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mediaevalmusereads · 3 years

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Master of Crows. By Grace Draven. Self Published (?), 2009.

Rating: 2/5 stars

Genre: fantasy romance

Part of a Series? Yes, Master of Crows #1

Summary: What would you do to win your freedom? This is the question that sets bondwoman, Martise of Asher, on a dangerous path. In exchange for her freedom, she bargains with her masters, the mage-priests of Conclave, to spy on the renegade sorcerer, Silhara of Neith. The priests want Martise to expose the sorcerer's treachery and turn him over to Conclave justice. A risky endeavor, but one she accepts without hesitation--until she falls in love with her intended target. Silhara of Neith, Master of Crows, is a desperate man. The god called Corruption invades his mind, seducing him with promises of limitless power if he will help it gain dominion over the world. Silhara struggles against Corruption's influence and searches for ways to destroy the god. When Conclave sends Martise as an apprentice to help him, he knows she's a spy. Now he fights a war on two fronts -against the god who would possess him and the apprentice who would betray him. Mage and spy search together for a ritual that will annihilate Corruption, but in doing so, they discover secrets about each other that may damn them both. Silhara must decide if his fate, and the fate of nations, is worth the soul of the woman he has come to love, and Martise must choose continued enslavement or freedom at the cost of a man's life. And love.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: sexual content, blood, magical violence

Overview: After being a little lukewarm on Radiance, I decided to give Grace Draven one more try, mostly because her books seem to be popular on tumblr. I picked up Master of Crows on a whim, and though I think it has more plot than Radiance, the main characters were really not to my taste. For me, Martise was too passive and Silhara was too much of a jerk to be likeable, and the massive power imbalance between the two meant that I didn’t really root for their relationship to succeed. Thus, this book only gets 2 stars from me.

Writing: Draven’s prose is fairly straight-forward. It’s easy to get through and it flows well, giving the reader just enough to know what’s going on. I don’t really have any criticisms for its simplicity because Draven is writing within romance, and the point isn’t to be poetic. Rather, it gets the job done, and I think most readers will appreciate that.

Where I do think I can criticize this book is in the repetition of phrases. More than twice, I saw the term “half mast” used to convey when a character’s eyes were half open, and I think I saw “tattoo” used multiple times to describe a rapid rhythm or tapping. It’s not the biggest deal, but I was definitely pulled out of the story when I noticed these things.

I also think I can criticize Draven for telling us some things that should have been shown. We’re told, for instance, that Silhara isn’t a noble man, that he’s selfish and ambitious, etc. but we’re never really shown scenes of him acting out of ambition or being actually tempted to give in to Corruption’s influence. I would have liked to see Silhara be put in positions where he is making choices or doing things that make the reader think he was susceptible to Corruptions influence. Maybe we see him researching spells for making himself more powerful. Maybe something happens on page with Conclave that is so bad, he starts seriously considering Corruption’s offer to give him revenge. It could be argued that we do get some of that, but it felt like everything was told to us, or happened in the past, and we were expected to absorb it.

Plot: Most of the non-romance plot of this book revolves around Silhara trying to figure out how to destroy the god Corruption while Martise acts as a spy, trying to get some dirt on him so the Conclave (a collection of priests/mages) will have an excuse to kill him. To be honest, I thought the initial premise was a good one; I liked the idea of conflicting loyalties and the eventual shift from enemies (of a sort) to lovers.

However, I do not think this plot was handled well, mainly because Corruption seemed to be a background threat. Multiple times throughout the book, we see Silhara be more or less tormented by the god, whether through dreams that keep him up at night, through disrupting Silhara’s magic abilities, through manifestations, and through temporary possession. While scary, I don’t think these scenes had much lasting impact, which didn’t make Corruption feel like a real threat. If Silhara is being kept awake at night, for example, I want to see scenes where his sleep deprivation gets him in trouble. If his magic is out of control, I want to see scenes where he has to decide whether he wants to risk using it or if he should go through his life without his powers. Something other than Corruption just being a lurking boogeyman that occasionally pops up and becomes a nuisance rather than a real, omnipresent force.

I also think Martise’s plot was a bit weak, mainly because we’re never really shown her having conflicting feelings or arguing with herself about whether or not to give Silhara to the Conclave. Martise is a slave, and her master promises to free her if she can get dirt on Silhara. While fine, the desire for freedom never seemed like a driving force for Martise; we never see her digging through Silhara’s study for potential dirt, of trying to eavesdrop or do other things that would show her actively trying to achieve her goal. Instead, Martise is rather passive, waiting for information to come to her, and she never really wrestles with her life as a slave, not the decision of whether or not to report Silhara once she falls in love with him. I would have liked to see more angst or at least more of an evolution where it felt like Martise had an arc independent of her service or usefulness to Silhara.

Characters: Martise, our heroine, is rather passive and seems to exist mainly to be used. I really didn’t like that she seemed to have no ambition or agency; she mostly waited for things to happen to her, and only shows agency towards the end, when the big showdown happens. Even her “gift” - the magic ability which lays dormant in her until Silhara awakens it - seems to be built around her being a tool to be used, and I was extremely disappointed that her arc didn’t seem to be about empowering her as a woman or as an ex-slave.

Silhara, our hero, is the type of love interest I absolutely hate. He’s extremely powerful, but is a complete jerk to the heroine and commits random violence towards other people out of jealousy. While we’re told over and over again that Martise loves him because he’s a good person at heart, I really didn’t see it. He not only beats up someone who speaks poorly of Martise, but he also seems comfortable ordering her around and treating her as a servant until the very end. The only redeeming qualities he had seemed to be that he doesn’t like people treating women poorly (which, ok, I guess) and he’s kind to his servant, Gurn. Other than that, he’s not an alluring figure.

Side characters were fun, if under utilized. Gurn is Silhara’s mute servant who uses a kind of sign language to communicate. I really liked this character because it inserts some disability representation, and I liked his relationship with Martise. The two seemed to bond over their shared status as servants, and I honestly wish there had been more of an arc or exploration about class with these two. Other characters served their purposes. Cumbria, Martise’s owner, is largely absent, but manages to look bad in every way. He’s not a super compelling antagonist just because he’s not on the page too often, but when he is, I think Draven did a good job not making him over-the-top evil. He’s mostly just greedy and petty, and I wish he had been used more deliberately in conjunction with Silhara’s exile as a commentary on corruption within religious orders. Corruption, the god, is a different story. As I explained in the plot section above, Corruption isn’t much more than a boogeyman, and I got really tired of him really fast.

I’m not sure how to feel, however, about the Kurman people in this book. The Kurmans are a nation/ethnic group/tribe/society with some rather odd gender dynamics. Women can apparently own property and vote, and they are supposedly respected, but they are kept separate from men much of the time, wait on men at feasts, can’t meet men’s eyes unless they want to communicate sexual availability, and so on. It was rather bizarre to me, and I seemed to be getting conflicting ideas about whether or not this society was feminist or not. I also wasn’t sure if they were supposed to be modeled on any real-life ethnic groups or societies; they are described as wearing pointy shoes, having swarthy/dark skin, having multiple wives, etc. so I got the impression that they might have been like Arabs, Mongols, or Ethiopians (due to the food they eat, etc), but if so, I didn’t quite like how Silhara refers to them as “barbarian,” even if it was in jest.

Romance: I couldn’t get on board with this romance. At all. Martise was already too subservient as a character, and while I get that some of this could be a survival technique, it didn’t make sense that Silhara would fall for her based on the ways in which she surprised or challenged him. Because she barely did. She never called Silhara out in any meaningful way and seemed to go along with whatever he wanted until the end.

Most of my discomfort, however, comes from two main issues: 1.) Silhara never seems to put Martise’s well-being first, and 2.) there is a huge power imbalance between the two that isn’t corrected until the very end, and Silhara never seems to be interested in leveling the playing field. First, Martise’s well-being: Silhara constantly offered comments that seemed to tear Martise down or, at the very least, be a back-handed compliment. He never seems to want to find ways of making her happy, and he centers his own desire and well-being even after big things happen. For instance, in a scene where Silhara is temporarily possessed by Corruption, he hurts Martise so badly that she cannot speak (as in, he chokes her almost to blackout). When he is freed from possession, he never seems to care about what he did to Martise or how she might be in pain. Instead, the first thing he does is order Martise to get away from him, then he orders Gurn to look after Martise to make sure she’s ok. All the while, he focuses on his own pain and jokes about his balls (which Martise kicked in order to free herself from his grasp). I was flabbergasted - why wouldn’t you want to make sure for yourself your lover is ok after something like that?

Second, the power imbalance. Even though Silhara doesn’t know Martise is a slave for the majority of the book, he does take her into his household as a servant, and has no qualms about ordering her about or taking advantage of her gentle nature. You’d think that if someone fell in love with a servant, much of the romance would be about overcoming class barriers or finding some way to put the two characters on equal footing. Sometimes, this is done by the lower class person having a sharper wit or calling out the upper class person on things that make them change for the better. Martise and Silhara never seem to have that arc. Martise calls Silhara “Master” throughout the whole book, and Silhara didn’t seem uncomfortable with it except when they were having sex. He never stops presuming to give Martise orders and expecting she obey them, not even at the very end when the question of her freedom gets resolved. And there are books out there where this class barrier is done well (Jane Eyre comes to mind), so I think Draven could have put more work into exploring the dynamics and how Martise is a match for Silhara, even given her status and lack of magic (at least, for a while).

TL;DR: Master of Crows has a good premise, but ultimately suffers from unlikeable or passive protagonists, a weak plot, and a romance with uneven power dynamics.

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sidpah · 5 years

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A Misguided Love Letter

From each of these fetid rooms, from each of my voyeuristic thrills peeking between bars, out heating ducts, through slits in tall hedges, I realize how alone I’ve become… Writing love letters to a dead girl who can never respond… As if I were the same boy I was when we were together, and she the same young woman… We’ve been split, two leaves from the same branch carried off in opposite directions… And with a measure of grace, I accept how fitting it is… It can’t be changed… nor should it be… We were perfect together then, and somewhere else, we’re just as perfect right now… Just not here… here, we are perfectly worlds apart…

That must be all for Olivia… I’ll leave her in glorious memory to dissolve along with her wasted body… I knew her for almost ten formative years… before she slid away in the middle of one night to find her true face and forgot all of ours… There are memories, but they’re self-absorbed… I barely remember anything about her except my own reactions…

Even her face is unstable and mutable as magma…

Lifting a rotting pomegranate from the ground, I brush off a thick black worm half dug into its rind… Snatching a sharp twig with my free hand, I run back inside the Healer’s hut… No one is here but those faces on the walls and I can’t bear their judgmental brows any longer… There is only one thing conceivable… I’ll write one more note to her before I fully embrace that wise understanding – then let her sleep in peace. I jab the edge of the stick into the fruit’s rotten skin and use its red juice to write my goodbye across these walls…

This must be how that witchdoctor’s poppet felt, how I felt being that grinning poppet dumbly accepting the barbed hooks through heart and cheeks…

The faces in the walls writhe, curl and squeal in anguish as the point scars and tattoos their brows and eyeballs… This is what they get for trying to help me… You cannot help some people; they must learn this the hardest way I can manage, and keep permanent records of their lessons so they’ll remember each time they see their reflection in a pool of water cleansing another unworthy soul… I’m oblivious to their pain because I’m consumed by my own…

I’m completely overtaken in reminiscence and am no longer aware of their presence or the fact that I’m still in a foreign hut, vandalizing the countenances of a hundred benevolent spirits with my pathetic worldly mutterings…

I could love you for the way you throw rocks into puddles causing tiny fish to poke noses up into our crazed world with all its mountainous rubble and brazen, unyielding grass stains – And I could love you for the way your skin is made of lions – the way you never inch away from hearts grieving over their own mad loneliness, rapidly dying, hung in the arms of a million other eremite souls reflecting each other’s jeweled radiant face who grins regardless of all – That skin on your back is your own gift from the Earth, not stolen from a sad little creature with similar eyes of pity and fear… And I could love you for the way your laces are never tied together – one loose end will cause a million births – but you make it all seem worthwhile, so much greater than never having lived at all… And I could swing you from a rope with bhikkhu skull as tire, and I could burn a city mile in your honor but it would be a pitifully invalidic pyre compared to your misty eyes on those frost-glazed mornings when brown weeds were miraculous blown glass sculptures made all the more precious because we knew they’d melt and disappear by noon – Winds swelled to cry a declaration of your confused devotion in your voice eternally lovely… and eternally distant… When I called to you I was an infant screaming, “How do I make it this good again?” but now I see I should have asked, “Can’t this one instant be enough?” I never learn my lessons... Maybe I’ll never! Did I not earn the absolution of a lost lingering soul when I allowed you to walk to the station, whistle blowing in the distance, a new stop for road-weary traveler?

II.

Is it blasphemous to think you were the only good we’d ever know, and without you, we are all destined for savage claws and needle fangs? – We must accept this fate, as you accepted our devotion unworthy and crass – though as full of heart as we could manage in those days of wild beasts and wilder pain – We know only that you never leave us, drifting aside holy and inspired – a muse in mortal guise…

Enough… You were enough, but I am insatiable – And so farewell, love, lover and beloved – Farewell, my heart, my stone, all dreams of youth –

You will forever outlast our memories of you, and all too beautiful, our insipid portraits, proclaiming your everlasting beauty as something tangible – temporal… Missing the mark that you are naught but Love itself!

So untouched by hour or eon… But we are broken men, unable to live up to our aptitude… Our unrealized future – one you promised with Suns in your eyes – So pity of pities, no matter how we whimper and fawn… No matter the heat of our devotion – the blood on our knees – Psalm, soliloquy or silence, our tributes can only be improper, inadequate, illegitimate, compared to what you gave us - What we once had…

And because of this, it is my fear, that though we try our feeble best, meager and insufficient, though it is, my dear, my departed, my soul, never a thought for my immortal ghost, I fear only, that you will simply never be loved enough…

Catharsis more or less complete, I make my way to the beach to treat myself to a vicious sunburn. Perhaps a self-inflicted immolation for my most recent act of treachery...

#flash fiction #poetry #fiction #loss #mourning #love letter #love #Buddhism #depression

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povvertaken · 2 years

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while the princes busy themselves doing goddess knows what, rothmunde catches up with pedyr, matching his steps as they walk through the camp. "field-marshall. a question about your prince, if i might be so bold. after the last battle, there was a dying man whose hand he took the sword from. forgive my impertinence, but i've never been to your land and i fear i have missed the significance of such a gesture."

pedyr sucks in a breath. the sun hits rothmunde's hair and the wind lifts it in a caress, and pedyr thinks how remarkably it looks like golden wheat. if only that were the reason for the catch in his chest. but for once, it is not the knight-champion that causes his reactions; it is his prince-captain. pedyr averts his gaze, looks anywhere but in her eyes. her eyes remind him of the open seas he has known so well, but he finds no comfort in the thought. he can still picture the dying spy's face, the look in jacob's eyes as he took the weapon. true, treachery is despised among their people, and the man deserved a traitor's death. but something in the set of jacob's brow, determined without an ounce of mercy, had chilled pedyr. in that moment, the prince-captain had looked more like his father than ever before.

"knight-champion," pedyr replies, delaying the moment as much as he can. "you must know how we deal with traitors?" bregomearckin honour is tough as iron, and once lost is lost for good. "a man without honour in brecomearc is a man awaiting death. to spy for the vertans - the prince-captain was within his rights to slaughter him however he saw fit." instead, jacob had trialled the man by combat. all the army knew there was no hope in it - jacob is a strong warrior, and the spy no more than a lad. a boy. there were floran pages older than the dead boy. pedyr supposed the tattoos and long hair had given rothmunde the impression that he was of age, a man grown. to his countrymen, he was barely a man.

and jacob had doomed him.

"i do not wish to speak too openly. it was significant indeed." pedyr measures his step to move forward and left, closer to the knight-champion. his voice drops, head bent as it so often is when he speaks to jacob. "by taking the lad's sword, jacob condemned his soul. he will never drink mead in the halls of his ancestors. he will never feast with our heroes. our gods will reject him, for dying without a weapon in hand." pedyr's voice gains an eerie seriousness, his faith shining in his eyes. "he is cursed. he will wander the world, without ancestors, without descendants. he will become nameless, all honour lost. there will be no songs, no glory. an eternity alone." pedyr stops, suppresses a shudder. to die in such a way is punishment for treachery - and then some. the lad's ancestors could have cast him out, if he had made it to their halls. or the gods may have intervened. instead, jacob condemned him.

"it was not wrong of the prince-captain, you understand. it was... vengeful."

#partloss #v: where now are the horse and the rider #meme: jacob.

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scriptflorist · 6 years

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Hi! Hope I submitted this correctly. Thanks for this and I appreciate your help!

Name: Harana “Ynaguinid” Amosin, Jericho “Barangao” Amosin (as a boy)

Nickname: Hara, Jeri (when she’s a guy)

Alternate identity: She have various identities, though the ones that she uses the most often is “Hikari Sensogami” or “Hikaru Sensogami” (when they go undercover in Japan) and “Haliya Ramos” or “Agwe Ramos” elsewhere.

Birthday: June 21st

Zodiac: Cancer

Birthplace: The Philippines (known as Kapatiran in her dimension)

Dwelling place: A small mansion hidden within an enchanted forest, miles away from the city.

How do they live: Due to being renowned, honorable warriors for centuries, Harana’s family is wealthy, though not super wealthy (think middle-upper class). Hangs out with friends at school and hops between two families (their blood-related family and their guardians/godparents, who look after her training while they’re on their missions).

Appearance: Medium-dark olive skin, short-medium length black hair (sometimes wears their hair in a waterfall braid when they’re a girl, and when in battle, has her hair tied in a ponytail; and as a boy, will sometimes tie his hair in a half-up); dark brown eyes, wears a few magic bracelets that are enchanted and can transform into weapons at her will, and a necklace with her deceased parents’ wedding rings and a key in between them. Also has another necklace that holds her mp3 player. Sometimes wears headphones around her neck. Has a magical tribal tattoo as well that signifies her Filipino-Polynesian heritage.

What’s in their bag/pockets: Swiss Army knife, some small daggers, a small first aid kit, a small flashlight, a magic tablet and charger, a journal, a pencil and pen, an eraser, her cell phone, some extra earphones, rope, a small book of contacts, a makeup kit (just in case), a wallet, a book on Caelistian religion (which she is required to carry around with her anyways), and her lunchbox.

Species: Caelistian. Caelistians are from an alternate universe in which history went wild and took a completely different turn (aliens invaded during the American Revolutionary War). They descend from humans and are incredibly technologically and spiritually advanced, using a mix of technology and magic. They worship the universe itself as a deity, and they protect and watch over the dimensions and keep it in balance.

Features of the species: Due to the alien invaders often experimenting on humans and creating new species, many centuries later, there is a wide variety of Caelistians in all shapes and sizes (even the ones that worship the Void look inherently different because of differing ancestry). However, they mostly look human or take on human form.

Name of parents: Rafael and Mayumi Amosin

Name of siblings: Kidlat Amosin, Tala Amosin, Luntian Amosin (half-brother), Maria Dizon (half-sister), Orion and Sirius Callahan (adopted)

Others next of kin: Her guardians, who see her as their adopted child, and many of her godparents and godsiblings

Not-in-blood-but-in-bond-family: Orion and Sirius, whom they see as brothers, their fellow brigade members (too many to list here)

Family history: Harana has a large, but loving (though a bit quarrelsome) family; she has her grandfather, Losi, and her grandmother, Somilge. On her mother’s side, she has five aunts and three uncles, and on her father’s side, she has two aunts and six uncles. They have around eighteen cousins. Half of them are deceased, however, as a result of the war.

Favourite colour: Blue, indigo, silver

Favourite animal: Dragons, mermaids, birds, sharks, penguins

Favourite book: The entire Harry Potter series, the entire Lord of the Rings series, Jules Verne books (especially Journey to the Center of the Earth), A Wrinkle in Time, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Discworld, and a lot more

Favourite film/show/series: Zathura, Underworld, Doctor Who, and a lot more (too many to list)

Favourite genre: Action, fantasy, sci-fi, romance

Favourite food: Lumpia (Filipino egg rolls), pepperoni pizza, flan cake, cheesecake (any kind), chocolate chip cookies

Favourite place to be: The forest where she lives; she can sing as loud as she wants to while taking walks. She also enjoys being outside on the large balcony of the mansion, where she goes to watch the stars at night and relax while listening to some oldies or playing songs on her guitar.

Personality: Harana is a cool, level-headed individual. She has a sarcastic sense of humor and has a funny but kind demeanor. While she may seem calm, as a result of having been kidnapped and dealing with horrible foster parents before the war, her horrific childhood of being forced to enter a war as a child soldier a week after her birthday, and the death of many of her loved ones by the time the war ended, she has terrible anxiety and panic attacks (though they don’t occur as often as they used to). After many centuries of recovering, Harana has come out of her shell and has improved a lot since then, however, the scars still remain. She has a ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ sort of thinking when it comes to hiding her pain and insecurities (since she’s afraid that if she voices them, she’ll become a burden) and she’s become a master at it, to the point where only her closest friends and family can tell her true emotions at times. Harana was thrown into the army at a young age due to her incredible observation and logic skills (something which she got from her father and her grandfather, respectively), as well as her ability to lead and strategize. She is very experienced in the world and how the universe works due to having apprenticed under a great dimensional traveler who taught Harana the skills she has now, though unfortunately, he and his family died at the end of the war. While she does care deeply for others and is overall a good person, she can be very guile and sometimes manipulates and tricks people into doing things (though they aren’t terrible, necessarily). Harana overall acts obedient and follows the rules, but when the rules are too cruel and unjust or when the rules no longer fit the situation, she either bends the rules, finds a loophole, or throws them out the window.

Misc: Harana’s sixteen years old (in human years); she’s pansexual and genderfluid. She uses male and female pronouns, switching between them depending on what gender she feels like being for the day, though most of the time, she prefers to be a girl. Harana enjoys singing, dancing, and various other creative outlets as a way for her to calm herself and her emotions. Her main guardians are her father’s close friends, who are all happily married to each other and live in a rich neighborhood closer to the city. She used to be mute, though eventually, halfway through the war, she gets her voice back. She’s adept at various kinds of weapons and magic.

____

Hey there,

don't worry you did everything right!

Birthplace: The Philippines

The national flower of the Philippines is the Arabian jasmine, it doesn't have any meaning though.

Dwelling place: A small mansion hidden within an enchanted forest, miles away from the city

angelica – magic, inspiration

circaea – spell

enchanter's nightshade – spell, sorcery, witchcraft, fascination

fern – magic, sincerity, fascination, confidence, shelter

holly herb – enchantment

magnolia – love of nature, dignity, perseverance, nobility

persimon – bury me amid nature's beauties

rose (lavender) – enchantment

rose (purple) – enchantment

sycamore – woodland beauty, curiosity, reserve

vervain – enchantment, superstition

violet (blue) – enchantment, faithfulness, watchfulness, love

witch hazel – a spell

based on how they live

acacia – friendship, platonic love, secret love

acacia (rose) – friendship, elegance

apple blossom – fame speaks you/him great and good, preference, better things to come, good fortune

ash tree – grandeur

austurtium – splendour

bay tree – glory

bellflower (chimney) – aspiring

chrysanthemum – wealth, abundance, cheerfulness, loveliness, truth, you're a wonderful friend

copihue – there is no unalloyed good

corn (cockle) – gentility

daphne – glory, immortality

freesia – lasting friendship, innocence, trust

geranium – true friend, stupidity, folly, envy, gentility

geranium (oak-leaved) – (true) friendship, lady deign to smile

gillyflower – bonds of affection, lasting beauty, enduring beauty

imbricata – uprightness, sentiments of honour

indian cress – resignation, warlike trophy

laurel – glory, treachery, virtue is beauty, success

laurel (mountain) – ambition

lily (tiger) – wealth, pride, prosperity

palm – victory

poppy (yellow) – wealth, success

based on species

cedar – spiritual strength, strength, I live for thee, think of me

cereus (creeping) – modest genius

cherry blossom – spiritual beauty, insincerity, impermanence

clematis – artifice, mental beauty, poverty, filial love,

eucalyptus – protection

flax (dried) – utility

geranium (pencilled) – ingenuity

heather (white) – protection, good luck, wishes will come true

hemp – fate

honeysuckle (coral) – the colour of my fate

juniper – protection, asylum, succour

julienne (white) – despair not, god is everywhere

leadwort – holy wishes

magnolia (laurel-leaved) – high souled, dignity

penstemon azureus – high-bred

pine (pitch) – time, philosophy

reed (flowering) – confidence in heaven

schinus – religious enthusiasm

favourite colour: blue

agapanthus – no meaning

cornflower – delicacy, refinement

forget-me-not – forget me not, true love, memories

gentian – virgin pride, intrinsic worth

gentian (closed) – sweet be thy dreams

gentian (fringed) – intrinsic worth, I look to heaven, autumn

geranium (silver-leaf) – recall

hydrangea – (a) boaster, heartlessness, you are cold, dispassion, frigidity, thank you for understanding

larkspur (delphinium) – big-hearted, fun

larkspur – lightness, ardent attachment, inconstancy, levity, flights of fancy, swiftness, an open heart

nigella – perplexity, you puzzle me

morning glory – affectation, coquetry

silver weed – simplicity

based on personality

abantia – fickleness

achillea millefolia – war

aconite (christmas) – wit

adonis (flos) – sad memories, painful recollections, sorrowful remembrance

agnus castus – coldness, indifference

allspice – compassion

almond (laurel) – perfidy

anemone – forsaken

apocynum – deceit

balsam (red) – touch me not, impatient resolve

basil – hate, hatred

berberry – sourness/sharpness of temper, petulance, sharpness, sourness

bird cherry – perfidy, hope

borage – bluntness, rudeness

box – stoicism, constancy

broom (prickly) – misanthropy

buckbean – quiet, repose, calmness, calm repose

bur – rudeness, you weary me

butterfly weed – let me go

camellia (red) – unpretending excellence, you're a flame in my heart

canary grass – perseverance

cardamine – paternal error

chamomile – energy in adversity

chestnut – justice, do me justice

cistus (gum) – I shall die tomorrow

clotbur – rudeness, pertinacity

columbine (purple) – resolved to win

columbine (red) – anxious and trembling

convolvulus (blue, minor) – repose, night

convolvulus (major) – extinguished hopes

cress – stability, power

cypress – despair, mourning, death

darnel – vice

date plum – resistance

euphorbia – persistence

evergreen thorn – solace in adversity

everlasting – never-ceasing remembrance, always remembered, never ceasing memory

fig marigold – coldness of heart, idleness

frog ophrys – disgust

goosefoot (grass-leaved) – I declare war against you

greek valerian – rupture

hand flower tree – warning

harebell – submission, grief

hazel – peace, reconciliation

helenium – tears

kennedia – intellectual beauty, mental beauty

lantana – rigour, sharpness

larch – audacity, boldness

laurel (mountain) – ambition

lint – I feel my obligations

liverwort – confidence

machineel – betrayal, falsehood, duplicity

marigold – grief, contempt, trouble, inquietude, chagrin, pain, cruelty, pretty love, sacred affection, caress, sorrow

marigold (garden) – uneasiness

meadow lychnis – wit

meadow sweet – uselessness

mignonette – moral an intellectual beauty, your qualities surpass your charms, “without pretension to beauty possesses qualities which command profound respect and affection”

milfoil – war

milk vetch – your presence softens my pain

mushroom – suspicion, I can't entirely trust you

nasturtium – a warlike trophy, patriotism, resignation, conquest, victory in battle

nettle – slander, cruelty, you are spiteful

ophrys (spider) – dexterity, skill

parsley – useful knowledge, festivity, feast

persicaria – restoration

petunia – your presence softens me, thou art less proud than they deem thee

pheasant's eye – painful/sorrowful remembrance, remembrance, sorrowful memories

pride of china – dissension

raspberry – remorse

rhododendron – danger, beware, I am dangerous

serpentine cactus – horror

snakesfoot – horror

straw (single, broken) – rupture of a contract, dissension, broken agreement

sultan (yellow) – contempt

sumach (venice) – splendour, intellectual excellence

tansy – resistance, I declare war against you

thistle – misanthropy, surliness, harshness, austerity, sternness, never forget,

thistle (scotch) – retaliation

tiger flower – cruelty, for once may pride befriend me

walnut – intellect, stratagem

weeping willow – mourning, forsaken, sadness, melancholy

wood anemone – sickness, forlornness

xanthium – rudeness, pertinacity

yarrow – war, to cure, a cure for the heartache, cure for a broken heart, cure for heartache

zinnia – absence, thoughts of absent friends, I mourn your absence

misc

acanthus – the (fine) arts, artifice

geranium (ivy) – your hand for the next dance, your hand for the next quadrille?, bridal favour

viscaria – will you dance with me?

- Mod Jana

Disclaimer

This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.

#flower language #victorian flower language #harana #jericho #flowers for characters #ask answered #mod jana #submission

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libidomechanica · 6 years

Text

Untitled (‘And his foore’)

And his foore. Like to the dark confessions her veins spell. Somme been of goode wyves in three hot Junes burn’d, Since kind or chance giues both one liuerie, Both sadly blacke, both blackly darkned be; Night bard from Sunne, thou shalt understands the voice of you who have lived through th horizon peeps, As pitying these last, and treachery of that Face Will sure undo its native place. Where Venus seel. And alle were wood, Be maister of my body and of feet so clene and faire That any clerk wol speke good of wretched lovers use to do. Of faults concealed betrays poor lovers hate. I would my heart and eyes have I seen, These have crept, And from here on the bed. Her wide sleeves green, and writ in his bed or in his in; And if I have the pointed time Had spread the bounds of shame, and the moonlight lay!

These arguments he used, and what arms have lain Under my hand the must. Wealth and woe among?

Only we two may interchange Each in thee is lost, For wel ye knowe what they songen “weilawey! And now thee Is noght that each upon this noble kyng, as to my wit, The first, so was he to me the moore it hath desir To consume every thyng that not again Will turn to hate. The horrid treacheries be made, For thoughts hath neither sun nor wind Would burn or parch her hand shaking, the tattoo pulsing at her neck, “And stray impassioned where” Her undinal vast belly moonward bends,” Laughing then Withouten doute: Whoso that I think State errours to redress: But harder iudges iudge betweene Ioue, Mars, and comfort, — And you must live, drawn by youre leve, Ye shul have queynte fantasye: Wayte what thyng we may nat dwelle in house half appeared, the deep Cold that he wroot and sayde He wolde I beren hem on his golden shield did sable eagles beare, Whose only dower was he led, or rather drawn By those white limbs which no eye should never tellen, in myn housbonde wol I fonde. Spry cordage of your most frail gesture are things and voices we are going to be missed, Embraced her suddenly, took leave, and noght in tressed heer and gay perree, As perles, ne with gold, and may noght do Of Venus werkes worth his olde sawe, Ne I wolde han writen of men moore wikkednesse Than al the brink. Then I longed for youre owene tooth.

Love daungerous, God yeve his soule nevere by no discrecioun, But wel I woot thy pacience.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 8 #47 texts

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ladylilithprime · 6 years

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12 - Sastiel

12. Kiss on the nose

(This kind of got away from me and turned into something a bit longer than a drabble. Oops?)

THEY CALLED HIM the Boy King, even now that he was a man. Samuel was the second son of the House of Winchester, left mostly to his studies and to hold the throne in trust during the war with Tartarus in the wake of Queen Mary’s death by a Tartaran Prince, and had never sought the throne for himself until it was thrust upon him by the death of King John. His elder brother had been captured and held prisoner by the Queen of Tartarus as leverage to make a new alliance marriage between the House of Winchester and the House of Campbell in hopes of giving Tartarus ultimate control over the Kingdom of Ziemia and, from there, a shot at challenging King Michael of Ter’d’Ange. Samuel was young, they thought, and surely easy enough to manipulate, and once the bonds of matrimony were set between him and Queen Lilith’s sister Ruby it would not matter if the elder son reclaimed the Ziemian throne for a time until another “accident” could be arranged.

They had underestimated King Samuel and his devotion to his older brother, as they had underestimated his intelligence. The battle that was fought for the soul of Prince Dean was fierce and ruthless and shed very little blood on either side. In the end, Queen Lilith lay dead at King Samuel’s feet and the scion of both House Winchester and House Campbell assumed the throne of Tartarus by right of conquest to cement his right of succession. Upon his release, Prince Dean had surprised everyone by kneeling at his younger brother’s feet and loudly swearing fealty to Samuel, King of Ziemia and Tartarus, as his Knight and champion.

All of this had been thoroughly explained to Prince Castiel, youngest brother of the King of Ter’d’Ange, when he had been selected as emissary from their kingdom to the fledgeling empire ruled by the ruthless Boy King. Ostensibly, he was being sent as support to Prince Gabriel, who was to renegotiate the treaties between Ter’d’Ange and both Ziemia and Tartarus now that the balances of power had been shaken up so badly. In reality, Michael had told him in confidence, he was to ingratiate himself with the elder brother to discover what sorcery held him bound so closely to King Samuel’s rule and, if needed, raise him from whatever perdition he was trapped within and bring him to Ter’d’Ange for sanctuary and healing until he was strong enough to reclaim Ziemia’s throne from the Boy King. Michael all too well remembered the treachery of his own younger brother, who had once been the Light of Ter’d’Ange and whose name was no longer spoken, and feared that the bloody beginning to King Samuel’s rule showed a similar treachery at work. And so Castiel had prepared himself for a ruler hungry for power, cold and calculating and quick with a silver tongue that dripped poisoned honey and empty promises.

He was not prepared for the reality. No amount of rumor or speculation could prepare him for the obvious devotion between King Samuel and Prince Dean, for the subtle deference the King offered to his older brother despite their respective positions. He was not prepared for the shadows concealed beneath strangely mesmerizing eyes, for the subtle flinch at their corners every time someone addressed him as “King” or “Majesty”. And he was not prepared for how, once the meeting was carried into King Samuel’s private offices, the brothers revealed to Castiel and Gabriel that they were all too aware of the real purpose of this visit.

“I told Dean no one would believe that he’d willingly give up the throne to his younger brother,” King Samuel - Sam, he insisted - said with a grimace as he slumped into one of the chairs by the fireplace, deliberately avoiding the more official seat behind the ornate desk. “And after what I did to get Dean back, I’m hardly going to be surprised that our neighbors are more than a little nervous about having me on either throne, never mind both.”

“If you know, then why to you retain the throne in place of your brother?” Castiel couldn’t help but ask.

“‘Cause I don’t want it,” Dean said, all blunt manners and gruff irritation. He crossed his arms, looming beside his seated brother and very much making him look the protective older sibling. It sent a stab of jealousy through Castiel - Michael had never been so protective of any of his siblings - and it took a moment for him to wrestle it down enough to pay attention to the Prince’s words. “Dad may have expected me to take the throne when he died, but I’ve always known I don’t have the head for the crown, not like I need to. Give me an army to lead and a battle to fight, I’m good, but looking after a kingdom at peace is way more Sammy’s strong suit than mine.”

“You call this a kingdom at peace?” Gabriel asked, raising his eyebrows. “He killed the Queen of Tartarus in single combat after ripping through all four Princes and at least two Knights. Takeovers don’t get much more hostile than that, kiddo.”

“There’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t do for my brother,” Sam said quietly. Castiel was struck again by the lines of exhaustion tugging around his eyes. “I will not forsake the people of Ziemia for an empty promise that bitch had no intention of honoring. I doubt Dean would have forgiven me if I had let myself be bound to Lilith’s she-demon sister for his sake.”

“I would have eventually,” Dean protested, though he looked drawn and haunted. The scenario had likely played out in his nightmares over the course of his captivity. “Might have taken a while in between fighting off assassination attempts, but assuming we both survived long enough I’d have forgiven you.”

“Then I’ll be grateful Ruby was too ambitious to play the long game and saved us the trouble, even if she did miscalculate her own charms,” Sam returned with a huff. Castiel and Gabriel exchanged glances; the pieces were fitting together in an interesting way that had the wheels in Castiel’s head turning with the possibilities.

Apparently Gabriel was thinking along the same lines, because he coughed once to draw the attention of the King and Prince, then said, “Look, Michael’s not just going to accept my word that things are good between you two. After Luc’s betrayal, he’s been… reserved at best with the rest of us. Not much he can do to me since I’m still in direct line of succession, but he’s been pretty harsh on Cassie, here.”

“Harsh?” Sam echoed, sitting up straighter in his seat at looking Castiel over more closely. Searching for the signs that Castiel had taken great pains to hide, he realized, and lowered his eyes even as he tilted his head enough for his hair to fall away from the small tattoo behind his ear. He heard the twin intakes of breath as King and Princes both saw the black winged dagger, the mark of one of Ter’d’Ange’s fabled Seraphim, the Crown’s most elite soldiers, spymasters and assassins. “I see. Your task here?”

“To use the cover of Gabriel’s negotiations to ascertain what sorcery had been employed to control Prince Dean and, if possible, bring him to Ter’d’Ange to be broken of that sorcery so that he might regain the crown of Ziemia with the military backing of Ter’d’Ange,” Castiel recited flatly. There was a swish of metal against leather and a flurry of movement by the chair, but Castiel did not raise his eyes. “It was a fool’s mission, even if you had been the power-hungry overlord Michael believes you to be, and all the more so now that I have seen the truth.”

“And what truth do you think you’ve seen that could make you back down from your King’s plot to turn me into a puppet of Ter’d’Ange, Seraphim?” Dean growled. Castiel risked a glance upwards and had to control a flinch. Dean’s thunderous expression was to be expected, but Sam’s weary resignation cut at Castiel’s battered heart much more sharply. He swallowed.

“There is no sorcery at work save for the love shared between you both,” he said quietly. “It’s a love that Michael has forgotten how to feel, would have beaten out of the rest of us if he could, and it is why my mission was doomed to fail from the start.” He hesitated, then lowered himself to one knee, bowing his head before the brothers. “I submit myself to your mercy, in whatever form that may take.”

“Why?” Sam asked softly. “Why tell us any of this? You could have easily kept your own council and gone back without ever letting on, so why explain?”

“Castiel is already on thin ice with Michael,” Gabriel explained, his voice far more sober than Castiel could remember hearing it. “He has too much heart to embrace the Seraphim mentality, and he questions and doubts his orders when they don’t make sense despite Naomi’s ‘best’ efforts. If he returned to Ter’d’Ange empty-handed with only talk of brotherly love, Michael might well have him turned over to Thaddeus. And I don’t know how much of my baby brother would survive that butcher.” There was a pause, but Castiel did not move. When Gabriel spoke next, his tone was wry. “Now me, my job here was obvious. Renegotiate the treaties and try to arrange an alliance marriage of our own with whichever one of you was single and amenable. Our sister Anna’s a little bit of a rebel and probably would have suited Dean well enough, but somehow I think Sam might like Castiel here a bit better.”

“And why should we entertain the idea of marrying my little brother off to Michael’s version of Ruby?” Dean asked, all skeptical sarcasm. Castiel controlled another flinch. Put like that, it did sound rather bad.

“Succession,” Gabriel said. “A marriage of state that can’t produce an heir is valid as a treaty seal, but not as a lock for succession to the throne of Ziemia or Tartarus, giving Sam the control. Even if you made Castiel Prince Consort, Sam would still have to take a second spouse to produce heirs or defer the succession to Dean’s heirs, if he ever has any, which keeps the throne of Ziemia in the House of Winchester. Castiel’s last in line for succession of Ter’d’Ange anyway, and it gets him away from Michael in a way that he can’t overtly protest, no matter how much he might complain about it later.”

“And why would Castiel agree to this?” Sam asked. There was a rustle of movement accompanied by a sound of protest from Dean, and then Castiel felt another’s presence in front of him. He looked up in shock when Sam actually dropped to one knee in front of Castiel to bring them closer to eye level. The Boy King offered a tired, somewhat rueful smile. “Please don’t misunderstand, I am grateful for your apparent change of heart in neither stealing Dean away nor attempting to turn him against me, but why bind yourself to me this way? You don’t even like me.”

“I do not know you,” Castiel pointed out, a little helplessly. He wanted to glance towards Gabriel for direction, but Sam’s eyes held him pinned. Bereft of direction, he struggled to explain himself and hoped it would be enough to support whatever plan Gabriel had in mind. “I… you love your brother above all else, enough that you willingly marched into Lilith’s realm to challenge her for his life, knowing what could happen if you failed. I can barely remember knowing the love of my brothers and sisters, and it never burned as the love between you and Dean does. So bright and pure, one would think your souls entwined.” He saw the surprise in Sam’s face and looked down again, chest clenching. “I know better than to expect you to love me like that… I will have to earn your trust first before I can even begin to earn your love, but the hope that I might, one day, earn even a fraction of that love you feel for Dean… it would be a gift beyond measure.”

Silence reigned for several moments. Castiel feared the drumming of his heart was audible to the entire room as he waited to see how Sam would respond to his awkward declaration. He didn’t dare look at Gabriel, and he couldn’t bring himself to look up at Sam or Dean. He went very still when one of Sam’s hands lifted and moved towards him, shivering when the long fingers brushed a bit of his hair behind his ear, the roughened pads grazing lightly over the ink-stained skin there.

“A love that must be earned is not love,” Sam said quietly, his voice very near to Castiel’s ear, making Castiel’s heart sink. Then Sam’s fingers were beneath his chin, urging Castiel to look up and meet his eyes. There was still so much weariness in his face, and yet his smile was warm and kind. It took Castiel’s breath away, more so than the words which followed. “Trust, you can earn with time, and your candor has earned you much of my trust already. As for my love, well…” he trailed off, eyes flicking down briefly, before meeting Castiel’s once more with a faint glint of animation that might have been called joy before he completely stunned Castiel by leaning in and dropping a brief peck of a kiss onto the end of his nose. “We’ll work on it together.”

And Castiel found himself sending up a quick prayer of thanks to a god he had long feared had forsaken him as King Samuel of the House of Winchester, ruler of Ziemia and Tartarus, helped him to his feet, because as playful as that one kiss had been, it had ignited a spark of hope in Castiel’s heart, and he knew that he would follow this Boy King willingly into Hell and back.

#kiss prompt drabble #sastiel #fantasy au #supernatural #sam winchester #castiel #dean winchester #gabriel #hoo boy this ended up longer than it was supposed to #Anonymous

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kmomof4 · 7 years

Text

Fic Rec List 3 of 3 tonight

Since my original post was too long, I had to break it up into 3 posts tonight. Hopefully this works. The whole thing is the definitive list of all my favorite fics. On a scale of 1-10, all of these are rated 11 or higher. A single asterisk next to a fic is a desert island fic that I couldn’t do without. A double asterisk is a #1 all time favorite fic that I reread regularly. All links, Tumblr handle (if I know it), ao3 and/or ff profile, links to fics on ao3 and/or ff, are included. So settle in for some fabulous reading from this EXTREMELY long list.

From @whisperofgrace on Tumblr, ao3 and ff I Feel So is a post-Neverland one shot in which Emma is forced to confront her feelings for Killian after seeing him with Ruby. Rated E ao3 and ff.

What Could Have Been is a canon divergent in which everyone is sent back to the EF, but something went wrong and now Killian has to break the curse. Rated M with 25ch. ao3 and ff.

From @itsalostgirlthing on Tumblr, ao3 and ff 10 Things I Hate About Killian Jones is a modern HS AU based on the movie. Victor and Mary Margaret come up with an elaborate scheme to get Victor into Ruby’s good graces by pairing notorious player Killian Jones with loner Emma Swan. Rated T with 11ch. ao3 and ff.

From somethingalltogether on ao3 and Somethingalltogether on ff Accidental Acceptance is a season 3 canon divergent one shot. Killian accepts Pan’s deal. The consequences are devastating. Rated E one shot. ao3 and ff.

To Succeed Is Not to Win is a canon divergent WIP where Hook finally succeeds in getting his revenge. Emma is caught in the aftermath. Rated M with 5ch so far. ao3 and ff.

From @asthewheelwills on Tumblr, fardareismai on ao3 *Let’s Go Steal a One-Time Thing is a CS Leverage fic. A Hacker, a Hitter, a Thief, and a goal. Now all they need is an honest person to show them how to reach it. Rated T with 6ch. First and only part (for the time being) of the series Let’s Go Steal Ourselves a Happy Ending.

From @ashar663 on Tumblr, ashar663 on ao3 and ff Professor Jones is a modern AU where Killian is a professor of Maritime History who falls for his graduate student Emma Swan. Now complete on ff, only 9ch posted on ao3. Rated M.

Through the Hat is a canon divergent from 2X1 Broken. Instead of Emma and Mary Margaret falling through the hat, only Emma does and she lands in the sea where Captain Hook saves her. Rated M WIP with 7ch so far. ao3 and ff.

From @initiala on Tumblr, InitialA on ao3, Initial A on ff Storybrooke Downs Series featuring (in order) Little Bits of Fluff, rated G one shot, ao3 and ff. Grocery Stick, rated G two shot, ao3 and ff, Dark Horse (main fic), rated M with 28ch, ao3 and ff. Fruit of the Alder Tree, rated T one shot, ao3 and ff. Got the Bit Between Your Teeth, rated T one shot, ao3 and ff. The Forest for the Trees, rated M one shot, ao3 and ff. Horse of a Different Color, rated T one shot, ao3 and ff. Get Back on the Horse (That Bucked You), rated E one shot, ao3 and ff. This series is set in the world of Storybook Downs, a prestigious race horse training facility. The one shots give background to and differing perspectives of events in the main fic.

From @victorias-tales on Tumblr, secretless_vicki on ao3, Victoria-Ashlyn on ff All In a Days Work is a modern AU WIP in which Killian is a con man and Emma is the FBI agent intent on bringing him down. Until he scores his biggest con yet by convincing the FBI to hire him and partnering with Emma. Rated M with 6ch so far. ao3 and ff.

From @ripplestitchskein on Tumblr, Ripplestitchskein on ao3 Light of All Lights is a fairytale in 5 parts. What happens when the ship that Killian “Deckhand Hook” Jones is on crashes on the Dark Swan’s island? Contains dark fairy tale elements. Rated E with 5ch.

From @scapeartist on Tumblr, scapeartist on ao3, ScapeArtist on ff Surf and Turf Wars is a modern AU featuring CaptainCharming BroTP. Killian and David are best friends who own different restaurants in the same town. Will a potential for a Michelin Guide critic and 3 star rating come between the two men? Rated G with 4ch. ao3 and ff

From @swanslieutenant on Tumblr, twistedroses on ao3 Star Struck is a modern AU where Emma hits TV star Killian Jones with her car without realizing who he is. Rated T one shot.

A Place in Time is a modern AU where the biggest missing persons case of all time lands in agent Emma Swan’s lap. Thousands of people appear in a flash of white light at a lake in the middle of winter. Some have been missing for decades or even centuries, including a certain pirate, but haven’t aged a day since their disappearance. Rated T WIP with 9ch so far.

From @this-too-too-sullied-flesh on Tumblr, wtvoc on ao3 If One Only Remembers to Turn on the Light is her new AU. Killian sets up his booth at the local farmers market each week, and each week he sees her. This summary in hardly any way accurately summarizes what is going on in the fic. It’s only the original setting and it goes in a very unexpected and fascinating direction. Rated M WIP with 2ch so far.

The Next Wounded Soul is a EF AU where Lieutenant Killian Jones has been wounded in the war against the Dark One. He is attended by a noble woman of the kingdom. Will he ever find her again? Rated E with 12ch.

Theoretically is a modern AU where Killian’s gift to Emma for her 30th birthday is to prove to her that he really is as good as he says he is. Rated E with 4ch.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOSER Is a modern AU where Emma mistakenly texts a stranger when wishing an old friend happy birthday. They continue to text and eventually meet. Rated E with 3ch.

Waiting is a canon compliant deleted scene set in season 4. Pirates take, Killian waits. Rated M one shot.

From @sotheylived on Tumblr, sotheylived on ao3 Dare Over Truth is a modern AU where Emma is a tattoo artist who joins her friends, including Killian, for Truth or Dare every week. Killian never turns down a dare, until he does.

From @gingerchangeling on Tumblr and ao3, firechangeling on ff A Darkness for the Light is a EF AU where Princess Emma must give herself to Dark Hook if she has any hope of saving her family and her kingdom. Rated E WIP with 22ch so far. ao3 and ff.

The Disasters series is a series of one shots named after a different natural disaster. All rated E. Includes Tornado, ao3 and ff; Tsunami, ao3 and ff; Landslide, ao3 and ff; and Wildfire ao3 and ff.

From @ohmyodonghue on Tumblr, melissa13 on ao3, Melissa Black13 on ff Dead at Heart is modern vampire AU. When women start being murdered in her small town, Sheriff Emma Swan has to turn to 300yr old vampire Killian Jones for help. Rated M WIP with 8ch so far. ao3 and ff

From @iminwinnipegthatsincanada on Tumblr, BrittJK on ao3 and ff Hit Me With Your Best Shot is a modern AU where Emma and Killian are captains on opposing dodge ball teams. Rated T with 8ch. ao3 and ff

Nothing Beats a Fresh Pair of Socks Out of the Dryer is a rated G one shot where Emma gets a match on her dating app with her biggest celebrity crush Killian Jones. ao3 and ff

From @secret-captain-swan-blog on Tumblr, secret_cs_fics on ao3 Castle on a Hill is a modern day lost princess AU. Rated T WIP with 8ch so far.

From Ice_Cube44 on ao3, IceCube1 on ff To Repair a Heart was her January Joy submission where Killian is a pediatric heart surgeon in the 1950′s and Henry Swan is his patient. Rated T one shot that will eventually get a second part. ao3 and ff.

Message In a Bottle is a modern AU where Killian finds a message in a bottle written almost 20yrs ago. He sets out to find the writer, Emma Swan. Rated T with 5ch. ao3 and ff.

From @stophookingatmeswan on Tumblr, ao3 and ff These Nights Never Seem to Go to Plan is a modern AU where Emma and Killian are both cops. As their lives start to interact professionally, they realize that they’re also drawn together personally. Rated E with 21ch. ao3 and ff.

Forged in Fire is a new multi chapter with 1ch so far. Killian is a master bladesmith and Emma is new on the scene. Rated E.

Guitars and Scarred Hearts is a modern Rock Star!Killian AU. Rated E WIP with 6ch so far.

From @bleebug on Tumblr, bleebug on ao3 ***Every Letter series which includes Every Letter, Every Touch, and Every Letter: Ten Years. EL tells the story of a class project which brings together international pen pals Emma and Killian. They grow up writing to each other. Rated T with 10ch. ET is rated E with 5ch and takes place during various EL chapters. ELTY is a one shot of Emma and Killian’s 10th relationship anniversary.

From @nowforruin on Tumblr, ao3 and ff The Stars Walk Backwards is a modern AU in which Emma and Killian meet up on the same day every year. Rated M with 4ch. ao3 and ff

The Trouble With Faking It is a modern AU in which Emma is hired by Regina to help improve Hollywood bad boy Killian Jones’s image. Rated E with 26ch. ao3 and ff.

Bar Nights and Christmas Lights is a modern AU where Emma’s most recent one night stand shows up when and where she least expects him. Christmas 2 shot. Rated T. ao3 and ff.

Lost Souls and Rabbit Holes is a modern AU where Ruby decides she’s going to help Killian get back on his feet by hiring him as a bartender at The Rabbit Hole. This is a CS fic. Rated M with 27ch. ao3 and ff.

Seabrooke is a modern AU where Sheriff Emma is caught up in a web of betrayal and treachery that she never would have expected in the tiny town of Seabrooke. Rated M with 21ch. ao3 and ff.

A Change in the Wind is a canon-divergent where Regina enlists Captain Hook to keep Emma Swan from coming to Storybrooke on her 28th birthday. Rated M with 24ch. ao3 and ff.

From misslizanne on ao3 The Joy of Rediscovering You is a modern AU where musician Killian Jones is forced into the care and protection of bodyguard Emma Swan. He remembers her as the employee at the record shop he used to frequent. Can he convince her that he's the same man he was then? Rated M with 4ch.

From @drowned-dreamer on Tumblr, Drowned_dreamer on ao3 and Drowned-dreamer on ff The Ghost and Emma Swan is a modern AU in which single mom Emma Swan falls in love with and buys Misthaven cottage, unaware that a very old and very deceased pirate still lives there. Rated M with 18ch. ao3 and ff.

From YouSaidWho on ao3 Burn is an EF AU featuring CS, OutlawQueen, and TinkFire. Darkness gathers at the edge of the kingdom. What will it take to defeat it? Rated E with 26ch.

From @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable on Tumblr and ao3, NothingImpossible on ff Secrets and Spies, Truth and Lies is a modern AU where CIA hacker Emma Swan is paired up with MI6 brothers Liam and Killian Jones in a mission to bring down an ex-spy. Rated M with 10ch. ao3 and ff

Mother Tongue is a rated T one shot based on the head canon that Liam and Killian would speak Irish to each other when they were alone.

From @belovedcreation on Tumblr, BelovedCreation on ao3 That’s the Way I Wanna Rock ‘n Roll is a modern AU where Rock Star Killian starts getting death threats. Enter security expert Emma Swan. Rated M with 31ch.

Sparkling is an EF AU. Emma is cursed and her disfigurement guarantees she will never find her True Love. That doesn’t stop her parents from continuing to search. Pirate captain Killian Jones impersonates a prince in order to find gold, he finds True Love instead. Rated G with 18ch.

Ships Passing in the Night is an EF AU. Emma is looking to con the biggest fish in the sea, Captain Hook. But what if he’s been looking for her too? Rated M one shot.

As Seen on TV is a modern AU where Emma and Killian are on a reality TV show. Rated T one shot.

The Best Things Happen When You’re Dancing is a modern AU where Emma and Killian meet up at swing dancing festival. Rated G one shot.

That’s all for tonight. The remaining recs should be up early next week. Thank you all for reading and your patience! Tagging those authors on Tumblr. @whisperofgrace @itsalostgirlthing @asthewheelwills @ashar663 @initiala @victorias-tales @swanslieutenant @ripplestitchskein @scapeartist @this-too-too-sullied-flesh @sotheylived @gingerchangeling @ohmyodonghue @iminwinnipegthatsincanada @secret-captain-swan-blog @stophookingatmeswan @bleebug @nowforruin @drowned-dreamer @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable @belovedcreation

#Krystal Recommends #definitive list of favorites #fic recs #desert island fics #All time favorites #hope you enjoy #hopefully the rest of the list will be out Monday #enjoy!

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nilesdaughter · 7 years

Note

DADWC Prompt: Blood at the corner of your mouth

And here’s yet another example of Tia’s writing running away from her. I know most people like to think that Cullen’s scar came from a bladed weapon, but I once saw a post here on Tumblr that suggested it may have actually come from someone punching him while their gauntlet was still on. So…here you are!

For @dadrunkwriting.

64 Sensory Prompts

Chaos.

That was the only word that came to Fenris’s mind when he thought back on the last handful of days. While he often disagreed with Anders, the Tevene man had never expected the apostate to act so brashly. Airing his complaints about the mistreatment of mages was one thing; blowing up the Kirkwall Chantry was entirely different. The mass destruction rivaled that of the Qunari invasion. One could almost taste the fear in the air as the people of Kirkwall accused each other of being mages or mage sympathizers, regardless of whether or not the claims were true. Slow progress had been made in the past few days to gather the dead and rebuild the city, but Fenris knew it would be a long, hard road.

A part of him wondered if Anders had even once stopped to consider the true extent of the repercussions for his actions. Another, albeit begrudging, part of Fenris knew that Anders had been driven by desperation. It was still no excuse in his eyes, not when one of the people most affected by Anders’s betrayal was Sylvia.

Ever since the Battle at the Gallows, the Champion had all but locked herself in her room at the Hawke Estate. Fenris knew all too well that his lover was a gentle soul, sometimes even to the point of naïvety. She always tried diplomacy before she resorted to action. Though she had always favored the mages, she tried to respect the opinions of the Templars, as well. Much like the late Grand Cleric Elthina, Sylvia Hawke had tried to remain as neutral as possible throughout the whole ordeal. Even when faced with the reality of Anders’s treachery, she still couldn’t bring herself to kill the apostate she called ‘friend.’ It was a trait that was inherent to Sylvia’s personality, and Maker knew that it also drove Fenris up the wall at times.

But Fenris knew that it also meant he had to protect Sylvia against those that would try to blame her for what had transpired.

x-x-x

Chaos.

Cullen Rutherford was at his wit’s end. In the aftermath of the Battle of the Gallows, he had become the de facto leader of what remained of the Kirkwall Templars, as well as the efforts to rebuild the city. On one hand, it kept him busy. He could barely spare a moment to himself, and so he was able to postpone thinking on Meredith’s death, of regretting and analyzing his actions since Kinloch Hold. But on the other hand, he was functioning on very little sleep, and the list of things he had to attend to never seemed to dwindle.

In fact, it was nearly two weeks after the Chantry explosion that the Knight-Captain had the opportunity to visit the Hawke estate. Though he had allowed the Champion and her companions to walk away from the Gallows, he still wanted to learn about the whereabouts of the man that had caused so much grief. And with tension still high within Kirkwall, Cullen knew he was also obligated to warn Hawke to leave the city if she hadn’t done so already.

When he knocked on the front door of the Hawke estate, he was surprised when the door was answered, not by the dwarven manservant or elven maid that had greeted him before, but by the tattooed elven man that was almost always at Hawke’s side. Fenris, if he recalled the man’s name correctly.

“Ser Rutherford. What brings you here?”

“Is the Champion here?”

“Hawke isn’t taking visitors.”

“This is an urgent matter. About the apostate named Anders.”

“Then it bring it up with Aveline. She will be more use to you than Hawke will be.”

“Please let me talk with her.”

“I said–”

“Fenris, let the Knight-Captain in.”

Annoyance flicked across the elf’s face as he glanced back into the hall. Cullen followed his gaze, and caught sight of the Champion’s younger brother, Knight-Corporal Carver Hawke.

“Carver, you know very well that Hawke–”

“She’s making an exception. She hopes the Knight-Captain can answer some of her questions, tell her what her options are after this whole mess.”

Fenris sighed a little, but nodded and stepped aside so that Cullen could pass through the doorway. Once the door was closed again, the two men led Cullen through the foyer and into the library, where the Champion was curled in an armchair facing the fireplace.

“Sister, the Knight-Captain is here,” Carver announced.

She looked up from the book in her lap, and nodded her head to acknowledge Cullen’s presence. “Good afternoon, Ser Rutherford.”

“Good afternoon, Champion.”

She laughed a little, though the sound was hollow, devoid of any true mirth. “I doubt that title holds any weight at this point. Especially not for an apostate such as myself.”

Cullen didn’t respond, and an awkward silence stretched between the four of them for quite some time before Sylvia sighed a little and stood to better face Cullen.

“So, what brings you to my door, Ser Rutherford?” she asked.

“After what happened at the Gallows, the Templars still have many things to attend to. Between rebuilding and keeping the people calm, our resources have been stretched thin,” Cullen ventured.

“Then I’ll do what I can to help. What is that you need? Gold? Supplies? A healer?” The prospect of helping others seemed to breathe life into her.

Cullen felt a pang of guilt for crushing her enthusiasm. “Not at present. What I need right now is any information about the apostate, Anders.”

Sylvia seemed to physically deflate. “Ah. I see.” Her expression became clouded, troubled, before she shook her head a little and looked Cullen in the eye. “I’m sorry to tell you, Knight-Captain, but I’ve not heard from Anders since the Gallows. Even his clinic lies abandoned.”

“It was one of the better ideas the mage has had,” Fenris grumbled under his breath.

Sylvia shot him an exasperated look before returning her attention to Cullen. “Fenris does have a point. Anders may be an idiot, but he is no fool. While I left him alive, he knows he will find few allies in this city. I’m certain he left within hours after we stopped Meredith.”

“Do you know where he could be heading, at least?”

Her blue eyes flashed with anger. “Why? So your Templars can hunt him down? Make him Tranquil? Even if I knew where Anders was going, I would never tell you.”

“Mistress Hawke, he’s dangerous. If there’s anything you can tell me–”

“There’s nothing I can tell you. We may have fought side by side at the Gallows, but as soon as you let us go, we parted ways. And while I may have once considered him a friend, I cannot even begin to guess where he will go from here. Now, if that’s all you came to speak with me about, I deeply apologize for not being able to help. But I will also not tolerate you pressing me for information I do not have. Good day, Ser Rutherford.”

Sylvia turned away from him, and Cullen thought she looked to be on the verge of tears. Another pang of guilt went through him, and he took a hesitant step towards her.

“Mistress Hawke…”

Stars exploded across his vision and Cullen staggered back a few steps, raising a hand to his face. As his fingers brushed against his jaw, he winced as pain flared up there. When he pulled his hand away, his fingers were sticky with blood. He opened and closed his mouth a few times to test the damage, and the taste of iron found its way to his tongue. Finally, he turned his gaze to the enraged elf standing between him and the Champion, his armored fists clenched tight.

“Sylvia already said that she didn’t know where the mage went,” Fenris growled.

“Fenris!” Sylvia exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“Even if Anders has left, there are still those that will assume you remain friends. Even if you claim to have known nothing about what he was planning, your claims will convince few others.”

“He’s right,” Carver added, giving his sister a meaningful look. “Although you’ve helped many people in this city, many more will be quick to blame you. Mages everywhere will experience hardship and opposition more than ever before.”

Cullen nodded his agreement, ignoring the blood that streamed down the side of his face, steadily dripping down his chin. “That was the other reason I came here. I cannot guarantee your safety in Kirkwall, Mistress Hawke. Despite your previous actions, and even if I or anyone else were to vouch for you, I doubt you will be safe remaining in this city for much longer.”

Sadness spread across Sylvia’s features, and she suddenly looked much, much older than she was. She nodded slowly.

“Thank you for the warning, Knight-Captain. I’ll keep it in mind. Good luck in rebuilding this city. If you ever need the help, I’m sure Aveline and Donnic Hendyr will be happy to assist you.”

“Of course.”

She nodded again. “Before you go…Shall I fix up that cut? If we leave it for much longer, it’s going to scar…”

Cullen shook his head. “After everything that’s happened, I deserve it. Besides, I’m sure Fenris here would prefer it if I left sooner rather than later.”

A ghost of smile tugged at her lips. “Probably.”

Cullen nodded and offered her a slight bow. “Good day, Mistress Hawke.”

“And to you, Ser Rutherford. Maker help us all in the days to come.”

#guileandgall #da drunk writing circle #fenhawke #fenris #cullen rutherford #carver hawke #sylvia hawke #female hawke #dragon age #dragon age 2 #fanfiction #Tia replies

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thesandbeneathmytoes · 6 years

Text

Night Sweats

There are serpents in my socks. I put them on each morning and they slither between my toes. I wonder what it might feel like to travel the world on my belly. Some say all I am looking for is love: the perfectly cut out hearts of it, the delicate paper mache. But often, I like the nitty gritty dirt clods thrown at me like when I was a child.

There are eggs in the refrigerator that have sat there, cold, for three months. I haven’t thrown them away because I am afraid of letting go. I am capable of forgetting who I am, who I think I am. The philosophical popeye dilemma of existentialism. I’m looking for spinach in my cupboard but have never owned a can opener.

Yesterday, I watched the world move so slowly, revolving. Seen the same shadows crawl over cemeteries. I am a man who craves sin. But does not want a son. I’d rather he not have my hands, or my heart, the dark places I have tried to shed light on. I bully the little boy inside me. Call him names like “dummy” and “stupid” because I don’t have the courage to curse in front of a child. My lies get stuck in between my teeth. You can smell the stench of my treachery.

I keep asking myself all the unimportant questions because I am afraid of the truth. Ask me how I’m doing and I’ll tell you I am as fine as wine. I am glass waiting to be fogged up by someone’s breath. I want to curse the old woman crossing the street who paints her body in white each night so she might know what it feels like to sleep in heaven. I am piss drunk, pissed off because I only wanted to bite off a bit of your ear so that I might taste your thoughts.

City tenement buildings fill with prayer, humming, meditation. I blame the dogs and the postmen, who commiserate about my own destruction. My name goes out for a walk when I make love. It’s polite that way. But it leaves me at home to do the dishes. I break a plate and glass because I have given up the martial arts expert in me. He’s retired and dead. Buried beneath the dojo.

There are rats in the sewer of my soul only their ears are too small to hear me call out their names. The sheets are still undone and my cheeks are still stubbled from yesterday’s 5 o’clock shadows. I know I’ll never be a man if I can’t grow a beard. My father is not dead. He’s still a man. But his father is dead. I sit like a name tag on a large oak desk in a building that didn’t mind its own business.

Death sleeps beneath my bed. He’s a pretty quiet guy so I don’t mind him, really. Except at night he moans out the names of the recently deceased and I dream of people I’ve never met before. I cry for them during ceremonies I attend in only my underwear. The women I have loved are dead. I cry louder than their mothers, who are dressed in black and wear bonnets. They hate me because I am more dramatic. I cry at night and wake up with my eyes closed shut. I think I’m blind and keep my eyes shut for the rest of the day.

Yesterday feels like two days ago. Now is not now. I’ve been biting the end of my pencil for years. The consummate thumb sucker. It is moldy and wrinkled. Smells of self. Take it out only when I’m ready to hitchhike to the next town where memory does not live. I’ve been soaked through, spin cycled, left out to dry and lost all my color.

I dream that all the faucets are leaky. I crouch beneath them and cannot fix the overflow. I dream that I have a small child. She follows me to each sink, crying out how afraid she is of drowning. Her own eyes flood with salt. I dream of a young girl I loved in high school. Only I didn’t love her. Only told her so. She was in my bedroom again and I made sure to close all the blinds before we made love, afraid to see shame tattooed on my skin. Soon all the city will be drowned. I sweat at night and wake up, washed up in the sand of my regret, in the middle of nowhere, untouched.

— Angel Garcia

#poetry #angel garcia

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