#And he’s competing with hundreds of other heroes

[city-of-ladies]

Strong seawomen

You can read more about Iceland's seawomen here!

"Born in 1829, Ísafold Runólfsdóttir grew up on a remote farm in East Iceland near present-day Vopnafjördur. From a family celebrated for their singular strength, Ísafold was known as the best and strongest of the bunch. She was so renowned for her strength that she became part of the folk history of the area, with accounts of her taking on the form and style of the traditional Icelandic narrative tales. She is described as very intelligent, tall, broad-shouldered, handsome with a firm expression, bold, eager in her work, unsparing in her words, unafraid to speak her mind (her language sometimes a bit crass) and overall considered a hero both at sea and on land.

Ísafold went to sea when she was “very young,” first rowing with her father Runólfur. Fishing became her main source of income. She often went out alone, and only the “hardest workers could hope to match her.” As with so many of the seawomen in the historical record, it was not so much for her fishing that Ísafold is remembered but for her personality and phenomenal strength. This included her ability to pull her heavy wooden boat ashore alone—an unheard-of feat. One young seaman recalled that once, when the boat was getting in danger upon encountering rough waves as they neared shore, Ísafold jumped from the boat into the waves, grabbed him, and then tossed him with such a throw that he landed safely on shore. Then she dragged the boat ashore after her. Another account describes how, when unloading hundred-pound bags from the boats with the men, who carried one bag each, Ísafold would often remark, “Well, you are not so strong,” and grab two bags, one in each hand.6 Some speculated that it was the fish oil she took religiously that aided her famous strength—but that she was stronger than almost anyone else, man or woman, was undisputed. 

Ísafold also had exceptional skill and strength at a wrestling and martial art form called glíma. Brought from Norway by the early Icelandic settlers, glíma was played in medieval times by men, women, and gods alike—and considered fundamental for a warrior. In the 1800s, it was still popular, and as Ísafold’s reputation at glíma grew, many men came to test themselves against her, including some of the area’s best-known fighters. But always these men found themselves facedown in the “cow muck” in the barn, defeated by Ísafold. Eventually, Ívar Jónsson, a “mountain of a man in both size and strength” came to challenge Ísafold. Their fight was both “long and even,” but “being an experienced fighter,” he was eventually able to take Ísafold to the ground, where she admitted defeat. Even so, Ívar affirmed that “he had never before or since fought a worthier opponent”. 

Ísafold was clearly both attractive and independent, and the descriptions of her thwarting sexually aggressive men (usually reported as foreigners), repeated to the delight of the town, take on the tone of parable. These accounts always start by outlining a situation in which some very foolish man or men decide to harass Ísafold. (...).

At this juncture in each account, someone goes running to Ísafold’s father, warning him that his daughter is in danger. Each time he declines to budge, saying that his “little girl” can take care of herself. And each time she competently does. On the ship, some men flee but the rest she sends “one by one rolling down the gangway.” In the other cases, she comes down the stairs holding the man under her arm with his head hanging down. As for the man who wished to “enjoy” her, Ísafold stomps down the stairs with him under her arm, his trousers around his ankles as he ineffectually screams and curses at her. She strides out of the house with him, down to the sea, and, with a grin, tosses him into the water. The laughter of their audience reportedly “rang around them.” The man manages to wade to land, pulling his trousers up as he goes, loudly cursing the woman who did this to him. After this incident, he was reportedly not seen in public for a long time. At each story’s conclusion, various townspeople thank Ísafold, saying that the men are known for their uncontrolled temper or have “been a bother to other women before her.”

Beyond using her physical strength to protect herself, it was clear that Ísafold, like other seawomen such as Foreman Thurídur, stood up for her rights and voiced her opinions—sometimes in fairly outrageous ways. One week in church, Ísafold found the pastor’s sermon objectionable (the account, sadly, neglects to tell us what he said). After the communion service had concluded, she darted outside ahead of the pastor and squatted by the church door, as if to relieve herself. As the pastor walked by, she said, “I guess this was rather pointless. The sacrament has already passed through.”

Ísafold eventually took over the family farm, and adopted her sister’s child after that sister’s death. Although, sadly, Ísafold’s first love died of illness—after she had braved trekking through deep snow and a blizzard trying to save him—she later married and had one son, whom she named after the Saga hero Úlfar the Strong. In addition to her amazing strength and fishing abilities, Ísafold had great skill for natural medicine, healing wounds, and even surgery; when her adopted son tore off two fingers in an accident, she successfully reattached them. According to a local pastor, Ísafold remained strong, living to be “an old lady,” and was still living on a farm as late as 1901. Another source, while agreeing that she had a long life, recorded that after her father died in 1870, Ísafold left farming and moved to a home by the sea. 

These stories of Ísafold are rollicking and fun, but they remind us that in the rowboats, the ability and strength to row against wind and current could make the difference between a safe homecoming and death. Even in the early Icelandic Sagas, women with such skills were recognized, though not glorified in the way the men were. In the Saga of Gísli Súrsson, Gísli, who is being hunted down by numerous enemies, travels to Breidafjördur to take refuge with his friend Ingjaldur. When his enemies get wind of his whereabouts, fifteen of them board a ship and head across the bay in pursuit. Meanwhile, Gísli has gone out fishing with Ingjaldur and two of his slaves, a man Svartur and a woman Bóthildur. Sighting the enemy ship, Gísli hurriedly changes places and clothes with Svartur, who rows away with Ingjaldur. Gísli, however, joins Bóthildur, pretending to be Ingjaldur’s well-known “half-wit” son. Ingjaldur and Svartur head for a nearby island, while Bóthildur rows toward the enemies. Through cleverly implying doubt as to the identity of Ingjaldur’s companion, she misleads them into pursuing the other men, thereby saving Gísli’s life. By the time the enemies realize they have been fooled, Bóthildur is already far down the channel. With many men rowing, the enemies rapidly gain on them, but Bóthildur rows so fast that the “steam comes off her,” getting Gísli ashore just before the enemies catch up to them. In thanks, Gísli gives Bóthildur gold to take to Ingjaldur and his wife, along with his request that they free not only her but Svartur as well.

Strength in working at sea was always important, and people who were exceptional got noticed. Examples of women dragging the heavy medieval ships ashore do exist in the Sagas, although later it seems not to have been common until the 1707–8 Plague killed a quarter of the population. During that terrible time, the women dragged up the ships and buried the dead. From then until the early 1900s, when boat construction changed, women dragged the boats to shore alongside their crewmates. Even well into the mid-1900s, on seaside farms, people, including women, were still dragging their boats to the sea. Unnur, the seawoman featured on the cover of this book, recalled this from her youth in the 1950s:

One of my first memories of our boat was helping to push it down to the sea in spring using ribs of whales instead of wooden planks for the boat to slide on. There was a drum at the shore from which we would unwind the wire holding the boat. At the same time a flock of people were supporting the boat so it would stay upright. Then as one rib was loose above the boat it was loose above the boat it was carried down below the boat and so on every time the boat moved further down the slope. When the boat reached the water all ribs were taken and put in the shed.

Historical accounts of strong female rowers also continue throughout the centuries: women rowed record distances—with no helping wind—in record time; seawomen in their seventies exhausted their strong twentysomething-year-old sons; rescues were accomplished due to a woman’s superior rowing; and numerous women rowed in a competitive dare, changing the rhythm to see if the other rowers could keep up. The historical record is full of these women’s adventures, such as those of another seawoman from East Iceland, Helga Sigurdardóttir. Born in 1823, Helga lived to be almost ninety, and, in addition to fishing, she managed her own farm, including the haying and tending the sheep. Like Gudný Sigrídur Magnúsdóttir, Helga ran over mountains, but unless the ground was frozen or it was raining, she ran barefoot. She fished in the spring and autumn, and always wanted someone of equal strength to row with her—something apparently not so easy to find. She was particularly remembered for outrowing everyone in both boats when her boat and a companion boat got caught in a fierce storm together; her strength and encouragement were credited with getting the entire group through the danger safely."

 Seawomen of Iceland: Survival on the edge, Margaret Wilson

#history #women in history #women's history #Ísafold Runólfsdóttir #iceland #icelandic history #seawomen #feminism #badass women #herstory #women's history month #Helga Sigurdardóttir #Bóthildur #18th century #19th century #working women #historical figures

[shakespeareallanpoe]

This Fate We Choose

Word Count: idk

Warnings: none, unless you're terrified of afternoon strolls

______

Reality was a harsh place. War and evil existed only to destroy and the world was the perfect place for it to flourish. Damian had had enough. He was born as the assassin and he had lived as the hero. And just like him, despite his father's efforts and optimistic beliefs, the world had made a full circle. Every battle the justice league won to fix their world led to the world falling back to being broken.

  Damian was leaving. Returning to his grandfather's league to make a real change in the world instead of playing hero and uselessly accomplishing nothing. He dropped a few hints that morning to the team as his only way of signaling his intent to depart. If the smart ones on the team lived up to that title they would know what he was doing and for the idiots, they didn't need to know he was leaving. Or at least they didn't need to be able to bother him about it until he was long gone.

  Weighing on him, and maybe if he was being honest, what had delayed his decision to leave for so long, was something he knew he had to address. Today. So in his casual clothes, with his belongings already packed in his ride, and his favorite sword left behind, something that rarely happened, Damian stood, unarmed in every way, in front of Raven's bedroom door.

  He needed no excuse to talk with her. They were past the formality the other team members needed to approach either of them. Damian gestured curtly with his hand outside, where the golden hour sunshine casted plenty of light and warmth for a stroll around the tower, and with a graceful nod Raven agreed.

  As they walked Raven lightheartedly offered conversation, as was their norm. She always broke the ice and settled them into their pleasant conversation first. It was something he knew she only did for him, as she rarely offered light conversation to anyone else. And he knew he did something similar in his own way, offering to her some side of him that was for her and her alone.

  After a while Damian ventured to drift closer as they neared a curve in the path, slowing to a stop as his gaze fell onto Raven. In the direct purity of the afternoon sunlight, her smooth midnight hair almost glowed with a purple shine, as if by its own magic. Her eyes were caught in the light which dazzled with every hue of amethyst, and her expression was attentive and beautiful.

  Raven was like that. Damian always felt as if from within her, she radiated her own evangelical aura, an energy that was uniquely her. It was different than seeing her magic in use- her aura didn't come from hell or a demonic ancestry. Raven lived the life of her own choice, and however limited it was by her father's efforts Damian had no doubt that no one ruled over her destiny but her. She was no one but herself, and from that she would never stray or bend for anything. Raven never boasted her strength or competed to prove what she was capable of. She was so different than him, like the perfect yin to his yang. The rain to his wildfire.

  And he knew, so, so late but now for sure, from the depths of the heart so many told him he never had, that his naturally keen observation didn't tell him this. That his astute scrutiny of the world and everything in it couldn't be responsible for telling him how Raven's gentle smile softened her sculpted features or how her voice just barely picked up when she was talking about what she loved. She had an effect on him, almost like magic and maybe it was in a way, it was a magic of her own. A magic which resonated like the perfect harmonic chord echoing in his heart. If it was, it had to be her. Damian could live a hundred lives and travel a thousand miles and never would he find another who navigated the complex depth of his mind and soul like she did.

  They were different than destiny. From the life they were promised they would lead. This was a choice. Raven was in control of who she was and so was he. They could choose this. They could choose each other. This life they led could be rewritten.

  But when Damian tried to tell her, all that fell from his mouth to the girl he had so completely fallen for, the beautiful girl he knew he could fall forever for, was "would you be interested in joining me in leading the league of assassins?"

#damian x raven #demonbirds #damirae #damian wayne #damian al ghul #rachel roth #dc raven #apokolips war

[jamneuromain]

So, because I haven’t seen your bingo challenge before-

I’m sorry? You’re gonna hate me for the late request but…there’s no but

Steve Rogers with Wrong Number + meet cute;)

Can you imagine Captain America getting the wrong number and showing up at your doorstep after asking Tony to track you down?:3 ain’t that cute?

Take you time tho, you don’t have to rush or write it at all<3

*when he realises it’s the wrong number*

God skjksjskjskjskjj "Captain America getting the wrong number and showing up at your doorstep after asking Tony to track you down?:3 ain’t that cute?"

We have very different definitions of cute........🤣🤣

But I hope you'll enjoy this<333

Wrong number

Steve Rogers x You

Warning: Wrong number, meet cute(sort of?

Summary: Base on solid intel, Steve leads a group of agents to storm a house. Turns out, the intel is not so solid after all...

A/N: My sixth entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty.

He has been observing this house in stealth mode. A binocular in hand, laying in the grass, between the tiny crack in the bushes. The edge of his blunt shield digs into his back. Not much pain, thankfully. Not heavy either. Which he counts as a blessing for a mission that requires silent infiltration.

He is in this position in his smothering suit for fifteen minutes, waiting for three other agents to recon and five others to guard all exits.

"This is Agent Johnson. I'm detecting activities inside the building." An agent reports in the comms.

Steve could hear the tension in Agent Johnson's voice. Steve doesn't blame him. Before Ultron, it used to be superheroes running around saving lives. After the new compound was established, all Avengers were in favor of recruiting agents and forming task forces, operation teams, and such. The name of this project is still temporary. Natasha and Clint are competing to come up with something short and catchy. But in general, it is the first time that Steve leads "Avengers Operation Team" on a mission.

Steve knows (he would bet a hundred bucks on it, in fact) that every one of them feels obligated to impress the American hero, or not make a fool of themselves at the very least.

"All agents, stand by." Steve issues a brief command, "Johnson, do you have eyes on the target?"

From his angle, Steve only has the front of the house in visual. He could see the delicate rose bushes and a small patch of strawberry growing in the front yard. Plain two-stories house with a brown welcome mat.

However, he understands that looks can be deceptive. This cozy little place could well be a safe house for one of the notorious Triad crime lords, Chiang Kai-Dong. (Maria Hill said she helped pick out a "simple" mission, by the way, said it helps with morale.)

"Negative, Sir. I have visual on a woman. No Chiang in sight." Johnson replies.

It was an easy decision to make. Steve retreats from his position and grabs the shield in his hand, taking small steps to the house, "Johnson, Fletcher, stay in your position, watch our six and any movement in the house. The rest of you, approach both exits in stealth and wait for my instruction. Careful of any possible traps or cameras. Chiang gets spooked easily. We are only here because we were able to trace his fresh burner phone."

"Copy." "Copy."

Steve makes it to the doorstep as soon as other agents. "On my mark. Three, two, one. Breach!"

One agent kicks the door open. The wooden plank falls to the ground like a slice of crunchy toast, completely unhinged from the doorway. Steve leads, heading inside the house, holding his shield up to protect himself and two agents on his back.

"Hands where I can see them! Show me your hands!"

Apparently, those agents who comes in through the back door is a little faster than he is, already yelling to whoever is in front of them.

You let out a startled cry, frozen at your spot on the sofa, with your mug on the floor and coffee ruining the beige blanket on your knees. You have your hands in the air, face pale as paper, and your eyes rounded with fear.

You are a woman, obviously, and definitely not the man, Chiang, they were looking for.

Two agents are guarding front and back, while Steve leads the rest to do a sweep of the second floor.

"Clear!" "Clear!" "Clear!"

All he can see is a place where a single woman lives. No signs of a man. No extra toothbrush, no male clothing, nothing that could link you downstairs and Chiang together.

He heads back downstairs. You still having your hands in the air and not daring to move a muscle.

"All clear." Steve nods to Agent Degan, before the latter pulls out a photo from her pocket and shows it to you.

"Have you ever seen this man?" Agent Degan removes her hand from the gun, reaching out her arm so that you could get a clear look at the photo.

You tremble. After looking at the photo carefully, you shake your head in a rush, "No-no. I've never seen him."

"Sir?" Agent Degan turns to Steve, "I suggest we take her back to the compound to investigate."

Steve raises his hand to pause her. He patches through Maria in a second. Maybe his intuition is correct. Maybe they stormed a wrong house.

"Hill, I need you to run cell tracing again. Are you certain that Chiang's burner is still emitting signals in this house? We searched the place and no sign of Chiang. A woman lives in this house, and I don't see anything that could count as evidence."

"Hold on, Cap." Hill replies immediately, "The intel is solid, his phone pings right where you are. Wait-"

Some hushed whispers, sounds like Maria covers her comms for a brief moment.

"Steve, I don't know how to break this to you, so I'm going to tell you exactly what happened." Maria lets out a sigh, "One of our analysts traced the wrong number. Chiang is in Myanmar, not upstate New York."

Steve doesn't know whether he is relieved or worrying more, "Thank you, Hill. We'll call it a day and head back to the compound. " Steve gestures for all agents in the room to put down their weapons.

"Ma'am, we are very sorry to disturb you." Steve unclasps his helmet, half kneeling to the ground to look you right in the eyes, "Any damages caused by my team will be fully compensated by Avengers Restore & Rebuild Foundation. You can contact the number on this card. We also have therapy available for such circumstances. The Foundation would give you more information on your compensation, both physically and mentally."

"Thank-Thank you?" You hesitate on whether to take the business card he whips out of his utility belt, but one look at his serious expression, you gulp and take the card - with both hands.

You are only glad that you don't have to raise your hands anymore. And you suppose guns and heavily armed agents are going to haunt your dreams for quite some time.

"Have a nice day, ma'am. And again, I'm really sorry for this." Steve shakes your hand with a polite smile, before exiting your house.

Bonus:

"Stop it, Rogers. You are making my head spin." Natasha grunts with utter annoyance.

Steve has been pacing in the living room for half an hour, and it doesn't seem like he is going to stop for the foreseeable future.

Tony walks in with a file in hand, announcing his presence the second he steps foot in the room, "I've got it! I've got it. Name, age, date of birth, email address, education records, work experience. Ohhh. She likes history museums-" Tony winks to Natasha over his sunglasses, "She'll like this old fella here, I'm sure."

Steve rolls his eyes, letting go of the comment where Tony just compared him to museum and history. Even so, he has to chime in for his own sake, "Guys, I'm not asking her to work here. I'm trying to decide whether I should ask her out on a date."

Clint, still sleepy from last night's stakeout mission and lying on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, groans and covers his eyes with his arm, "Just ask her out, man. I don't know what the fuss is about."

"The fuss is, Green Arrow," Tony sniggers when he comes up with another nickname for Clint, earning a smothered laugh from Natasha, "that our beloved Captain America here stormed into the wrong building last week with half a dozen agents armed to the teeth, scaring the shit out of sweet Y/N."

"Then don't ask her out." Clint grumbles, turning over and pressing a couch pillow to his ears.

Noticing Steve's eyes zeroing on herself, Natasha shrugs, "Don't look at me. It's your call."

With all the focus from the room (apart from Clint's), Steve takes a deep breath and dials the number.

The wrong number for Chiang, but the right number for you, he hopes.

Find my The Slumber Party Present Bingo Challenge here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #captain america x you #writing challenge #the slumber party writing challenge #steve rogers fluff #captain america fluff

[knightinkosherarmour]

List of Magi and Other Characters Associated with the First Deimos Explorator Fleet

Fabricator Minoris Technoarcheologist Magos Domina Aleph-Gimmel Bellerov-2.0 (she/her): a xenarite who is in charge of the fleet and mostly responsible for the current state of the fleet in a penitent crusade they have just not returned from. Her specialty is wraithbone-necrodermis fusions to cancel out warp energies. She is rather brazen about her xenarite tendencies that emerged after a meeting with Cawl a few hundred years ago. Before said meeting she was a hardline orthodox techpriest. She is however an incredibly competent technoarcheologist and administrator, keeping the Fleet together. She was originally a diplomat for the fleet and for that reason has not had a lot of outward facial augmentations to make coordinating with other parts of the Imperium easier.

Mechasapient Magos Tsephor (he/him): Aleph-Gimmel's oldest friend and a manipulus magos only concerned with the care of the pteraxii of the fleet. Pteraxii are both symbols of good luck and his only obsession. He is a blank and utterly unconcerned with matters of religious importance as long as he can ensure his "birds" are well taken care of. He is not a xenarite and only in the fleet's penitent crusade due to close association with Aleph-Gimmel. 

Datasmiths Pot-Ketl (he/it/they): a pair of Datasmiths or just one Datasmith who is either two techpriests who have augmented themselves into one person or one priest who split his brain in twain. They always speak in union and are on the FDEF for suspected experiments with Abominable Intelligence in their kastelan robots. However the Kastelans have been functioning better than ever before so this goes largely uncommented on. They have a piece of archeotech that allows them to communicate between each other across almost limitless distance. 

Skitarii Marshall Kattal-4/28 (it/they): head of security aboard the fleet and Aleph-Gimmel’s personal Ark Mechanicus, Deimos’s Cog, it is the perfect representation of Aleph-Gimmel’s experiments with xenotech with much of their own augments being supplamneted by necrodermis and wraithbone supports. Their own personal weapon was stolen from a slain Aeldari warrior. Kattal-4/28 does not speak often but aboard the FDEF it is known two things. They speak with the vox of their Fabricator Minoris and they are given far more autonomy than any skitarii ought to, even by the liberal standards of the FDEF. Before becoming a Marshall it worked often with sicarian units and have grown fonder and fonder of cloak and dagger operations. 

Admiral Ezekiel Bendavid (he/him): the head of the accompanying imperial Navy flotilla. He is the latest in a long line of scions of the Bendavid dynasty, skilled Navy commanders. He wished too be a general in the guard since reading the works of General Jenit Sulla and the exploits of Hero of the Imperium Ciaphas Cain. He is adept at void warfare and longs for the boarding actions of his youth when he was allowed to fight the enemy hand to hand and not kept cooped up in the battle deck of his ships.

Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita (he/they): the Chapter Master of the Ironsong Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. They claim in public to be sons of Ferrus Manus but in reality are an experiment made by the magi of Deimos using the geneseed of Fulgrim. Siderénia Teleiótita is the second chapter master of the Ironsong and has struck a balance between the industrial and artistic factions of the chapter embodies both ideals of a refined noble knight and master of mechanized warfare whenever the situation calls for it. 

Malka the Phobeian (he/she):the head of one of Deimos’s several knightly houses who joined the fleet because her enginseer-Sacristan was sentenced there. He doesn't quite understand how a tech priest could commit heresy. That’s for more religious individuals, in the meantime she focuses on honor in battle, obliterating the enemies of the Emperor and ensuring the noble lineage of his house. He was never supposed to be the head of House Phobeian, the Terror of Phobos, but the next six heirs and children of her father all died in mysterious circumstances. Her Sacristan has assured her he is completely safe within her knight. Her melding with the throne mechanicum years ago stripped back many of her more shy and soft aspects of his personality. 

Inquisitor Seraph Seraphdottior (she/her): an inquistor self appointed to monitor the FDEF, a member of the Ordo Machinum who is sure that Aleph-Gimmel has already fallen to Tzeentch, Admiral Ezekiel Bendavid to Khorne, and Artificer Siderénia Teleiótita to Slaanesh. She will only act however once she has concrete evidence because several plants and fleets worth of ships and technology are on the line. Seraphdottior has worked with the Prefecture Magisterium in the past. She is far colder and more aloof than most of the tech priests aboard the FDEF, because she is after all the Judgment Of The Emperor and can be allowed no errors.

#deimos awaits #admech #adeptus mechanicus #40k #warhammer 40k #knight talks

[hubristicassholefight]

Swordswoman Showdown Round 1 Part 2

Alanna of Trebond (The Song of the Lioness) vs Mu Nihuang (Nirvana in Fire/Langya Bang)

(Better here in a "preferred character" sense, not "who would win in a fight")

Propaganda below cut

Alanna of Trebond

Literal lady knight, has never lost a duel as King's Champion

Disguised herself as a boy to train as a knight and learn the sword. Practices with a giant sword to increase inductance. Finds (is found by?) a special magic sword. One of the best swords people in her country.

She was the first lady knight in Tortall in centuries and paved the way for other lady knights like Kel. She's also a shortstack hero who regularly kicks butt. Won several sword fighting tournaments against her male peers while disguised as a man.

Can't stand the idea of getting sent to a convent, so she switches places with her twin brother and disguises her gender to go off and become Tortall's first lady knight. Engages in much sword-wielding badassery, not just through inherent talent but through working twice as hard as the boys who skate by on their size and comparitive strength. In later Tamora Pierce books she shows up again as a mother, but even having kids doesn't stop her from going off and doing more heroic sword-swinging. H*ck yeah.

She’s her realm’s first Lady Knight in centuries and a genuine hero. She disguised herself as a man to earn her shield. She was the King’s Champion for decades; One of the first major women heros in YA fantasy, from the 1980! According to the author, if Alanna had the words for it, she would be gender fluid

disguised herself as a boy entirely to learn swords and become a knight, becomes the first lady knight in her country in centuries; Alanna is so iconic that decades of queer fans have seen themselves in her and any author signing is accompanied by a mob of sobbing millennials over how much finally meeting and thanking the author for writing Alanna meant to them

Mu Nihuang

She's introduced to the narrative riding to the gates of the capital at the head of a caravan. She sees two characters we've just spent a couple of scenes getting to know, grins with delight, draws her sword, jumps off her horse and engages them in a two-versus-one duel, handily defeating them after a short exchange of blows and promptly complimenting them that they've obviously been practicing, because she would have won much faster last time. She's the most eligible bachelorette at the Imperial Court due to her control of a personal army of several hundred loyal soldiers. She's a respected general, whose favoured tactic is to personally lead a cavalry unit to outflank the enemy on a daring raid to kill their general, at which point the superior discipline of her troops will win the day; I'd love to say more about the quiet tragedy of her deep love for Lin Shu and the way she circles around Mei Changsu for most of the story, full of love and respect and pain from past loss, but if I get into it I'll have to do the fandom's traditional ritual: lie down on the floor, try not to cry, and cry a lot.

She arrives on screen to duel two competent swordsmen to a standstill (while her former (current? unclear) fiancé pines piningly from a distance). She's highly ranked on the in-universe BuzzFeed listicle of Swordspeople Who Will Kick Your Ass. When she's manouvered into being the prize in a martial arts contest for her hand, she stipulates that the winner has to defeat her to truly win, which is generally recognised as Not Going To Happen; She's also extremely proficient with a polearm on horseback, being the Gandalf-at-Helm's-Deep to everyone else's Everyone-Else-at-Helm's-Deep in a climactice battle. Also, she is just. So very ready to overthrow the emperor. (He deserves it.)

#alanna of trebond #tortall #the song of the lioness #nirvana in fire #lang ya bang #mu nihuang #swordswoman showdown #round 1 #poll #official

[creganofhousestark]

(Screenshots because I’m one hundred percent sure i will be blocked for stating facts that go against the op’s headcanons if i were to reblog my opinions under their post and then will proceed to rant away about the eViL aRyA sTaNs whose crime is, well, reading the books, you know?)

So, i had the misfortune of coming across this one post by @agentrouka-blog when i was going through the main tags and, god! The amount of bs i have to wade through in the name of fandom experience is concerning at this point.

Whenever did Sansa cover for Arya? When she was declaring her as a traitor to a bloodthirsty Cersei Lannister that it was her sister with the traitor’s blood and not her after her father’s imprisonment? Or when she threw Arya under the bus at Trident?

“She blames Sansa for things she never did” dude there was never one moment where Arya blamed Sansa for things she never did. Hell, Arya didn’t blame Sansa enough. Guess it’s time to reread AGoT lol. Sansa “it’s your butcher boy’s fault for dying because he attacked the prince” is blameless y’all *mic drop*

“Violently attacks her because that’s her opportunity to blow off steam after a traumatic 4 days” yes because your sister is basically accusing of treason when the reason behind her actions was purely defense. Apparently you must be level headed in the face of your your sister refusing to be honest in a moment when the outcome (which is Mycah living or dying) depends on her word. If Sansa’s really as smart and intelligent as stansas claim then Joffrey’s actions at the Trident should’ve opened her eyes. Ned was the Hand of the King, the King’s BFF. She was under no pressure to maintain diplomacy. Hell, Ned was right by her side, reassuring her and encouraging her to speak her truth. What would’ve happened if she were honest? The betrothal would’ve been called off? Ned would’ve lost his spot at worst? Big loss, the North would have minded it’s own business as usual….and Sansa’s southern dreams would have shattered. In that moment Sansa chose her dreams and fantasies over her sister and remain blind to the kind of a monster Joffrey was.

Moreover, being focused and worried about herself and her desires is not necessarily a flaw, Sansa’s just more human. She’s got five heroes to compete against, which is why she may appear more flawed than Arya. But honestly it’s all subjective. Arya’s character is simply rich and has a hell lot more depth, that’s all.

Mostly Ned’s favouritism BRO NED CHOSE TO GIVE UP THE HONOUR HE VALUED hell he chose a traitor’s death for her and, goddammit there’s not one moment where he favoured one over the other. Do not talk about the damned flowers scene in Sansa I, Ned would’ve grinned and thanked Sansa for the same bleeding flowers. Sansa was just pissed that Ned didn’t reprimand his child for behaving like a typical 9 year old child. Which, nobility or no, is quite common in that society. Hell, we have textual evidence of Catelyn playing with LF and Lysa making mud pies at 12. It’s almost as if Sansa can’t stand anything short of Sansa 2.0 from her sister.

Arya’s miles better. Just ask GRRM. He wrote the books.

Anyways, thanks agentrouka for reminding me how brilliant of a writer George Martin is. The man picked stereotypical heroes and gave their stories not-so-stereotypical twists as their arcs progressed. An exiled powerless princess who earned it all and more through her blood sweat and tears, a non conformist noblewoman who’s gone through an extraordinary number of trials, a powerful noble dwarf unwanted by his own blood, a disabled boy with unparalleled magical potential and a bastard from two powerful, magical families who was practically thrown aside.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #arya stark #sansa stark #asoiaf fandom discourse #george r r martin

[liaromancewriter]

What Could Have Been (8/?)

Series Premise: When Ethan breaks his promise, Cassie is forced to accept they’re not inevitable after all.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angst Words: 1,150

Series Masterlist

A/N: Submission to @choicesmonthlychallenge June prompt "roses". I'm also using @choicesflashfics week 47, prompt 2

Chapter 8: Snow on the Beach. Love is never really over unless you want it to be.

Ethan Ramsey slowly sipped his scotch at Donahue’s and spied on Cassie Valentine with her friends in one of the booths in his line of sight. He pondered the current state of his love life, or lack thereof, a phenomenon entirely of his own making.

After that kiss a couple of weeks ago, things between Cassie and him had been strictly professional. Despite wanting to resolve things, he followed her lead and secretly planned how to break through her serenity.

He knew women preferred romance, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what that meant. He could follow the advice of countless saccharine pop songs and fantastical romantic comedies on how to get the girl.

The problem was he couldn’t see himself as the hero of a grand romantic gesture. It just wasn’t him. Standing outside a girl’s window with a boombox blasting on his shoulder sounded ridiculous to him and, frankly, stalkerish.

Sure, he sent flowers to women he’d been intimate with. His father had raised him right, after all.

His face flushed at the realization that he had never sent Cassie flowers after their first night together. Or their second, for that matter, and any of the ones they spent together before he left for Brazil.

What was it about Cassie that made him forget he was a gentleman?

The other man in her life clearly had no such hangups. Not one to gossip, his ears nevertheless pricked at hearing through the grapevine about the extravagant gift basket delivered to Dr. Valentine.

“Moira was there when it was delivered at reception,” Marlee whispered loudly, her eyes locked on the computer screen at the nurses’ station. “Easily a couple of hundred dollars worth of gourmet snacks, trinkets and bubbly in there.”

“She’s probably used to it,” Sarah commented, and Ethan’s brows knit in confusion.

He had been a resident, and expensive gift baskets were not the norm. Lost in thought, he almost missed the rest of Sarah’s comment but tuned in just in time for his world to spin on its axis. Again.

“….family owns Hudson Hotels. The Valentines are practically American royalty with more money than God.”

“I wonder why she’s slaving away as a resident,” Marlee speculated. “Lord knows she doesn’t need to work.”

Sarah shrugged as if it was a mystery to her. Ethan slunk away, not wanting to be caught listening to gossip. But his mind was reeling from everything he didn’t know about the woman who loved him.

Any chances of winning her back were lost unless he went big, too. But was competing with another man really the way to go? One who looked like he belonged in her world?

He might be rich now, but Ethan knew he wasn’t in the same league as the Valentines and never would be. But he was losing her, he thought with another furtive glance at where she stood, ready to leave with Trinh and Greene.

Whatever misgivings he still had about them, could he live with himself if he let her go without even trying?

Cassie Valentine loved days off. Granted, she only got one every week if she was lucky, so that made a golden weekend all the more special.

She luxuriated in her warm and comfortable bed, her mind floating with do-nothing thoughts. She had woken up early to FaceTime with Nate in Singapore, something they’d fallen into the habit of doing. It started out as texts and graduated to video calls.

He was coming home next week, and she owed him an answer on where they stood.

Nate made her laugh with his witty observations. His sincere compliments reminded her she was a desirable young woman. But being with him meant a long-distance relationship, stolen moments whenever he could spare them, accepting she’d always share his time and attention with his business.

Cassie was honest with herself, and the reality was she enjoyed the romance. It wasn’t the gifts per se but the idea that he often thought of her. The lack was in her that she wished the gesture was from Ethan whenever she flipped open the accompanying card.

And maybe that was the answer.

She once thought being with Ethan was enough. That she didn’t need romance if he wasn’t comfortable with it. But she needed it, always had.

She wanted to be kissed on a moonlit balcony in Miami with the gentle sound of waves lapping against the beach. To walk down the street with her hand clasped in Ethan’s, his thumb stroking her fingers absently. She doubted he was even aware of doing it.

Cassie wanted to flirt with Ethan at Donahue’s and stay past last call for one more drink because it was never enough. She wanted to go home with him to just sleep and wake up to the smell of coffee percolating in his fancy espresso machine.

She wanted that slow fall from soft moments to forever…

“Cassie, come quick,” Sienna called out excitedly from outside her bedroom door, interrupting her thoughts.

Reluctant to leave her bed, Cassie almost didn’t reply. But then she immediately felt guilty and shoved the covers aside. Her roommates were used to the tee shirt and shorts she habitually slept in, so she didn’t bother with a robe.

She marched out of her bedroom to the fragrant scent of red roses perfuming the apartment. Elijah stared wide-eyed at the flowers the delivery man set on the table. Sienna was beaming, her eyes soft as she bubbled in excitement at the romantic gesture.

Cassie signed the electronic receipt and ran back into her bedroom to grab cash for a tip. She led the delivery man out, leaned against the closed door, and took a deep breath.

Nate knew she wasn’t a red roses type of person and that she preferred subtlety in all things. So, who had sent her the lavish bouquets? She hadn’t counted, but from the brief glimpse, she guessed it was close to two dozen, if not more.

She wasn’t going to find the answer in the front hallway. She padded on bare feet back to the living room, where her roommates stared at the flowers with curiosity and interest.

“This is big-league romance, Valentine,” Jackie teased, standing in the kitchen with her coffee mug.

“There’s a card,” Sienna said, clapping her hands. “Thirty-two roses. I counted.”

Cassie grinned at Sienna’s enthusiasm, plucking an envelope clipped to the bouquet closest to her.

“Are they from Nate?” Sienna asked.

But Cassie didn’t reply. Her heart sank as she read the words on the card.

“Just because I let you go doesn’t mean I wanted to.”

It wasn’t signed, but she’d recognize Ethan’s handwriting anywhere. She saw it almost daily when he jotted ideas on the whiteboard or when he’d autographed Landry’s copy of Diagnostic Principles.

She got her earlier wish. Now what?

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey @youlookappropriate

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart choices #choices fanfics #open heart fanfics #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Who's is That Face in the Mask?

So, it's rare when I pick up a book on the strength of a YouTube video, and honestly even rarer that I enjoy books selected based on that criteria. However, since Marie Brennan is one half of MA Carrick and the book is often described via *that* quote from The Princess Bride (and no, I'm not specifying even though Princess Bride is all *that* quote depending on context), I had hope. After all, I loved the Lady Trent memoirs and The Princess Bride. And folks, this book did not disappoint. Let's talk The Mask of Mirrors.

What do you get when hundreds of years of colonization mixes with a rogue vigilante for the oppressed population and a con woman who sets out for money but comes up with found family? Youu get some stunningly well written characters, intrigue that I frankly preferred to A Song of Ice and Fire, and just beautifully nuanced worldbuilding.

Ren--or Renata Viraudax or Arenza, depending on the day and location--grew up as a dirt-poor half-Vrazenian kid who was completely disconnected from her mother's people in a city colonized by the Liganti. She was a gang member under the objectively abusive Ondrakja until she watched Ondrakja beat her brother to death. Next thing we know, Ren has poisoned her Fagin and made off for another country with her sister, Tess. They end up serving in the household of Letilia--a disgraced member of House Traemantis.

Fast forward a few years, and Letilia being an absolutely irredeemable human gives Ren the idea to con the remaining members of House Traemantis in Nadezera. Mother and daughter are sufficiently estranged that Letilia won't out Ren, but other actors in the city might.

Those actors include Grey Serrado, captain of the Vigil (read police force) and Vrazenian slip-knot (read traitor to his people because he assimilated into Liganti society. He is running himself ragged trying to sort out why street kids keep dying of insomnia, track down the mysterious Rook, and running petty errands for the Liganti nobility. He does not get help from the rampant vanity and nepotism in the Vigil ranks, nor the racism of most Liganti hawks. Add to that his deep grief for his brother's recent murder and Grey needs a hug and a paid vacation.

Then there is Vargo Derossi, crime lord extraordinaire with an eye toward becoming too powerful to be ignored and choosing to pretend to go legitimate to achieve the dream. He is charming and deadly all at once, has someone else in his head, has a pet spider named Peabody, and some serious germophobia. Whether he is caught in Ren's con or she is caught in his web is an open question for most of this book. Vargo is 100% unanswered questions, and every single one is dangerous to ask and even more dangerous not to know the answer to. Especially since he is also SUSPICIOUSLY competent at numinatria...

We of course cannot neglect Donaia, Leato, and Giuna Tremantis. This remnant of a once proud family are an unusual bunch, but they're also different enough that watching their personalities mesh and clas ended up being one of my favorite things about this book.

Beyond the character work, the worldbuilding in this book is first-class. The Vrazenians and Liganti are culturally and visually distinct at a glance, and then for those who care to stay and look harder, there is depth and nuance. Both cultures feel real and vibrant, which makes the all-too-clear harms of oppression and colonization, as well as the messiness of navigating mixed-heritage identities, all the sharper.

It also highlights the different magic systems, religions, and ways of knowing and relating to your community based on those cultural differences. Patterning and numinatria are both valid, but neither quite likes the other and thy don't cross cultural lines. The Rook is a folk hero to the Vrazenians and a half-mythical, pain-in-the-ass vigilante to the Liganti. Even fashion is sharply divided.

Overall, the Princess Bride comparison is apt, but perhaps also mixed with some Leverage and some Batman. I loved this book, and I cannot wait to get my hands on the next two.

#ma carrick #the mask of mirrors #adult fantasy novel #adult fantasy #adult fiction #rook and rose #books and reading #books & libraries #books and novels #books #book recommendations

[bug-the-chicken-nug]

Okay I tried to hold off on this as I progress through mlb, "don't take it too seriously, just try to have fun" has been my mantra, but. I can't do it anymore I Litcherally Can Not do it anymore sorry I Gotta complain about mlb now.

Because Desparada has such a cool idea behind it, and it was shaping up to be one of the more interesting episodes so far... But then they totally destroyed Adrien's dignity and competence with it at the same time.

And this is just one particularly grating example in a long line of times where Adrien's hero work is some boo boo the fool-tier shit just for the sake of Ladybug or the plot. It's just that this time, it's particularly egregious because they decided to play up his failure to such a ridiculous degree.

You, the hero who's already fought like a hundred different bad guys and assorted minions, can't come up with a way to stop ONE regular bad guy from ruining your plan after nearly *26,000* tries over the subjective course of *months*?

Your Ladybug simpage makes you THAT dense, incompetent, and incapable of adapting?!

Like yeah, the determination's admirable, but it's such overkill that it also loops back around to making that determination look bad too! Like at that point, it doesn't come off as brave, it just comes off as kind of pathetic and reckless.

And then he doesn't even have anything useful he learned to suggest to the others after his bajillion and one failures? It' s just all up to Ladybug and first-timer Luka to figure out a strat?!

"Oh, but then he'd make it too obvious that-" Stop RIGHT there, because literally all he'd have to do is make it sound like an educated guess or a gut feeling, and they'd totally buy it!

And this was all so avoidable, too! You could just add in a line like "oh, time powers are really strong and finicky, so you have to be calm and let go of your distractions or else this power won't work right"

Then have Adrien mess up just a few times because of his ulterior motive, cut his losses, and not make himself look like such a desperate tool *even though, by all means, he should've been resourceful and experienced enough to be able to find a way to simply make his plan fucking **work** instead of fate dooming him to suck infinite ass just so he can learn a contrived lesson!*

#this is exactly why i'm gonna write a fic where adrien's the focal character and ACTUALLY gets to be marinette's equal #ml salt #mlb salt #im sorry i couldnt hold it in anymore

[symbioticsimplicity]

In Another Life

Shuake quick fic based on this post by @arcsin27 thanks for passing on the brain worms!

As the door swung closed behind Maruki, an oppresive silence filled the little cafe Akira had long since begun thinking of as his home. 

It wasn't the first heavy silence he and Akechi had shared, but he was all but sure it would be their last.

The thought filled his head with noise, thousands of thwarted plans and half uttered pleas coalesing into static behind his eyes. Trapped, just like every other feeling he kept locked behind his teeth. He'd kept hundreds of things to himself by now, he was pretty sure he was an expert.

And yet, when those glaring red eyes turned back to him, that tightly held control freyed.

"Don't tell me you're actually considering taking that asinine deal." Akechi scoffed, as though the mere idea were beneath discussing, as if he weren't going to--

"If we don't you're going to--"

The sharp stare his rival sent him cut the words off at their knees.

"If you fold to such a trivial threat, perhaps you were never worthy of being my rival in the first place." He near spat, "To think, the famed leader of the Phantom Thieves would be so easy to manipulate."

Akira clenched his teeth, all those unspoken words piling up in his throat until he felt choked with them. He wanted to argue, to rage, to do something other than just stand there and let Akechi win. But everything he could say wouldn't tilt the scales, no if anything it would only convince Akechi he was truly in the right.

"I--" His voice broke, and he couldn't figure out what to say anyway so he left the sentence there, glancing away as if the future was looming just behind Akechi's head.

"You are." Akechi snarled, as though the thought alone was enough to insense him, "Kurusu, I'm aware you hardly listen to anyone, but if ever there were a time, listen to me now."

Akira couldn't bring himself to look at him, but that didn't seem to be stopping Akechi.

"If you take this deal, you will be going directly against my wishes."

"You want to die?!" Akira snapped in an uncharacteristic show of anger.

"I think I ought to!" Akechi growled back, "You're the only one who doesn't seem to agree!"

Akira reeled back as though struck, but quickly recovered, "Of course I don't."

"Right, of course, how silly of me to forget. You're the hero, you don't think anyone should die, no matter how monstrous." Akechi rolled his eyes, "You're half as deluded as Maruki."

"Is it...is it really so wrong?" Akira whispered, unable to utter the words with his usual confidence, "To want a second chance?"

He forced himself to look back to Akechi, finding him scrutenizing him with that stare of his. The one that made Akira feel like a bug pinned to a wall. 

"I know you've thought about it," He continued when Akechi made no move to speak, "What would have happened if we'd met sooner. What we could have been like if not for--"

Akira's hand sought his hair but ended up pressed against his forehead instead as the thought tried to sweep him away. It wasn't a new fantasy by any means, in fact it was probably the very one Maruki had plucked out of him that saw Akechi standing here right now. 

It changed every time, whether they were playing chess or in the debate club together, from rival schools or fast friends, it hardly mattered. Akira just wanted to be by his side, to compete with him because they wanted to, not because God or Fate or whatever was forcing their hands. He wanted the same quiet evenings they'd already shared, and the kinds of outings he had with the rest of the Thieves. And in the small hours of the night, he could admit he may even want something more...

"It doesn't matter." Akechi's cool voice shattered the sugar spun daydream, "That's not for us. It isn't who we are, Akira."

The use of his first name hit like a physical blow, leaving Akira reeling as he looked back up into Akechi's eyes.

He looked tired, far more so than Akira himself felt. Resignation was etched into every shadow falling across his face, in the looseness of his muscles and the blank stare he met Akira's own startled one with. 

"But it could be." Akira breathed, desperation curling around the syllables like a living thing all it's own.

Akechi's eyes closed and for a moment Akira could have sworn he heard him pray for patience. 

"No, it couldn't. No matter how good the lie, it would still only ever be that." His contempt twisted the words until Akira could feel the barbs of them digging into him, "Would you really rather swallow some shallow immitation than to-- than live with my memory?"

Akira heard what he didn't say, of course he did. It was something he'd noticed about him early on, when he'd first realized how much of Akechi's outer self was a mask. He spent so much time editing himself, trimming away the pieces others would doubtlessly find objectionable, forcing himself to condense into the narrow box he was expected to fill, until he had a well contructed front he could use to fool the entire world. Everyone except Akira himself. 

If he took Maruki's lie it would be like he was putting Akechi back in his cage himself.

He wished they were at the gym so he could throw a punch or something. 

Instead he swallowed down the ugly neediness bubbling in the back of his throat. 

"You're right." The words tasted like the bitter herbal tea Takemi had given him to help him recover from one of her harsher clinical trials, "It wouldn't be the same."

Akechi took a deep breath but looked no closer to being relieved, "Then you've come to your senses?"

Akira nodded, "I know what needs to be done. I'll do it but-"

Akechi's eyes narrowed, his frown deepening instantly, "But?"

"I'm not strong enough not to be a little selfish." Akira said to his shoes, "If this is going to be it- would you stay with me tonight? Please?"

He knew Akechi would hear what he didn't say, the same as Akira had for him earlier. 

Don't make me let you go without ever having had you to begin with. 

For a moment he only stared. Akira could see the thoughts racing behind his eyes, could almost hear them as he read each micro-change in his expression. It was an art that had taken him a long while to learn, but it had been worth every moment. 

Finally he sighed, some of the manic energy that clung to him disappating as his posture sagged infinitesimally. 

"I suppose I do still owe you a duel."

Akira's knees nearly gave out but he managed to keep that little bit of dignity intact and nodded instead.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, I have every intention of winning this time." Akechi smirked, "Unless of course, you enjoy the taste of pavement, in which case, you're welcome~"

Akira heard it for what it was, an offering of a distraction. One Akechi could more than likely use just as badly. Selfish as he was being, Akira could at least recognize how hard it had to be to argue for his own destruction. 

So he took a deep breath, and let Joker rise to the surface to meet his rival.

"If you can, I'll personally write you a Thank You note." 

The fire that had been absent Akechi's eyes since he walked in rekindled, redoubled even. Without the vineer of civility he'd affected for so long, his expressions were much more extreme. Akira would be hard pressed to describe this one as anything short of 'bloodlust'.

"I'll take it with me to hell." Akechi growled.

Akira winced, but only just barely. He himself was guilty of making light of his own 'death', he could hardly fault Akechi for doing the same.

"Inokashira Park?"

"Thought you'd never ask." 

They fought until the sun went down. 

It hadn't been hard to find an isolated spot, not with the weather so cold. There was hardly anyone around, and even fewer who seemed to care about a pair of teenage boys roughhousing. 

Despite this fight taking place outside of the metaverse, neither boy had taken it any less seriously than their first. If anything, Akira felt like Akechi was fighting harder than their first time. It reminded him of the first time they'd played billiards without Akechi using his non-dominant hand. He was always good, but unleashed he was a force of nature, all snarling teeth and vicious blows until Akira could hardly keep up with him. 

It was beautiful in the same way bloodspatter could look like a painting. Not something most people would ever see, or appreciate if they did, but Akira couldn't help but to be in awe of him.

When he found himself pinned to the pavement, just as Akechi had promised, he couldn't even find it in himself to be disappointed.

The other was above him, panting and a little brused, grinning like a coyote with a fresh kill between it's jaws.

"Ha!" He crowed, "I knew those healing spells were the only thing keeping you-"

"You could have killed him." Akira interrupted.

Akechi's smile didn't fade, but confusion crept into it, "Whom?"

"Shido. You could have killed him. You're stronger than he is, even in his ruler form." So why didn't you?

Akechi flinched back, though the action caused him to sit heavily on top of Akira's stomach, nearly knocking the wind out of him a second time.

"I wanted revenge, Kurusu, not mearly to kill him. It wouldn't do to let him escape into the comfort of death before he knew why exactly he was being targeted in the first place."

Akira nodded, "So it's because you're a drama queen."

Akechi looked so affronted Akira raised his hands to block the blow he was sure was coming. A good thing too, as Akechi's knuckles connected with his wrists seconds after he'd raised them.

"Shut the fuck up, that's not it at all!"

"It sounds like it from where I'm standing."

"You are not standing!" He hissed back, grabbing Akira's offending wrists and pinning them down beside his head, "You are lying on your ass, soundly defeated and you ought to have more respect for your current predicament!"

Akira could have wiggled his leg out from beneath Akechi, barred it across his stomach and kicked him off of him, but that would have required higher thought, which he was sorely lacking. His focus had been stolen by the pressure on his wrists, across his hips, against the tip of his nose where Akechi's own was currently pressed as he growled at him. It was the closest they'd ever been, Akira was sure, and from here he could even see the light clumping of the mascara he hadn't previously been aware of his rival using. 

His breath came hot against Akira's cheek, his pulse thundering where his palms met Akira's wrists. He was just so alive it made Akira's heart ache all the more to remember that soon, too damn soon, he'd be gone.

"Goro..." He whispered, his voice pitching oddly as he struggled against tears, "I don't think I can do this."

He could see recognition fire in Akechi's eyes, could see the effect the use of his first name had in the way his nostrils flared, his teeth gritting. He could also pinpoint the moment he decided to toss it all to the side.

"You said you would." 

"I know."

"You aren't allowed to lie, you're supposed to be the hero."

"I know."

"Then promise me, instead." Akechi didn't move back, but to Akira's surprise moved closer, "If I give this to you, you'll do what needs done without hesitation."

He swallowed almost compulsively, his eyes rivoted to Akechi's as if pulled by magnets. Despite the rage that seemed to have made a permanent home there, his gaze was still steady enough to be calming. The center of a maelstrom, a river in a desert. 

"I..." Akira was not weak, nor was he selfish, despite how desperately he wanted to be this time, "I promise."

The words were little more than a breath, but he could feel them bind to something deep in his heart. It was not unlike when he made a deal with someone, and the realization had tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Akechi must have felt it too because for a moment he softened, as if Akira's promise truly brought him peace. It was stupid, worse it was evil that something like this could make Goro Akechi smile genuinely for the first time in months.

Akira didn't have long to bemoan it however, as seconds later that smile was pressing against his own lips. 

The most shocking thing was that it wasn't shocking at all. It felt like a foregone conclusion they simply hadn't had the time to discuss before, but one that was inevitable nonetheless. From Akechi's hands cupping Akira's face, to Akira's finding Akechi's waist, it was almost as though they'd finally found their way back into their own narrative, the one they'd been forced to abandon all those quiet nights ago. The natural conclusion of a perpetual motion machine designed to stop on doomsday. 

Akira didn't notice he'd begun to cry until he could no longer breathe through his nose and had to pull away.

"Goddamn it." He swore, tucking his face against Akechi's shoulder, "Goddamn it!"

"I would point out that that seems to be part of the problem, but it seems redundant." Akechi sounded no better than Akira, his own voice straining to stay scathing and failing miserably.

"I hate this." Akira allowed himself the honest admission, "Why'd it have to be like this?"

"Born cursed." Akechi muttered, his own face buried in Akira's neck, "I've always been unlucky."

"One more thing we've got in common." Akira squeezed his eyes closed, "At least...at least I'm not going to have to wonder."

"Would you have spent your nights sleepless otherwise?" 

It was supposed to be a joke, but neither had it in them to make it one at the moment.

"Yeah." Akira's hold tightened, "Already have."

"Over little old me?" Akechi chuckled, but the sound was humorless, "I would have thought the great Joker would have far more important things to occupy his thoughts."

"You overestimate how much I actually plan." And underestimate how much I care about you.

"It's... it's comforting to know at least one person will miss me." 

Maybe was because he knew Akira couldn't see him, or maybe it was the impending eleventh hour getting to him, but the admission was so heartbreakingly honest Akira could hardly stand to hear it. While he knew Akechi didn't have family, and he saw how quickly he disappeared from the public's thoughts, it had yet to register that he may be the only one to actually mourn him. 

"I'm going to miss you for the rest of my life." Akira held him as close as he could, feeling Akechi's heartbeat thudding against his own ribs from the other side despite the layers between them, "Who else is going to keep me on my toes?"

A wet laugh broke from him, messy and honest and a little deranged, "Selfishly I hope you never find an answer to that."

"Me too." Akira agreed, "I'd rather just wait to see you again in the next life."

"Disgusting." Akechi's tone sat in opposition of the way he finally relaxed against Akira, "Do you really believe in that nonsense?"

"I've ridden around in a bus that was also a talking cat, rencarnation doesn't sound that implausable."

"Touche." 

"I hope it's true." Akira answered anyway, "I'd-- I'd like to live beside you. For real this time."

Akechi didn't anwer, but his hands clenched tighter where they were bunched into the fabric of Akira's jacket. 

Akira didn't mind the silence this time. It was heavy, but it wasn't oppressive this time. He'd found an emergency exit for the things he'd long left unsaid, and though he was no closer to feeling at peace with any of this, he did feel less regretful. 

With Akechi's shoulders now relaxed, Akira could see the sky above them. It had gotten dark, with a few of the most tenacious stars fighting to be seen through the city's light polution. It looked the same as it ever did here, murky and washed out, not like the sky back home. Yusuke would have said something about the way beauty could still be seen even in the least condusive circumstances, but Akira wasn't put together enough to attempt the thought. 

"Akira?" 

"Yeah, Goro?"

"Earlier, you asked me if I wanted to die." The words were so subdued, if he hadn't been holding him, Akira would never have thought they'd come from Akechi, "I told you that I thought I deserve to."

Akira didn't say anything, but Akechi wasn't looking for him to.

"I've done a great many horrible things in my life, most without remorse, as they were all in service of my ultimate goal. I still don't regret most of them, even those perpetrated against your friends. I'm a monster, and I know that. I've made peace with it. I always thought I would die at the end of all this, pragmatist that I am, I never made a single plan for what I would do after Shido was dealt with." 

"Where are you going with this...?"

"I'm not a man with a future, I never have been, so when you asked if I wanted to die... the answer was obvious to me. Of course I should die. But...that isn't what you asked." Akechi breathed out a long, heavy breath that made Akira's neck tingle, made his eyes flutter a little, "I don't... I don't want to die."

He sounded so small, so young, so unlike himself that it made Akira's chest ache, made him yearn to comfort him. There wasn't a thing he could say to make it better, for either of them, so he turned as he usually did, to action when words failed him.

He pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then to his temple, then his forehead as he could reach them. He was trembling, or Akechi was, but he couldn't tell the difference at this point.

 He wanted to tell him that dying wouldn't fix the things that he'd done, or that he'd only done them because of Shido, or a million other platitudes he'd see right through. But even if he could make his mind connect with his mouth again, he knew Akechi well enough to know any of those would only sound like pity to him. The best he could do was to hold him while they processed the latest addition to their heaping plate of misery. 

"This second life of yours'..." Akechi eventually spoke again, "What would it look like?"

"A lot like this." Akira managed to force through his choked off throat, "But, you know, happier."

Akechi hummed, his hands now mindlessly rubbing against Akira's sides in a way that made him suspect the only thing he regularly showed affection to were probably dogs.

"You'd still want to fist fight me in a park somewhere?"

"Definitely." Akira nodded, "You need it."

"I need it? If someone were not there to kick down your ego every so often, you'd never fit through a door again."

"Same goes for you, Mr. Ace High School Detective." Akira nearly snorted, "If I had a ten yen coin for every time I heard a group of girls screaming about you, I could have just paid off Kaneshiro outright." 

Akechi rolled his eyes so hard his whole body moved with him, "I think they mistook me for an idol."

"You're pretty enough to be."

"Have you always been this shameless a flirt, or is this some new feature I've been unlucky enough to uncover?" Akechi sounded exhasperated, though Akira could feel his face flush from where it was still pressed against him.

"Yes."

They continued on like that, trading barbs and bodyheat until it was too cold to stay out any longer. Akira nearly managed to put tomorrow from his mind when Akechi allowed him to take his hand as they walked back to the train station. 

The world had a sense of vertigo to it that had little to do with the liminal space of a late night train ride. There were too many factors for Akira to pick just one, but it resulted in a subdued ride that faded into a subdued walk, broken only by Morgana's screeched complaints about how long they'd been gone. If he saw their hands, still entwined at their sides, he kept blessedly quiet about it.

Well, until Akechi followed Akira into Le Blanc.

"What is he still doing here?" Morgana groused, "Go home, tomorrow is going to be busy."

"I was invited to stay." Akechi said archly, dropping his jacket over the back of one of the barstools. 

Morgana threw a betrayed look at Akira who was busying himself making them each a bowl of curry, as they'd missed dinner.

"Uh, earth to Joker?" Morgana hopped up onto the counter in front of him, "That's a terrible idea! In case you forgot, he's literally shot you in the face before!"

"Don't care." Akira easily answered, hip checking the fridge closed.

Morgana couldn't have looked more shocked if he tried, contrasted sharply by Akechi's sharp smile.

"Oh, I like this side of you." He needled, "Rebellion suits you."

"Thanks."

"Hold on, back up, wait wait wait!" Morgana shook his head, "What's gotten into you, did he brainwash you?!"

Akira set down the food, taking a deep breath to calm himself before turning back to the black and white cat. 

"No. He didn't. I know the risks, Morgana, thank you." He replied evenly, "But you heard Maruki earlier. This...this is probably the last time I'm going to get to see him."

"You should be doing cartwheels about that!" Morgana shouted, big blue eyes wide with disbelief, "I know you're sentimental but jeez!"

"He was my wish, Morgana." The words came out a bit sharper than he meant for them to and he forced his usual calm to come to him, "Out of all the things Maruki could have used to try to keep me from fighting him, he picked Akechi. Think about that for a second."

It took almost a full minute, in which time Akira got both himself and Akechi dished up. He was opening a can of tuna for Morgana when a slow, pained 'Ooh' reached his ears. 

"Okay. I get it now. I can't say I understand or...approve, but I get it."

Akira hummed to himself as he sat down beside Akechi.

"Wait, where is he sleeping?"

Akira looked down over his glasses at Morgana, taking a purposeful, slow bite of his food.

"Right... I'm going to Futaba's." 

With that, the little cat popped up and all but ran to the door, jiggling the handle down to let himself out. 

"I had no idea Morgana could be so considerate." Akechi chuckled, "I think you may have scarred him for life with those insinuations of your intentions with me."

"Who's insinuating?" Akira took another bite of his food. 

Akechi froze mid bite, but recovered himself quickly enough that someone else likely wouldn't have noticed it at all. As it was, Akira was paying enough attention to even catch the light blush that painted itself across his cheeks.

"Bold of you to assume I'd be so easy, Kurusu." Akechi quirked a brow, his expression otherwise flat.

"Bold of you to assume I couldn't win you over anyway." Akira retorted, bouncing the verbal tennis ball back into Akechi's court. 

"You have that much faith in yourself, huh? You of all people should know how stubborn I can be."

"You want to make this a bet?" Akira fought to keep his expression as neutral as ever. 

Akechi's smile flashed across his face, like a knift glinting in the sun. 

"Generally a safe manipulation tact, but you're going to have to do better than that." He sat back, folding his arms.

Damn.

"Before we get into this arguement, I'm going to need you to be sure you can handle the reprocussions of losing it." Akira countered, mimicking Akechi's posture but with the addition of folding his legs at the knee.

Akechi's brows made for his forehead in a brief moment of shock, but he quickly brought them back under his control. 

"I think I can handle anything you throw my way. Surely if nothing else, I've proven that by now." 

Akira nodded, a smile gradually blooming across his face as he sat forward.

"Alright then." 

#shuake #persona 5 #goro akechi #akira kurusu #fall out boy caused this and I think we're all entitled to financial compensation #i could have kept going #i might be convinced to but i figure this ended up long enough by now

[apocalypticavolition]

10 Characters 10 Fandoms 10 5 Tags

Tagged by @iliiuan

Rules: choose 10 favorite characters from 10 different fandoms -- no double dipping! Then tag friends or mutuals to complete the game as well.

(Oh god oh god picking favorites what did I do to deserve this???)

Top 10

Rand al'Thor of Wheel of Time - I know that like, virtually every major character in the series has a bigger following than this boy, but dammit people he's just a regular dude on an epic quest that takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left but it's not done taking yet. I love every POV section he gets and every bit of suffering he has to go through.

Uncle Iroh of Avatar: The Last Airbender - Normally it's your Sokkas or your Zukos or your Tophs who would grab me but in a cast of shining stars Uncle Iroh is a particularly radiant entry. I would die for this man. He makes me feel I'm not drinking enough tea.

Koshirou "Izzy" Izumi of Digimon Adventure - I think part of the reason Digimon stuck with me all this time is the belief the first series had (and really the shows as a whole, but especially the first one) that none of the kids were bad or flawed for being who they were, only for how they might be hurting the others. Izzy was more comfortable with computers than people but his skill set kept the kids alive on plenty of occasions and he was never any less part of the gang for being a nerd except the times he hyperfixated while the others were in need.

Karkat Vantas of Homestuck - Homestuck was... Yeah. That sure was a thing, huh? But Karkat's constant shouting and cross-temporal feud with his past and future selves was endearing, as was his obvious hate-crush on the protagonist that was resolved in the most embarrassing way possible. And frankly, his continued disbelief at the late-comic antics more than made up for how shitty the late parts of the comic were.

Mercymorn of The Locked Tomb - Virtually every character in these books is iconic, but Mercymorn, the Saint of Joy is the sort of character who would have hundreds of gif sets of her if only she existed in a visual medium. Immortality and waging an impossible war give her nothing but contempt for our heroes, our villains, and frankly anyone else she's in the room with.

Jak of Jak & Daxter - I think I just have a thing for dudes who get tortured beyond all reason and struggle between their innate heroism and the corruption that's been burned into them by outside forces. Also he gets some cool guns, you know? Can't argue with cool guns.

Garak of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - An exiled spy doomed to spend his days in a port/fortress owned by one set of enemies and administrated by another? A wide array of possible backstories, each one equally plausible except for how they all contradict each other? A slow onset of madness from the grief and isolation kept at bay only through chemical abuse and a homoerotic relationship with the galaxy's smartest idiot? And he's not even a main character!

Sheila "Dr. Girlfriend" / "Mrs. the Monarch" Fitzcarraldo of The Venture Brothers - Sheila starts out a complete joke (but then, who isn't a complete joke in her series) but grows into one of the most competent and compelling members of the cast. I'm still not quite sure what she sees in the Monarch but I enjoy how she's both fully supportive of his goals while still set very much on her own thing with the Guild of Calamitous Intent as well. I hope the show comes back so we can see what she gets up to next, or at least see her in that pillbox hat one more time.

Max of Sam & Max - Hyperkinetic lagomorphs are always a plus, and I enjoy the way he's pure id in a franchise where superegos are already in short supply. I'm gonna hafta replay the games one of these days.

Susan Ivanova of Babylon 5 - Learn the Babylon 5 mantra: Ivanova is always right. I will listen to Ivanova. I will not ignore Ivanova's recommendations. Ivanova is God. I have nothing else to say on this particular front.

@checkoutmybookshelf

@notmuchtoconceal

@butterflydm

@mashithamel

@bashircore

#favorite characters

[fem-blade-adept]

Everything Wrong with the Bigotry Wizard Series (HP) Because This Transfem Feels Like Throwing Hands

(Yes, I grew up with this shit and I know these books back and forth. It’s knowledge I really wish I could forget, but if it’s in there, I might as well use it for a good cause. And that good cause is rallying people against its terribly bigoted and racist author. Also, know that this is a way of weeding out followers and potentially hateful people so I never have to see them again, so choose wisely if you intend to argue these points.)

House choices are split between Bravery, Ambition, Smart, and Everyone Else, which is Tracking and is very ineffective as a teaching system and also forcing kids into a lane. These houses compete every year for who’s better at what? Following orders? Being obedient? Which is a system HIGHLY susceptible to bias and imbalanced competition considering Snape’s unfair treatment of every house that isn’t his and the overwhelmingly unfair come-from-behind victory the Hero house had at the end of their first year because they what? Saved the world?! What kind of precedent are you setting by saying you can win in school by being a hero when there is a house based on bravery? Favoritism anyone?

No one in an entire castle has ever questioned their gender or discovered their sexual orientation? Not the twins? Or Hermione? Or Tonks? Wild. (And no, I do not count JK’s off-the-cuff tweets “clarifying lore”. If it was actually true, you would fully and unabashedly address it in the books, ya bigot.)

Ah yes, rumors of a haunted house out in a village on school grounds when actual fucking ghosts wander the halls of the school, a poltergeist is constantly causing mayhem, a sad girl haunts the girls bathroom, and a LIVE FUCKING BASILISK SITS IN THE SEWAGE SYSTEM. And those sounds in the Shrieking Shack were the product of a kid sent there because he was dealing with lycanthropy. Yeah, sounds like a healthy way to deal with a kid with a physical disability…

Wizards in EVERY OTHER part of fantasy are thousands of years ahead of everyone else. Yudala in Critical Role was investigating pocket planes, the Astral Sea, and OTHER WIZARDS THAT WERE HUNDREDS OF YEARS AHEAD OF SOCIETY ALREADY. Essek was attempting to understand his own society’s god and had cracked the secrets behind TIME AND GRAVITY MAGIC. Caleb Widogast was a transmutation master and had, not only helped Essek discover the secrets of time travel, but had the ability to alter LIFE AND DEATH. Ayda Aguefort’s library was an educational beacon in a pirate town where people refused to learn to read and was creating new spells for herself and her friends. HP wizards live like they just discovered indoor plumbing and don’t know how cars work even though they already have time travel down. WHAT?! The MOST inconsistent.

Magic system. Everyone has unlimited free access to just three phrases that can control, torture, or kill people?!? And they teach that? To students???? in MIDDLE SCHOOL?!?! WHERE THERE ARE PEOPLE THAT ARE SORTED INTO A HOUSE BRANDED AS AMBITIOUS?!?!!! Bud, D&D spells are CONTROLLED SUBSTANCES. And not only that, but spells like Power Word: Kill and True Resurrection are both 9th level spells and require not only the physical knowledge of the spell, but YEARS, even DECADES of practice for normal people to learn. Even Dominate Person is 5th level and a solid overwhelming majority of the population doesn’t even know the Friends cantrip. And most people aren’t adventuring murder hobos that go on adventures for months on end to level up super fast to get to 17th level to learn 9th level spells mechanically.

Voldemort would get fucking merked by a full line of people with firearms. Dude couldn’t even take over a school of middle schoolers without working at it for 6 years.

Did they not have therapists in Hogwarts? Pretty sure everyone at that school could have used a trained therapist or a guidance counselor with a degree.

We make jokes, but they did not have access to contraceptives. And they had High Schoolers in a giant think tank sleeping in the SAME TOWER. If you think there weren’t unplanned pregnancies in that giant bowl of hormones, you’re crazy.

The hero and his friends standing up for the giant on the school grounds? Hermione being the only one standing up for the house elves? Common courtesy isn’t a heroic trait. That’s why it’s called COMMON courtesy. And why include house elves anyway? Slavery and writing house elves as “wanting to be enslaved” IS A SHITTY MESSAGE TO PUT OUT INTO THE WORLD.

The very obvious racist naming scheme JK shamelessly put forward: Kingsley Shacklebolt (Black Character), Cho Chang (Asian Character), Parvati and Padma Patil (Middle Eastern Characters), Dean Thomas (Black Character), Seamus Finnegan (Irish Character), Fleur Delacour (French Character), and more.

Lycanthropy was confirmed by JK herself to be about HIV/AIDS, which makes how they treated Remus Lupin (another terrible name) even worse.

Rita Skeeter was a character she created to resemble and, as such, harmfully and falsely stereotype and misrepresent transpeople and how she perceives them to be. She makes an active point to describe her as unattractive, having manly features, and in the fashion similar to that of a drag queen. She also spares no expense describing her as duplicitous, dishonest, and having a habit of “changing her body to spy on children”. Even her name insinuates she’s a mosquito. And that’s not even mentioning her actual trans character in the video game, Sirona Ryan. Sir(obvious) ona(woman in Japanese). You named her Sir Woman Ryan. You fucking cunts.

Goblins. Here we go. One of the most obvious problems. Described in book as being greedy, short, intelligent, hook-nosed debt collectors that wear special hats and run all of the banks and speak their own language. And as of the most recent video game, apparently also steal children. Sounds like an awfully racist and stereotypical description of what the hateful side of the world perceives Jews to be.

Even the heroes are perpetually being shallow, reductive, and downright awful people on a regular basis. Basing people on looks, degrading a female character for standing up for mistreated people, judging people based on how quirky, different, or off normal they are. All things that really fall in basic decency if you really think about it.

Attempting a redemption arc for the Dursleys, the Malfoys, and Snape, all parties being aggressively and shamelessly abusive characters for YEARS. Dursleys sticking the MC in a closet to live, refusing him food, shutting him in from the outside world, and generally just treating him with a truly overwhelming amount of disdain IS CHILD ABUSE. Attempting to bring any measure of redemption to their relationship after 14 years of that is irreproachable and irresponsible. Snape berates, abuses, and treats the MC like shit for years because he loves the MC’s dead mother, kills one of the MC’s main mentors, and then when the MC finds all of that out, he names his kid after the guy? Nice message, bruh. And I really shouldn’t have to explain the Malfoys.

The truly insane amount of coincidences and favoritism that stems from a kid’s relatives, pure dumb fucking luck, and a life experience that just happened by chance is fucking uncanny. The world thinks its story is about love and friendship and some shit, but continues to reinforce the ideal that this kid is special because of his mother and father and all of the things that he is capable of to defend against his mortal enemy stems from that. He corrodes Quirrell’s face, he blocks a death spell with a spiritual aura that summons the ghosts of the dead, he summons a patronus that was his dad’s, the wand he picks up from the store is just NATURALLY bitter rivals with his enemy’s, a magical cup just so HAPPENS to ignore its primary function ONE FUCKING TIME to allow for the MC, A PROPHECY mentions this fucking kid and the book even tries to bring in the forcibly branded Kicked Dog™ character that none of us gave a second thought to.

Quidditch is a truly stupid fucking sport. Who wrote the rules? Let me get this correct. Seven players on each team play on a field on brooms where two ANIMATED STEEL BALLS THAT BY THEMSELVES COULD SHATTER BONE AND CAUSE DEEPLY TRAUMATIC INJURY ACTIVELY HUNT PLAYERS while people play a rousing game of handball only two have one player on each team, completely separate from everyone else, are playing the world’s most difficult game of I Spy with a ball that truly would be the hardest thing in the world to see, no matter the lighting, and if they do somehow manage to catch this sentient ball that could really just leave if it wanted to, it counts for like 9x the usual points, usually rendering the entire rest of the game invalid or forcing the other team to be so far ahead that it doesn’t even matter. Nightmarish.

Harry pretending to dose Ron’s drink to improve his performance puts forward a terrible message of “as long as it’s to help, it’s ok to dose someone’s drink with suspicious liquid”. Even if he didn’t do it, you gotta understand how that looks, right?

The ethics of love potions in society in general are incredibly loose in the books for what they should be (especially considering a student actually dosed cupcakes with them at either age 14 or 15? Either way, it’s INCREDIBLY disgusting) and the fact that they actually taught love potions to a group of middle to high schoolers and put the ability to bypass consent in their hormonal claws should go incredibly high on the shelf with death spells, torture spells, and absolute control “bend your will to my own” spells and that entire shelf should be locked away in a safe and never touched.

You’re not supposed to go into the Forbidden Forest except on the occasion that we send you as 11-year-olds in there as punishment for wrongdoing.

There’s just a tree on the grounds that can fucking kill people. And one of our founders left a snake that can petrify and poison people in the pipes. We’re also going to let hell creatures that feed on the misery and woe of the living roam the school grounds for a year hunting a prisoner that really didn’t do anything. We’re also going to bring back a tournament people have died in so that three seventeen-year-olds and a fourteen year old can compete.

If there is any more things I missed, please don’t hesitate to add them in the reblogs. I really would like to know how much more problematic behavior and how many truly distasteful writing choices I’m missing in this extensive list.

#fuck jkr #fuck hp #rot in hell Jk Rowling #fuck terfs

[duckprintspress]

7 Stories for Genderfluid Visibility Week!

This week is Genderfluid Visibility Week, so the Duck Prints Press rec list contributors present: 7 of our favorite stories with genderfluid characters! Note that, in a lot of settings, it wouldn’t make sense for these characters to label themselves with the words we use now, so it can be challenging to identify characters who are genderfluid. For several of the characters on this list, their gender identities are open to interpretation, and while the Press contributors who suggested these books have interpreted them as genderfluid, it would also be valid to interpret these characters as (for example) non-binary or trans. If you read these books and didn’t feel the character was genderfluid – we support you! But they spoke to us as examples of genderfluid characters, and so we’ve included them.

-

Dreams Bigger than Heartbreak by Charlie Jane Anders

They’ll do anything to be the people they were meant to be — even journey into the heart of evil.

Rachael Townsend is the first artist ever to leave Earth and journey out into the galaxy — but after an encounter with an alien artifact, she can’t make art at all.

Elza Monteiro is determined to be the first human to venture inside the Palace of Scented Tears and compete for the chance to become a princess — except that inside the palace, she finds the last person she ever wanted to see again.

Tina Mains is studying at the Royal Space Academy with her friends, but she’s not the badass space hero everyone was expecting.

Soon Rachael is journeying into a dark void, Elza is on a deadly spy mission, and Tina is facing an impossible choice that could change all her friends lives forever.

-

Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman

In Norse Mythology, Gaiman stays true to the myths in envisioning the major Norse pantheon: Odin, the highest of the high, wise, daring, and cunning; Thor, Odin’s son, incredibly strong yet not the wisest of gods; and Loki–son of a giant–blood brother to Odin and a trickster and unsurpassable manipulator.

Gaiman fashions these primeval stories into a novelistic arc that begins with the genesis of the legendary nine worlds and delves into the exploits of deities, dwarfs, and giants. Once, when Thor’s hammer is stolen, Thor must disguise himself as a woman–difficult with his beard and huge appetite–to steal it back. More poignant is the tale in which the blood of Kvasir – the most sagacious of gods – is turned into a mead that infuses drinkers with poetry. The work culminates in Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods and rebirth of a new time and people.

Through Gaiman’s deft and witty prose emerge these gods with their fiercely competitive natures, their susceptibility to being duped and to duping others, and their tendency to let passion ignite their actions, making these long-ago myths breathe pungent life again.

-

Heaven Official’s Blessing by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

A GOD FALLEN, A GHOST RISEN 

Born the crown prince of a prosperous kingdom, Xie Lian was renowned for his beauty, strength, and purity. His years of dedicated study and noble deeds allowed him to ascend to godhood. But those who rise may also fall, and fall he does–cast from the heavens and banished to the world below. 

Eight hundred years after his mortal life, Xie Lian has ascended to godhood for the third time, angering most of the gods in the process. To repay his debts, he is sent to the Mortal Realm to hunt down violent ghosts and troublemaking spirits who prey on the living. Along his travels, he meets the fascinating and brilliant San Lang, a young man with whom he feels an instant connection. Yet San Lang is clearly more than he appears… What mysteries lie behind that carefree smile?

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She Wears the Midnight Crown, an anthology of sapphic masquerade stories, specifically “Are you in love with the squid?” by D. A. Hernández

She Wears the Midnight Crown features 17 stories of wlw characters exploring their relationships as they develop, grow, and change during (literal or figurative) masquerades! Our contributors have stretched their imaginations to present innovative stories exploring what a masquerade can be…and, of course, tell rich, engaging tales of wonderful queer folk finding love, companionship, acceptance, the queer platonic relationship of their dreams, or the found family they deserve. The collected works feature characters in all the colors of the Pride rainbow, queer and genderqueer, and these diverse individuals inhabit worlds ranging from science fiction settings where everyone must be masked to breathe, to fantasies where no one wears a literal mask but everyone shows the world a false guise, to iterations of the real world where some people lean into deception.

-

Rust in the Root by Justina Ireland

It is 1937, and Laura Ann Langston lives in an America divided—between those who work the mystical arts and those who do not. Ever since the Great Rust, a catastrophic event that blighted the arcane force called the Dynamism and threw America into disarray, the country has been rebuilding for a better future. And everyone knows the future is industry and technology—otherwise known as Mechomancy—not the traditional mystical arts.

Laura disagrees. A talented young mage from Pennsylvania, Laura hopped a portal to New York City on her seventeenth birthday with hopes of earning her mage’s license and becoming something more than a rootworker.

But four months later, she’s got little to show for it other than an empty pocket and broken dreams. With nowhere else to turn, Laura applies for a job with the Bureau of the Arcane’s Conservation Corps, a branch of the US government dedicated to repairing the Dynamism so that Mechomancy can thrive. There she meets the Skylark, a powerful mage with a mysterious past, who reluctantly takes Laura on as an apprentice.

As they’re sent off on their first mission together into the heart of the country’s oldest and most mysterious Blight, they discover the work of mages not encountered since the darkest period in America’s past, when Black mages were killed for their power—work that could threaten Laura’s and the Skylark’s lives, and everything they’ve worked for.

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The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin

A lone human ambassador is sent to the icebound planet of Winter, a world without sexual prejudice, where the inhabitants’ gender is fluid. His goal is to facilitate Winter’s inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own views and those of the strange, intriguing culture he encounters…

Embracing the aspects of psychology, society, and human emotion on an alien world, The Left Hand of Darkness stands as a landmark achievement in the annals of intellectual science fiction.

-

Alanna: The First Adventure, by Tamora Pierce, as well as all the books in the Song of the Lioness series

From now on I’m Alan of Trebond, the younger twin. I’ll be a knight.

And so young Alanna of Trebond begins the journey to knighthood. Though a girl, Alanna has always craved the adventure and daring allowed only for boys; her twin brother, Thom, yearns to learn the art of magic. So one day they decide to switch places: Thom heads for the convent to learn magic; Alanna, pretending to be a boy, is on her way to the castle of King Roald to begin her training as a page. 

 But the road to knighthood is not an easy one. As Alanna masters the skills necessary for battle, she must also learn to control her heart and to discern her enemies from her allies.

-

We would love to read more stories with genderfluid representation – tell us about the ones you’ve read!

#duck prints press #rec list

[artzychic27]

Witch Izuku

After not getting his quirk, and with the horribleness of discrimination, quirkless statistics all over the Internet, and middle school, Izuku embraced the darkness since there was no light for him

Inko is a great mom and does whatever she can to support her son, even selling all of his All Might merch to buy some new furniture for his room that fit his tastes

His choice of dress is gender neutral, often wearing corsets, ankle length skirts dresses, black Sun hats, and tops with lace sleeves

He started ignoring his classmates when he was eleven. He reads enough hateful news articles, that their words don’t sting anymore. And he began wearing padding under his uniform when they try to beat him up

Any spider lilies they put on his desk, he cuts the stem a bit and places the flower in his hair

Izuku just spends his days reading pre-quirk era books and conversing with spiders he finds on the roof of the school

One day, after a particularly tough day at school where his teacher decided to punish him for no reason, he had his lunch thrown in the toilet, his favorite book burned, and one of his spider friends killed right in front of him, Izuku goes home early that day, crying for the first time in years

While walking home, a black butterfly blocks his path and seems to beckon him to follow it… To an abandoned shop. It looks like an old curio store, and then the butterfly leads him to an old book, just sitting on a counter

Even though the shop appears to be abandoned, Izuku leaves a few yen on the counter before taking the book and when he leaves… It disappears. Ooo~

Upon returning home, Izuku discovers that he bought a spellboook. While he doesn’t really believe in magic, he decides to try on out and casts a spell on his teacher

The next day at school, when Izuku’s teacher is once again reprimanding him for some stupid reason, a colony of bats suddenly fly in through the window and attack him

That’s gotta be a coincidence, so he tries out another spell on a few students. This one is to make them suffer a great loss

Cue one losing his girlfriend, the other losing the hair he took such great pride in, and the other’s old nose growing back in place of the one from cosmetic surgery

Izuku: Okay. Magic is real.

Now Izuku’s a witch, and he’s going to have some fun all throughout middle school with no one being none the wiser

Inko knows he’s been using magic to get back at everyone, and has no problem with it. It’s about time those assholes got what was coming to them

Their last day of junior high, Izuku is once again ignoring the idiots who surround him when the teacher goes on about the hero course, and by that time, he’s got his ear buds in

Bitch teacher: Oh, Midoriya! Didn’t you want to go to Yuuei?

Izuku: Maybe, maybe not, but that was not your information to share, you quirkist bitch. Now, pick your jaw up off the floor and kindly explain to your demon students that quirk usage is forbidden on school property.

He gets sent to the principal’s office, but not before casting a spell to make his teacher’s hair catch on fire and for his principal’s clothes to restrict him

Izuku goes home with a bright smile on his face… Then he runs into the sludge monster. Using his powers, he turns the monster back into his human form, and the man, Akatani Mika is eternally grateful

When All Might arrives, he only sees a young goth boy and his “uncle”, and takes off to look for the sludge monster

Mika: Kid, I-I owe you my life.

Izuku: I accept tablespoons of blood only.

Mika: … What?

Izuku: What? I need more ingredients. It’s hard to get blood these days.

Mika becomes sort of a father figure over the months, often helps around the house, buys groceries, and even buys Izuku some books

Oh, and Izuku is going for Yuuei, the hero course, since society needs actual competent heroes

Using the hundreds of spells he memorized, he creates a black hole to suck up only what he wants it to- The robots piece by piece

When he comes across Uraraka, he just touches the debris, and it crumbles into bits, then he fucking possesses the Zero Pointer and has it destroy the other robots

Eraserhead/Vlad King: … I WANT HIM!

And after a brutal combat between the teachers, Izuku gets into 1-A where he becomes fast friends with Fumikage and Dark Shadow once the former senses his inner darkness

Fumikage: We shall revel in the dark, my black hearted brother.

Izuku: I look forward to it, bringer of despair.

Katsuki: Fuck! Now there’s two of them!

Izuku gets through the quirk assessment tests pretty easily since he’s spent the past couple of months with Mika going to the gym and building up his strength and endurance

He ends up in fifth, and is pleased to see that the grape got last… BUT ‘TWAS ALL A RUSE!

Izuku, Fumikage, and Dark Shadow spend most of their time together and even attract two new members to their little cult, Reiko Yanagi and Hitoshi Shinsou

It takes a few weeks before Izuku feels he can trust them enough to show him his spell book, AKA, his “quirk”, and they still accept him

After looking through the rules, Izuku sees there’s nothing about dying his uniform jacket black… So he does

Let’s see, what else? Oh yeah. Izuku’s hero costume makes him look like a necromancer, he teleports the villains back to wherever it was that they came from and puts a protective seal over the USJ, he comes in second at the Sports Festival, gets only ten work study from the heroes who weren’t little punk bitches, his hero name is Salem, he does his work study with the Witch Hero, Crimson, and the training camp goes wrong because Izuku forgot to put a seal over it

Katsuki gets kidnapped and now the goth squad has gotta save his ass, incognito

They manage to get him back without getting caught before the heroes can even get there, and Aizawa- who saw everything- promises not to say anything. Goths (plus an emo) gotta stick together

Cue Dorms!

Izuku’s room is similar to Fumikage’s, completely submerged in darkness with a Victorian charm to it. He, Yanagi, Shinsou, Fumikage, and Dark Shadow hold weekly seances there and convince the spirits to mess around with Katsuki and All Might (Who didn’t retire, by the way and still hasn’t passed down One For All)

Quirk Provisional License exam, the Goth Squad all pass, Katsuki and Shouto don’t, on with the show!

Instead of leaving Eri at the hands of that bastard, Izuku uses a spell to freeze Overhaul, drag him back to Crimson’s agency, and then use a truth spell to force him to give over any information he has

They infiltrate his base, arrest everyone, and Eri gets adopted by the Yamazawas

Eri clings to Izuku like a lifeline since he was the one who saved her. He doesn’t mind one bit and even takes her to a seance to meet one of his ghost friends

So now, Eri is a baby bat goth

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha headcannons #bnha au #witch Izuku #answered ask #ask me stuff #different quirk #goth Izuku

[jukashi]

Power vs. Respectability in Fiction

The thought occurred to me today that a potential indicator line between fantasy (and fantasy-adjacent genres, such as scifi with fantasy elements, superheroes, etc) written by people who are personally into fantasy, and fantasy written by people who are not personally into fantasy, is that the former will probably understand that their characters don't need to be 'respectable' in order to be respected.

To start explaining what I mean by that, in real life (and in fiction that generally abides by the rules of real life), there is a sharp limit to how personally powerful one person can be. Some sort of professional-level athlete who's also picked up a wide set of technical, practical and combat skills is probably the theoretical maximum of the most capability you can pack into one human, and while a person like that would be very impressive, they're still just one person. They only have one pair of hands, need to eat and drink and sleep, can get sick, and if someone really, really wants them dead then it's not very hard to achieve. Just hit them with a car. In real life, real power comes from the ability to influence other people to do what you want to do. And, if you want to do that, you have to make the effort to seem like a powerful person - to be respectable, even if only by the standards of the particular people who you want to influence. Even with money! There aren't any billionaires lazing around letting themselves look like comfortable slobs in public, because not only their own egos, but also the egos of the people they need to buy off to achieve things, can't allow it. And that's before the general need to maintain the illusion that wealthy people deserve their wealth, in order to keep the non-wealthy from asking why they're letting them keep all the money.

This pattern replicates through all of society, in real life - in order to have power you need to have respect, whether you're a billionaire, a politician, a manager, a project lead, a teacher, whatever. Sure, you can just display competence to earn respect, but if you don't maintain the socially accepted standards of the appearance of respectability, you'll have to keep proving your competence with new people over and over. Plus, being competent is hard! Why not just do the tricks that maintain an illusion of respectability, by dressing and speaking a certain way, and following a few little rituals? You're sure you can do both, anyway - right? The appearance stuff can just... cover you when you occasionally slip up on the competence thing. Besides, as noted before, there are limits to how much one person's competence can do.

In fantasy, though, this isn't true. In fantasy, one person can do what it would take a hundred, a thousand people to accomplish. More. A necromancer can wrench an army from an ancient battlefield, compelling a mindless horde of corpses to obey his will without question or hesitation, murder a city's mightiest defender with a gesture and a single word of the black tongue, then use the confusion to capture the place and begin turning its populace into fuel for another legion of bone and rot with which to continue the march of conquest. A great hero protected by a pure heart and knowledge of the secret techniques of an ancient order takes up her sword and shield and single-handedly holds the army of undead at their gates so that survivors can escape. Another wizard calls the necromancer a scrub for needing an army at all and summons a storm that rains only lightning on the entire city for three days and three nights.

These people do not need respectability. The necromancer has an incomprehensible rural accent to go with the scythe he thinks is cool, the hero's on her fifth straight week of failing to get a date at the bar every night, and you're lucky if that wizard is wearing pants. But even knowing those things, looking at what they can do, they still get respect anyway.

For people who aren't familiar with fantasy, who aren't really into it themselves - maybe they've seen a few of the most popular movies or gotten a general idea of the plot of the biggest stories - this dynamic can easily be missed, because it's one of the subtler things that's different from real life. So, when these people are required to write fantasy work, and try to write characters who the audience are supposed to think are cool and powerful, they can get hung up on trying to make the characters seem cool and powerful rather than be cool and powerful. They dress them up too much, they write them like they're some corporate or political speechwriter trying to get a crowd to buy into the illusion of respectability. It's not necessary at all. In fact, characters who are classically disrespectable but who demonstrate personal power are often far more appreciated by an audience than those who are given the trappings of power to try 'sell' them. This is sort of just an extension of 'show don't tell', and even without that, it applies to an extent in normal fiction - the humble but competent character is generally liked if both of those qualities are sold well. But in fantasy it holds to a greater degree, and I think it can give away the presence of a writer who doesn't really 'get' fantasy when a piece of ostensibly fantasy media tries to hype up someone who shouldn't need hyping, or fails to give them the chance to do things they're supposed to have the power to do. Real life experience working in a business or other organization tells you that if someone has a position over you, you need to accept that and work with it - whether they actually have the ability to back it up is secondary, at best. So, these writers can fall into the trap of thinking the same holds for how characters in a story should be presented.

Short version - the writer who doesn't get fantasy will have a witch queen mostly doing queen things, with a token scene or two of witchy things. The writer who understands fantasy will make sure we see the witch queen do some cool fucking witch shit - and then the queen part will basically be established anyway.

#fantasy #fiction #rambles

[anqelblccm]

⊹˳⁺ ⠀⠀⠀ IDENTITY  ! 

LEGAL  NAME  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ ████  ████ 

PREFERRED  NAME  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ kwon  euiwoong  (  권의웅  )

ARTIST  NAME  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ hero  (  히로  )  prev.  woong  (  웅  )

NICKNAMES  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ nation’s  angel,  all-rounder,  ace  of  kpop,  househusband 

BIRTHDAY  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ october  4,  1998

ZODIAC  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ libra

PRONOUNS  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ he  /  him

SEXUALITY  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ straight

ETHNICITY  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ south  korean 

OCCUPATION  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ full-time  idol  &  part-time  guardian  angel 

LANGUAGES  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ korean,  english,  basic  japanese 

⊹˳⁺ ⠀⠀⠀ PHYSICALITY  ! 

BODY  TYPE  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ mesomorph

BUILD  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ athletic,  incredibly  strong

HEIGHT  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ one  hundred  eighty-two  (  182  )  centimeters  |  six  feet  inches  (  6’0”  )

DISTINCTIVE  FEATURES  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ a  small  eyebrow  scar,  tiny  birthmark  on  his  nape  in  the  shape  of  wings,  long  eyelashes,  big  /  doe  eyes,  gummy  smile,  perfectly  clear  skin,  soft-spoken  voice  /  often  called  siren  voice

FACE  CLAIM  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ lee  minho  (  stray  kids  ) 

⊹˳⁺ ⠀⠀⠀ PERSONALITY  ! 

OVERVIEW  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ euiwoong  is  independent;  he  prefers  directing  himself  through  life  with  flexible  logic  and  is  willing  to  adapt  to  new  situations.  he  loves  learning  and  understanding  how  the  world  around  him  works,  especially  the  human  world.  to  others,  euiwoong  seems  aloof  at  times;  however,  he  isn't  a  nasty  or  an  unpleasant  person  to  be  around,  just  quiet.  he  usually  has  a  blank  expression  on  his  face  and  suffers  from  resting  bitch  face,  but  he  is  nonjudgmental  and  is  very  much  a  facts-driven  person.  he  tends  to  bottle  his  feelings  up,  and  anything  that  bothers  him,  he  hides  until  it  eventually  explodes.  despite  being  alive  for  so  long,  euiwoong  is  incredibly  stubborn  and  would  act  childish  when  things  don’t  go  his  way.  once  he’s  proven  wrong,  euiwoong  wouldn’t  apologise  with  words  but  with  his  actions. 

POSITIVE  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ protective  of  his  friends  and  is  loyal  to  them  in  every  way.  perfectionist  and  likes  for  things  to  go  his  way.  creative  –  both  musically  and  in  general.  flirty,  mostly  to  get  out  of  difficult  situations  unscathed.  witty.  tending  to  others;  most  of  the  time  called  mother  due  to  his  caring  nature  for  other  people. 

NEGATIVE  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ with  loyalty  comes  naiveness  –  sometimes  wouldn’t  notice  he’s  being  used.  often  insecure,  which  can  intervene  with  his  assignment,  which  turns  into  a  sloppy  job.  childish  at  times  when  things  don’t  go  his  way.  relating  to  his  independence,  he  can  be  quite  bossy  when  he  has  a  fixed  plan. 

⊹˳⁺ ⠀⠀⠀ OTHER  ! 

HABITS  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ rolling  his  shoulders,  zoning  out,  cracking  his  knuckles,  tapping  his  nails  on  any  hard  surface,  tilting  his  head  when  confused,  clicking  tongue  when  pissed FEARS  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ failing  his  mission,  hurting  his  friends,  confined  spaces  PET  PEEVES  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ people  meddling  in  his  business,  interrupting  him  when  he’s  speaking,  doing  the  opposite  of  what  he  says HOBBIES  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ producing  music,  photography,  accidentally  making  things  worse  for  himself,  cleaning  –  admits  it  calms  him  down  after  a  stressful  day TALENTS  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ singing,  rapping  &  dancing  (  triple  threat  ),  baking,  strength  –  can  carry  whoever  with  only  one  hand  &  break  watermelons  effortlessly 

⊹˳⁺ ⠀⠀⠀ BIOGRAPHY  ! 

PAST  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ ████  was  ███  in  ████████████████████.  ever  since  young  age,  ████  had  to  ████████████████████████.  ████,  ████████████████████████.  ████████████████████████████,  ████████████████████.  ████████,  ████████████,  ████████████████. ████████████████,  ████████████████████████.  once  he  was  found  out,  ████  was  ████████████████████████████████,  never  to  be  seen  again. 

PRESENT  ˳   ⠀⠀⠀ EUIWOONG  became  MIGHTY  DEVIL’s  trainee  when  he  was  nineteen.  despite  always  being  first  in  valuations,  he  never  celebrated  with  other  trainees,  often  locking  himself  in  the  studio  or  the  dorm  he  shared  with  the  others.  to  no  one's  surprise,  he  was  a  stronger  vocalist  and  dancer  than  anything  else,  considering  he  had  always  been  interested  in  it,  and  it's  what  he's  focused  on  during  his  training.  at  the  beginning  of  2019,  various  people  noticed  euiwoong  being  mentioned  as  one  of  the  trainees  competing  in  PRODUCE  X  101,  the  fourth  season  of  the  produce  101  franchise.  he  reached  high  in  the  ranks  very  quickly,  often  receiving  the  nickname  EYE-CATCHER,  ending  the  show's  last  episode  in  SEVENTH  PLACE  and  debuting  as  X1’s  MAIN  DANCER  and  VOCALIST.  however,  it  was  not  easy  for  WOONG,  for  the  group  disbanded  only  half  a  year  later.  feeling  betrayed,  euiwoong  went  back  to  the  company  as  a  trainee  once  again  in  the  hope  of  getting  his  well-deserved  debut  soon.  for  a  whole  year,  MIGHTY  DEVIL  refused  to  answer  every  question  about  their  beloved  trainee,  explaining  they  didn’t  have  any  answers  yet.  this  worried  a  lot  of  individuals  who  have  been  supporting  him  since  his  produce  x  days  and  it  wasn’t  until  MID-2021  when  the  company  released  a  short  video  with  a  familiar  face  in  it. 

#𓂃⊹˳⁺ ୭ profile. #kpop oc #idol oc #fictional oc community #fake kpop soloist #fake kpop idol #idolverse #oc soloist #fictional oc