#through the books I was able to change my mind but for god sake thirteen years later and Society of tje snow later IT IS SO DISREPECTFUL

[scarletfantasia]

I decide to watch again Alive (1993) to compare with Society of the Snow.

I discovered their story through a documentary and later with Alive that I liked so much that I read the book and Nando's book. And yes I havent seen again this movie after that. Because the choices they made with the reality and changing the names' deads disturbed me. Knowing the Survivors didnt like it was also a reason I hoped for a new movie and kept a distance with Alive. But I still genuinely thought it wasnt "bad" And I kept a "nostalgic" memory of it.

Well, after Society of the Snow, watching a old documentary and reading again Nando's book...oh dear Alive (1993) is painful to watch.

I could write already an essay about everything that goes wrong...and I am only at the thirtieth minutes.

[orangedodge]

@dannybagpipesarecalling​ replied to your text post:

I didn't realize those were Destiny's diaries either. If you would be so kind, can you explain how Emma knows? Unfortunately I haven't read enough comics to know this backstory.

I am glad you asked about this, because it gives me an excuse to post about it while hopefully not sounding like a conspiracy blog. I've been slightly obsessed with this idea since Emma first turned up in House of X, so I'm rather excited that “maybe Destiny's Diaries still exist” isn't just my weird crack canon any longer.

Emma was, in short, the last person who can be established to have control over the whereabouts of the diaries. And as one of the top five telepaths in the world, who has expressly defended that secret from the likes of Exodus and Mr. Sinister, she is capable of preventing Professor X from just taking the information from her. So barring new retcons, if Moira has the diaries now, they had to have been obtained directly from Emma.

That's not enough to say that she turned them over to Moira specifically. She could have given them to Charles or Er—okay, no, she wouldn't give them to Charles. There could be a circumstance where she'd trust them to Erik though. But in that contingency, I think there's enough context to support Emma knowing why they'd want them and for who. To be clear though, I would be less confident about making that assertion if Emma hadn't just opened the “Dr. Moira MacTaggert Memorial Public Hospital” expressly to freak out Charles and Erik, and if HoxPox hadn't already linked them by showing Moira to be worried about what Emma was up to.

(This got kind of long so I thought it'd be helpful to say the important part up front before spiraling down the continuity rabbit hole)

The origins and resulting chain of custody for Destiny's Diaries are as follows: One January, decades ago, Destiny began recording visions of the future in a series of diaries. Filling one book per month, she continued writing for thirteen months. This process was described as auto-writing, and Destiny herself did not have a complete memory of what she had written, nor did she understand the meaning of much of what she wrote.

Nonetheless, the July diary contained a recording of the events leading up to the defeat of Apocalypse, and another diary contained information on the life of Hope Summers, so they've been very relevant to the events of the modern era. It's not explicit yet that Krakoa's founding is also in the diaries, but because we know Destiny had at least one separate vision of Krakoa, and because Moira is interested in reading them, it seems fairly likely that whatever Moira, Charles, and Erik have been doing behind the scenes is also in there.

In the decades since Destiny authored them, most of these diaries were lost, except for five that Mystique kept hold of, and a sixth that Irene hid away herself. After Mystique killed 'Moira,' she sent her five diaries to Professor X, hoping that the temptation of using them would consume his life and lead him toward a ruinous fate. Destiny meanwhile had entrusted the sixth diary to Shadowcat (who Destiny met in 1936, while she was time traveling and having an affair with Moira's grandfather don't worry about it), who eventually became so freaked out by something she read in it that she vanished on a mission, let her friends believe her dead for weeks, and had herself deleted from Cerebro, while leaving the diary to Rogue for safekeeping while she was away.

(That last chain of events isn't incredibly important, I just think it becomes kind of lol in light of current canon)

Rogue went on to take that diary and the research that had been done on it to Storm. Storm and Rogue then formed a splinter team of X-Men, to journey the world searching for the lost diaries, believing Professor X could not be trusted. Along the way a seventh book turned up with a treasure hunter named Vargas (don't worry about him), and an eighth was found by Gateway and given to Rogue in a dream. Eventually Storm tried to get Phoenix to collect Professor X's diaries for her, but they discovered that they had already been stolen (Shadowcat did it).

The rest of the diary hunt isn't really important, just that Kitty eventually ended up retrieving the full set, before she rejoined the X-Men, which only happened after Xavier had left Scott and Emma to run the school. This timeline is important for establishing that Xavier has never possessed the full set of diaries himself, and was not involved in collecting the lost books at any point, nor was he present at the time the diaries were brought to the school and fell under Emma's protection. This rules out the possibility that the set of diaries we've previously seen were somehow forged by Xavier.

Xavier would not return to the school until after losing his mutant powers, whereupon he departed for space on an adventure to another galaxy. He was unavailable, therefore, to have undertaken any telepathic shenanigans, so what happens next actually happened, and is not a psychic illusion. While Xavier was gone, Mr. Sinister recruited Exodus and Mystique, and began a campaign of hunting down precognitive psychics, time travelers, and any other sources of information on the future. Scott, Emma, and Kitty meanwhile predicted that they were going to be next, and came up with a bananas plan to keep the books safe.

X-Men volume 2 no. 203 by Mike Carey (Writer), Humberto Ramos (Penciler), Carlos Cuevas (Inker), Studio F’s Edgar Delgado (Colorist), Virtual Calligraphy’s Cory Petit (Letterer), Will Panzo (Assistant Editor), Nick Lowe (Editor), Joe Quesada (Editor in Chief), Dan Buckley (Publisher)

First they hid the diaries somewhere in parts unknown. Emma then altered the minds of “all of us” (everyone who lived at the mansion at that time) to perceive a bunch of decoy books as the real thing. She then erased Kitty's memory, and her own, so that no telepath would be able to extract the information by force, before they gave each other a series of post-hypnotic triggers so they could restore one another's memories if they ever needed the books again. When eventually Exodus attacked the school looking for the books, they restored their memories, and decided to send another team to the hidden location where they'd buried a mystery box. Emma gave this location to Sam and Bobby, who dug up the box, which was never opened, and which was destroyed by Gambit during a firefight with Sinister's forces before anyone could confirm its contents.

This was intended by author Mike Carey to be the end of Destiny's Diaries, a dropped plot from a previous creative run, that was vaguely useful at building up to the Messiah Complex crossover, but was a lot more trouble than it was worth to an author who was writing about the X-Men trying to avert a bad future. But there's a lot of room in the story he wrote for the diaries to have survived after all.

I think it's actually really suspicious that the box was accessible to Bobby and Sam at all. Why not drop it under a mountain? Why not bury it under the ocean? Why not keep it phased in a tree? And it's a big red box with a big red 'X' on it. I know the X-Men love their branding and all, but that's going pretty far.

No one actually opens the box before Gambit blows it up either. It could have contained more decoys, or nothing at all. 

And when talking among themselves, Emma and Kitty never actually say that they're sending the X-Men to retrieve the diaries. They say that they know where the diaries are, and then send the X-Men to a place where they've buried something. The intent of the author is clear, but there's room in the dialogue for a later writer to decide that this just was another plan to keep the books hidden.

So for the entire period of time between assembling the complete collection of thirteen diaries, and their seeming destruction, they are never unaccounted for. Only Emma and Kitty knew the full extent of what they did to hide them, and where they were hidden. If fakes were destroyed instead of the real thing, no one would have known.

We could just be in retcon territory, but I don't think so, because it's fine on its own without any direct changes to canon. And really, faking the destruction of the books to cover up their real location makes a lot more sense than believing Emma Frost actually sent Sam to retrieve the incredibly suspicious looking red box that contained the most important object in the world, while half the super villains on the planet were chasing him.

Believing the diaries weren't really destroyed just requires the reader to accept that Emma would lie to the other X-Men, and keep lying to them for years, and that she'd be willing to put Sam and Bobby's lives at risk to protect that lie. Which she was already doing in that story anyway. She was already lying to everyone when she changed everyone's memories. And she—and Scott and Kitty—was already fine with risking everyone's lives when setting up a decoy trap in a school. So that's why I think this works better as a continuation of the existing, known, story of the diaries, and not a direct retcon to what happened.

In conclusion I think Emma knows about Moira because Moira got the diaries from somewhere, and Emma is the person she could have gotten them from. Nothing proves a direct hand-off in, like, a formal standard of proof or anything, but Emma having access to the diaries for so long, and having been wrapped up in this whole weird plot thread—which involves Moira and most of the Quiet Council—is enough to imply the connection in a story sense.

(ETA - For completion’s sake, there is also a weird story I didn’t go into called Chaos War that was published in 2011 where Moira is resurrected and finds a book in the ruins of the Xavier School that may or may not be one of the diaries, and touching it causes her soul to merge with Destiny’s, who then possesses her and guides her through a quest to destroy an evil god. This was an odd story to place in continuity at the time, and has only gotten stranger, given  1. that couldn’t be the real Moira, 2. Destiny is not merged with her soul. If this is in continuity (it’s been suggested that Moira’s golem was the character in this event), and all of the characters are who they say they are, and if the book in question was actually one of the thirteen diaries (and not some other book that Irene also wrote), then it requires Emma to have deliberately left one of the thirteen books behind for “Moira” to find, which if anything only adds to the likelihood that she knows what’s up)

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 4 (1/3)

There are a tons of hidden or very rare missions I’ve never found during the THREE playthrough I made. This was one. I found it absolutely by accident the third time and now thanks to YouTube I know there is also a continue to it that I’ve never done -.-

Previously on TWoT: Emily begins to understand how things work in camp, she gets familiar with hierarchy, roles, personalities, and most important, she starts building friendships. Now it’s time to discover how life outside camp is.

Chapter 4 (1/3) - City girl, country life

Words: 2,3k

“Are you sure about this?” asked Emily as Mary-Beth and Tilly helped her with the boots.

“Yeah, don’t worry. See? They fit you perfectly” answered Mary-Beth pulling the laces.

She had lend her her black boots, while Tilly had given her her light blue shirt. They had found out they had the same size. 

Emily felt like an idiot, she felt ridiculous, she couldn’t wait to wear something new, something more normal, but she was aware that wasn’t going to be possible. How could it be that in 1899 women still dressed in that way? She thought that puffed sleeves and lacework were already outdated, but apparently not. Besides, the idea of that shirt on her skin was making her shiver, and even though both Tilly and Mary-Beth had assured her it was clean and unused, it took a little to convince her to wear it.

“What is this?” asked Mary-Beth when Emily removed her hoodie and t-shirt so that she was wearing only her bra.

“Don’t you have it?” she asked in turn.

They both shook their heads.

“And how do you hold your breasts up?”

“Why you need to hold them up? Are you afraid they’d fall?” asked Karen’s sarcastic voice.

She shouldn’t have been there, Emily didn’t want her there, and the feeling was mutual, but they needed someone who checked no-one would come close as she was changing her clothes, and no-one was better than Karen for that kind of job.

“So you wear nothing?” asked Emily.

“Not usually. Society women wear corsets. Miss O’Shea’s got one” answered Mary-Beth.

“Who’s Miss O’Shea?”

“The redhead with the princess attitude” replied Tilly.

“Oh, you mean Molly. Yeah, I’ve met her.”

“So you already call her by her name. You’ll be great friends, no doubt” said Karen.

Emily huffed and rolled her eyes.

“So, this… bra, you all wear it in the future?” asked Mary-Beth.

Karen scoffed.

“Yes. Every woman has one, or more than one.”

“When were they invented? Or, when will they be invented?”

“I have no idea. I thought in the middle 1800’s, but it seems not.”

“No, still too early apparently.” Emily liked talking with Mary-Beth. Among the girls she was the most open-minded and seemed not to question her provenience from the future. Talk with her was easy. Karen didn’t believe her one bit, but Emily didn’t expect less, while Tilly was still skeptic, but maybe not impossible to convince.

“I wish I could come with you” said Mary-Beth with disappointment.

“Why don’t you? You can advise me on clothes” replied Emily with a new flush of excitement. 

“I can’t. Miss Grimshaw will get angry.”

“But… I don’t understand. Is she some kind of camp tyrant? You all keep telling me how horrible she is.”

“Because she is” said Karen.

“No, she’s not. Not the way you make her sound” Tilly addressed her.

“And you have your freedom. She can’t force you to stay here” added Emily as she wore Tilly’s shirt.

“Oh, yes she can” murmured Mary-Beth.

Emily frowned at those words. 

“Well then… I’ll ask her. Kindly” she said.

“Kindness don’t work with Grimshaw” chuckled Karen.

“We’ll sneak out, then.”

“You can try, but when she’ll find out and hit you, remember my words” Karen advised her.

“Hit me?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time” added Tilly.

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. From the way they were describing her, this woman seemed a monster. 

“Hey hey, where you think you’re going?” Emily heard Karen saying with a menacing voice.

“We need to go. Is she ready?” asked Lenny.

“Yes, I’m coming” Emily said.

Then, she turned to look at Mary-Beth’s disappointed face again. She wanted to go with her and Emily wanted it too, even if that meant risking Miss Grimshaw’s wrath.

“Come with me. I’ll take all the responsibility” Emily assured her and took her by her hand as she walked around the wagon and reached Lenny.

“She’s coming too” she said to the boy.

“Alright, let’s go.” They walked to the other side of camp from where their tent was and from the distance Emily spotted Mr. Arthur tiding a couple of horses to a wagon very similar to the one she was on the day before, maybe exactly the same. 

“Come quick, before she sees us” Emily whispered to Mary-Beth. 

“Morning, ladies. You joining us?” Mr. Morgan asked to Mary-Beth.

“Yes, I want her to come. She’ll be my advisor” replied Emily.

“Does Miss Grimshaw know?”

The two girls exchanged a look.

“Okay, hop on. Quick” whispered Mr. Arthur, walking fast towards the front of the wagon.

Emily smiled at Mary-Beth: they had his complicity. The two of them climbed on the back and sat one facing the other, right next to the big deer Charles Smith had hunted that morning. That would have made them earn a couple of dollars and with that little they had been able to pick up around camp, it should have been enough to buy supplies and provide food for more than twenty people.

Arthur and Lenny took the leading places and they started to move, passing through the trees that covered the clearing with the camp and reaching the path, all without talking. Fearing a travel full of an embarrassing silence, Emily knew she had to find a topic of conversation and thinking about Mary-Beth and what she had understood about her in that couple of days, she thought that books would be a good start. 

“So, I’ve seen you read a lot. What kind of books do you like?” she asked.

“Well, mostly novels about female heroines and their adventures” Mary-Beth replied with some uneasiness, just like she was ashamed of that.

“Oh, so you’re the type who loves romantic stories. In my time you’d probably love Twilight.”

“What is it?”

“A love story between a girl and a vampire.”

Mary-Beth’s eyes widened.

“Vampires? You mean those monsters who suck people’s blood?”

“Actually, in the book the vampires are handsome.”

“Oh for God’s sake” Emily heard Mr. Morgan complain, but she pretended she didn’t.

“Yes. You would definitely adore it. But maybe it’s better if we talk about something you’d now. What about erm… Jane Austen, have you read something of hers?”

Mary-Beth shook her head.

“Oh you must, she’s great. What about… the Bronte sisters?”

Again, Mary-Beth had no idea.

“Well, I guess my first present to you will be a book.”

“Why would you buy me a present?”

Emily frowned. She thought Mary-Beth had already understood what kind of relationship she wanted to built with her, but apparently she had not.

“Because… we’re friends. I mean, I want to be friend with you.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“That’s why I want to be friend with you, to know you.”

Mr. Morgan chuckled again and looking at him for a second Emily saw him shaking his head. Again, she tried not to mind him.

“So, what do you like to do, besides reading?”

Mary-Beth seemed suddenly uncomfortable, just like she had asked her an impossible question.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Come on, there must be something. I like music, for example. What do you like?”

“I-I… I write, from time to time.”

“Hey that’s great! Do you write love adventures?”

“M-more or less.”

“And do you think you’ll publish them someday?”

“N-no, I don’t think so.” “Why?”

“Well, Karen always says my dream of becoming a writer is stupid and I…”

“Why would she say something like that?”

“I think you’ll soon find out Karen is a little too… practical sometimes” said Lenny from the front.

“But, isn’t she your friend?” Emily asked to Mary-Beth.

“Of course, that’s why she says these things, to save me from some delusion. At least, that’s what she tells me”

“I understand being down to earth is important, but you don’t have to give up on your dream, Mary-Beth. Dreams are important, they give us hope.”

“Oh please!” exclaimed Mr. Arthur from the front.

Emily looked again at his back, annoyed by his constant complaining. If he didn’t like the things she was saying, he could have said it to her face, not make grimaces behind her back like children do. 

“Why it gives me the impression you don’t like what I’m saying, Mr. Morgan?” she asked.

“Because I don’t. It’s all bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, it’s my opinion.”

“Well then, your opinion is bullshit. And you Mary-Beth, don’t let her put them stupid ideas in your mind.”

“I’m not putting any idea in her mind, and she’s not a child, she’s a woman, she perfectly knows how to think by herself and decide what is bullshit and what’s not.”

“I’m just saying writing is no job. It’s just a way to spend time.”

“Like you do, right Arthur? Don’t you have a little journal of your own?” asked Mary-Beth.

When Emily looked at her, she saw she had a little crooked smile on her face and they exchanged a complicity look. Sweet Mary-Beth had an evil side after all, and Emily liked it.

“Ah is that so? You scribble on a journal like a thirteen year old girl, Mr. Morgan?” Emily asked with a mellifluous tone.

“I just keep note of the important events, that’s all” he replied, but his voice betrayed some embarrassment, he’d got defensive.

“And the drawings are part of the important events, too?” asked Mary-Beth creeping in like a treacherous snake. 

“So, you truly are a thirteen year old girl with her little secret diary. Any more embarrassing things I should know about you?” joked Emily.

“At least I’m not the one who tells stories about blood sucking people!”

“You should listen to yourselves! I thought to be the youngest here, but it seems we have two children Mary-Beth!” laughed Lenny. 

“Hey, I’m not the one who started it!”

“Shut up, Arthur.”

...

Silence fell as Arthur felt ashamed for being called child by someone way younger than him. He whipped the horses and made them cross the train trails: they were close to town. Soon they would have found civilization! What a thrill…

“What about you Lenny? What do you like to do?” asked the new girl.

Arthur grunted, but soon tried to hide it with a cough. He didn’t want to sound as childish as they blamed him to be.

“I truly don’t know” replied Lenny.

“You don’t know how you spend time in camp?” asked the girl.

“Most of the time I spend trying to teach Sean how to read” he giggled.

Him and Arthur looked at each other and then they looked away as a veil of sadness fell on them all.

“Isn’t Sean one of those captured after Blackwater?” asked Emily.

Mary-Beth nodded and for some time they all stayed quiet.

Even though Lenny didn’t show it a lot, Sean’ absence was painful for him, he liked him and he missed him and the fact that they didn’t know where he was or if he was alive, made everything worse. He tried to focus the attention on something else.

“What are we going to do in Valentine?” he asked to Arthur.

“Just what we are supposed to. Go to the general store, buy supplies and come back right away.”

“We can’t go back so soon. I need to do something” said the new girl.

“What is it?” asked Arthur, but he already new the answer, she had told him the day before.

“I need to find some kind of job, something that could help us gain some money. And then I have to buy some clothes, so that I don’t have to borrow other people things. And then… I have to take a bath, I really do.”

“We’re going to stay all day” joked Lenny. 

“No, we are not. We’ll split up, so we’ll take care of more things at a time” said Arthur, who had no intention to spend all day in town.

“I’ll go with Emily for the clothes and the bath” said Mary-Beth smiling at her.

Even if at the beginning she wanted to go with them to Valentine only to keep an eye on her, just like Miss Grimshaw had told her to do, she couldn’t deny Emily was funny and smart and sweet, everything that could make her a really good friend, and Mary-Beth knew how much she wanted a good friend.

Valentine was nothing but mud, sheep, and probably morons, just like Hosea had told them. As he led the wagon across the slimy street, Arthur looked around, studying the people faces, the buildings, the kind of movements that town had, and for a moment he doubted they were going to actually find something in that place, some opportunities. He stopped the wagon right in front of the general store so that it would be easier for them to load the supplies on the back.

“Alright folks, let’s get to work” he said jumping down.

“Ooh shit!” he heard the new girl’s voice saying and walking around the wagon he found her standing there with her feet among the mud and a disgusted face.

“What?” he asked.

She raised her eyes to look at him with the same angry expression he had seen on her the night before, with those thick blonde eyebrows curled on her big sparkling eyes.

“I’m covered in mud!” she squeaked.

She really wasn’t, there were a couple of mud drops on her legs, but nothing more, she had no idea of what the sentence “covered in mud” meant, and this annoyed Arthur, making him think how silly that girl was. 

“Come, as you said you have to buy some new, right?” he said taking her arm and pushing her towards the general store entrance. 

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

How can you like daenerys

Quite a lot of reasons, actually. For the sake of my time, I’ll limit my answer to ten of them.

1. She tolerates disrespect in her own court.

“We are all dead, then. You gave us death, not freedom.” Ghael leapt to his feet and spat into her face. 

Strong Belwas seized him by the shoulder and slammed him down onto the marble so hard that Dany heard Ghae’s teeth crack. The Shavepate would have done worse, but she stopped him.

“Enough,” she said, dabbing at her cheek with the end of her tokar. “No one has ever died from spittle. Take him away.”

How many leaders and rulers in ASOIAF would have tolerated being spat on in their own court? Not many, I’m sure. 

2. She’s witty.

“Little girl, another woman once tried to geld me with her teeth. She has no teeth now, but my sword is as long and thick as ever. Shall I take it out and show you?”

“No need. After my eunuchs cut it off, I can examine it at my leisure.”

3. She’s a creative and resourceful ruler, despite having never received any sort of training, unlike the majority of other leaders.

“Not a hole. A ditch, to bring water from the river to the fields. We mean to plant beans. The beanfields must have water.”

Ser Barristan remained. “Our stores are ample for the moment,” he reminded her, “and Your Grace has planted beans and grapes and wheat. Your Dothraki have harried the slavers from the hills and struck the shackles from their slaves. They are planting too, and will be bringing their crops to Meereen to market. And you will have the friendship of Lhazar.”

4. One of, if not the most, compassionate ruler in ASOIAF who is determined to take care of her people, despite what her advisors might say.

“Ser Jorah, you say we have no food left. If I march west, how can I feed my freedmen?”

“You can’t. I am sorry, Khaleesi. They must feed themselves or starve. Many and more will die along the march, yes. That will be hard, but there is no way to save them. We need to put this scorched earth well behind us.”

Dany had left a trail of corpses behind her when she crossed the red waste. It was a sight she never meant to see again. “No,” she said. “I will not march my people off to die.” My children. 

It was time, though. A girl might spend her life at play, but she was a woman grown, a queen, a wife, a mother to thousands. Her children had need of her.

Daenerys considers the people under her rule her children. That says enough about her compassion for others.

5. She’s pragmatic and a great military strategist, again despite having no formal training in these matters.

“Ser Jorah Mormont scowled. “You told the sellswords-”

“-that I wanted their answers on the morrow. I made no promises about tonight. The Stormcrows will be arguing about my offer. The Second Sons will be drunk on the wine I gave Mero. And the Yunkai’i believe they have three days. We will take them under cover of this darkness.”

“They will have scouts watching for us.”

“And in the dark, they will see hundreds of campfires burning,” said Dany. “If they see anything at all.”

“Khaleesi,” said Jhogo, “I will deal with these scouts. They are no riders, only slavers on horses.”

“Just so,” she agreed. “I think we should attack from three sides. Grey Worm, your Unsullied shall strike at them from right and left, while my kos lead my horse in wedge for a thrust through their center. Slave soldiers will never stand before mounted Dothraki.” She smiled. “To be sure, I am only a young girl and know little of war. What do you think, my lords?”

The following is describing Daenerys’ conquest of Meereen. Meereen’s walls have no weak points, the Harpies heads can squirt hot oil, and all the trees were burned by the slavers to prevent Daenerys from being able to build weapons. Daenerys doesn’t want to order the Unsullied to assault the wall directly because it would lead to pointless loss of their lives (courtesy of the boiling oil from the Harpies heads). So instead:

“Aegon the Conqueror had won Westeros with three dragons, but she had taken Meereen with sewer rats and a wooden cock, in less than a day. Poor Groleo. He still grieved for his ship, she knew. If a war galley could ram another ship, why not a gate? That had been her thought when she commanded the captains to drive their ships ashore. Their masts had become her battering rams, and swarms of freedmen had torn their hulls apart to build mantlets, turtles, catapults, and ladders. The sellswords had given each ram a bawdy name, and it had been the mainmast of Meraxes-formerly Joso’s Prank-that had broken the eastern gate."

6. She's willing to and makes an effort to learn, and learn she does.

Dany reined in her mare and looked across the fields, to where the Yunkish host lay athwart her path. Whitebeard had been teaching her how best to count the numbers of a foe. “Five thousand,” she said after a moment.

“A queen must listen to all,” she reminded him. “The highorn, and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and the venal. One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found.” She had read that in a book.

7. She’s brave. Anyone who has the balls to face a dragon with only a whip is far more courageous than a considerable number of characters. And before anyone says,“the dragons wouldn’t hurt her no matter how angry they get, she’s their mother,” yes they would. Drogon tried to kill her.

His head turned. Smoke rose between his teeth. His blood was smoking too, where it dripped upon the ground. He beat his wings again, sending up a choing storm of scarlet sand. Dany stumbled into the hot red cloud, coughing. He snapped.

“No” was all that she had time to say. No, not me, don’t you know me? The black teeth closed inches from her face. He meant to tear my head off. The sand was in her eyes. She stumbled over the pitmaster’s corpse and fell on her backside.

8. Her idea of what it means to rule is extremely idealistic, even after all the exploitation she’s suffered. By intentions alone Daenerys is already a far better candidate as ruler than most other leaders in the books.

“I was alone for a long time, Jorah. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”

“Some kings make themselves, Robert did.”

“He was no true king,” Dany said scornfully. “He did no justice. Justice... that’s what kings are for.”

She would rather have drifted in the fragrant pool all day, eating iced fruit off silver trays and dreaming of a house with a red door, but a queen belongs to her people, not to herself.

She believes it’s her duty as a queen to protect her people and bring justice. In Dany’s eyes, a queen must put her people first, herself second. You’d think someone who suffered under the hand of her cruel and abusive older brother, who she also considers her king, and then exploited and sold like an animal by him to a barbarian tribe, would make a thirteen-year-old girl quite jaded about rulers. But Daenerys still wholeheartedly believes that rulers should be selfless, protect their people, and bring justice, though the people who had power over her in the past did none of those things for her.

9. She’s intensely self-critical.

That morning she summoned her captains and commanders to the garden, rather than descending to the audience chamber. “Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. But all I have brought to Slaver’s Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on.”

“You have brought freedom as well,” Missandei pointed out.

“Freedom to starve?” asked Dany sharply. “Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?” Am I mad? Do I have the taint?

“A dragon,” Ser Barristan said with certainty. “Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace.”

“But how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?” He had no answer to that. Dany turned away from them, to gaze out over the city once again. “My children need time to heal and learn. My dragons need time to grow and test their wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I’ve freed all over again.” She turned back to look at their faces. I will not march.”

What sort of mother lets her children rot in darkness?

If I look back, I am doomed. Dany told herself... but how could she not look back? I should have seen it coming. Was I so blind, or did I close my eyes willfully, so I would not have to see the price of power?

Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I.

There is blood on my hands too, and on my heart, We are not so different, Daario and I. We are both monsters.

Bless me, Dany thought bitterly. Your city is gone to ash and bone, your people are dying all around you. I have no shelter for you, no medicine, no hope. Only stale bread and wormy meat, hard cheese, a little milk. Bless me, bless me.

Now we must keep in mind that Daenerys’ chapters are told from her POV. They are not objective by any means. The fact that she’s so self-critical in these quotes (and more) does not mean she can never be a good ruler. It’s a human thing to magnify your failures and judge yourself much more harshly than the others around you, and this is well-communicated on Dany’s POV. 

Daenerys was trying to change a system that has been in place and served as the economic foundation of Slaver’s Bay for countless years. It’s an extremely radical - even revolutionary - change. There’s not a single character that would have been able to work that situation out smoothly and without bloodshed. Yet Daenerys never takes this into consideration, she simply blames herself.

The fact that she’s so self-deprecating reveals a lot about Daenerys. For one thing, she clearly doesn’t attempt to mentally shift the blame off of herself when things go awry. This means that she’s self-aware and willing to take responsibility for her actions. Being self-critical is also something I can very much relate to, so I empathize with Daenerys here.

10. She freed slaves.

I can already hear the storm of antis crowing that she did an awful job, which is ridiculous and I dare them to do any better. When such a revolutionary change is brought about, there is simply no way it’s going to go smoothly. Like I said before, there isn’t one character in ASOIAF who would have flawlessly handled the situation Dany was in.

The “white savior” argument is also something I find odd, because slavery in ASOIAF is not race-based. Among the slaves Daenerys liberated, there were Lyseni, who are blonde-haired and blue-eyed.

I love the fact that Daenerys, despite being a queen, empathizes with the lowborn. She’s experienced the same things they have - mistreatment, fear, exploitation, to name a few - in a time that she had no say about what happened to her, like them. When she does gain power, she does her best to use it primarily to help others. 

“I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I’ve freed all over again.” She turned back to look at their faces. “I will not march.”

“Enough.” Dany slapped the table. “No one will be left to die. You are all my people.” Her dreams of home and love had blinded her. “I will not abandon Meereen to the fate of Astapor. It grieves me to say so, but Westeros must wait.”

[rambling-at-midnight]

Snowflakes Melt Too Quickly: Part 2

Okay, I’m sorry it took so long. I’m working on a bunch of other projects in the wake of Avengers: Endgame, but don’t worry, this is still going to get finished!

Pairing: Five x Reader

The Freeze

Day 6

Five knows a lot about patching up burns (you suspect he knows a lot about patching up wounds in general, or just everything in general) and he helps you to find a cream to put on your feet and arms. It stings like a bitch and you cry, too strung out and tired from the actual apocalypse to deal with more pain. He also makes a whole day out of clearing the ground a bit so it’s easier for you to roll your wheelchair around.

You appoint yourself to be in charge of the food. By some miraculous fluke, there is an emergency power switch that’s working, so you manage to keep the fridges running, which means there’s frozen food, power outlets, and pretty much everything you need.

Five must come from a pretty sheltered family. He doesn’t know anything about the one fancy coffee machine you’d pulled out of the wreckage of TVs and he also doesn’t know how to use the microwave, saying his is a lot older than that one. How old is his microwave? It’s not like microwaves have changed a whole lot in the past decade, but you digress. You’re just happy someone else has survived the apocalypse.

To pay him back for all his help, you turn on some music from some electronics you’d found in the back. The internet is still up, but you have a feeling there’s not going to be any updates to any sites or software any time soon. He hadn’t known what a tablet was or how a phone could be that small.

He must come from a really old-fashioned family.

At the end of the day, you pull out another version of one of the puzzles you’ve already made. One good thing about puzzles is that they never really get old. Five helps you for maybe thirty minutes before asking you about heavier topics.

“Y/N, do you have any family? Is there any way any of them could be alive?”

You put the puzzle away before responding. “I had my mom and my dad. My dad was at home, so I assume he’s dead.” You have to stuff your fist in your mouth to keep from choking out a sob at that callous statement. You hope he’s not dead, but you know, logically, that he is.

“Hey,” Five says softly, moving to sit next to you on the ground. “I know it’s hard. I lost my family too.” A shadow passes over his face and your heart aches for him.

You take a deep breath and blink quickly. You can’t close your eyes too long, though, because you can still see the moon exploding, like it’s been etched into the inside of your eyelids. “Yeah. And I was with my mom when… it happened, but she wanted to drive somewhere safe, and, well, everyone knows that a Costco is a pretty safe place to go if anything’s happening…” you wipe away a stray tear trickling down your cheek. “I ran back in here just moments before the fire hit.” Just thinking about it makes your chest feel tight.

“The fire?” Five repeats. “What fire? What happened, exactly, Y/N?”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp out. You can’t breathe. “I don’t want to talk about it. And don’t you know?” Accusing Five helps you breathe a little deeper, takes your mind off the fact that he’s the only person you’ll ever talk to again.

“Long story,” he says shortly, which he said yesterday. Maybe he doesn’t trust you enough to tell you his story, but honestly, if the two of you are the last people on earth, what’s the point of secrets?

You’ll ask him about it another time. Who knows, maybe he feels the same way about his story that you do about yours, but you can’t imagine Five, who, in the last day you’ve known him, being as weak as you are.

Day 14

You can’t believe how long it took you. Your parents told you all about his siblings, their special powers, and the whole Academy. They got Luther and Allison’s autographs, for heaven’s sake!

“You’re Five Hargreeves,” you blurt out one morning during breakfast.

Five quirks one eyebrow at you as he looks up from his strawberries and bread. You chose the less healthy option of a piece of ice cream cake, citing the excuse that it would get bad quicker. “Yes.” He draws out the word, making it clear he doesn’t really see why it’s important.

“But you disappeared years ago,” you say, abandoning the rest of your cake. You were almost done with it anyway, and this new development is certainly interesting. “And that means you’re about thirty years old. So why do you look my age? And how did you survive?”

Five sighs and puts down his fork. “I’m assuming you know my power.”

You nod.

“Well, another part of my power is the ability to time travel,” he explains. “Unfortunately, it was not a skill that my old man wanted to train on very much. He felt that no matter how much I practiced, time travel is just too unpredictable.”

“So when you disappeared you jumped to 2019,” you guess. “Now. Just after the apocalypse. And you’re my age even though you were born thirty years ago. But why haven’t you time traveled back?”

He inclines his head to you, raising his eyebrows. “I’m impressed you were able to put it together so quickly. Unfortunately, as the old man had said, time travel is unpredictable. It did something to my powers so that I can’t even jump right now.”

“That sucks,” you say, not very eloquently.

Five shrugs, though you think it bothers him more than he lets on. It would bother you for sure. “I’ll get them under control soon enough. I’m more impressed with you. I should think I’m not talked about much in this era, seeing as how I’m the only one not still out and about.”

“Well, you and Ben,” you say without thinking, and then wince.

Five’s head snaps up and he narrows his eyes at you. “What?”

You swallow and keep your eyes on your plate, scratching at the foam with your plastic fork. “Ben died just before the Umbrella Academy broke up. I don’t know how. Your dad was pretty private. And, really, your disappearance and Ben’s death set you two apart from the others. There are lots of conspiracy theories about you on the internet. There were,” you correct. After thirteen years of being surrounded by people, being so alone is hard to get used to.

Five leans back in the lawn chair he’d assembled three days ago and crosses his arms on his chest, staring at you with a stony expression. “Give me a minute.” He gets up and walks away into the toiletry aisle, knowing full well you can’t follow him. That aisle has the most boxes on the floor and you simply can’t get into it with your wheelchair.

Not that you would follow him anyway. Finding out that your siblings are all dead is tough. Even if Ben would have died anyway in the apocalypse, it’s hard to hear that he died when Five was gone. For all you know, Five’s presence could have saved him.

You pack up the rest of the cake and put it back into the freezer. Time to practice walking again. It’s not as painful as it was when Five first showed up, but you still can’t do it for long, and you hate the weakness.

Day 48

Five can’t sleep.

It’s not just the cold winds blowing in from all angles, through the various holes in the warehouse’s walls. It’s not just the hard, cold floor he’s lying on. It’s not just the knowledge that he’s stuck 15 years in the future. It’s not even the knowledge that the future sucks actual ass.

It’s you. You’re sniffling again, obviously crying but trying to cry as quietly as possible.

It’s annoying.

Yeah, he knows that losing your entire family is hard. Five lost his, too! And being here with each other is definitely better than being alone, but Five’s under no delusions. He knows he’s not exactly easy to live with. He’s brash and abrasive and he ignores you without telling you why. He knows you’ve gotten so mad with him you’ve had to scream and cry several times (he’s only been here six weeks, too), but at least you have the good sense to do it in private. There’s hope for you yet.

Sure, he supposes it’s annoying to have permanently disfigured feet, but they’re not that bad. They’re just discolored, really, and a little bit swollen. And he knows that it hurts to walk, too, a lot of the time; your permanent limp is a testament to that. He’s told you time and time again that it’ll get better. It always gets better. When Five’s not being a complete jerk, he’s trying to make up for being a complete jerk. There’s hope for him yet.

And, yes, he gets that you’re going to be scared once he figures out how to jump back to his time and stop the apocalypse from happening, but as he’d told you earlier that day, he’s going to stop the apocalypse from happening.

There’s hope for both of you yet.

You obviously think Five’s sleeping or you would’ve walked away to do your crying in a more private place. He feels a little bad that he’s going to leave you and even worse that you’re so scared of being left alone. He’s pretty sure, though, the worst part of it is how he’s letting you cry right now, just listening, not letting you know that he can hear you and that he doesn’t really want to abandon you, but he doesn’t really have a choice.

He can’t speak, though. Something in his stomach will make his voice crack if he speaks, he knows it, or he won’t even get the words out. He can’t say anything.

A particularly harsh burst of wind washes over your two forms. Five, laying under the puzzle table in the center of the warehouse, pillows and blankets piled under him in the form of a makeshift mattress, and more blankets on top of him to keep the chill away. You, underneath the book table because god forbid a boy and a girl sleep next to each other, laying on a layer of only blankets because you toss and turn in your sleep and move the pillows that are under you, with a small mountain of blankets on your form and a fort of pillows around your form in an attempt to block out the wind.

Only six feet apart and yet it’s twenty miles. Complete strangers still but the closest friends (you can’t be friends, Five knows, because he doesn’t have friends, and besides, friends don’t make other friends cry, but what else can he call the two of you?).

Very different sleeping styles. If Five came to you, the ground would be too hard for him to sleep, and if he invited you to sleep you’d shiver and shake and move all the pillows away until you’re both lying on the cold stone ground.

He rolls over, squeezes his eyes shut, and lets you cry.

Day 183

“Try again,” you encourage, sitting on top of a table and swinging your legs. You’ve got a loose t-shirt on and shorts. During the winter the warehouse is too cold and during the summer it’s too hot. What you wouldn’t give for some air conditioning right now.

Five glares at you, ignoring the pained look on your face as you watch him possibly abandon you. He hasn’t missed the way you tense every time his fists make that blue light. “Don’t rush me.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his hands, shifting his weight between his feet. What if this is it? What if this is the moment he’s finally able to jump again?

What if this is the very last moment he spends with you?

Five drops his hands and looks at you. “You know I don’t want to leave you, right?” The honesty surprises and scares him; he’s never said anything that nice to you. He’s never said anything that nice to anyone. Growing up in the Umbrella Academy forbade emotional connections (unless Reginald could exploit them).

The half-smile drops off your face and you scowl. “No. You’re an asshole to me most of the time. I’m sure you’ll be glad to get rid of me.”

Five blinks, taken aback by the attack. He’d meant to have a nice moment, possibly a goodbye, and you just metaphorically lunged for his throat.

You ease yourself off the desk and limp away from Five. He’d offered to make you crutches the other day, but you’d pointed out that both of your feet hurt, and crutches are for the people that have at least one working leg. He’d pointed out that you could give your feet breaks one at a time. You’d told him you’d get back to him on it. He’d thought you’d been thinking about it, too. Maybe his daily attempts to jump, though, are what’s making you so hesitant to ask him for a favor or so aggressive when he tries to establish an emotional connection with you. They’re a daily reminder that he’s going to leave—trying as hard as he can to leave—and you can’t come with him.

It’s as if Five’s been spitting in your face every day.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, chasing after you. It’s not hard to catch up; he’s fast and sure on his feet, and you’re limping. Five grabs your arm to slow you down. “Come on.”

“What?” you snap, slapping his hand away. “Come to insult me again?”

“Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have called you a cripple yesterday,” Five admits.

You laugh sarcastically. “Oh, you think?”

“Y/N, we are the last two people on earth!” Five exclaims. “Don’t you think it’d be a good idea to get along? Your only option is me!”

“Yeah, and that’s the only reason I’m putting up with you,” you snarl. “I’d choose anyone over you, Five. You’re an asshole! You’re arrogant, you’re selfish, you’re rude, and if I could run I’d have run from here the day you came!”

“It’s not like you’re a ray of sunshine either!” Five yells back. “All you do is sit and whine and cry about your feet and your family! Guess what? My family’s dead, too, and I shouldn’t even be going through this crapfest of an apocalypse. I should be growing up with my family!”

“Then go back and try to jump!” you bellow, shoving him with both your hands. Five stumbles back and would have fallen if his back hadn’t collided with a metal rack. The pain makes him even angrier.

“I will!” he bawls back. “I will! I hope I make it back, too! I hope I grow up with them and die in the apocalypse and you survive so you live out the rest of your miserable life with no help and no one to talk to!”

You slap Five, hard, and turn away again.

He doesn’t chase after you.

It takes Five a full week to talk to you, and then it’s only a stiff “Where’s the milk?”

You don’t respond.

It takes you two weeks to talk to him.

Day 363

You’re crying again. You’d dropped a heavy pan on your foot and screamed. The only protection you have on your feet are fuzzy socks. Apart from the occasional splinter and piece of glass (after the last time you’d been cut on your left foot and not cried at all despite your white knuckles as Five cleaned the wound, he’d spent two full days without sleeping cleaning up every part of the warehouse so you’d have to search out something to step on) there was no need for you to wear anything else.

Now that you’re able to walk for a little bit without pain, whereas before there was always pain, you’re starting to do a little more lifting and work in order to stay busy. It would be so easy to just sit and eat, read, and puzzle yourself to death, but you can’t do that. You have to stay busy like how Five has to do his mathematical equations to stay busy.

Five doesn’t blame you for screeching. You’re lucky you didn’t break any toes; the pan is heavy metal, and that plus your burn pain? He can’t even fathom being as strong as you are.

He wraps your foot up and decides that now is the perfect time to give you the crutches he’d made. It had taken a lot of work, sleepless nights, and splinters, but he’d managed to fasten two big logs he’d found on the ground into crutches. He’d had to cut off different parts of the logs to create handholds as well as make them a reasonable size. Stapling fabric and stuffing to the top part wasn’t hard.

They may look terrible compared to professional crutches, but Five’s proud he did what he could with what he had. Secretly, he starts to fantasize leaving the warehouse and finding a hospital to get you better crutches, but he thinks he’ll start out with getting you a pair of shoes. If only this Costco had shoes.

With a pang of shock, Five realizes he doesn’t want to leave you alone, despite the lack of any risk. You’d be completely fine if he left to find you shoes and crutches.

He just doesn’t want to be alone, and more importantly, he doesn’t want you to be alone.

You start crying harder when he presents the crutches to you and you fling your arms around his neck, squeezing as hard as you can as you thanked him over and over again.

Five doesn’t understand girls.

Day 447

“Five!” You shake Five’s shoulder again. For the first time ever you’re awake earlier than him, mostly because the wall you’d built out of pillows had toppled in the middle of the night (you suspect you kicked it) and a gust of wind had woken you. You don’t know how he can ignore the wind. It digs through your skin and deep to your bones with every gust.

“Huh?” the boy rubs his eyes. “Y/N? Is everything all right?” Five’s eyes are barely cracked open. He doesn’t want to fully open them because then it means that he’ll be fully awake and not going back to sleep until nighttime.

“It’s snowing!” you’d excitedly responded, pulling him up. You can feel the cold seeping through your sweatshirt and leggings, but you don’t mind. You’ll put on more layers later, but you know for a fact that playing in the snow doesn’t make you cold. “Come on, Five!”

“It’s just snow, Y/N,” he’d grumbled, trying to turn over and go back to sleep (he was up late last night because you’d been snoring). “It’ll still be here later.”

“But we have to be the first people to mess it up!” you exclaim. Every other time it had snowed you’d woken up early so your neighbors wouldn’t mess up the snow in your yards before you. There is something extremely satisfying about fresh snow, and it’s even more satisfying when you’re the one messing it up.

“Y/N, there’s no one left to mess it up,” Five grumbles, turning over in his bed.

You fall back on your haunches, realization hitting you. You’d been so excited about the snow that the constant shadow hanging over your head—the shadow of all your dead friends and family, the shadow of all the people that didn’t survive the fire—had disappeared for a second.

You walk out to the snow anyway, trying not to let Five ruin your day just like he always does, but it’s black.

Day 524

Five’s fingers are running through your hair gently as he braids it. He’d said his sisters taught him how to braid their hair when they couldn’t do it themselves, but you honestly can’t imagine Allison ever needing help with anything. Plus, you can’t ever imagine Vanya in a braid. Every time you’d ever seen pictures of her, her hair was only ever unstyled and hanging loose around her face.

“I was thinking,” he begins, interrupting your reading of The Catcher in the Rye. “We’re almost out of food.”

You scoff, closing the book but keeping your finger in the page you were reading. “What are you talking about? We’ve got a ton left!” Sure, it’s almost halfway gone, but there’s still a lot left. You and Five have barely started on the packaged and snack food, too; he’d insisted on eating the perishables first.

“It’ll only last us a few more months,” Five insists. He pulls on your hair, but you’re not sure if it was on purpose. “I’m sure there are other buildings out there that have more food.”

You tense and start to turn around, but he yanks you back so your hair doesn’t get messed up. “You want to leave?”

“Just for a few days,” Five insists. “And just me. I don’t want you walking around for long because of your feet, you know, and why should we permanently leave a working shelter that has everything we need? I just want to bring back a little bit more food and supplies for all of us. I also want to see if there are any undamaged showers nearby. Using the sink in the women’s bathroom gets old quickly.”

You can’t argue with that. It takes forever to scrub yourself with the sink’s water. It’s not efficient, but it’s better than nothing.

Still, you don’t want to be left here alone. “I could go with you, though. And how will you bring anything back? How would you find your way back?”

“I found a wagon that I could use,” Five suggests. “And we could go all Hansel and Gretel if you like. I’m sure there’s a string that I could wrap around trees and such for a path.”

“I don’t like it,” you say stubbornly. “I want to go with you.”

“Y/N, you won’t be able to walk as far as I want to go,” Five says, tying an elastic around the end of the braid. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

The problem with that is you don’t know if he’ll come back. Sure, he could pretend that he’s going to, and he could put up an act of leaving a trail, but the second he’s out of sight you could be on your own for the rest of your life.

You turn around, chewing on your lip as you look at Five’s earnest face. He doesn’t look like he’s lying.

I trust you, you want to say. You wouldn’t have said that a year ago, or even six months ago. You shouldn’t trust him. He’s still trying to jump, but he doesn’t try as often as every day anymore. Do you trust Five to leave and come back?

Day 558

Five can’t help the butterflies in his stomach as he sees the familiar Costco, the place he’s been living with you for the past year and a half, looming on the horizon. His right hand clenches around the string he’s holding. It’s stretched taut between the burnt shell of a car that may or may not have been red before the fire and a stray lamppost that had been mangled. It was his breadcrumb trail for the entire time he was gone.

The wagon creaks and rattles as he pulls it along with his left hand. The ground is especially rough and more than a few times Five has had to pick everything up from the ground when it all fell from the wagon. The crutches have fallen over the most, but it’ll be worth it to see your face when Five gives them to you.

“Y/N!” he yells, trotting around the cars’ corpses. “Y/N, I’m back!” In the silence of the apocalypse, his voice is deafening. Every creak of the wagon sounds like a gunshot.

“Y/N!” Five drops the handle of the wagon at the entrance of the warehouse. “I’m back!”

“Five?” You limp into his gaze. You sound entirely too surprised to see him again. Had you really thought he wasn’t coming back? Sure, Five was gone longer than he had anticipated, but he’d promised to come back.

The look on your face is priceless. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open and turning up like you’re trying not to smile. Five imagines he has a similar look on his face as he tries to stifle his smile. He’d missed you more than he’d thought possible, just like he misses his siblings. He supposes that’s what happens when someone gets used to someone else’s presence in the way you get used to someone that lives with you. It’s alien to live without them.

Faster than Five had ever seen you walk before, your hobble turns into sort of a gallop and you throw yourself into his arms. “I thought you weren’t coming back,” you whisper into his neck, and it breaks his heart a little bit.

“I said I was,” he replies, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing. “And I did.”

Umbrella Academy Taglist:

@fentanvl @deathswretch @lightningidiot @five-hg @iamsnek666@ameliatrh @ihatecheesyusernames @dora-the-grownup @emilyt0314 @idklol707

Five x Reader Taglist:

@statsvitenskap @dare-the-punisher @thespian-anon @ask-veronica-sawyer-heathers @fivegallaghers

Snowflakes Taglist:

@campcampie

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes

[atruththatyoudeny]

MONTHLY READS | June

Thank you so much to all the amazing authors for sharing your stories with us! »Top 5 stories + 7 more under the cut «

Heading for Limbo

by FullOnLarrie | friends to lovers | friends with benefits | sexuality crisis | 100k Childhood best friends who’ve fallen in and out of touch with each other since Louis’ family moved away when they were thirteen, Harry and Louis find their paths crossing again and again. Each time, no matter how many miles apart or how many years it’s been, it’s as if no time has passed. They fall back into their easy friendship, until life intervenes and sends them on their separate ways once more. When Harry discovers some life-changing things about himself, Louis is there for him, however he needs. But it’s all temporary because Louis has plans that will move his life from New York all the way to L.A. and the distance isn’t the only thing between them. The pieces of their twice broken hearts are scattered from the Atlantic to the Pacific.

Red hands

by reveries_passions for One Direction Big Bang Round 1 | post-war | angst | World War III | enemies to lovers | slow burn | minor character death | injury | guns | violence | mentions of sexual assault | homophobia | PTSD | panic attacks | vague elements of torture | major character injury | 128k “I’ve never told anyone,” Harry murmurs, voice so soft no one else would be able to hear, if it wasn’t just the two of them. “But you’ve told someone,” Louis tells him firmly. “And that’s not gonna fucking happen around here. You don’t speak a word of it, or someone’s going to kill you, and we can’t let that happen.” * A dystopian au in which harry, an ex-soldier who’s escaped from his government run camp, accidentally stumbles across the biggest rebel movement in the country, and louis, one of the rebellion’s mysterious leaders who appears to hate him, seems to simultaneously have an obsession with keeping him alive. or: harry is wanted for treason, niall hasn’t changed in four years, liam is always smiling, and louis is angry. like, really angry.

To Carry Love

by lovelarry10 & wander723 | Part of the The Mason-Verse series | mpreg | fluff | childbirth | parenthood | 21k Picking up a few years after Piece by Piece, we catch up with the Tomlinson-Styles as they celebrate the arrival of Liam's first child, and make a few choices of their own...

Evocatio

by lapoesieestdanslarue | fluff | 13k Evocatio; a latin word, referring to the method of how an army would try to tempt out a god or goddess from a city in order to ransack it. or; Louis is torn between the dead-end life he'd had in Doncaster and left long ago, and his new life in London. Mostly he's just confused by and halfway in love with the farmer that has long hair and green eyes.

Accidentally On My Way To Loving You

by larrymylove | partying | mistaken identity | Ping-Pong | banter | 5k “So,” H said, “Who are you.” Louis froze. The fork nearly slipped from his hand. So this was it then. The jig was up. Louis would have to admit that he’d stumbled into the wrong party and that, after seeing H, hadn’t wanted to leave. Louis would be kicked out, never to see H again. And who could blame him. He sounded like a total creeper. If the roles had been reversed....Louis wouldn’t blame H for never wanting anything to do with him ever again. Louis arrives at the wrong party, and finds he never wants to leave.

Cool Cats

by Anonymous for Marcel Fic Exchange | hybrids | light angst | fluff | humour | 16k There’s a gorgeous boy sitting there, staring at him. His hair is longish, tucked back by a cloth headband, his eyes are a brilliant blue that make Marcel question if he’s ever actually seen real blue before or just cheap imitations of it. And his lips, thin and pink, are just slightly open, almost as though they’re inviting Marcel’s kiss. “Oh,” the boy breathes in surprise and the tone is enough to wake Marcel from his momentary stupor. He realizes that the boy is staring at his ears and suddenly kisses are the furthest thing from Marcel’s mind. Marcel exhales harshly and pulls out his chair, sinking into it and crossing his arms over his chest. He lifts his chin defiantly. “Alright, let’s have it.” “Have… what?” The boy asks wide-eyed and, fuck, even his voice is beautiful. It’s got this delightful rasp to it that makes Marcel wanna purr. “Whatever jokes or insults you’re gonna say. Let’s just get them over with now and out of the way,” Marcel says. The blue-eyed cutie just sits there, staring. Or Sometimes, Marcel can have nice things.

Learning to Eat

by photo41 | chefs | 28k Celebrity chef Louis Tomlinson has a problem. He’s opening his first restaurant in 9 weeks, and he has yet to hire a pastry chef- apparently people think he’s ‘standoffish’ and ‘rude’ and ‘quick to temper’. Whatever. He ends up saddled with an annoying, happy-go lucky rookie who also happens to be obnoxiously good looking. His tv presenter and pop star best friends only add to the drama, and for fucks sake would everyone please stop quoting Julia Child?! Kitchen AU where Harry helps Louis re-learn how to eat. (METAPHORICALLY)

Delight in Masques

by kassio for One Direction Big Bang Round 1 | urban fantasy | magic | shapeshifting | fae & fairies | 27k Popstar Louis Tomlinson has been pulling one over on the mortals for years. In the five years since he put on a human illusion and tried out for the X Factor, none of them have realised that he’s one of the Fair Folk – a cat shapeshifter, to be precise – and he’d like to keep it that way. When he returns to the X Factor as a guest judge, the last thing he expects is for some half-Siren fool to use magic on the judges. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Harry Styles does. Now Louis has to track down some rogue changeling before he exposes them all. Even worse? Apparently, Harry doesn’t even know what he is. (An urban fantasy adventure, set in the world of - but not crossing over with - the October Daye book series. No need to be familiar with those books; I just want to give credit where it's due on a lot of the worldbuilding.)

London is well worth a mass

by dolphinaaaa | a/b/o | royalty | arranged marriage | 93k Louis is an Omega prince of France. When he is 13, he is betrothed to Harry of England for politics. The wedding will seal the alliance between the two coutries. This is their story.

No Harm, No Fowl

by rainbowslovehl | bad puns | fluff | 6k “He’s here again,” Louis hissed at Niall, his co-worker who was scraping chips into a paper tray and on top of the fish. The guy passing by was distracting but according to Niall, he wasn’t an unusual sight for him. But he could indulge Louis, at least. “He’s just walked past the shop for the second time, probably on his second lap of the neighbourhood. What do you think he wants? What does it mean?” “He’s looking for his lost farm?” Niall supplied before sniggering at his own joke, handing over the order. “Don’t make that face and just stop obsessing over him. He’s just a guy.” Louis finds himself obsessed with figuring out why Harry roams around the neighbourhood in a blue robe. Featuring Geraldine the hen, bad bird puns and too much ketchup.

Until You Remember

by Throwthemflowers | amnesia | mythic elements | 21k Harry lowered his head a moment, then whispered, “It hurts, Lou. If you kissed me, it wouldn’t hurt so much.” Louis set his mug down with a clink on the coffee table. “What wouldn’t hurt so much?” Harry closed his eyes. “I don’t know.” “Fooking bloody hell…” Louis cursed under his breath as he brought his hands to his face and rubbed roughly over his cheekbones. “Harry, do you know what… what…” “What is wrong with me?” Harry finished in a soft, small voice. Louis’s heart dissolved into a mass of pulsing shame. He pulled the man to him and gently pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Harry. You’re kind and sweet and good, and I don’t understand you at all, and I don’t know if I ever will, but there’s nothing wrong with you, darling. Nothing at all.” Louis breathed in his scent, swallowing hard. --Talented London pianist Louis Tomlinson moves to a small coastal town to escape the elites of his job and the mundanity of his life. Through the music of Debussy he finds a charming, wonderful friend in Harry Styles, the fiancé of the town's mayor. Louis thinks his pining is in vain until he discovers that all may not be as it seems....

I See the Ice in His Smile

by photo41 for HL Summer Exchange 2015 | hockey | figure skating | homophobia | 22k In which Louis is on the verge of becoming a professional hockey player, while Harry, (a figure skater who is way above this, thanks) just got roped into being the team's new mascot- leading to flirting, skating showdowns, hockey brawls, misunderstandings, and of course- ice, ice baby.

[bonkybornes]

The Road So Far: Phantom Traveler Pt.2

"Thank you for taking our survey." Sam said, "And if you do plan to fly, please remember your friends at United Brittania Airlines. Thanks." He hung up the phone with a sigh. "That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway, they're not flying any time soon." Working Man played in the background as the two spoke, Dean keeping his eyes on the road.

"So our only wild card is Amanda Walker, the flight attendant." Dean stated, praying to whatever God may exist that they wouldn't have to get on a plane.

"Right, her sister said that Amanda's plane leaves at eight tonight, it's her first night back on the job." Dean internally groaned, he was completely screwed.

"Just our luck. Call Amanda again, see if we can catch her." He told his brother, gripping the wheel nervously.

"I've tried like four times, I left voicemails but she's not responding. Dean, this is a five hour drive, even with you behind the wheel." He pointed out.

"We'll make it." Dean insisted, pressing down on the gas pedal.

~

Sam frantically looks around as they enter the airport, hoping to find some information on the flight, "There! It's boarding in thirty minutes." The fear grew quickly in Dean's chest.

"Alright, we still have some cards to play. Where's a phone?" He muttered, spotting one a few feet away. He picked up the receiver and talked to the secretary, "Hi, gate thirteen? I'm trying to contact Amanda Walker on flight 424, she's a flight attendant." Sam desperately hoped this would work, he never liked lying to get things, even when it was necessary. "Hi this is Doctor James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital, we have a Karen Walker here?" Dean covered his face with his hand, a headache forming.

"Karen?" Amanda wondered.

"Yes, she got in a minor car accident. No serious injuries but-"

"Wait, that's- that's impossible!" She exclaimed, "I just got off the phone with her." Shit. Dean thought.

"W-What?"

"Five minutes ago, she was at home cramming for a final. Who is this?" She said suspiciously.

"Uh, well there must be some mistake." He tried his best to keep his composure, failing miserably.

"And how would you even know I'm here?" The gears turned in her head. Sam snuck around to the other side of Dean to listen, "Is this one of Vince's friends?" Dean licked his lipe, getting into character.

"Guilty as charged." He lied easily.

"Unbelievable."

"He's really sorry." At this point Dean was just pulling things out of his ass and hoping he wouldn't have to go any higher than the ground.

"Well tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life." She gritted her teeth.

"Wait! Come on, you gotta see the guy! Really, he's a mess. It's- It's pathetic." He bullshitted.

"Really?"

"Yeah, totally." His face was screwed up in concentration. Amanda sighed on the other side of the phone.

"Just, tell him to call me when I land. I have to go." She softened. Panic took over his voice, but she was already hanging up the phone.

"Dammit! So close." Dean exclaimed. Sam sighed shortly.

"Alright, time for plan B." He declared, "We're getting on that plane." Dean widened his eyes, the panic showing clearly now.

"Woah, wait! Just hang on a second. There's gotta be another way!" A nervous laugh left his lips.

"Dean, if we're right, that plane is gonna crash. It's got over a hundred passengers on it!" Sam argued.

"You're right."

"Okay, I'll go get tickets, you get stuff out of the trunk, whatever will make it through airport security." Dean looked to the side nervously, "You okay?"

"Not really." He admitted.

"What is it?" Sam rushed, they didn't have time for this.

"I kind of have this problem with-" Dean trailed off.

"With flying?"

"Yeah." Sam gave him a bitch face.

"You're not serious?"

"Well it's never been an issue until now! Why do you think I drive everywhere?" Dean asked him, nerves taking over.

"Fine," Sam sighed at his brother's fear, "I'll do this one on my own."

"No!" He exclaimed.

"Well we don't have another option, Dean!" Their speech was getting faster, either from nerves or lack of time.

"Come on!" Dean shouted. He was going to have to get on this plane.

~

"Are you humming Metallica?" Sam asked. They had taken their seats on the plane and Dean was near a panic attack, his breathing heavy.

"Calms me down." He rushed, trying to picture himself anywhere but there. When that doesn't work he picks up the pamphlet on how to stay safe if the plane crashes, if anything happened he needed to be prepared.

"Just try to relax." Sam advised, pissing his brother off.

"Just try to shut up!" He shot back childishly. Sam took a deep breath, preparing himself for what would surely be a stupid conversation.

"Look, I know you're nervous, but you've got to stay focused." He told his brother calmly.

"Okay."

"We've got thirty two minutes and counting to stop this thing or the plane goes down." Sam reminded him.

"Yeah, on a crowded plane. That'll be easy." Sarcasm shot out of Dean's mouth like spit, covering the sentence with a snarky tone.

"Let's just take it one step at a time. Who's it possessing?" Sam tried his best to guide him trough the panic and into the case. Dean swallowed thickly.

"It's usually gonna be someone with a chink in the armor, something the demon can worm through, someone with an addiction or some type of emotional distress." Dean rambled, sounding like a page out of their dad's notebook.

"Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash, if I was her I'd be pretty messed up." He suggested, an idea popping into his head, "Why don't you go check on her, see what you can find out?"

"What if she's already possessed?"

"There's ways to test that." Sam offered, "If she's possessed, she'll flinch at the name of God."

"Oh, nice." Dean nodded, standing gingerly to head towards the flight attendant.

"Dean!" Sam whisper yelled, "Say it in Latin!"

"I know that!"

The younger Winchester sat in his seat as Dean headed off. He wondered why Jay had to go, why it had to be him. It's almost like he was cursed or something. Everyone around him keeps dying. He continued on this train of thought until Dean reappeared beside him.

"Okay, she's gotta be the most well adjusted person on the planet."

"You said Christo?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. There's no demon in her, there's no demon getting in her." The plane hit a patch of turbulence, shaking Dean to his soul, "Come on, that can't be normal!" His anxiety was through the roof.

"Hey, it's just a little bit of turbulence." Although Sam was scared by it too, he was able to keep his fear under control, mostly.

"Sam this plane is going to crash okay? Stop treating me like i'm friggin four!" Dean's knuckles were white from clutching the armrests, his body was pressed to it like he was trying to glue himself to the seat.

"You need to calm down."

"Well, I'm sorry, I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"Dude, stop with the touchy-feely, self-help, yoga crap. It's not helping." Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Listen, if you're panicked you're wide open to demonic possession. So you need to calm yourself down. Right now." The older Winchester blew air out of his mouth slowly, trying with everything in him to relax his body. "Good, now I found an exorcism in here that might work." He angled the book so Dean could see it. "The Rituale Romanum."

"What do we have to do?"

~

Lights are flaring from all over the plane, Dean pressed himself against the wall as the nose of the plane dipped down towards the ground. If it was possible, his eyes were wider than before, almost popping out of his head. Sam took charge of the situation, searching under every seat for John's notebook. The demon had kicked it away in it's struggle to escape. Aha, He picked up the book and started reading again. Still sprawled out on the floor, he manages to finish the exorcism and send the demon back to Hell. Dean slumps to the ground as the floor levels.

"You okay?" Amanda asks him. Dean nods, his breathing getting closer to even.

~ "Nice work back there Sammy." Sam and Dean were in the Impala, driving away from the airport. They had given some crap statement to the police, they'd never figure it out anyways. Sam scoffed and put his head down a bit.

"Yeah, just another day at work." This sent a chuckle flying out of their mouths.

"I'm serious! You did a hell of a job back there. when did you learn Latin?" Sam fished a beer out of the cooler by his feet and opened it, shrugging.

"I didn't? I totally bullshitted all of that pronunciation." He said through laughter. They sat in silence for a minute, maybe more. The rumble of Baby's engine, and the soft rock coming from the radio was their only company.

"So theres this thing in L.A., June I think." Dean started, "It's called a- A pride parade." A smile broke out on Sam's face. "What's that all about?" Dean cleared his throat after he spoke.

Sam turned to his brother with an amused smile on his face. "Dean, you dont have to do this."

"What!" Dean lifted one of his hands off of the wheel, "I- I really want to know more!" Sam laughed at his brother's awkward state.

"Alright, if you really want me to I'll tell you. It's a celebration, kind of. Everyone in the LGBTQ+ community gets together and marches. They march for freedom, rights, to be proud of who they are." He trailed off with a fond smile.

"The LGBTQ+ community, that's-"

"Lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer, and every other sexuality and identity there is." Dean nodded, not fully understanding but trying to, for the sake of his brother.

"Sounds fun. We should go." Sam damn near spilled his beer all over himself.

"What?"

"Yeah! Why not?" Sam scoffed a bit.

"I don't know, I guess I just thought you wouldn't be that into it." Their faces fell a bit as they remembered the day Sam left.

"Sam, I'm- I'm sorry." Sam's head perked up at his brother's voice, "I should've stuck up for you, should've said something. Dad was a dick, to say the least."

"No, there's not a ton you could've done, he did what he did. Nothing can change his mind, you know that." Sam kept his eyes trained on his lap.

"Yeah, but I could've at least said something."

"Dude, it's fine. I'm not gonna hold a grudge." They both stared at the long road ahead of them.

"Alright, bitch." The two grew smiles on their faces.

"Jerk."

[kchasm]

Shameful Original Characters I Have Created Part 6: Marion Thorpe

Okay, full disclosure: Here’s where I start to get into tabletop gaming characters, as opposed to just characters I created for stories and fanfic. That’s okay, right? I mean, these characters are technically also original characters, so it’s still okay, right? Right?

Yeah, I dunno. It seems different somehow.

Anyway, keep in mind that (as of the time of me writing this specific post), I’ve never managed to play a tabletop game to anything that could be considered a conclusion. Thus, these characters are gonna have some open-endedness in the “where are they now” category. Kind of a bummer, but that’s the way it crumbles. And it’s not like I can’t use these characters or character concepts elsewhere someday, right? Right?

Don’t Rest Your Head is a terrific game about the dangers of sloppy sleeping habits, only when I say “terrific” I mean in the sense that it inspires terror. Basically, your character has, for whatever reason you’ve decided on, foregone sleep long enough that they’ve awakened to the existence of the Mad City—a twisted otherworld where Nightmares wander and thirteen o’clock makes for a really bad time. You can get there from here, easily enough, once you’ve reached that point—just find the door or alleyway you’re pretty sure wasn’t there before.

Problem is, those Nightmares? They can sense you, too, now. And they are—nightmares, I mean. And your life isn’t the worst thing you can take.

...Okay, I’m done being melodramatic. Seriously, though, it’s a real interesting game. I totally recommend even just reading up on it, if you’ve got the time. But you’re not here for my tabletop recs—you’re here to listen to me blab about my OCs (though I haven’t a clue why), so let’s get to brass Tacks Men.

(Tacks Men are an enemy in the game.)

(That’s why it’s funny.)

Marion Thorpe was just a small-time struggling paperback romance writer (yes, I know, writers writing writers). And then maybe the stars aligned, or Earth’s magnetic field reversed itself (probably not that second one) because almost immediately out of the gate, what should he produce but a hit? Well, a hit among the paperback, romance, and paperback romance crowds, but a hit nonetheless.

And Marion, rightfully, basked in the glow of his accomplishment up until his editor went, “Grand! When’s the next book coming along?”

Thus was made known to Marion the Big Problem with hitting it big on the first go. If you start off with some unsteady novels and uneven thrillers and then one day finally knock out a bestseller, that’s one thing. It seems normal, that kind of progression. You set out out with a quality that’s alright, maybe, and you keep going till you get better. And maybe your next book after that isn’t as good, but it feels like you might find that holy groove, if you give it another go. It’s not so bad, somehow.

If you start great, on the other hand—somehow, more despite yourself than anything else—

There’s nowhere to go but down! Merry Christmas.

So began Marion’s stress-founded habit of sleeplessness. And one day—after a month, maybe longer, of backspace-backspace-backspace and progressive unkemptness, the muttering, half-cracked mess named Marion decided maybe he ought to take a walk. Just to clear his head. Only he walked the wrong way, at some point, and found himself in the Mad City (though he didn’t know it was called that, not yet), which is life’s way of telling you that just because you’re in a bad way doesn’t mean things can’t get worse.

Now, quick FYI: As a side effect of becoming aware of the Mad City (or becoming “Awake,” as they call it), a character acquires what’s known as a “madness talent”—the ability to do something they plain old shouldn’t be able to do. Marion’s madness talent tied into his ability as a writer—through narration, he was able to warp reality (as much as “reality” applied), saving his bacon once or twice. For example, a deadly storm (which had a punny name I’ve totally forgotten) was avoided when Marion narrated the existence of a fortunately-placed awning. Sounds OP, right? Problem is, the world doesn’t like to be edited so much. Small changes you can get away with—as long as there’s no reason not to be an awning, there might as well be one—but try to change someone’s mind without them noticing or write an enemy’s tumble into a pitfall that might not have been there before or god forbid, retcon a foe away completely, and the world pushes back, especially if the change isn’t well-justified—reality can have all the unlikely coincidences it wants, but fiction has to make sense.

On top of that, “madness talent” isn’t a misnomer. Every use of a madness talent pushes a character further toward the brink of insanity—one push too far, and that character becomes a Nightmare themself.

...Sheesh, that’s a lot of words to describe not a lot of game mechanics. So what happened with Marion, after he got into the Mad City? Well, this and that. Joined up with a coupla other Awake folks. Got into (and out of) a few scraps by the bare skin of his teeth. Was terrified. Was terrified most of the time, honestly. Terrified and stressed out and nervous, and muttering, and not just for the sake of narration. Met a life-sized wind-up ballerina, who didn’t have much of a personality, but seemed alright with helping the company out. Happened to be there when the ballerina’s clockworks ran down. Wound the ballerina back up, which apparently did more than the obvious, because the ballerina suddenly had a personality, and possibly a crush.

(On a side note, have you ever stumbled knee-deep into a sexual metaphor without actually meaning to? I’m not sure who was more uncomfortable, me or Marion. Ken Akamatsu is just lovin’ it, I’m sure.)

And what happened to Marion next? Man, I dunno. Like I said, his game never came to anything resembling a conclusion. Maybe he’s dead. Maybe he’s worse.

I like to imagine, though, that he escaped what was plaguing him, or found what he needed to find, or maybe a little of both. And he figured out how to sleep again, without worry of nightmares or Nightmares. He still writes books, still sometimes romance, but his stories have changed. Nothing solid, nothing anyone can put their fingers on, but—they’re a bit more surreal, a bit more unsettling in ways that can’t be easily described.

That’s alright. There’s an audience for that, too.

And I think he might be married to a graceful woman with very, very measured movements.