#continental reading challenge

[multific]

Being Vincent de Gramont's Sugar Baby - Headcanons

Vincent de Gramont x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Warnings: Smut

This man was looking for a good time

Something simple

Something easy

Someone he could call whenever he wanted some female attention

And so, he found you

You were perfect

Exactly his type

Easy to win over with the promise of money

He did a full check on you, of course

Realizing that you weren't in the best of financial positions, now he just needed a plan

When he told you what his intentions were

Maybe he could have been sweeter

You slapped him right across the face

"I'm not a slut, asshole"

You said before you slammed his drink on the table and walked away

He liked that

Very much so

He liked a challenge

It wasn't what he was looking for

But it was better than anything he imagined

You were firey

And he was too handsome

He looked too good in his suits

It was making you weak

One time, he asked for his usual

And you were to bring it to him to his room

You weren't a maid, it wasn't your job description when you started working at the Continental's bar

When you stepped into his room, you noticed no one else was there

He was wearing a white suit

You were still angry because of his previous... offer

But shit, he looked too good

He said something in French before he thanked you for the drink

Right then and there, you reconsidered his offer

Right then and there, you accepted his offer

And right then and there, he fucked you against the window

What he didn’t know is that you didn't want his money

So after paying off your debt, you put the money he sent you to a separate account

You planned on giving it back once he had enough of you

Or give it to charity

You had a good life now

You were his sugar baby, sure

But it was a good life

He was extremely cruel and arrogant

But there were moments when he was very kind to you

Buying you gifts came naturally

It was in the job description of being a sugar baby

Even if it wasn't him personally buying the stuff

You had bags, jewelry and shoes, dresses and lingerie

You noticed early on that he was a very demanding and controlling person

He wanted you to dress in a way he liked it

He even made you go to the hair dresser and got your hair done in a way he liked it

You didn't feel like yourself

It was wrong

But every time he called you 'Kitten' it was over for you

He had a very high sex drive and a great stamina

Going on for hours at times

He was demanding but also giving

He liked it rough but never hurt you

He liked to edge you but never to the point of too much

He was cruel but he always made sure you were pleased

It could be worse

You often found yourself saying

Which wasn't the best

But hey, it could be worse

After a couple months, you learned a lot about him

Every time someone entered his office, you knew when you needed to leave

You knew when he was angry

And when he was calm

You knew when he needed something to eat, drink or a blowjob

He is a man after all, reading him was easy

But he is also a boss

You knew what it meant when he took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves

He was sexy

Extremely sexy

And the worst is that he knew it

And he used it against you, many times

Teasing you

Teasing him was something you never meant to do, not intentionally anyway

You told yourself from the start, he is a bad man, he only wants you so he can have a pet, he didn't want you as a woman, don't catch feelings

Do not catch feelings

But of course you did

How could you not

Every time he brought you to a meeting or a dinner, he dressed you up as a doll, pulling you into his arms

He walked around with you attached to his side

He looked extremely proud to have you on his arm as well

And in the beginning, you loved it

You enjoyed the attention you got

You enjoyed the envious looks of women

But soon you realized, you were awful

After being his sugar baby for almost a year and a half

You met many rich men with sugar babies

You met and talked with many of said sugar babies

And you realized just how dumb you were

You caught feelings, which was like the number one rule on the ‘what not to do’ list

You felt so stupid

And the worst part was that you actually loved him

Like, really loved him

You cared for Vincent on a deep level and you didn't know what to do with these feelings

You didn't dare to tell him

You didn't dare to tell his men or your friends

You were majorly fucked

During an evening, you met a couple, wife and husband, Mr and Mrs Ghandram

And as Vincent and Mr Ghandram moved to a different room to speak business, you were left with Mrs

"You didn't realize that he loves you right?" she asked, nearly making you choke on your Martini

"Excuse me?"

"I can see it in his eyes. That's not a way a 'sugar daddy' looks at their toy. That man is in love with you and I can see you love him just as much."

You were shocked

Him in love?

Not possible

But as he arrived back to your side, now, you saw that shine in his eyes you didn't notice before

Could it be true?

Part 2

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARISE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

#Vincent de Gramont #Vincent de Gramont x reader #Vincent de Gramont x you #Vincent de Gramont imagine #Vincent de Gramont imagines #Vincent de Gramont x fem reader #Wick #John Wick #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick imagines #john wick x fem reader #john wick headcanons #Vincent de Gramont scenarios #Vincent de Gramont scenario #Vincent de Gramont headcanon #Vincent de Gramont headcanons #Marquis de Gramont #the Marquis de Gramont #Marquis de Gramont x reader #Marquis de Gramont x you #Marquis de Gramont imagine #Marquis de Gramont imagines #the Marquis de Gramont x reader #the Marquis #the Marquis x reader #the Marquis imagine #marquis vincent de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont x reader #john wick x you

[beansricejc]

JOHN WICK x READER : The Courier

part 2 (part 1!)

summary: three years have passed since you ran into John, where you refused his offer for a drink. you have climbed the criminal underworld social ladder significantly in the past three years. John sees this as a challenge, and insists that you have that drink with him. sparks fly, slower burn. female reader, 4240 words.

author’s note: i really like going into detail about the reader’s job because girl boss things, lol! if you haven’t, I’d recommend reading part 1 if you’d like, you can certainly read this as a stand alone! pls lmk what you think if you want to! thx! 💕

warnings: nsfw fantasies, alcohol, cursing, implied violence, organized crime, slow burn, significant age gap.

Three years.

It had been three years since you saw the man at that party. The party full of criminal elites, hitmen, you name it. If they were a big deal in the criminal world, they were there that night. You were just starting out then, actually on the job, you had delivered some files to the Continental Manager, Winston, that night. Right before you left, you managed to catch the eye of the world’s most dangerous hitman.

Wick.

John Wick.

He had insisted that you join him for a drink, and you insisted harder that you were working, still on the job. You had other deliveries to run, you didn’t have time to just drop an hour to share conversation and possibly suck face with the man.

You had made yourself known back then, criminals used your services often, and your gig slowly grew. And grew. And grew some more.

Until three years later, you had accidentally created an entire enterprise dedicated for servicing several crime syndicates around New York City.

Before you knew it, you were technically a crime boss. Your business delicately walked the gray area of illegal and legal.

Okay, it was actually super illegal.

You had hired almost 70 women from the local NYC area, all of them that met your standards of talent and experience. Completing deliveries across the city for crime syndicates was tricky work, work that had to be meticulously done.

And with one of the largest servicer businesses in the area, people didn’t just know your name, they feared it.

But why? Why would they fear the CEO of a shady delivery company?

You were neutral territory. With all of the gangs across New York City using your service, they knew better than to decide to mess with you, or your business.

You were like the Switzerland of the criminal underground.

Everyone in the local industry knew this.

And tonight, you had actually been invited to join this party, formally by Winston himself. Your assistant had casually mentioned the event invitation that he emailed you, and despite your higher status on the current criminal food chain, you were still shocked about it.

Your past 48 hours were solely dedicated to being a self care queen. Haircut, mani pedi, facial, eyebrow waxing, you name it. If there was one thing, it was you were were going to be the center of attention tonight.

And you were.

With your form fitting black maxi dress, gold jewlery, perfectly applied makeup and styled hair, you could just sense all of the eyes on you tonight. You had walked in with your small entourage consisting of your personal assistant, and a few personal bodyguards. Of course with you and your non-chalant attitude, you acted like you didn’t know that you were the shit.

And there was John. An almost repeat scene from three years ago, mingling with the same group of OG hitmen in a corner of the hotel lounge. Once again nursing the same brand of bourbon on the rocks, talking about god knows what, probably the worst way they’ve ever killed a group of goons.

John’s eyes scanned the room for any pretty women to hit on tonight, the same old same old. Buy a few drinks, go upstairs with a cute little thing, cum on her back, buy her an uber and send her home. John lost all hope in trying to actually find a romantic interest a long time ago after the passing of his wife, there was just no time for it.

Although, the thought of being battered and bloody, shuffling through the door after a hard days work, and having a pretty girl to patch him up and then subsequently suck him off did sound appealing to him.

Anyways, there John was, scouring through the bar and lounge with his dark brown eyes for something to cum on later this evening, and before he knew it, his eyes darted, and landed on none other, but you.

Y/N.

John widened his eyes, his heartrate increasing a bit just from the mere sight of you. The way your feminine figure looked in that black dress that clung to your body, the way your manicured fingers applied another layer of lipgloss while your assistant spoke to you. The way you introduced yourself to some very dangerous looking Yakuza members but managed to make them laugh with the almost fluent Japanese you were speaking, he was almost in shock.

John keeps an eye on Y/N. He likes your style but he knows you could turn on him at any moment you wanted, even if you weren’t known to jump to violence like most.

You appeared like a typical crime boss, hiding the brutal side of your under layers of class, style, humor, and charm. It's an act. The best are able to hide their dark side behind their public face. John has seen these types in his many years in the business.

But he’d be lying if he said you weren’t the most beautiful woman in this room right now. And your laugh, it travels like wind to his ears, it’s almost ethereal. Was it the liquor? Probably. He didn’t care, it had been years since he’s seen you leave through those doors, and now he’s only heard mere stories of you and your enterprise.

-

“No way, Y/N? She decided to actually come? God, she’s a fucking dime.” one of John’s colleagues that was in his mingling circle commented. John inhaled sharply, snapping out of whatever trance he just had from looking at her.

“You hear she still does her own jobs? Could you imagine any other boss getting their hands dirty in this day in age? I’ll give it to her, she’s a bad bitch.” the same guy said, the rest of the men laugh and agree.

John remembers, it hits him. Y/N isn’t necessarily a hitman, nor does she run a hitman empire. That’s right, she’s an armed, fast, and efficient courier. Not to mention deadly. Her or her team wouldn’t just be regular hitmen for hire, they would only kill if it was necessary to complete their deliveries. And sometimes, it was definitely necessary.

John has only heard of the high speed chases that she or her crew took part in against the police, or even people that want to get their hands on whatever they were transporting. And what did this woman of great skill use to transport important items for crime bosses?

Simple.

A Kawasaki Ninja H2.

An absolute beast, somehow street legal that had a top speed of 209 miles per hour. With a two-speed centrifugal supercharger and the best suspension on the market. Anyone without the skillset of Y/N or even one of her employees didn’t stand a chance to utilize this creature to it’s full potential.

The thought of riding one of those magnificent bikes sent a chill down John’s spine.

Not only did she have one, but every woman under her employment was issued one for jobs as well. The fastest street legal bike there was.

“Remember when she totally cock blocked you three years ago?” one of his colleagues, Parker, reminded John, snickering after. John’s face gave a deadpan expression to the laughing group of men, as he downed the rest of his liquor and demanded a refill from the bartender. The worker obliged without hesitation, pouring the brown liquid into his crystal clear glass, and John took a large drag from the cup, finishing about half of it in one go.

One thing that John had always regretted in the past few years since meeting that woman, was not being persistent enough.

The status she had obtained over the years was something to behold. Not only was she young, but she had climbed the social ladder in his industry faster than he had ever seen. He could see how too, with what was displayed about 45 feet away from his eyes.

Y/N with her entourage of bodyguards, a personal assistant, with her confident demeanor demanding respect with a subtle tone in her voice as she spoke in a foreign language, to these Yakuza members no less.

She was this pretty little thing, with a beautiful smile and laugh. But John could see the beast of her personality and lethal skill behind that feminine figure.

And he was intimidated to say the least. Not petrified or scared for his life, the potential to be a worthy adversary was there, lingering in the air.

And John was slightly turned on by it.

-

You were laughing with these Japanese criminals as your gaze was distracted from the wolf that was stalking you from all the way at the oak carved bar. Your heartrate sped up a bit, images of your first and last encounter, at this very same location infiltrated your brain. It was short but you wouldn’t consider it sweet.

Tense? Yeah.

John was clearly interested in something besides for sharing small talk over a drink, and seemed to take offense that you had more work you had to take care of that night. You stuck out like a sore thumb that night, with a motorcycle helmet on your head, in a crowd of people in black tie dress wear at the party.

And look what we had here, three years later.

Except instead of a wolf stalking his prey, it was a fair duel. Carnivor versus carnivor, in a sense. Both with a reputation and a high standing in the underground, no matter how long it was. You only had a few years under your belt, whereas John, had decades. And that was the most intimidating thing about him to you. Experience.

John decided he would take you as his challenge of the night. He may have failed three years ago, when you were nothing but a simple service provider, and he didn’t expect anything more this time around. But fuck it, right?

Let’s be a bit more persistent this time around, Wick. John thought to himself as he sauntered towards your stunned form.

Round two huh? No shit. You think, stifling a laugh and replying to something that one of the Japanese men said to you. You take another sip of your dirty martini, leaving a lipgloss stain on your glass as your eyes traveled up to John’s staggering expression as he finally approached you fully. You don’t move or say a word, in fact, one of your very large bodyguards steps between the two of you and begins to pat John down for any weapons he could possibly have on him.

John knew better than to carry a gun to a party hosted by the Continental. Besides, he hardly needed it. He was the weapon of the century, as far as he was concerned.

The bodyguard saw he was clean but knew that John was still a threat, if he really wanted to be. However, the guard stepped to the side, back to his original position, slightly behind Y/N’s much smaller and less menacing form.

A coy smirk painted your face when you finally meet his gaze again, as you delicately hold out your hand out towards John. He gladly takes it in his much larger, calloused hands, bending over slightly and placed a small kiss on your knuckles. A normal greeting for a woman of your position in this industry.

“You’re quite the persistent man, John.” you chuckle, as his lips leave your hand and he looked back at you, smiling in an almost tauntful manner.

That familiar scent of John Wick hits your nostrils once again. Patchouli, tobacco, and, gunpowder? Someone’s been busy.

“You’re not the first to notice, Y/N.” John retorts, holding up his glass to you in agreement. His knuckles are covered in freshly changed bandages, with yellow bruising peeking out from underneath them. “I’ve heard business is booming.” he comments, you roll your eyes and sigh.

“You could say that. A lot has changed in 3 years, as you can tell.” you reply, noticing that his dark brown eyes are studying everything about you. Classic hitman behavior. Your expressions, emotional state, movements, even the way that your nose scrunched when you smiled or laughed. Almost as if he’s unintentionally sizing you up, and this makes you chuckle.

“Oh, trust me. I know.” was the only thing John could reply to that. He realized you have caught him soaking in all of your features, including those tempting glossy lips of yours.

Sinful thoughts enter his mind, and he has to try his hardest not to give into them at this very moment.

He’s wondering what else those lips could do, he’s been fantasizing about you since day one, of course he’d never admit it. John was a notorious playboy after the death of his wife, his pride was too big to say that he may have regretted not going for you a little harder.

The thought of shoving you against one of his hotel room walls, with a thud that echoed out to the hallway ensuing from it. He’d loom over your much shorter frame, and you would breathe heavily, anticipating the hitman to not hold anything back with you. Moments of silence passed before he slammed his lips onto those pretty pink ones he’s been dreaming of for so long. Biting down on the flesh of your bottom lip, hands searching frantically for your core, ripping whatever fabric you had guarding it and teasing your clit with expertise. Slow and precise circles, just to torture you. You’d gasp at the sensation, leaving the perfect time for him to take over the kiss by tossing his tongue into your mouth, his other hand going to your neck and squeezing to keep you in your current spot. You wouldn’t be going anywhere, anytime soon.

“Did you want something?” you asked John, forcing him out of the fabrication that tantalized his brain. John cleared his throat, and laughed nervously.

“Was wondering, if you’d have that drink with me now.” John requested, nodding to the barren martini glass in your hand. You sighed, knowing that you were attracted to this older man, no matter how many times you tried to deny it to yourself.

You were the head of a criminal powerhouse, a young woman, independent, deadly, and an expert in your craft. Of course you didn’t want to be at the whim of some man that happened to get your attention, romantically, sexually, it didn’t matter. Besides, there was hardly time for it with the position you held.

But here you were, obliging John fucking Wick in having a drink with him, after three years of denying him.

Damn your hormones. Damn this man and his long dark hair.

So a drink you had. Then another drink. And a couple of shots, John wanted to know what the kids were drinking these days, so of course you had to show him. In the past couple of hours of actually easy going conversation, he had realized you were damn near his exact type of woman. Clever, with a great sense of humor, and fairly kind, all things considered. He could tell you weren’t just some underworld nepo-baby, and that you came from a humble upbringing, which made him even more attracted to you. (If that was even possible).

He met a woman who could keep up, even lead, a conversation with him.

If he was the Boogeyman, you were the Devil herself. Quick witted and sharp tongued, he couldn’t help but be even more intrigued after every sentence you dropped from your mouth.

The guests at this party were astonished to say the least.

The pair were certainly, a unique match. A young crime boss managing to make the world’s deadliest man open up like a badly wrapped package after a few drinks and good banter. What a sight to behold.

The night however, was ending. To his surprise, you were finishing the night up with a canned Pabst Blue Ribbon, a true contradiction to your current high ranking and your black tie event dress. John couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised, and noticed that the alcohol was certainly hitting the both of you.

You had told your personal protection entourage that they could go to their respective hotel rooms for the night, knowing that John wouldn’t be deemed a threat to you after he had showed you images of his Blue Stafford Terrier on his phone.

“You mind if I, uh, walk you to your room?” John hiccuped as he asked, you giggled at this mannerisms, giving your signature nose crinkle that your face did whenever you smiled. Your grabbed your leather purse and left some large bills on the counter to cover for your drinks. John slid your cash back to you, waving the gesture you gave off.

“I already took care of it. Don’t you dare.” John informed you, tossing you a wink and you rolled your eyes at his ever so flirtatious nature.

“Well, unnecessary, but thank you.” you drunkenly told him, sliding the large bills over to your bartender for his tip, shrugging at John. He raised his eyebrows, and took that generous action down in his head.

Treats waitstaff well. Noted. John thought to himself while the palm of his hand found it’s way to the small of your back, taking in the feel of the luxurious fabric. He led you out of the lounge and towards the elevators, managing to snag an empty one to help you into, not that you really needed the help, he was just being a gentleman.

He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be a gentleman with you. Maybe it was your high status? Maybe it was because he felt different with you than with other women he casually hit on at the bar.

“Which floor?” John asked, and you looked up at his handsome face, drinking in his sharp and manly features. You didn’t know why (it was the liquor) but you giggled a bit at him.

“8.” you simply told him, and he pressed the button to that exact floor.

The doors shut, and John cleared his throat.

And here comes the tension. Was it like the movies? Would this ride up the hotel floors ensue in a steamy makeout session?

Of course not.

This was you we were talking about. You were ridiculous. So of course you checked your phone for anything important, and John couldn’t help but take a look to see if you were secretive. You weren’t. (It was the liquor, usually you were).

You had received a string of memes from one of your closest friends and assistant, Marissa. You two were very close, and she had been a part of your enterprise since day one.

-

John could tell, the age gap was evident. Shown explicitly by Y/N giggling and intoxicated at these random pictures she had been sent.

John took a closer look.

He was staring at a photoshopped image of a Hello Kitty head pasted onto a muscular matching body. John raised his eyebrows. He read the caption on the picture, which read: if the homies are sleeping on you, spoon them.

“Wh-what the fuck am I looking at?” John slipped up, as Y/N was giggling nonstop at the image on her phone.

“It’s a masterpiece, you just- you just don’t get it. And that's okay.” Y/N replied as the elevator doors opened to the floor that your room was on.

John shook his head and laughed at the absurdity of the joke.

The consequences of hanging out with the younger generation.

John escorted Y/N to her room, where you took out your room card and sighed. The butterflies in your stomach were going absolutely haywire at the moment, and you didn’t know if that was because of the alcohol, or the DILF of a man gazing down at her with a romantic look in his deep brown eyes.

There was the tension. Thick enough to cause a fog in the room, it tingled between them as they both bore into each other’s eyes.

Fuck it. John thought, his head dipping a bit, Y/N’s hand lifting to his chest to stop his movement. Her heartbeat was out of control, and the anxiety had finally caught up to you. Here was this absolute art piece of a man who she had been getting along with all night, all worked up and ready to go. You took a deep breath.

“J-John. I don’t really, do this sort of thing, I’m just too busy for any of it.” you admit to him. John’s soul plummets into the pit of his liquor filled stomach, he had been expecting to kiss this woman who had been keeping him good company all night.

Well, that killed the mood, didn’t it?

You weren’t good at this sort of thing, of course you’ve had several ex boyfriends in the past, but for a few years, you hadn’t indulged in any sort of relationship, mainly because of the hunk of responsibility that has now weighed down on your back.

“God dammit.” you curse at yourself as you cave in, wrapping your hands quickly around John’s neck and pull him in, crashing your lips onto his as he first intended to do. The passion between the both of you could have been caused by the alcohol, or by the banter you two had shared at the bar for the past few hours. John grunts in surprise but he isn’t mad at all, very satisfied actually. His hands find their way to your well shaped hips, which your dress was so delicately covering, and his fingers give you a taunting squeeze in response to your sudden change of heart.

John’s teeth do what he had imagined earlier when he first spoke to you, biting down on your bottom lip, earning a squeak of surprise from you. He can’t help but smile into the kiss, humming in affirmation to your cute noise.

The pair of you break away, both breathing heavily, you’re slightly dizzy from the alcohol, and he is dizzy on the thought of fucking you right here any now against the wall. The scratch of his beard still stung your mouth and cheeks but you didn’t mind. It was a reminder of him, even though he was right there in front of you. Your breath hitched as John watched your prominent chest rise and fall with each heavy breath that you took.

“Um, how about I give you my card, okay?” you ask, fishing out a black and metal business card and slipping it into John’s right hand. He’s taken aback by the coolness of the metal against his warm skin, and nodded into your forehead, that he was touching with his own.

John cleared his throat, that was still tingling from all of the alcohol he had with you tonight.

“Y-yeah. That’s perfect.” John answered. You press your lips together, a pink hue dashes upon your cheeks and nose after the kiss, you haven’t done anything like this in a few years.

Jesus Christ, what are you, a middle schooler? Pull yourself together, girly. You think to yourself.

“Alright,” you sigh, slipping your key card into the lock on the hotel door, opening it. You pause to look back up at John, still in your drunken and flustered phase from that kiss you two shared. “Just text me, ‘kay?” you ask, shooting him a nervous but still excited smile, before you swoop into the room, barricading yourself from John with the hotel door.

It closes, and clicks to let you know it’s locked.

You hurry to the bathroom and take a long deep breath, smacking yourself on the cheeks and splashing cold water on your face to knock yourself out of this state of anxiety you’re in.

John is still frozen in front of your hotel room door that you have just escaped behind, he shakes himself out of it and peeks down a the metal engraved business card.

It has your first and last name, phone number, email, and various social media accounts listed on the small card.

He still can’t believe what just happened.

Y/N, the ever so popular crime boss that was the next big thing, just melted like a schoolgirl in his arms.

No fucking way. John thinks, laughing a bit in disbelief.

He shuffles back to his hotel room, which happened to be on the same floor as yours, it’s down a few doors and to the right. He enters, goes inside and plops himself down on the bed, staring at the card that he still had in his hand.

“God, she’s hot.” He mumbled to himself, thoughts are racing through his mind, some innocent, most are filthy.

The image of you bent over his kitchen counter while pounding you into submission, spanking you hard on your nicely shaped ass while you scream his name is the consistent image in his head. Or him grabbing your hair, pulling your head back and whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he fucked, and fucked, and fucked you from behind.

John blinked a few times, realizing he now has a completely hard cock because of the fantasy that couldn’t seem to go away just now.

Well, looks like the playboy would have to take care of himself again. It wasn’t the first time he did it after meeting you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

#john wick x you #john wick imagine #john wick #john wick x reader #jw4 #keanu reeves #john wick x y/n

[hiveworks]

Vampires, Witches, and Magic

Interview with Eric Lide and Angélica María

October 2023

Solstoria by Angélica María (aka: @charmwitch) and Ozzie the Vampire by Eric Lide (aka: @ericlide) are celebrating their 10th year anniversaries! We're diving into these absolute webcomic legends to learn more about their creative process in a joint interview with María and Lide.

Ozzie the Vampire is a webcomic about a vampire gal named Ozzie and her best friend Kimmy who find themselves protecting the town of Gloomburg, New Jersey, which seems to always find itself under the constant assault of demonic forces from the underworld. Sometimes they even learn something!

Solstoria is follows a girl named Samantha and her brother, Lawrence, who carries the weight of protecting his family on his shoulders. When he goes missing, Samantha embarks on an adventure to become a knight.

For a look behind the scenes at these two webcomic series, read on!

It's spooky season, and both of your comics have themes of the supernatural. What kinds of creepy or magical energy do you bring into your comic?

Eric Lide:

I think the demons in Ozzie the Vampire bring the creepy energy for sure. A lot of them have bizarre and impractical anatomy, and they’re pretty enthusiastic about eating people.  Magic is a constant presence in the story as well, mostly through the spells Kimmy and Grimsley use to help Ozzie fight the bad guys.

Angélica María:

To start off, let's talk about the environments! There are certain areas and themes in Solstoria based around my love of Halloween! I'm not from the continental United States, so I've always loved the idea of a spooky air, or of pumpkins and ghosts. The Wayward Lands and Farmlands, two prominent areas spoken about in the story, are themed after the fall season in the United States. Besides that, witches carry a great importance in the story. They are magically gifted individuals of any gender, who purify the air and specialize in magics that are of help to the greater good of society. A witch is someone who can tame ghosts, calm uneven levels of magic in the city, and provide useful trinkets and charms for the everyday chore. They're just neat! Pointy hats are all the rage, too.

Which character in your comic would survive a horror movie?

EL:

Well Ozzie is more or less immortal, so she could probably sleepwalk her way through any horror movie scenario…

AM:

Oddly enough, I feel like Samantha and Oksana (eventually) have the calmest head on their shoulders. Most of the adults would probably be fine, Huxley would serve as a great merchant in between sanctuaries, but as for the rest… Actually, who's to say Solstoria isn't secretly horror…

A decade is a long time to be telling a story! Congratulations! How has your comic changed over the course of its publication?

EL:

When I first started out, I was just kind of drawing whatever and not thinking too much about the future. At that time, I was just trying to cram in as many fight scenes or gags as possible. Over the years though, I’ve come to love these characters and I think about them nonstop, so I’ve been writing more scenarios that challenge them on a personal level. There’s even a bit of romance coming up, which would’ve been unthinkable to me ten years ago.

AM:

Thank you so much! I burnt out for a few years, so you can definitely see my art style and narrative changing. I hope it's not... toooooooooo drastic of a change, but I always told myself to experiment on my pages and change things as I saw fit. If you re-read Solstoria, you will simply see my art evolve with no care of consistency. I apologize if this is glaring, but honestly- it's fun! One of the biggest changes now that I'm working on the story again is that we've swapped protagonists! Currently, we're seeing the story through Lawrence's eyes. Samantha's elder brother is possessed by a crow god, but he still thinks of his family first. Hopefully, they can figure something out together though!

What motivates you to keep going?

EL:

I’ve always been drawing comics since I was very young, so it’s hard to say. I think once a story is in me, it has to come out in some form, even if it takes forever or no one is interested in reading it. That said, comments– audience response of any kind, really– is always a huge boost for me.

Solstoria has an electric 2010s anime flavor. What kind of series inspire you? Do you have any manga or comic recs?

AM:

Oh, I appreciate the comparison, but I wish to counter it- Solstoria is heavily inspired by Japanese RolePlaying Games! Specifically, games created by Capcom, GameArts, Square-Enix, and a few others on top of that! I do have a few anime I quite enjoy, like Princess Tutu formulated my brain intensely. I highly recommend watching this show if you want to experience a masterpiece! If you just want a good time, I also quite like Slayers! As for video games, I have so many to recommend! I love Fire Emblem, Breath of Fire, Star Ocean, LUNAR, Lufia... and so much more! All of these games are close to my heart, but stylistically, I think the Disgaea series has a lot of visual influence on Solstoria.

Ozzie the Vampire has a cool punk flair that reminds me of webcomics I liked from the 2000s. Where do you draw inspiration from? Do you have any zine or webcomic recommendations?

EL:

Music was a big influence on Ozzie! There’s a lot of references to my favorite punk and metal records throughout the series, some obvious, others not so much. I always wanted the comic to look something like a scrappy punk zine. I don’t get to read many webcomics these days, but Boxcar City Rush has been a recent favorite.

What can fans of your series look forward to in the coming year?

EL:

More updates, hopefully. This year was a bit sparse due to working on my debut graphic novel, The Champion of Draeland, but I’ve been wrapping that up and eager to dive back into Ozzie. I have many other graphic novels on the way though, so balancing both worlds is going to be an interesting challenge.

AM:

I'm very ahead of schedule, so I hope I can keep the momentum going. We're learning quite a bit about Samantha's brother, Lawrence, but we will also learn soon about another character who is pivotal to both siblings. He's a quiet, gentle person who tries to take on things on his own, and it doesn't go his way. Also murder. There may be murder.

What is the best way for fans of your series to support you?

EL:

Leaving comments, reblogging and sharing updates, all that stuff really helps for sure! Fan art always brightens my day. I have a Patreon as well where I post early updates and behind-the-scenes material for only $2 a month. And of course, supporting my graphic novels once they release!

AM:

Honestly I really just love comments and tags on tumblr and twitter! If you wish to support me, you can always see early updates on Patreon! Thank you so much! But honestly, I just want to hear feedback from people and hear their thoughts and feelings about my work. It makes me so very happy.

Read Solstoria and Ozzie the Vampire for free and follow @charmwitch and @ericlide for updates!

#comic #webcomic #vampire #witches #hiveworks #solstoria #ozzie the vampire #blog #interview

[ecclesiasticallatinfest]

Got bored, decided to organise another event with a focus on how international this fandom and also the canon characters are.

So let's create fanart and fanfic where our pirate crew has adventures all over the world!

Schedule and rules under the read more:

Schedule

24/5 - North America (bonus point if you remember there are countries besides the US)

25/5 - South America

26/5 - Europe (bonus point if you remember there are countries besides the UK)

27/5 - Africa

28/5 - Asia

29/5 - Australia

30/5 - Antarctica (but if you want to send them to the Arctic, I won't stop you)

31/5 - Lost continent (including lost lands/lost islands, so if you want to send the crew to Atlantis, here's your chance! Doubles as a catch-up day)

Rules:

All characters and pairings welcome.

All ratings welcome.

All settings welcome (so go wild with different times, canon divergences, etc)

All languages welcome - AO3 supports the following languages.

You can start posting your fanwork when it is the correct day in your timezone.

Please post your fanwork to the AO3 Collection to make it easy for everyone to see the fanworks made for the event.

Please use either OFMD Continental Challenge and/or OFMDContinentalChallenge if you post about it on Tumblr or Twitter or elsewhere to make it easy for everyone to see the fanworks made for the event.

Don't be a dick.

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #OFMD Continental Challenge #Pushing the non-Anglophone agenda

[lunar-insanity]

Hello and welcome to my Ted Talk where I ramble about how Solistia is Orsterra but further along.

Spoilers ahead.

Now I know, I know, technically it's another world, but lemme ramble bout this theory.

We all know bout Pangea, the super-continent that existed during the late Paleozoic and early Mesozoic eras, the one continent that then, over many many many years then broke up into the continents we know today due to Continental Drift. How does that apply to this theory?

We know Orsterra is set very early on. We have ships, trading merchants, all that jazz, and the narration for Alfyn's story says that the age of medicine is in it's infancy. So this gives us a good idea on the current technology, namely none.

And then we have Solistia, which is clearly further along in development. They're entering the Steam Age, the steam train is starting to take shape, New Delsta is starting to take the shape of New York, the Inventor is making machines, and Science and Medicine seem to be progressing further.

Solistia is leaps ahead of Orsterra in terms of technology. And then we have this guy.

He's theorizing that Solistia may have been one whole continent in the past. Continental Drift Theory. There's even a map that looks a lot like Orsterra in the Guard Outpost in Conning Creek

And then we have the geography of the continents.

[Side by side of Sunlands, Riverlands, Cliffland and Hineouma, Leaflands, Wildlands]

These three regions are right next to each other, and are in the same orientation as their counterparts, though Solistia stretches up higher, while Orsterra is kept to the South West.

[Side by side of the Frostlands and Winterlands]

Same with both frosty areas. The only regions that don't match up are the Woodlands, Flatlands, Coastlands, and Highlands for Orsterra; The Crestlands, Brightlands, Harborlands, and Toto'haha for Solistia.

But here's the thing. Geography can change overtime. The Flatlands somewhat match The Brightlands, the Coastlands could have become the smattering of Islands once you get past the whirlpool. The Highlands could have broken off and drifted further, much like the Woodlands.

The Gate of Finis, is roughly in the same place in both worlds. Off (roughly) South East in a hard to reach place.

So that's what Geographical evidence I have. Let's get a bit more... Theological about it.

Eight of the Gods are still the same; Aelfric, Alephan, Dohter, Sealtigce, Brand, Draefendi, Aeber, Bifelgan. But we're missing four others.

Dreisang the Archmagus, Winnehild the Warbringer , Steorra the Starseer, and Balogar the Runeblade .

I think, they're lost Gods. Gods who's worship has faded into mystery with barely anything to show for it. In Orsterra, already their arts are thought to be lost unless you find them, and challenge them for it, but they're still known. They're still called The Twelve.

In Solistia, they're lost lost. You can't even find their shrines or any historical evidence, if they even existed at this point.

But you can find their teachings still.

The Armsmasters wielded all 6 weapons and have innovated on the old skills Winnehild would've taught. Winnehild's War Cry became Sixfold Strike, and the Armsmasters developed new techniques to compensate for the lost ones. Notably, there is no divine skill for them, possibly because with Winnehild gone, they have only themselves and her old weapons to rely on.

The Arcanist uses sigils and runes in order to cast their abilities. Transfer Rune became Diffusion. So that's one half of Balogar's teachings.

The Conjurer has the other half. This being isn't mentioned at all in Solistia (As far as I've found). EDIT: Finally read all the Mercantile Manuscript. She's mentioned in the history of Hineouma, but no where else. You only find her in Ku after ascending a tower full of hard fights. When she gives you the class, she gives you at least 4 of the 'Rune' Elements (Because apparently it is anathema to give us more Light and Dark elements. Arcanist Tier 3 spell isn't Tenebrae Operiere, but its something.)

Dreisang's spells are not lost entirely. You can use Alephan's wisdom to at least reclaim 4 of them: Ignis Ardere, Glacis Claudere, Tonitrus Canere, and Lux Congerere.

Steorra is the last one unaccounted for. I haven't seen much, if anything at all, that resembles her abilities, other than possibly in the Conjurer class. I didn't really use that one for more than just elemental trails.

And then we have the Dark Gods. Vide and Galdera.

They are very different gods. One of them is Shadow/Void and Chaos, the other is Life and Death. You can fight them both. However...

Who's to say that conflict with Vide didn't split the continent in two? It was a hard fight for Aelfric on his own, and Vidania is smack in the middle of the sea. Who's to say all that divine power being thrown around didn't crack and split apart the continent into several pieces, eventually drifting apart, though both halves of this one stayed relatively close by each other.

The night left Orsterra in pieces.

And when the dawn rose, it was called Solistia instead.

#octopath traveler #octopath traveler 2 #octopath spoilers #am I going crazy conspiracy theory board guy here with strings n what not? #maybe #But this will not leave me alone xD #And it's also what I'm gonna be using for my Octopath gang that I'll make #Steorra plays a part in one of their stories

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 23.5

Chapter 23

Aemond was currently in his chambers, reading a book on Pentoshi philosophies when he heard a knock at the door.

Frowning, the young prince got up to answer it. On the other side, he sees Aemma dressed in plain clothes, a loose male tunic and trousers, her silver blonde hair pulled up and hiding under a hat to conceal her Targaryen features. She also had a cloak wrapped around.

"Aemma?" Aemond frowns some more, looking confused, "what's with the clothes?" Aemma gave a certain smile, and the prince knew what his cousin's intentions were. "Aemma," he scolds in a whisper, looking left and right to make sure no one was spying on them, "you promised." "I promised I wouldn't leave the keep without an escort," Aemma points out, "and...you did offer yourself as one should I feel the need to venture into the city again."

"Yes, you did promise," Aemond says, crossing his arms, "I'm not going, so you can't go either." "Come on, Aemond, please," Aemma begs. "Why right now?" "There's a Continental merchant at the docks, he's holding an exhibition and I want to go. It'll be educational, you could learn a few things from it." "Tempting, I'll admit, but I'm still not going," Aemond says, refusing to be persuaded, "and that means you still can't go because you made a promise."

"Fine," Aemma concedes, "you win. I did make a promise." Aemond smirks in victory. "Of course I could always find another escort then," Aemma points out, walking away, "I wonder if Jace is still awake at this hour."

Aemond closed his eyes tightly, wanting so badly not to take the bait his cousin was clearly offering. Aemma decides to goad the boy even more, "If not, I can always ask Luke."

Aemond groans out, feeling a sense of self-loathing for actually taking the bait. "Wait," he calls out, rushing to grab his cloak before joining her. Aemma smiled wide in victory, "like I said, it'll be an educational experience."

Walking down the halls, Aemma and Aemond check to make sure the coast was clear. Neither of them counted that any of the other princes would be out in the halls at this time of night, and they subsequently bump into Jace.

"Ow," Aemma protests, "Why can't you watch where you're- oh, hello Jace."

The boy in question stood there eyes wide open like he got his hand in the cookie jar.

Well...close enough. Aemma and Aemond look to see Jace had his mouth full like he just stuffed some food into it. And, sure enough, there was a small plate in Jace's hand that had half a bitten slice of cake.

"Sneaking sweets in the middle of the night?" Aemond breaks the awkward silence, "I wouldn't have expected anything less from the likes of you." "What are you going to do? Tell my mother?" Jace challenges after he swallows his bite of cake. "What for? It's not like she ever does anything to set you straight," Aemond scoffs, almost tempted to parrot what his own mother has been saying about his half-sister's offspring. 

"Aemond, be nice," Aemma scolds, before hastily pushing Aemond towards their original route out of the keep, "Don't worry, Jace, I understand wanting to indulge a sweet tooth every now and again. We better get going. See you soon, little cousin."

"Wait a minute," Jace speaks up, not blind to the blonde kids' wear, "Where are the two of you going dressed like that?" "That's hardly any of your business, nephew," Aemond scoffs.

I think it does if this will put the princess in possible danger," Jace points out, "maybe I should tell YOUR mother I saw the two of you sneaking out at this hour."

"Jace, please, no need for that," Aemma begs, "look, there's a exhibition going on at the docks, it's being held by this merchant from Velen, that's on the Continent, you could come with us, if you're that concerned for my safety." "Aemma!" Aemond protests. "You really want to risk him tattling to your mother?" Aemma whispers, before further addressing Jace, "if you come with us and promise not to tell the Queen, we'll promise not to say anything about you sneaking slices of cake out of the kitchens late at night."

Satisfied with this compromise Jace nods and follows Aemma and Aemond out of the Red Keep, very much to Aemond's dismay.

Once outside, Aemma led the boys downs the streets towards the docks. "So, what kind of exhibition is this?" Jace asks. "The merchant said he planned to educate the people of King's Landing on the wonders of the Continent," Aemma explains, "he called it something akin to a culture exchange...well multiple cultures that is." "Multiple?" "It means many," Aemond explains in a mocking manner. "I know what it means!" Jace exclaims.

While the boys bickered and Aemma briefly broke it up and kept leading them, the trio unknowingly caught the attention of a certain prince.

Aegon had stolen away from the Red Keep an hour or so ago, something he had taken to doing recently to distract himself from the pressures his mother was starting to put on him as a contender for the Iron Throne.

Currently the prince was downing a flask of Westerosi strong wine he had smuggled from the keep's cellars as a means to forget the tongue lashing he received earlier today from Alicent, concerning his recent neglect of his future wife.

Aegon couldn't understand it; sure, he cared for Aemma as family, but he never expressed any desire to marry her. They may have played together as young children, but they didn't really have much in common, especially as they got older.

Aemma was the more artistic and cerebral of the two, having surpassed Aegon in subjects such as history, philosophy, and even High Valyrian before either of them had reached the age of ten. Honestly, Aegon felt a little intimidated by Aemma's many talents, and had imagined her intellect would only serve to outshine, upstage, and even emasculate him should they be wed.

Also Aegon had a hard time understanding Aemma's obsession with her mother's homelands. Why this need to be close to her mother, especially when she had vanished and had not returned for the princess in nearly ten years. Aegon found it to be a little pathetic, and had recalled once when they were children how he made his disdain for her obsession known. Her mother was long gone, possibly dead, and if she ever did care about her daughter she would've come back by now. Aemma only scoffed, fully in denial with this false hope that her mother would come back to her.

While Aemma immersed herself in books, music, and sewing, Aegon found himself preferring more base subjects such as indulging in the effects of alcohol on one's body and partaking in the pleasures of the flesh...well the latter subject the prince has yet to fully participate in. Aegon had recently taken to hiding pamphlets of naked women in suggestive positions in his chambers, taking them out when those hormonal teenage urges would overtake him and he needed a mental image to stimulate his release. That, however, wasn't enough, so now Aegon has taken to sneaking out of the Red Keep at night (and sometimes during the day) and stealing away into the Street of Silk to watch the half clothed women walk around the brothels to solicit costumers.

Aegon found that if he stood in one place long enough, those same women sometimes will up the ante and go as far as to solicit while completely in the nude.

He also had a feeling that watching was not going to be enough anymore; he has coin and title, it surely wouldn't be too difficult to be catered to if he walked in and demanded their services for himself.

Aegon was no longer a boy, he thought, it was time he took the first steps into becoming a man. No one should stop him from that, not his mother and certainly not his intended...not even after they wed and produce heirs.

In the present, while Aegon was contemplating walking into a brothel to solicit a woman to pop his cherry, he overheard Jace and Aemond bickering with one another. Aegon frowned, thinking the wine was making him hear things, but when he turned he saw the boys along with what he thought was an older boy at first, but a second glance he recognized it to be Aemma dressed in boy's clothing.

What where these three doing outside the Red Keep at this time of day, or night he should say. Smirking, Aegon got an idea and snuck up on the trio.

The adolescent prince placed a hand each on Jace and Aemond's shoulder, making a roaring sound and causing the boys to jump. Aemma was about to draw the dagger she kept hidden under her tunic, only to relax when she recognized who it was.

"Seven Hells, Aegon," Aemma scolds as Aegon bursts out laughing, "Are you trying to get yourself stabbed?"

"What are you even doing here?" Aemond asks, still irked at his brother for getting the jump on him.

"I believe that is what I should be asking you, this part of the city is no place for children " Aegon points out, turning his attention to Aemma, "especially for princesses." "Since when did you give a damn about where I run off to?" Aemma scoffs.

"Why is your face all flushed?" Jace asks, pointing at his older uncle's face, cheeks indeed where lightly flushed. Aemond noticed the flask Aegon had been carrying had fallen, and he went to pick it up, noticing the contents were empty, "he's been drinking, that's why."

"Aegon," Aemma sighs, "it's not enough that you down excess cups at supper, now you have to steal some from the cellars? What is wrong with you, cousin?" "Ugh, you're really starting to sound like mother right now," Aegon rolls his eyes, "If I wanted a lecture from her, I would've stayed in the keep." "Maybe if you've actually listened to her for a change," Aemma mutters. "What do you care?" Aegon sneers, "it's my life, I'll do with it as I please. I do hope, dear cousin, you won't be such a nag when we wed. Maybe you'll be more occupied looking out the window in hopes your deadbeat of a mother returns to you. Nearly ten years, you'd think a girl would know by now that even one year would be enough to realize she all but abandoned you."

Hurt by his comments, Aemma slapped Aegon across the face and stormed off. Aegon had a confused look, especially when he saw Aemond's scolding look and Jace a look of pity. "Oh, it's not like we weren't all thinking it," Aegon exasperates, "it's been almost a decade, why hasn't her mother ever returned if not for her?" "You still didn't need to say those things," Jace points out, gaze turned to where Aemma had gone off. "She doesn't have anyone in King's Landing except for us," Aemond lectures his brother, "you could at least try to be more understanding, she is to be your wife after all, you should be more attentive to her concerns."

Aegon only scoffed and lifted the flask to his lips, only to find it was empty, "no one ever did answer my question," he points out, "what are the three of you doing in King's Landing at this time of evening?"

"The exhibition!" Jace exclaims, like he just remembered, and ran off towards Aemma's direction, with Aemond following. Aegon would've left it at that, but even he was actually interested in this so called exhibition and decided to follow suit.

---------------------------------

"Come one! Come All!" the Velen merchant announced in a thick Nordling accent as Aemma reached the docks. Throngs of people from different walks of life had gathered to view this spectacle. "Come see the wonders of a strange land," the merchant continued, "come see, come learn, come and indulge your curiosities. We have books, we have weapons and armor on display, and oddities the likes of which you have never seen in this part of the world. Come sample as well, for we bring foods and spices and spirits to indulge. Come! Come and see! Come one! Come All!" 

By the time Jace, Aemond, and Aegon had caught up, Aemma was looking through the texts that were on display. Aemond decided to stay by Aemma's side. Jace stayed with Aegon, who noticed samples of drinks were being served. When Aegon went to investigate, he scoffed at first thinking it water, but one sip proved him wrong, and he quickly learned this was a spirit that was popular throughout the Continent, known as vodka. Taking a liking to this liquor, Aegon proceeded to sample vodka distilled from the different realms (he particularly was fond of the Kaedwen brand).

"Any of these texts catch your eye?" Aemma asks, noticing Aemond browsing through the books. "None in particular," Aemond admits, until he spotted one book and grabbed it so as to take a closer look. It was a sacred text that was part of a growing faith on the Continent known as the Eternal Fire. Aemond opened the book and quickly skimmed through it; from what he gathered some of the Eternal Fire's teachings were rather similar to what was taught in the Seven Pointed Star. Aemond decided he might actually keep hold of and purchase this book, wanting to do a comparative study between the two religious faiths in the near future.

Aemma currently had her sights set on another book, and she picked it up to examine it. "Basics of Elder Speech," she reads out loud. "Elder Speech?" she hears Aemond. "A language spoke by the elves of the Continent," Aemma explains, "I've been wanting to learn about it for some time, but I could never find any books to teach me." "You're not concerned this will interfere with your lessons on High Valyrian?"

"Nyke ȳdra daor pāsagon issa valyrio eglie lessons jāhor botagon isse mirre ñuhoso, byka cousin, kirimvose olvie olvie (I don't believe my High Valyrian lessons will suffer in any way, little cousin, thank you very much)," Aemma assures in said language.

Aemond nods, seeing that his cousin was indeed comfortable speaking the language of their ancestors.

Aemond looked over to see Jace staring in awe at some strange figures that were hung up on display for all to see. He and Aemma both join the boy to see.

Currently Jace was staring at what seemed to be a branch or a root, neither of the trio could figure it out. Whatever it was, it clearly came from a tree. It baffled the three as they tilted their heads examining the artifact. "I'm not seeing things am I?" Jace asks, "this branch is shaped like an arm."

Aegon, who had joined the trio after filling his flask with Kaedweni distilled vodka, scoffed at this observation, "you're out of your mind, that is not an arm." "No... Jace is, actually right for a change," Aemond says, surprised that he agreed with his nephew, "look at the ends, it's a hand...with fingers?" "It was clearly carved out," Aegon scoffs again in disbelief. "No, no, it wasn't," Aemma realizes, remembering what she read in the bestiaries, "it was part of a Continental monster, I just can't remember what it was called. It's rare, though, I know that."

"What you are looking at, boys, is an arm cut off from the corpse of a fallen leshen," the merchant addresses the princess and princes, "and indeed, they are rare, old, and demonic creatures that have roamed the Continent since the time of the Conjunction." 

"...where did you get this?" Aemma decides to ask, making the merchant look at her confused, "a leshen can be killed by fire through the heart. Any other method requires the help of a mutated monster hunter. How did you come about the arm?"

"You seem like a studious boy," the merchant nods, "if you know your monsters, perhaps you would indulge me in naming the others."

Aemma nods and the merchant guides the group to other monsters on display. He first shows them a jar of a preserved monster head. Aemond, Jace, and Aegon watch their cousin as she examines the creature inside, "that looks like the head of a foglet." The merchant nods and shows her another monster head that was still attached to a torso. "A drowner," Aemma answers correctly. She named a few other monsters that were on display: a ghoul, a rock troll, an ekkimara, and a griffin."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Aemma asks, "how did you come about these monsters? You don't really strike me as a monster hunter."

"You are rather observant," the merchant says, "very well, if you must know, I post flyers in Velen to slay monsters and collect trophies for me, in exchange for coin of course. As expected a witcher or two had come and gone to take up this offer."

"A witcher?" Jace asks. "Monster hunting mutants," the merchant explains, "their bodies transformed by alchemy that are only known to those who live inside their keep Kaer Morhen. Give them enough coin, they shall slay a monster with the aid of their potions and silver weapons. Not much else is known, but the most famous of all the witchers is the White Wolf."

Aemond noticed the way Aemma went strangely quiet at the mention of this so-called White Wolf.

"What can you tell us about this White Wolf?" Jace asks.

"You will see soon enough, boy," the merchant assures. Right on cue, the music started and a crowd had gathered near a make-shift theater to view the spectacle.

Aemma and the boys join to see.

Music began to play, the boys actually recognized the tune as Aemma had played it once or twice on different instruments. It was a Nordling composure whose title translates to 'The Nightingale.'

Two more songs were performed, each met with enthusiastic applause.

When the musicians concluded their performance, an announcer walked onto the stage to address the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! I present to you a tale from across the sea. One of daring bouts, of death and life, of men and elves, a devil at the edge of the world, and a friend of humanity who slew foes great and small. I present to you, 'Filivandral's last stand....or the White Wolf's triumph."

The curtains drew open and the play began.

Masterlist

Chapter 24

#hotd #the witcher #aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aegon ii targaryen #jacerys velaryon #jacerys targaryen

[rockislandadultreads]

Warm Up with a Good Book!

Need a book to spark your interest & keep you warm? Check out one of these fiery recommendations! Make sure to also log whatever you read for our upcoming "Snow Many Books" Winter Reading Challenge, which begins this Friday, January 12th!

Where There Was Fire by John Manuel Arias

Costa Rica, 1968: When a lethal fire erupts at the American Fruit Company’s most lucrative banana plantation burning all evidence of a massive cover-up, and her husband disappears, the future of Teresa’s family is changed forever.

Now, twenty-seven years later, Teresa and her daughter Lyra are picking up the pieces. Lyra wants nothing to do with Teresa, but is desperate to find out what happened to her family that fateful night. Teresa, haunted by a missing husband and the bitter ghost of her mother, Amarga, is unable to reconcile the past. What unfolds is a story of a mother and daughter trying to forgive what they do not yet understand, and the mystery at the heart of one family’s rupture.

Dance Among the Flames by Tori Eldridge

Passion. Horror. Betrayal.

Across forty years, three continents, and a past incident in 1560 France, Serafina Olegario tests the boundaries of love, power, and corruption as she fights to escape her life of poverty and abuse. Serafina's quest begins in Brazil when she's possessed by the warrior goddess Yansã, who emboldens her to fight yet threatens to consume her spirit. Fueled by power and enticed by Exú, an immortal trickster and intermediary to the gods, Serafina turns to the seductive magic of Quimbanda. It's dangerous to dance in the fire. But when you come from nothing, you have nothing to lose.

Girls Burn Brighter by Shobha Rao

Poornima and Savitha have three strikes against them: they are poor, they are ambitious, and they are girls. After her mother’s death, Poornima has very little kindness in her life. She is left to care for her siblings until her father can find her a suitable match. So when Savitha enters their household, Poornima is intrigued by the joyful, independent-minded girl. Suddenly their Indian village doesn't feel quite so claustrophobic, and Poornima begins to imagine a life beyond arranged marriage.

But when a devastating act of cruelty drives Savitha away, Poornima leaves behind everything she has ever known to find her friend. Her journey takes her into the darkest corners of India's underworld, on a harrowing cross-continental journey, and eventually to an apartment complex in Seattle.

The Archive of the Forgotten by A.J. Hackwith

The Library of the Unwritten in Hell was saved from total devastation, but hundreds of potential books were destroyed. Former librarian Claire and Brevity the muse feel the loss of those stories, and are trying to adjust to their new roles within the Arcane Wing and Library, respectively. But when the remains of those books begin to leak a strange ink, Claire realizes that the Library has kept secrets from Hell - and from its own librarians.

Claire and Brevity are immediately at odds in their approach to the ink, and the potential power that it represents has not gone unnoticed. When a representative from the Muses Corps arrives at the Library to advise Brevity, the angel Rami and the erstwhile Hero hunt for answers in other realms. The true nature of the ink could fundamentally alter the afterlife for good or ill, but it entirely depends on who is left to hold the pen.

This is the second volume of the "Hell's Library" series.

#fiction #book covers #reading challenge #reading recommendations #reading recs #book recommendations #book recs #tbr #tbr pile #to read #library books #booklr #book tumblr #book blog #library blog #readers advisory

[oxygenbefore1775]

AoT Warriors And Their Spoils Of War

a/n: what each of the warriors would bring from the war as their reward

Pieck

vinyl records

symphonic orchestra recordings are especially beloved by Pieck

Pieck doesn't often get a chance to receive one since it's also a hot commodity among marley officials but luckily if Magath finds one he keeps it safe for her

she doesn't own a gramophone but Zeke does so she often comes to visit and they have reading sessions while to the sound of vinyl music

sex toys

not sure about the market on this stuff in aotverse, but Pieck tries to get her hands on every new thing

has no reservations and tells other warriors about her findings and what erotic things are popular nowadays with the continental elite

photographs of other people

especially if they depict young women with similar to her constitution and appearance

Pieck likes to look at them, imagining how she would live her life if she was a free eldian

scarves for her father

so he keeps himself warm and doesn't get any worse 

Porco

coffee

just some good quality coffee cuz the one in the rations tastes like burnt shit

even if Porco manages to get only one bag, he's still extremely pleased with himself

Porco keeps the coffee to himself and doesn't share with others warriors — maybe with Pieck but Pieck doesn't drink coffee so that's a plus for Porco

fashion magazines

they're a rarity in Liberio, let alone the internment zone yet Porco craves so much for his image to be up-to-date as possible

reads through the entire magazine multiple times and bookmarks the pages with the looks he especially likes

styles his hair and all his clothes in accordance to the fashion plates

coats or jackets

how do you think he's accumulated his vast collection of bomber jackets

that's the staple of Porco's wardrobe and he'd never pass up the opportunity to go into the store looking for a new coat free of charge

Porco's pretty small so the jackets that otherwise would have been taken by replete marleyans are all fair for Porco to take

Reiner

this man never takes anything for himself

sweets for the kids

but most of them get snatched away by Gabi 

basically anything that Gabi asks for Reiner would try to find for her

post stamps

Reiner feels guilty after each time he helps destroy yet another city so he sort of compensates for it with the stamps depicting the former city views

but they are mainly for Falco to put in his album since Gabi doesn't find it particularly interesting

there was one time Gabi requested a trophy gun and got a hard no not only from Reiner but also from Magath

also something for his mom

like shawls and perfumes, just anything of value and opulence

Reiner does it almost subconsciously — feeling like he can't come back home empty-handed

Zeke

books

all the books they've got in the libraries and houses — Zeke would take them all

even if they're in another language, that's just another captivating challenge to Zeke

going through rows of shelves, inwardly marking up the volumes he'd like to take home, randomly picking out one of the books and cracking it open for a read just because the title seemed so intriguing, is Zeke's favorite thing to do

besides, none of the marleyan officials would be calling dibs on that so Zeke has pretty much all the books to himself

cigarettes 

the cheapest most basic ones 

the good expensive ones would go to the marleyans — and Zeke doesn't care about the toll that cheap ones take on his health anyways

#aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot headcanons #aot warriors #aot warriors headcanons #pieck #pieck finger #porco #porco galliard #reiner #reiner braun #zeke #zeke yeager #zeke jeager

[the-offside-rule]

Mitch Evans (Jaguar) - Unprofessional

Requested: by my friend who also writes on wattpad

Prompt: Mitch has been having some rough patches, but no matter how good he is, there is always one journalist that will have something to say about him.

Warnings: smut, cvnty mitch, 18+, rough

Mitch smiled as he walked into his garage. P2 after such a difficult race. He deserved it, every drop of champagne and every word of praise and glory. "I'd like to see people question my driving now." Mitch chuckled as he set his trophy to the side. The few engineers around him exchanged glances, making the kiwi that bit confused. "What is it? Did they give me a penalty?" He asked worried. "No, it's just-" The engineer paused. "Well, Y/n Y/l/n was live a few minutes ago and she said this is another example of how drivers that don't deserve a win, somehow always win." Mitch arched a brow and scoffed. "Oh please. If undeserving drivers always won, they would deserve it. No one is that lucky." He chuckled, acting as though the constant remarks didn't bother him. "Well yeah. As long as you don't look at twitter." Mitch looked between both of the engineers and took his phone out. "See, why would you say that? Now I'm obviously going to go-" He didn't even need to go into her profile to see it. It was everywhere

thejournalisty/n

Boring race, but such an incredible win from Vandoorne! Genuinely excited proud of him for keeping up his incredible run this whole weekend and Im looking forward to many more races like this!

fefan2023 What about Mitch Evans? He did pretty well too I thought??

thejournalisty/n He's an okay driver, I just didn't see anything worth noting as he was racing. Other than his incompetent driving style showing up from time to time.

His jaw clenched as he read the disheartening tweets. "She doesn't know what she's on about mate, she just-" Mitch slammed the trophy onto the table, creating a silence after. "It's every weekend though! I can't go into a race week without her blabbering on about some bullshit." Mitch said in an annoyed tone. "I'm going to sort it." Mitch put his phone back into his pocket and left the garage, some if his team following him to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.

On the other side of the paddock, up and coming motorsport journalist, Y/n Y/l/n stood with her microphone prepared to do her segment on the race. "Okay, recording in 5....4....3...2....1." Y/n smiled into the camera. "Hello guys, and welcome back to-"

"Y/n!" The journalist jumped upon hearing the loud shout of her name. She turned quickly, looking to see who it was, only to see Mitch Evans pacing towards her, his fists clenched. "Can we speak later? I'm filming a segment-"

"I don't give a continental fuck! I'm sick of this shit!" The corner of Y/n's lips curled into a grin. "Oh what? What exactly are you going to do in front of all these people?" She challenged. What the young reporter didn't expect was for the kiwi driver to grab her wrist and haul her away from the crowd around her and towards his driver room. "Let go of me! I'll call security!" She warned, earning a scoff from Mitch. "You think they're gonna kick a driver out of the paddock? I'd like to see that happen, darling." He grimaced before opening his door and leading her in. "Sit down." He said. "You think I'm going to-"

"I said sit!" Mitch repeated, much louder and more demanding. Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and abides by his orders. Mitch walked around, shutting his blinds and locking his door so no one could tell him to calm down or stop shouting. "Okay, I'm sat. What's wrong with you now?" She asked, her arms crossed as she leaned back onto the white plastic walls behind the tiny stool. "Don't play fucking stupid, what the fuck are you doing?" Mitch shouted. "I was doing my job! I have to critique every driver!" Y/n replied. "It seems like you only ever do it to me though! Stoffel came P3 in the race today, and you insisted the car was the issue. Fucking Dan nearly crashed into me and it was my fault! Do you see how unfair this is?!" He asked. Y/n shook her head. "Oh my god! You're infuriating!" He shouts. "Can I just explained?" She asked, standing up finally. "No! You won't explain shit to me!" It became a roaring match, with everyone practically listening outside.

"You'll have to make me shut up!" Y/n shouted back. "You want me to make you shut up?" He repeated. Y/n chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, yeah. What the fuck are you gonna do?" He stood in front of her, jaw clenched, not knowing what he would possibly do. "That's what I thought." She scoffed and turned to open the door, only to be pulled back by Mitch, his lips instantly latching onto hers. She pulled away, matching his shocked face. "What was that?" She asked, breathless. "I- I'm not entirely sure." Mitch muttered. Y/n looked between hsi eyes and lips. "Do it again." She breathed. Without another thought, he gave in and leaned in yet again. This time however, there was a mutual desire for need and lust.

His hands roamed her body, gripping each part of her like this was the last chance he had. "Wanted to do this long?" Y/n mumbled into the kiss. "Not that I know." He replied, hating that he had to break contact to reply. He looked at her shirt in disgust. "What? You don't like my shirt?" She asked. "No, it'd just look better on the floor right now." He murmured. Y/n unbuttoned the shirt and threw it off in world record time. "Come on, yoh don't want to felt left out, do you?" Mitch chuckled and unzipped his overalls, tying them around his hips, then moving his attention to his fireproof shirt. He lifted it to reveal his toned upper body and tossed it to the side with no regard. Y/n gasped as Mitch pushed her back against the wall, the cold plastic giving her a shock. "Y/n?" He asked. "Yes?"

"Jump." He murmured into her ear. She gripped onto his shoulders and hopped up, her legs being caught by Mitch's arms, wrapping them around his waist. "In the driver room? Bit unprofessional, no?" She joked, moving her hair out of her face. "I think this whole thing is, but we can discuss that later." He whispered. A light laugh left her lips as Mitch buried his head into the crook of her neck, kissing and nipping as he did, leaving nothing but lilac bruises imprinted onto her. "Stop teasing and actually do something." She groaned, feeling the pool form in her panties. "Bit ironic, isn't it?" He chuckled. Y/n pushed him away from her for a moment. "How do you mean?" She asked, becoming annoyed. "I mean-" Mitch paused and pecked her lips. "It's ironic that the man you label as incompetent is about to fuck you in his driver room." Y/n's breath hitched as he moved from kissing her lips to now kissing her cleavage. "Just please, do something or-"

"Or what? Are you gonna write an article about this?" He mused, Y/n slowly growing impatient. Without much further notice, Mitch pushed her panties over to one side and thrusted into her, a string of curses leaving her lips. "Shut up, they might hear you." Mitch whisper-shouted, his hand clasping over her mouth. She pulled herself closer to Mitch's body, her hands now reaching down his back as Mitch began a pace. It began slow to see if anyone would notice or knock the door, but it slowly became quicker and more passionate. "Fuck, Mitch." She breathed, pressing soft kisses onto his neck. A groan left his lips at the euphoria of this. "Harder, please." She whispered. A grin appeared on Mitch's face. "Dirty bitch." He whispered right back. He picked up the pace and delved deeper into her with each thrust. Her nails were now digging into his tanned skin, decorating it with white lines. "Mitch- oh fuck!" She stopped herself from shrieking his name, loud enough for the whole paddock to hear.

He felt as her walls closed around him. He felt himself comingundone with her. His groans turned to moans and his thrusts became sloppy. His arms curled around her waist and torso, holding her close to his sweaty body. Her head fell back in ecstasy. "Look at me." Mitch demanded. It took every fibre of strength for Y/m to bring her head forward and look at him. His lips once again latched onto hers as the two of the finished, in eachothers arms. The pair sat, riding through their highs together before Mitch finally broke the silence. "That shut you up enough?" Mitch panted as Y/n gripped onto his broad shoulders. "I mean...I wasn't exactly quiet, was I?" Mitch shook his head and pecked her lips again. She could feel his smile against her lips. "Was this good enough for me to finally get into your good books?" He joked. Y/n laughed with him and nodded. "For this week. Next time, you'll need to up your game to stay in my good books." The kiwi chuckled and threw the journalist her shirt. "Hurry up before people think something actually happened. Y/n scoffed and threw her shirt on over her shoulders. "They won't think anything happened. Didn't even last six minutes." She replied. "Well next time, 8ll be sure to make it longer." He said. "We'll have to see next time then."

*time skip*

Mitch walked into the paddock of the day after smiling his usual smile. He waved at fans and people from the teams. "Mitch." Y/n said as he passed. "Y/n." He replied, smirking. "I was wondering if I could interview you later?" She asked. "How up, close and personal are we getting?" He chuckled. She slapped her cards off his arm. "Behave, Evans or I'll gladly interview someone else." He looked away shaking his head. "You're sick in the head for that." He replied, walking away. "You know I'm your favourite to interview." She rolled her eyes and turned back around to film as Mitch walked off behind her to his garage. "Hey guys. Ready for today?" Mitch asked. His two engineers looked at him, both impressed and confused. "What?" He asked. "How did you get Y/n to not be an asshole?" One of them asked. "Hey, hey, that's not very polite, is it?" He replied. "But what are you even on about?" His engineer handed him his phone, opened on her website. "Just read the last bit."

Now, although Vandoorne maintained his lead from the beginning if the race, I must give credits where credits are due; Mitch Evans once again proves his talent as we review his incredible drive from P11 at the start, and going on to come second in the race. I can only hope we see more from the kiwi in the upcoming races.

Mitch smiled. Finally, a nice comment about him. And all it took, was a little bit of unprofessionalism.

#mitch evans x you #mitch evans x reader #mitch evans imagine #mitch evans oneshot #mitch evans

[bloodofthefates]

x. headcanons

Maya relies on two forms of transportation: her custom Royal Enfield Continental GT 650 & the fully restored cherry red 1972 Dodge Challenger she came in possession of from the Tracksuit Mafia. 

Maya’s father was William “Crazyhorse” Lincoln from the comics. However, Maya does not stand for the racial stereotyping of his nickname given to him while in Kingpin’s service and will never dishonor the memory of her loving father by referring to him as such.

Maya often relies on vibrations to navigate the hearing capable world. She is incredibly in-tuned to the various vibrations that differing sounds and volume create and not limited to placing her hand on someone’s chest or at/around their neck to feel the vibrations of their vocal chords. Vibrations is how she first learned to play piano by replicating a complex piece of music from the vibrations alone was the first display of her gifts as a child when sent to a school for deaf resources.

My default for interactions with Maya unless otherwise plotted out first is that she does not know the truth about her father’s murder. Depending on who I am interacting with, Kingpin will have told her that Daredevil OR Ronin was his murderer. Who Ronin’s identity at the time was is also open for plotting. 

Wilson “Kingpin” Fisk took Maya under his wing under the pretense of an adopted father figure she refers to as ‘Uncle’. He ensured financial responsibility for her, sending her to expensive schools first for deaf resources that his money could buy (including interpreters for him to communicate with Maya as he never bothered to try and learn ASL for her) but later he sent her to a school for prodigies after she replicated a piece of music perfectly on the piano. Kingpin is actually only keeping his end of her father’s dying wish to take care of her after his many years of service to the mob boss. After exhibiting her abilities, Kingpin has trained her and kept her under his thumb as his own personal warrior to be used at his disposal as his own personal weapon. (Open to modifying in various verses depending on plotting! This is mostly merging comic & show lore)

Communication is PARAMOUNT for me in my portrayal of Maya. Maya is and has always been Deaf; she was born Deaf and has never been hearing-capable and raised by a Deaf mother within the Deaf/SimCom community. For many years she never spoke audibly and never even tried relying instead on ASL taught to her first by her parents and through her father from his shadow puppet stories he would tell her and later through school. How Maya interacts with YOUR specific character should be plotted out first unless they are fluent in ASL. Maya will always default to exclusively signing and navigating her world by her ability to read lips, do not assume she acclimates to the hearing world.

If need be, I have merged various forms of communication for Maya to navigate interacting with characters such as Matt Murdock in which like the comics she can speak relatively clearly and audibly but will also always sign as she’s speaking through a form of SimCom. Therefore, the cadence of Maya’s speaking voice will ALWAYS seem off-kilter and somewhat slower/mechanical in a way some people aren’t able to put their finger to. Maya speaks slower due to the speed at which she signs but also because she has learned speech only through watching other produce sounds and words. If watching a phonetic video of someone making letter combinations, it is always over enunciated and over pronounced so her words while clear echo this. Think along the lines of teaching young children speech patterns. Maya speaking vocally will always need to be addressed prior to our interactions, otherwise all of Maya’s dialogue is exclusively written through signing ASL.   

#✲ MAYA LOPEZ [ headcanon ] #bringing this back #& modified

[lyledebeast]

The Ghost and the Butcher

 I think most viewers would agree that Benjamin Martin’s most important relationship is with his son, Gabriel.  Gabriel is the main reason he involves himself in the Patriot war effort, both when he rescues him from the British and when he follows him into service in the South Carolina militia.  Meanwhile, Martin’s relationship with Tavington . . . well, one would be hard pressed to call it a relationship. On the surface, their importance to each other seems one-sided. Almost the only scenes in which Tavington is not talking about Martin are the ones where he is talking to him. He talks about Martin to General Cornwallis until the latter cries “Oh, enough!” Meanwhile Martin never says Tavington’s name once in the entire movie.  There are three ways to take that: 1, Martin has more important worries than Tavington. 2, Tavington is important but only as a symptom of a larger problem Martin is seeking to solve, or. 3, Not only is Tavington personally important to Martin, but vengeance against him is so indivisible from victory in Martin’s mind that he never feels a need to make a distinction between the two.

The first option is obviously not the case. Martin’s involvement in the war is bookended by encounters with Tavington that both predate and follow his fighting alongside Gabriel. He offers his services to the Continental Army after Tavington burns his farm and kills his son, and he kills Tavington after his tactics help the Continental Army achieve victory in the Battle of Cowpens/Guilford Courthouse (the battle’s history is as mangled as the people’s). The second option is only partly true.  Martin’s motives for fighting are a bit murky throughout the film. He voices some mild criticism of taxation without representation at the Charlestown assembly but does not join the fight for independence until three years later.  That he follows Gabriel when he returns to the war suggests protecting him as a motive, but there is also no explanation of why a veteran of three years of war is in more need of protection than the much younger children he leaves behind. As far as Martin’s words are concerned, his meeting with General Cornwallis provides the clearest motive.  When Cornwallis challenges his targeting of officers, Martin blames the conduct of “some of your officers,” namely the targeting of civilians. He does not mention the particulars of the incident with Tavington to Cornwallis--the time is well past for that--but he does clearly expect Cornwallis to know of what he speaks. Ironically, he also expects Cornwallis to believe he has 18 British officers in his custody without any specifics about who they are.  That Martin expects Cornwallis to be more aware of his officers’ treatment of civilians than of their whereabouts tells us more about his priorities than the general’s.

Some commentors read Cornwallis’s insistence that the targeting of civilians is a “separate issue” from the militia targeting officers as a pitiful attempt to stave off justified criticism, but this reading overlooks the timing of Martin’s complaint.  The last incident involving this behavior presented on screen is revealed between the scenes where Cornwallis orders Tavington to cease his “brutal tactics” and the one where Gabriel recruits at the church.  The overlap of British attacks on civilians and the militia killing British officers first  is as much a fiction as the scarecrows in British uniforms Cornwallis sees in his spyglass.  There is no evidence that any officer but Tavington is giving these kinds of orders; Martin is being strategically vague because it allows him to implicate a larger group in his grievances to better justify his choices.  Tavington is obsessed with catching one man, but Martin is obsessed with avenging the wrongs done by British officers as a collective, wrongs that just happen, coincidentally, to have all been ordered by the same man.

Okay, Benjamin.

So, to echo Tavington’s question, why wait? While vengeance is an important priority for Martin, it is not the only one. Gabriel appears to have taken his mother’s place as the angel on his father’s shoulder--angel, Gabriel, get it?--urging him to “stay the course,” to prioritize the war effort over his personal desires.  It works, and it doesn’t.  It does work in the sense that Martin is willing to delay his gratification in killing Tavington for the sake of attaining the militia’s objectives.  However, rather than replacing vengeance as Martin’s motive, victory becomes entwined with it.  This becomes a problem because Tavington is not waiting idly for Martin to fit him into his schedule.  Rather, he is targeting other people’s sons--and daughters, wives, and parents--in an attempt to force another encounter with Martin. Martin does not take the bait even when Tavington comes after his own children again, instead luring Tavington into the swamp and . . . cut screen. If Martin’s is so concerned about risking the militia’s aims, why does he have to kill Tavington himself? Why not delegate this task to Rollins or Billings, men he knows and trusts from past wartime experience?  Because that is not how vengeance works. It is not enough that the object of vengeance be punished; they must be punished by the avenger for the harm done to them specifically.  Perhaps this is also why Martin did not bring his grievances to the British generals after Thomas’s murder and Gabriel’s arrest. When he tells Tavington “Before this war is over I am going to kill you,” he means every word. How many people, including Gabriel, die because Martin is determined that his beloathed be untouched by any hand but his?

In its very obsessiveness, vengeance is akin to the darker side of romantic love, becoming so fixated on its object that it ignores the consequences of that fixation for other people.   Nowhere is this more apparent than the exchange between the two men in front of Fort Carolina.  Martin tries so hard to just ignore Tavington, but his mention of Thomas forces him to turn around. This is the most intense and, frankly, the sexiest moment in the whole movie. Tavington has a brief triumph, believing his desire for a physical confrontation is about to be gratified, but instead Martin gives him something much more enticing: a promise. When Tavington makes a last plea for satisfaction, Martin replies with a softly spoken “Soon.” 

 This “soon” has the same effect on Tavington as such demure deferrals have on ardent pursuers in other romances: it makes him insane.  He wants Martin even more than ever, and to some extent at least, Martin is aware of this and exploiting it. When the militia confront the Green Dragoons in front of Charlotte’s burning plantation, Martin rides out in front of his men, making his horse rear to catch Tavington’s attention.  He knows he hasn’t come for his children or their surrogate mother; he has come for him. Martin and Tavinton are both the pursuer and pursued in this relationship, and some of Tavington’s traps are successful, just not in catching Martin specifically.  As he pulls his sword out of Gabriel, we can see his disappointment. This twink is not what he ordered.  Ironically, it is Gabriel who fails to “stay the course,” and it is his death, like his mother’s before him, that inspires Benjamin’s course of action at the end of the movie. But if Gabriel is “mom-coded,” to use a delightful phrase about him from @a-literal-hobbit ,  his father is perhaps belle-coded.  In spite of his being a famed war criminal hero, his most successful strategy is not the guerilla tactics he uses against British supply trains but his deferral of Tavington’s desire.

Before the final battle, he presents a strategy to Colonel Burwell in which the militia will be used to bait Cornwallis into attacking what he believes to be a smaller force, thus leading him into the full strength of the Continental Army. That’s . . . not how that actually works out in practice.  Instead, Tavington catches sight of Martin, waving the flag Gabriel mended around, the Martin who has been teasing him for months, and against the reminder from Captain Wilkins that they “haven’t been given that order yet” and Cornwallis’s warning that he “can forget about Ohio,” he gives the order to charge.  He wants to fuck Martin so bad it makes him act stupid.

The hand to hand fight between Martin and Tavington at the end of the movie is something they have both wanted since they first met.  Tavington has likely killed many civilians to receive the moniker “The Butcher,” but how many of their addresses does he remember?  He is far less willing to conceal his desire, but that does mean he feels it more keenly than Martin.  Martin waits until the battle has turned in the Continental’s favor before going after Tavington, but he also waits until he can have Tavington all to himself, heedless of the cost in civilian lives it takes to get there.  If his priorities had truly changed, he could have left the battlefield a victor regardless of whether Tavington was alive or not.  Instead, he risks his life again, with nothing but vengeance to gain, to make good on his promise.

#the patriot #benjamin martin #william tavington #mel gibson #jason isaacs

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Sometimes We Get Together With Friends and Play Catch-Up

Ok, so I didn't actually go through the all-too-common Greek and Roman mythology phase that lots of pre-teen kids and a startling number of future history majors do. I got caught in fairy tales and dragons, so I absolutely missed the Percy Jackson books as they were coming out. I just wasn't interested. Then I had a classmate in Continental Literature in undergrad and every sentence out of her mouth for that entire 16-week semester was "Well AHKSHUALLY, in Percy Jackson..." and at that point I you couldn't have gotten me to read those books at gunpoint.

A dear friend of mine also missed the Percy Jackson books, so we decided to read it together. Y'all...I have THOUGHTS. Let's talk Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

SPOILER WARNING. I will spoil this book, so if you haven't finished this almost 15-year-old children's book and care about spoilers, catch us on the flip side.

Ok, so first and foremost: I can absolutely see why these books are beloved. If you were a Greek mythology enthusiast between ages 9 and 13, I can absolutely see why you'd inhale this book. It's also quite well-written, even at the sentence level, which is not always the case with middle grade books, where plot can occasionally overtake writing style.

The characters and plot were also on point, with a lovely balance of plot action to development. Grover and Annabeth had great development and the tension to friendship balance with Percy was excellent.

I also absolutely love Sally going "yes, let's turn my dickhead, abusive husband into stone and then make fucking BANK selling him as a statue to the 'super-ugly neorealism' enthusiasts." That was just GOOD.

I would also like to give this book major kudos for pulling off "everyman: for kids!" really well, in contrast to lots of chosen one and super special genius/jock/[insert category that only a limited number of kids can relate to here]. I think this would have spoken to so many more kids than other titles that were floating around in the early 2000s, and that is so, so important for kids' self-esteem and self-worth. I am never not grateful for books that made kids in a really challenging point in their lives feel seen and understood and perhaps even brave or strong or full of potential that they had the power to tap into.

So all that said, I think overall The Lightning Thief is a net positive for the world, and Rick Riordan has been a hella net positive for publishing and children's literature.

I do also have a pretty key issue with this book, and the issue is also just baffling to me. Rick Riordan rather famously said that

Percy was his way of telling his son, "Learning differences don't mean there's anything wrong with you. In fact, it is a mark of being very special indeed.” It was a message he says Haley “had no problem believing.” Seeing himself in fiction “empowered him,” Riordan adds. Since The Lightning Thief debuted in 2005, the story’s reach has moved well beyond Riordan’s child, the author’s work now sold in 37 countries. No matter where they live, Riordan notes, “It can be really empowering for kids to know that they are seen and understood. They may behave or process information differently in a classroom setting, but that doesn't mean they are flawed.”

Which is awesome and kids with neurodivergence and "learning differences" should feel seen and supported. This is great, I have no beef with this.

What I DO take issue with in this book is the truly baffling prejudice against physical disability and the reiteration of some genuinely harmful disability tropes, including a variation on disability drag.

Even in 2005, using "crippled" to describe people with physical disabilities was absolutely uncool, yet "crippled" is the terminology that is used throughout the book. Robert McRuer wouldn't publish his seminal Crip Theory: Cultural Signs of Queerness and Disability until 2006, so it wouldn't be realistic to expect Riordan to use "cripped" instead, but literally ANYTHING ELSE than crippled would be nice, because that word sets my teeth on edge. In this vein, we also get Annabeth leaning into the pervasive idea that disability and beauty cannot exist together, and the book does not check her or correct her, suggesting a tacit agreement. Here's Annabeth's contribution to disparaging physical disability:

There was literally no reason to connect what is implied to be an orthopedic disability with handsomeness or a lack thereof. The two have basically nothing to do with each other unless we're leaning into the moralizing about how disability is a visible sign of moral ugliness. That is an old, OLD disability trope, and we hate to see it because it moralizes bullshit beauty aesthetics and suggests that if you are physically disabled, you cannot be beautiful. Like, I cannot imagine being a physically disabled kid and reading this in a book and not being just absolutely crushed. Like...a pretty girl in a book has just said that she (and in a kid's mind, the leap to "and any other pretty girl" is less a leap and more the logical next step) will never find you handsome. That would be devastating.

Ok, so strictly speaking, "disability drag" is a term that describes the Hollywood predilection for casting abled actors to play disabled characters. That's not strictly what is happening in this book, but it's an easier shorthand than "character is faking a disability for [reasons]." The fact that Grover and Chiron are faking physical disabilities to "pass" for mortals is genuinely harmful.

PEOPLE IN THE REAL WORLD RIGHT NOW THINK THIS IS WHAT DISABLED PEOPLE IN THE REAL WORLD DO. AND THOSE ASSHOLES MAKES LAWS AND POLICIES THAT MAKE IT HARDER FOR DISABLED PEOPLE TO ACCESS EVERYTHING FROM EDUCATION TO MEDICAL CARE. Perpetuating the idea that disabled people are actually faking their disabilities to deceive others or game social systems does real harm. It also can lead physically disabled kids to wonder if they might actually be faking (and holy tits, do not make kids self-gaslight, that is so damaging) and/or push past their physical limits and HARM THEMSELVES to prove something to abled adults or peers, and disabled kids do not owe ANYONE proof.

Honestly, the way that Grover and Chiron were faking physical disabilities ruined the reading experience for me. Especially since Percy himself is over here at the beginning of the book calling Grover out for faking a disability because he walks awkwardly but can run faster than most kids. Like...this is just bullshit and harmful. Even though it is "explained" by the fact that Grover is a satyr, the fact that the book doesn't call Percy out for making the worst possible assumptions about a classmate's body isn't something you want kids thinking is acceptable. And I don't think that going "oh, he's a satyr" does anything to show that assuming that your classmates are lying about their physical disabilities or differences is KIND OF SHITTY.

It genuinely baffles me that Riordan has completely split the mind from the body in this book and made having ADHD and dyslexia a sign that you're a hero while simultaneously shaming physical disability. I literally cannot comprehend how this split makes logical sense. I am CONFUSED.

The friend I read this book with and I will be watching the new Percy Jackson series, so I'm curious to see how Disney is going to address this absolute contradiction that is inherently baked into the book.

#percy jackson #rick riordan #percy jackon and the olympians #the lightning thief #middle grade fantasy #middle grade fiction #middle grade books #camp half blood #books and reading #books & libraries #books and novels #books #book recommendations

[tricornonthecob]

I just wanna go fast and free

LK 114: The Fraggle Rock of Thermidor

(pt1)(pt2)(pt3)(pt4)(pt5)

Tonight? Probably with like fifty continental soldiers in a tavern learning new things about each other, your undercover Whig mother might also join in if she's still in Philly.

Thanks for the thesis statement, APUSH nerd! she says, having gotten genuine dopamine from writing essays in APUSH and gotten a 5 on her test.

Even Caesar's getting into the spirit of things!

Part of me wishes people had dressed up as continental soldiers when they took down all the confederate statues in Richmond.

James this is not the time, read the room, maybe wait a day for your indecisive crush to process the moment.

anyway byeeeeee

#liberty's kids #james hiller #sarah phillips #amrev #tricorn on the cob watches LK and makes inane commentary #tricorn watches

[chickensarentcheap]

A little sneak peek before bed :)

@tragiclyhip @mrsmungus @asirensrage @residentdormouse @youflickedtooharddamnit @munstysmind @muchadoaboutcj @themaradaniels @secretaryunpaid and everyone else who reads. I know there’s people I’m forgetting to tag. Sorry!

“Esme Drummond.   It wasn’t easy.  Finding you.  One of the harder challenges I’ve faced. When you ran away,  you certainly ran as far as you possibly could.”

“I never ran away.  I had no reason to.  I was spared.  Given a second chance.  And I took it.  This is just where it led me to.”

“A second chance you didn’t earn or deserve.  A grand injustice occurred. And I’m here to fix it.  I’m an adjudicator.  Sent by the High Table. I…”

“I know who you are.”

“Then I assume you know why I’m here.”

“I was cut loose.  Ex-communicated.  I haven’t been back to The Continental.  I haven’t done any work for anyone associated with The Continental.  I’ve kept my distance. Like I was told to.  I found other employment. I never…”

#Tyler and Esme series #Lost and Found

[e350tb]

Wellington: The Path to Victory 1769-1814 by Rory Muir

The general orthodoxy, when deciding who should take the laurel of the best general in British history, is that the main candidates are the Duke of Marlborough or the Duke of Wellington. There is good reason for their high esteem - both won great victories against the French on the field, and certainly they won a respect from their continental allies that was never quite equalled. Personally, I could go either way regarding them - I need to read a little bit more on Marlborough before I can make a truly confident judgement of his abilities - but if you forced me to pick one, I would say Wellington, and I don’t think I could find a better source than Rory Muir’s book to explain why.

Wellington: The Path to Victory is a thumping big book, and it’s only the first volume in Muir’s two-book biography, yet I’m hard-pressed to say there’s anything in it that’s superfluous. Muir paints a vivid picture of Wellington and the world in which he lived, from his youth in London and Dublin, through his early campaigns in India and his first time in the halls of power in Westminster to the challenges of his campaigns in Iberia. This is not simply a book about Wellington the general, as the story of Wellington the politician is demonstrated to be intertwined with his military career; this is as much a story of political patronage, political manoeuvre and political scheming as it is about cannon and swords.

Muir makes an excellent case for Wellington as a great general, although he does not shy away from criticism when it is deserved. His depiction of Wellington the man is deeply fair - Wellington was a proud man, often reluctant to delegate when he probably ought to have done so, sometimes sharp in tongue to the point of cruelty, and sometimes capable of great kindness. Wellington differs from, say, Nelson in that he was trusted but not necessarily loved, and that he did not seek to cultivate love in the same way Nelson did.

The war in the Peninsula was an allied affair, and readers will be pleased to note that the vital role played by the Portuguese (and later the Spanish) in Wellington’s army is emphasised. Indeed, I found reading about Wellington’s efforts to maintain the alliances with Portugal and Spain to be particularly interesting, as I had read very little about this previously.

I admit I’m struggling to say much about this one, except that it is very good and I recommend it, and that I don’t really have any problem with its theses. It is a thick book and therefore an undertaking, but it is worth all the time the reader puts into it. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with Wellington, and would recommend it be your first stop in any research about the life of Arthur Wellesley.

#book review #duke of wellington #rory muir #history #napoleonic wars #peninsular war #british army #spain #portugal #india

[davidwduffy]

The Never-Ending Storm

This is the view from the window of the room I'm in right now, the one I use as an office, and it does a pretty good job of summing up where I am in life at the moment. Storms roll in, or out, on a very frequent basis, something rather typical in North East England. Which is where I find myself now, seventeen-and-a-half years since I left the region to explore life in continental Europe, and two years after a government I didn't vote for conspired to remove my right to explore life in continental Europe on my own terms.

You know how it goes. Life happens, so they say. Well, it certainly did for me, and that's perhaps the problem. The past seven years have gone by at such a chaotic clip that I find myself not really knowing who I am anymore - certainly not having the assurety I once had back in the heyday of this place, when I was posting with incredible regularity.

I've barely written a word in the last six years, it being a whirlwind of two career changes, two redundancies, four countries, lockdowns and curfews, promotions and breakdowns, and more impostor syndrome than one should ever realistically have to face. Yikes.

I turned 40 a couple of months ago, and with it came the realisation that life just hasn't been that good. I've been in a funk for a very long time, and despite wanting to shake it, I've not been able. I feel too tired to try, and hopeless, but ultimately not completely without hope. It's been a challenging and incredibly lonely period, but somehow I need to fix all that before it becomes unfixable.

So here I am, spilling thoughts, wondering if that's been the answer all along. Purging myself of the ill in order to move forward with the healthy. After all, storms aren't permanent, at least unless you're on Jupiter. My brain may have been full of fog all this time, but it can clear, eventually. Maybe even enough to write something actually creative, something you'll actually want to read. 😅 I hope everyone is keeping well. P.S. That 'factory' in the distance, near the rainbow, is actually a nuclear power station. The test sirens scare the shit out of me on a weekly basis, even after two years of them.

#thoughts #prose #spilled ink