manage.  I did create an outfit to match Crazy's for Deo as well as the real flag and a staff for the fake.

 “Ella, you’re with me on offense.  While Maimo, Luce, and I brazenly attack their front gate, I want you to take control of anyone who comes to stop us.  Did you bring your glasses?" questioned Four.

 She nodded and started checking her pockets, finding them in the front left.  Uncle Jarod and Sis made these, so Sis could provide Ella with information across the lenses on the fly.  Without them, Ella was likely to forget who was on her team as well as what we're doing.

 Looking to each of us, Four said, "Remember that Crazy will be aware of your position whenever you are on the ground, and Aid will always know if his magic isn’t blocked.  Let's hope they're on defense, so I might get them to slip up.  If Ella captures either of them, we win."

 "Are you sure Crazy won't just get more unhinged if you capture Aid?" I questioned, imagining her laughing maniacally.

 "Fair point.  Ella, capture Crazy first if you get a chance.  We can do this!" insisted Four enthusiastically.

 Despite my worries over having to fight Aid and Crazy at the same time, I couldn't resist Four's charm, magical as it was, so I soon found myself smiling.  With Dea—our name for Deo when he became a she—prepared and our plans set, Four triggered our end of the timer.  The Boss had created this magical countdown for Four and I when we were two.  More than anyone, he had taught us to play according to rules and stood as the final arbiter if we couldn’t agree on potential violations.  When both ends of the timer were triggered, we would have thirty seconds until the battle began.

[stevejehovahbible]

Chapter 4: Concerning the Tower of Babylon, and the confusion of Tongues. by: Flavius Josephus

Now the sons of Noah were three, Shem and Japhet, and Ham, born one hundred years before the deluge. These first of all descended from the mountains into the plains, and fixed their habitation there; and persuaded others, who were greatly afraid of the lower grounds on account of the flood, and so were very loth to come down from the higher places, to venture to follow their examples. What “Others”? We’re talking about a mere 2 generations removed from EVERYONE being dead. The only people alive who would remember the flood would also have (supposedly) heard God directly promise not to wipe out the inhabitants of the earth. So why would the be afraid?  

Now the plain, in which they first dwelt, was called Shinar. God also commanded them to send colonies abroad, for the through peopling of the earth; that they might not raise seditions among themselves, but might cultivate a great part of the earth, and enjoy its fruits after a plentiful manner.  Again… 2 generations. That’s it. Lets say that the three sons of Noah each had 50 children and those 150 children all paired up and each pair had ANOTHER 50 children… just for the sake of showing how utterly ridiculous this is! We still have a worldwide population of under 4000 people. And that’s assuming no one has died. More realistically, we’d be talking about a population that barely reached into triple digits, and God is supposedly telling them send out colonies? And why is it important to God that these people spread out? Why would He care if they chose to hang around one area?    

But they were so ill instructed, that they did not obey God. For which reason they fell into calamities, and were made sensible by experience of what sin they had been guilty of. For when they flourished with a numerous youth, God admonished them again to send out colonies. But they imagining the prosperity they enjoyed was not derived from the favor of God, but supposing that their own power was the proper cause of the plentiful condition they were in, did not obey him. God JUST killed everyone and everything on earth, and people are ALREADY ignoring him? This makes it sound like He is PHYSICALLY speaking to them as a group, and for some reason they are choosing to ignore a Cosmic Superbeing that had very recently displayed His ability to punish people en masse if they displeased Him. Does that make any sense? No it does not.  

Nay, they added to this their disobedience to the Divine Will: the suspicion that they were therefore ordered to send out separate colonies, that, being divided asunder, they might the more easily be oppressed. So, they are willfully defying this Supreme Being because they believe that spreading out will make them easier to oppress? And I guess the idea is that if all of them band together in one area, they would be able to defy God? It's making them sound like a bunch of disgruntled employees forming a union to combat unfair working practices. Like god is just a bad manager.  

Now it was Nimrod who excited them to such an affront and contempt of God. He was the grand-son of Ham, the son of Noah: a bold man, and of great strength of hand. He persuaded them not to ascribe it to God, as if it was through His means that they were happy; but to believe that it was their own courage which procured that happiness. He also gradually changed the government into tyranny; seeing no other way of turning men from the fear of God, but to bring them into a constant dependence on his own power. He also said, “He would be revenged on God, if He should have a mind to drown the world again: for that he would build a Tower too high for the waters to be able to reach; and that he would avenge himself on God for destroying their fore-fathers.” This is two contradictory ideas blended together as if they’re compatible. If Nimrod is trying to get the people to trust in their own power, making them dependent on him is counterproductive. This is one of those strawman assertions that we see thrown about by believers in reference to atheists: That they don’t want to worship God because they just want to supplant Him. Although they hate God, they want to BE their own God. I think we should start referring to this as the Nimrod Fallacy. It makes no sense. If Nimrod actually believed that mankind were the masters of their own fate, that God had no hand in it, then he wouldn’t be able to be angry at God for destroying the world. You can’t assert that God has no influence in the world, AND simultaneously that He’s had a negative influence. either God is responsible, or he isn’t. We’ve also got a few issues with the details here. Remember, the mountains were supposedly covered. So they think they're going to make a tower that reaches over 17000 feet? Currently, the world's tallest artificial structure is the 2,722 ft tall Burj Khalifa in Dubai. The building gained the official title of "Tallest Building in the World" and the tallest self supported structure at its opening on January 9, 2010. So they were going to build a structure 6 and a half times the size of the tallest building on earth, as a small tribe of a few hundred people, using bricks and slime? Suuuuuuuuure….  And if they believe in God, and the story of the flood has been handed down to them, then they should also know that God promised NOT to flood the earth again. So this entire task seems unnecessary. And how exactly would building this impossible tower “avenge” them on God? Are they going to climb it, waltz into heaven, and deliver a beatdown to a metaphysical being? None of this makes even a smidgen of sense.      

Now the multitude were very ready to follow the determination of Nimrod, and to esteem it a piece of cowardice to submit to God: and they built a Tower; neither sparing any pains, nor being in any degree negligent about the work. And, by reason of the multitude of hands employed in it, it grew very high, sooner than any one could expect. But the thickness of it was so great, and it was so strongly built, that thereby its great height seemed, upon the view, to be less than it really was. What?!? firstly, There’s not a “multitude of hands” here. That’s not possible. This is Noah’s grandson, remember. I’m also pretty sure that things being very thick and “strongly built” dosn’t make them look noticeably shorter. You’re just saying that as if it’s a thing, and it’s not. “That tower was totally like 12000ft high. We were almost up to the mountain tops where we could use the secret hatch in the clouds to get into heaven and punch God in his stupid face for drowning everyone. Really. But the tower was thick, so it only looked like about 600ft. You know how that goes, ammiright?”  

It was built of burnt brick, cemented together with morter, made of bitumen; that it might not be liable to admit water. When God saw that they acted so madly, he did not resolve to destroy them utterly; since they were not grown wiser by the destruction of the former sinners: but he caused a tumult among them, by producing in them diverse languages; and causing, that through the multitude of those languages, they should not be able to understand one another. When God saw how CRAZY they were... building a tower, which i guess is right next to writing on the walls with your own feces in crazyville... He messes with their minds and causes them to speak differently. Because that’s still the best thing He can come up with.    The place wherein they built the Tower is now called Babylon: because of the confusion of that language which they readily understood before: for the Hebrews mean by the word Babel, Confusion. The Sibyll also makes mention of this tower, and of the confusion of the language when she says thus: “When all men were of one language, some of them built an high tower, as if they would thereby ascend up to heaven. But the Gods sent storms of wind, and overthrew the tower, and gave every one his peculiar language. And for this reason it was that the city was called Babylon.” But as to the plain of Shinar, in the country of Babylonia, Hestiæus mentions it, when he says thus, “Such of the Priests as were saved took the sacred vessels of Jupiter Enyalius, and came to Shinar of Babylonia.” In heathen antiquity, the Sibyl was a prophetess whose oracles concerned the destinies of cities and nations. In the Jewish Sibylline books, the religion of Israel is presented as a hope and a threat; a menace to those who refuse to follow the better life, a promise of salvation to those who repent. In a book known as the Fourth Book of the Sibylline Oracles, the Sibyl, in the guise of a prophetess, tells of the doom of those who resist the will of the one true God, praises the God of Israel, and holds out a beautiful prospect to the faithful. So his source here is a fortune teller. Seems legit.