#the enemy below

[emptymanuscript]

I am watching The Enemy Below (1957)

And I'm wondering if it was a direct influence on Balance of Terror.

And trying to look up the name of the Romulan Commander played by Mark Lenard, to compare him to the Nazi U-Boat commander, apparently it was one of the direct inspirations for Balance of Terror.

I was all ready to talk about a trope of disaffected enemy commanders and, nope, this is the same guy XD

[formulanni]

Charles Leclerc as The Magician (redraw):

The Magician is interpreted with energy, potential, and the manifestation of one’s desires; the card symbolizes the meetings of the physical and spiritual worlds (“as above, so below”) and the conduit converting spiritual energy into real-world action.

(When the Magician appears in a spread, it points to the talents, capabilities and resources at the querent’s disposal to succeed. The message is to tap into one’s full potential rather than holding back, especially when there is a need to transform something.)

Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo @ch3rubd0lls

[pflanzidiezimmerpflanze]

late to the party but showed up nonetheless

[obscurevideogames]

Blaster Master: Enemy Below (Sunsoft - Game Boy - 2000)

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

Story Idea:

22 year old Gotham University student Danny finds a Damien clone whose near death and saves his life, offering to let the kid stay with him in his crappy apartment. The clone accepts, thinking Danny seems like a tolerable chump to bide his time with as he builds his strength for another fight with his progenitor for his rightful place as heir to Batman. Danny absolutely 100% knows the kid’s a clone and that taps right into his childhood trauma, making him want to protect him all the more. (Up to you if Dani is alive but in my version she’s not). Over time, Clone!Damien becomes begrudgingly fond of his new caretaker, especially after Danny starts taking him on Doctor Who style adventures through time/space and the tamer parts of the GZ (there are none) as part of his efforts to build up the kid’s confidence (outside his overcompensating ego) and help him learn to grow into his own person.

Bonus!

Danny and Clone!Damien are the downstairs neighbors to none other than Jason Peters (aka Jason Todd). They both clock him as Red Hood pretty quickly, but it takes much longer for them to connect him to the Waynes, so he’s kinda just their marginally more normal neighbor who happens to be a crime lord and who, for some reason, tends to check up on them a lot. (Originally this was because RH thought Danny might be an upcoming villain, then because he didn’t understand how Danny was alive, and then Clone!Damien moved in and he started checking to make sure that he didn’t murder Danny in his sleep). Luckily, Jason is a fantastic cook, so they are both grateful (to varying degrees) for his nosiness. (Is this a Dead on Main situation, are they just good friends? Who’s to say? You. Or me. But probably you.)

[busnautica]

hhreugh

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 3

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: A huge THANK YOU to everyone who's following and commenting/giving me feedback on this story so far! It's so encouraging for me and I really do appreciate you all. 💖

Word Count: 2,500 Warnings: Angst, violence.  

Part 3: Somewhere Down Below

“Hey, Tony,” you nicknamed your kidnapper. You knew he was the one who attacked you, as you now saw the reason for one of his boots being larger than the other. 

He really did have a broken foot from when you all but stabbed it with your heel a couple of weeks ago.

“How’s the foot?” you teased. 

“Shut up,” he hissed. 

Aw, where’s that charming smile? you thought in grim amusement.

“Hey,” Soldier Boy snapped at him. “Focus. Did I order this?”

“Sir…” Tony said, shifting on his feet.

“What were my words?” Soldier Boy asked, enunciating each and every syllable. Tony looked nervous, though of course he tried not to show it. Soldier Boy was dressed like a wealthy dad on vacation—in a buttoned-down blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, and beige slacks. 

But there was no mistaking the strength in his build, or the threat in his crossed arms and stern expression. 

“To…make sure you weren’t followed,” Tony said. “And to take care of Butcher’s team.”

“Did you do that?”

“My guys found their hotel, yes…but Butcher managed to slip away.”

You smiled at that. Soldier Boy noticed, and he was not pleased. 

“Just him?” he asked. 

“With his team,” Tony admitted. “Except for this one. I thought we could question her.”

Soldier Boy looked at you then. “Okay. Let’s start with that.”

He leaned forward into your space, resting an elbow on his knee. You regarded him with a tilt of your head, trying to hide your wariness.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked. You wanted to say that, first of all, you weren’t his sweetheart. But you decided that question was simple enough. You gave him your first name.

Soldier Boy considered it, and he nodded. 

“Do you know where your friends went?”

“Well, considering I was taken from my room with a musty bag over my head—which smelled like a Frenchman’s asshole, by the way—I’d have to say no,” you replied. 

And you’d spent the past four months helping M.M. clean up after Frenchie and Butcher, so you knew exactly what flavor of grunge that was. 

Soldier Boy’s lips twitched upwards.

“See, that’s what I thought,” he said. He glanced back at Tony with a certain look. One that actually made you nervous for your kidnapper. He was a criminal, and a handsy dick, but you didn’t want to see anyone die in front of you. 

Soldier Boy stood, and Tony tensed up. 

“They’re working with the CIA. They’ll have safe houses lined up,” said another groupie in the Soldier Boy club. You recognized him as well. This was the crew-cut Hispanic man who’d escorted you up to Soldier Boy’s room at the gentleman’s club.

Soldier Boy looked over at him and considered this with a nod. He stepped back while Tony approached you. You took a breath to try and steady yourself. 

It begins. If you were going to take a hit, you preferred it be from Tony’s pansy ass.

Don’t let him in. Don’t let him see that you’re afraid.  

“How about it, doll?” Soldier Boy asked. “Who’s your controller at the CIA?”

“Grace Mallory,” you revealed, with only a small twinge of guilt. Grace could take care of herself, and you were a P.I., not a fucking spy. “I believe you’ve met before.”

It took a moment for Soldier Boy to remember the name, but you watched the realization alight in his eyes. 

“Ah, the lesbo. Damn, she must be an old fucking bag by now,” Soldier Boy mused with a grin. “She give you a list of safe houses here?”

“No. We’d check in after crossing a location off our list, and she’d send us the itinerary,” you said. And that was the truth. He looked into your eyes, and eventually he nodded. He seemed to believe you. 

“Okay, let’s try this. If you had to guess, where would Butcher and his merry band of assholes go to regroup?” he asked. 

“I honestly don’t know … but what does it matter? They don’t know where you are,” you replied. “Most of them are just human, like me.”

You watched Soldier Boy’s reaction carefully. He didn’t seem to outwardly react, other than a fractional tightening of his jaw. 

“After what you did in New York, blowing up that building. Taking out your whole damn team. Killing Homelander. I thought you’d be swatting us like flies,” you said with a breathy laugh. 

Because really, you didn’t expect to live much longer than the next few minutes. Maybe talking could extend your life just a bit longer… 

Tears welled up in your eyes when you thought of your family though. Your mom. Your sister, Luisa. They’d probably never know exactly what happened to you. But you counted that as a small blessing.

“But then again, Butcher and his guys almost put you back under,” you added. 

Soldier Boy had been almost amused by your audacity, but now his expression tightened. His arms crossed as he rose a brow. 

“And you ran away. You’re still running away,” you said. “Why? Are we just not worth your time? Or are you actually worried we might just outsmart you?”

The hit actually took you by surprise, because it didn’t come from Soldier Boy. It was Tony who backhanded you roughly. He wore a gaudy ring that bit into your cheek, opening a bloody nick in your skin. The blow itself was hard enough to make stars burst behind your eyes.

Stronger than he looks, you could admit, just to yourself.

“You’re a fucking mouthy one, aren’t you?” Soldier Boy mused.  

You licked your dry, lipstick-smudged lips and caught your breath. Your wrists were burning from the zip tie holding them behind the chair, making your shoulders ache as well. Your cheek was throbbing. 

But you looked up, ignoring Tony, and stared directly into the green in Soldier Boy’s eyes. It was a challenge that he met.

“You really believe you fuckers can win, don’t you?” he asked. Your lips quirked, even as a tear rolled its way down your bloody cheek. 

Right now, you weren’t sure of anything. But you believed in your friends—in Annie and Hughie, M.M., Frenchie, Kimiko, and yes, even Butcher. They’d almost done it before. They could get it right the next time, even if it was without you. 

“Yeah, I really fucking do,” you replied. Then you aimed a wry glance at Tony. “By the look of your little backup dancers here, I’d say it’s a matter of time before they put you back in the box.”

Tony’s ring bit into your cheek again, this time in a closed fist. You tumbled over with a pained cry, still tied to your chair, but one of the old wooden legs broke. It was an antique, after all. 

When your head smacked against the tile floor, the lights above you got hazy for a moment. You tried to blink them back into focus as you stared up at the ceiling. 

The truth was, you were exhausted. If you were going to die…you’d really just like to get it over with. 

So as you struggled for breath, your gaze wandered and met Soldier Boy’s again.   

You couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking, but you were sure that your end was coming when his arms uncrossed, his posture tightening. Unlike his friends, he didn’t have any guns on him at the moment. You knew very well that he didn’t need weapons.

But he held a hand against Tony, and he called to the Crew-Cut guy.  

“Frank, get her a room,” he said. “Watch her though. She’s a wily one.”

You blinked in confusion as Frank nodded. He and Tony pulled you up from the ground and untied you from the chair’s remains, but soon their meaty man hands wrapped around your arms. 

Soldier Boy started to walk away from you. You knew you should just leave it be, but you couldn’t help it. 

“I’m staying?” you asked. Soldier Boy paused. He looked back at you over his shoulder.

“Oh, you’re staying.” He nodded, with a smirk you decided you didn’t like very much. “For now.”

You were led to a room with a queen-sized bed and the basics in furnishings: a desk, a TV, a closet, one nightstand, and a small two-seat table. Tony pushed you in, and the door slammed shut behind you. 

Rude. But you supposed it could be worse. You looked yourself over in the mirror, and you were pretty ragged. Bruised and bleeding, your hair a virtual rat’s nest, your eye makeup dark and running, your lipstick smudged, your dress in tatters, with the split in the skirt still revealing your entire left thigh and dirty bare feet. 

Heaving a deep sigh, you returned to the door and weren’t surprised to find it locked. But you knew someone must be there on the other side to make sure you didn’t try anything.

“Hey, geniuses,” you called. “Got any sweatpants out there? A hairbrush? A toothbrush? Some bread or something? If you’re gonna have a fucking hostage, might as well make sure I stay alive.” 

For a while, there was silence. But eventually the door opened, revealing Frank. He was tall and stoic, and like you remembered, with cropped dark hair and a thick beard and mustache. He handed you a plate with two slices of dry bread, and nothing else. You raised a brow at him.  

All he said was, “Check the dresser.”   

Then the door shut in your face again. You looked down at the sorry plate. 

Could’ve at least slapped some butter on it. Goddamn. 

You ate it anyway though; now that you weren’t about to die, you were starving. But you did as Frank instructed and indeed checked the dresser. There were some men’s clothes in one of the drawers, but not much. This had to be a guest room of some kind. 

You opened the rest of the drawers and managed to find women’s lingerie, of all things. 

Definitely a party mansion, you decided. The vacation home of one of Soldier Boy’s old connections, you guessed. 

One culprit could be the Legend. He was Vought’s former Senior Vice President of Hero Management, before Madelyn Stillwell. Butcher had mentioned that he’d stowed Soldier Boy in one of the Legend’s penthouses before.

In the drawers you finally managed to find some women’s jeans, a few tops, panties, and quite a few skanky dresses. They looked old though, like they hadn’t been washed in years. And likely from the 80s, if the gaudy frills and funky patterns were any indication. 

Who knew how long ago these drawers had been stocked and left untouched. And God knew if they were even your size, but you supposed you’d find out. 

In the bathroom, you also discovered a first aid kit and a spare towel, along with soap, shampoo, conditioner, and host of other toiletries. This is like a damn hotel, actually.

Except for the whole being a prisoner thing. Again, you supposed it was better than the alternative. 

After you’d showered and dressed in a shirt and the only pair of shorts you found (the clothes were too tight, probably meant for some supermodel, but you’d manage), patched yourself up the best you could, and tamed your wild hair, you at least felt like a human again.

You didn’t know what time it was, as your room didn’t have a window. But you did have a bed, and it was calling you. You slipped under the covers and let out a long breath. 

So many scenes from earlier today played and replayed through your mind. All the “what ifs.” If you’d been more successful with Soldier Boy back at the club. 

If you’d stayed more alert in your hotel room. If you’d managed to call out to Annie or M.M. or Butcher or any one of your team, could they have stopped you from being kidnapped? All of them had been attacked as well. 

But clearly, if you were the only one captured, then you were the least of all of them. 

That thought made you shudder, your eyes burning with tears. You had also given up today. When you’d continued mouthing off to Soldier Boy, you’d succumbed to your seemingly inevitable fate, already given up on your life. 

You felt guilty about that when you thought about your sister. If there was one thing the two of you had learned from your fucked childhoods, it was that giving up wasn’t an option. 

You had spent most of your life fighting. Fighting so she could have a good future.

“I wish you’d start protecting yourself,” she’d told you. One of the last things she’d ever told you.

So…you decided that from this moment onward, you were going to fight. 

For your life, and for your freedom, no matter what Soldier Boy wanted with you. 

“He’s in the wind,” said Butcher. “Might be time to regroup.”

He leaned on a chair, like it was getting hard for him to stand, and coughed into his arm. Hughie watched him in both curiosity and concern. Was he getting sick or something? 

“We’re not just leaving her out there,” Annie snapped. “We’re finding her now.”

Hughie knew that look on his girlfriend’s face. No matter what Butcher said, you were a priority. You had become her friend, and she was not leaving you with a sick fuck like Soldier Boy.

“I hate to tell you this,” Butcher said dryly, “but it ain’t likely that she’s still breathing.” 

That fell between the entire team with a heavy silence. 

Until Hughie spoke, calm but determined. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We don’t just leave our friends without trying.”

And by now, he could call you a friend. Annie certainly agreed.

After sharing a look with Kimiko, who smiled and nodded, and then M.M., Frenchie grinned. “I agree with Petit Hughie.”

He slapped the younger man on the back, though Hughie shot him a wan look. 

“Can you stop calling me that?”

Butcher looked to M.M., who crossed his arms and nodded back. 

“Can’t leave a man behind. Besides, if we find her, we probably find Soldier Boy.”

After a moment, Butcher shrugged. 

“All right. Let’s hunt down the old fuck. Again.”

AN: "Welcome to the Hotel California! Such a lovely place, such a lovely face." 😅

Next time, she tests her limitations:

It was Soldier Boy, of course. He was looking down at you, not sure if he should be stern or amused. 

“What a naughty little girl,” he drawled. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t mind your fucking manners.” 

Keep Reading: PART 4

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @waters-2567 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow @buckybarnes-1917 @secretdreamlandmentality @asgardprincess97

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.

[mikeandabbyau]

THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[computerboyboobs]

heavens brightest angel

[rbs>likes, click for quality]

alt versions:

sketch

[virtue-boy]

Went on a transandrophobia truther blog and instantly saw this ..

1) love the slight of hand where he says "being trans" instead of actually identifying any positionality or god forbid mentioning WOMANHOOD as a type of positionality in his post which allows him to call trans women men and completely disregard the experience of the closested trans WOMAN. Telling that your argument hinges on "after transitioning to a man I am exactly the same as a woman undercover as a man"

2) just say you're not on T and you don't know anyone who is. Like as someone who's passed as male on an off for my whole life and now fully passes as male all the time thanks to T I low key snorted reading this... Liiike let's be for real here passing as a man (and doubly so if u are binary and have the pronouns to match) and passing gives you privilege out the fucking wazoo and I literally think about it every time I leave the house, meet new people, take blue collar jobs, interact w people on public transit, walk around at night, go to gay clubs, bond w male overseers, look for roommates, etc. This is obviously extremely racialized as much as it is gendered, but there is literally not a single "privilege" I had as a girl (that was assumed to be a guy 50-70% of the time) that I lost as a guy.

3) Also how do trans men "inherently defy patriarchal manhood" I literally know a trans guy who went to jail for domestic violence against a woman like trans men are incredibly capable of accessing and enacting patriarchy and thinking ourselves justified in accessing patriarchal homosociality. Like we are literally becoming men and we don't just magically exit the patriarchal society because we aren't the men at the top of the make food chain.... a la R.W. Connel. Being trans men means we lose some for being trans but we win some because we are men. Like gay men are frequently denied their masculinity but it would be dodo brained to act like gay men have no male homosociality they can access or that no gay man has ever accessed male homosociality. Like if u believe that you actually don't know any gay history Attttt Alllllll 😭 like genuinely. We also earn more money per dollar than women in our same gender modality, that doesn't sound like "inherently defying patriarchal manhood" to me that sounds actually like a pretty typical social positionality for oppressed and marginalized men. Like in my own friend groups, at school, and in my music and promotions scene being an (openly trans) man actually has granted me actually a lot of homosociality that I can draw on.

[abtl]

I love how the +ENRAGED style bonus works in ULTRAKILL. With Maurices it's because you hurt them, with Cerberi it's because you killed their buddy

...and then there's Virtues, which are probably shouting "WHY. WON'T. YOU. DIE!?!??" as they try to smite you like an ant in a microwave.

[koshka-sova]

i believe logos will powercreep eyja, 5 years after her reign of terror. elemental damage + "kill yourself" S1 SWEEP

[minediamonds]

Another person with "won't rp with all female/woman blogs" in their rules, another time for me to be full of confusion.

Technically my blog doesn't break that rule as I have enby and male muses. But somehow I doubt enby muses are included, and most of mine (because of how they present) would probably be seen as 'Woman-Lite'. Which as a nonbinary person myself (who is sorta woman aligned but sorta agender too) is quite frustrating. LOL. Like...I totally respect any and all rules but...this one confuses me ngl. LOL . And also, I feel like it's somewhat unfair because....it's assuming a lot about people with all women blogs. Like...maybe they just happen to have more muse for female characters. Idk.....just seems strange (to me).

Obviously, no one has to RP with anyone they don't want to. But I can't help but think this rule is kinda biased tbh. And like not in the sense of being (internalized) misogynistic necessarily (though maybe tbh, depends on the person and their reasoning behind it), but in the sense that they're biased against a blog just because of the gender makeup of their muses which is not something people necessarily do purposefully. Like it just depends on what muses people have inspiration for, tbh. And I don't see anyone (so far) saying no to all man-blogs. Which IMO makes it a sorta unfair double standard. But I digress.

I don't think people with this rule are necessarily misogynistic, I just think they're closing themselves off from a lot of fun RPers and RPs because they think all all women blogs are the same which tbh is not the case. Every blog is as unique as the mun who writes it. And I think people need to remember that.

Also, I tend to have more muse for my women and enby muses. Does that make me less worthy as an rper? I hope not tbh. The only male muse I really have consistent inspiration for is Jaskier. And tbh, idek why that is. Like....it could be his queerness. But Benedict is also queer, and my muse for him isn't as consistent. So I really don't know.

I didn't follow this mun, of course. But I just...will forever be confused by rules like this one. And tbh, I don't see that changing. LOL

[maddieandangel]

Had a weird Hollow Knight-related dream a couple days ago, so I decided to draw a major scene I remembered from it dgsgshf

More context will be in the tags, for those interested!

[cervideity]

cervi liek book 2!! CERVI HATE BOOK 2!!!!!!

i cannot top the original exchange. but i couldnt get it outta my head i needed to draw it. BONUS PAUL BC FUCK IT!