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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Day 29, Post #2 by @maggotsstuff

Title: The Masterstroke

Author: maggotsstuff

Pairing: Ron-Hermione

Theme: A Friendship like no other/Bravery

Beta Credits: Two amazing person – Adenei and Folk-melody.

The sleepy stone corridors of the Castle of Durmstrang reverberated with the sound of heavy footsteps. The echo of the rhythmic pace pierced through the silence of several corners and passages until it came to a halt before an old wooden door. There was a gentle knock on the wooden surface, which was soon followed by a series of raps.

The din was answered by a slow and lazy creak of the hinges, followed by the dim light of a candle that floated in the air. The silhouette of a woman dressed in black robes and a black hood appeared at the door.

“Prince Draco! What business brings you here to my chamber at this hour? Could this not have waited until the daylight had shone?” she asked haughtily.

“Huh? Is this the way to speak to the future King of Slytherin, Ravenclaw?”

“My fault, Prince Draco. But your aunt, Queen Bellatrix is still the Queen of Slytherin.”

Draco became so pale that his face was almost the same colour as his silver blonde hair. The sentries escorting the Prince, who stood a few steps behind him, lowered their heads.

Draco’s face contorted with a scowl, which was smothered by the smirk playing across his thin lips.

“You are too smart for your own good,” Draco replied darkly. He didn’t wait for her reply as he paced back through the corridors.

Ravenclaw heard warning bells chiming inside of her. Draco certainly had not come to invite her for any midnight tryst. She hurried after him. The floating candle moved ahead of all.

The quartet marched through the long corridors and then through a small passage, which opened in a big hall that was decorated with a throne with a serpent headed backrest. Ivory chairs were arranged in rows at a distance from the throne on both of its sides. The tall walls of the hall had human heads affixed to them. It seemed that each head had a story of an atrocious death to tell.

At the far end of the hall, a flight of spiral steps was erected. The small procession halted there. Draco turned back and feigned surprise.

“Ah, Ravenclaw! Did you follow us until here? Am I so lucky that the mighty witch of my land has finally discovered the truth in my words?” he jeered, raising a silver blonde eyebrow of his at her.

“I cannot ignore the nephew of my Queen. If he cares to visit me at this hour he would certainly have urgent orders for this servant. I am waiting for your commands, Prince.”

“I am humbled that the mighty witch has expressed her desire to fulfil my wish,” Draco stroked her cheek over her black hood. She clenched her fist to resist herself from cursing him back.

“But tonight, your service is reserved for my aunt. You will regret wasting more of her valuable time. The fulfillment of my wish can wait until then,” Draco brushed his hand against hers.

Without another word or a second look, Ravenclaw glided over the staircase.

***

Queen Bellatrix lived in the innermost quarters of Durmstrang. Her chamber was decorated with exotic furniture and guarded by the Naginis. They were serpents with human heads and were her pets. The Naginis spiralled themselves on the way to her bedroom. They hissed at Ravenclaw. Their hisses were silenced as a tall woman with dark hair and heavy eyelids strode forward from behind a tapestry. Ravenclaw bowed to her.

"Welcome to my palace! Was my nephew good to you?" Bellatrix winked.

Ravenclaw did not want to bite her bait.

"At his best, my Queen." She tried hard to maintain a neutral expression.

Bellatrix snorted.

"I know you have much disdain for me and my actions. Yet you never fail me, Ravenclaw. Isn't it difficult for you to serve the same woman who wiped out your entire village, maybe even your family?"

"If you hadn't raided my village and stolen me from my family that day, the villagers would have killed me because they thought I was a curse to the village."

The Queen acknowledged with a nod.

Since the Queen was silent, Ravenclaw continued, "May I ask the Queen why she summoned her servant at this hour?"

"This is what I like in you. You're always in to business," Bellatrix laughed.

Ravenclaw stood silently. There was stony silence, which was soon broken by the Naginis' hisses.

"Alright, I take it that you don't want to have a friendly chat with me. Ravenclaw, tonight I dreamt of a knight."

Ravenclaw's eyes blinked in astonishment. She was not at all prepared to listen to the Queen's rendezvous with a knight in her dreams.

"The Vision," Bellatrix gestured towards a glistening mirror, "told me that he can give me the child who will help me conquer the world."

Bellatrix, who was pacing around Ravenclaw, stopped on her tracks and gauged her reaction. The witch kept on staring straight. Bellatrix handed over a scroll of parchment, several quills and an assortment of ink pots to Ravenclaw.

"I want you to paint me a picture of this knight. With your mystique powers you will tell me who he is."

***

Ravenclaw sat deeply immersed in her thoughts in the confines of her dingy room. Her companion of recluse, the black robes and the hood laid discarded in a corner. Eyes shut, she let her mind run free.

While she was at Bellatrix's palace, she had decided to safeguard the man from the evil designs of Bellatrix whose sketch she had unintentionally made. Soon after, her mind worked at the speed of light.

Bellatrix wanted to have him captured by her Dementors. She convinced Bellatrix that if the Dementors captured Ronald, Gryffindor would definitely know that Bellatrix had him kidnapped.

King James of Gryffindor was not on good terms with Bellatrix. (The relationship between the two monarchs had soured after she had executed Sirius, her brother and James’ friend, on charges of treason.) The king would encash the opportunity for a war because of this; Slytherin's army would not be able to sustain Gryffindor's warfare, she reasoned.

Instead of creating unwanted repercussions, Bellatrix could allow her to steal him away from Godric's Castle. No one would know as she would kidnap him through her magic.

Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with evil delight. The echo of her savage laughter still rang in the precincts of her mind.

Ronald — the valiant warrior of the kingdom of Gryffindor — the knight appearing in Bellatrix's dreams — the man with fiery red hair grown up to his shoulders, long nose and strong jaw, with arrogance in blue eyes — his eyes stirred the memory of someone far, yet so near, that someone who was always so kind to her, that someone whom she loved, whom she might still love. But Ronald was not him. Still….

"RONALD! We shall meet soon!" Ravenclaw thought aloud.

At Godric's Castle, which was miles away from Durmstrang, Ronald heard his flute piping out a syllable which strangely felt like his name. He hurried to the object which was staked in his old leather bag.

He shook his head in disbelief and unwittingly blurted out, "It's not possible!"

But a part of him still hoped.

***

Draco kept lurking around and pestered her for information about her meeting with the Queen. But as days elapsed, he gradually lost interest in the matter. Ravenclaw regarded that the time had finally arrived as Draco’s prying eyes were off her.

One moonless night she flew off to Gryffindor in quest of Ronald, the man with blue eyes. She flew hundreds of miles across rivers, forests and oceans, until finally she noticed Gryffindor's red and golden flag fluttering with the wind. Her tired body immediately recovered with a fresh surge of energy.

Ravenclaw hovered over Godric's Castle for a few seconds. To her relief there were no protective enchantments over the Castle. But the Castle was much bigger than Durmstrang. She decided to perch on top of a low tower until it was dark.

Ravenclaw chose a window as her hiding place which was hidden from direct view. When she crawled onto the panel, she was alarmed by the sound of a low cough. She crawled through the panel into the tower and found herself standing in a small bedroom and staring at an old dog.

"Fang!" she exclaimed. The dog ran towards her, barking with delight.

But, there was a rush outside and she hid herself under the simple four poster bed.

"Fangiekins! What's up," the entrant hollered. Fang pulled him to where Hermione was.

Down under the bed, Ravenclaw tried to control her breath. She knew it was him.

Ronald — Ron! What would she do now?

Before it was too late and Ravenclaw changed her mind, she exhaled through her mouth, emptying her two lungs. Right after her action, she saw Ronald's legs lose balance and before he tumbled onto the floor she withdrew herself from her position and helped him fall asleep on the bed. Fang fell asleep too. All she needed was to wait until dark to steal him away. She hid herself again under Ronald's bed, her mind wandering back to the alleys of Hogsmeade where she met Ronald for the first time.

***

Before darkness crept in, Ravenclaw came outside. She paused to stare for a moment at the tall man sleeping soundly in his bed and then set to work as fast as she could. She gathered ropes, leather straps, even iron chains that she found in the tiny room and strapped Ronald securely to his bed. When the Castle went silent, she levitated Ronald's narrow bed and with a little shove pushed it outside of the window. She fastened her robes to one of the four posters and flew away towards the land of Slytherin where Bellatrix was waiting for her prey.

***

Ravenclaw zoomed into her chamber with a sleeping Ronald on his four poster bed, through the open window of her chamber. The morning rays of sun followed her soon after.

No one noticed except a man with silver blonde hair who had patiently waited for Ravenclaw's arrival since her departure. He hurried towards the Queen.

Ravenclaw headed straight for her bathroom. She needed a bath and food for further functioning. But when she finished her bath and entered her room a hard punch on her head welcomed her, knocking her straight to the floor.

She laid on the floor trying to gather her wit when she saw Ronald's familiar pair of boots running past her. There was a thud and the door to her chamber swung open. She tried to crawl towards the door, but she felt too weak.

She heard Ronald. He kept on swearing. There was the sound of hitting, punching, kicking and cries of pain. Ronald roared.

Ravenclaw somehow managed to stand on her feet. She snatched a scarf, covered her face and hurried out of her chamber. Injured bodies of sentries laid scattered on the stone floor. She saw Ronald clutching Draco’s neck and suffocating him with his bare arm.

"Ronald! No! Please don't kill him!" Ravenclaw screamed. Ronald continued holding Draco’s neck but it seemed to her that he had relaxed his muscles.

"Bring him to my palace." Everyone who was not gravely injured turned with surprise to the spot from where Bellatrix's voice came.

"Well done, Ravenclaw. But your service is not over yet. Follow us to my palace," Bellatrix commanded. Ravenclaw obliged, forgetting that she was awfully hungry.

On their way to the hall, Draco sidled her.

"Why did you bother to save me from that beast?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe because I hoped that you can do better than what you are," she whispered back. Draco became sober.

***

Bellatrix ordered all but Ravenclaw and Ronald to leave the hall. Ravenclaw furtively glanced at Ronald. He was still fuming.

"Follow me," she commanded while climbing up the stairs. Ravenclaw followed. But Ronald could not break the magical barrier and climb the staircase.

"My Queen, this is the magic of your ancestors. No man can ever cross this barrier and reach your chamber," Ravenclaw said concernedly.

"But you're a witch. Break the barrier so that Ronald can follow his destiny," Bellatrix demanded. Ronald frowned.

"Your ancestors' magic is far more superior than the feeble witchcraft I practice."

"In that case, I beseech the responsibility of his well-being upon you. My nephew Draco shall be commissioned for your assistance."

Ravenclaw understood the subtle warning. Yet, she felt relieved.

"Unlock any room nearby to your chamber and arrange for his stay. You can take him away now." With an air of finality, Bellatrix flounced away.

***

"Why am I here?" Ronald growled as he followed Ravenclaw through the corridors and passages.

"I am not supposed to tell you. Ask the Queen," Ravenclaw kept on marching forward without looking back at him.

Ronald let out an exasperated breath.

"You are the one who kidnapped me, aren't you? Not her. So you will tell me."

"I didn’t know you could be so naive, Ronald. If you haven’t noticed, I am a plain servant here and I work on orders. It's the Queen who decides," Ravenclaw's voice vibrated out shrilly.

Ronald was taken aback. They walked in silence for some time and then Ronald said grumpily, "I am hungry."

"So am I. I haven't eaten for more than twenty four hours. Besides, there was nothing to eat in your room at Godric's Castle and the stench in it was horrible," Ravenclaw barked.

She was listless. That was the first time after so long; she had a banter with someone and was thrilled about it.

"Now it is my fault that I don't keep food to feed my kidnappers!" Ronald retorted back.

Ravenclaw smirked. They kept on walking and reached the same point where Ronald had caused quite a stir some time back.

"This is where you will stay. I will send for some food if you are hungry. And behave yourself. Don't try to run away again. We have had enough of your nuisance," she said sternly.

"This is mental."

Ravenclaw heard him say before she left, and she felt butterflies fluttering inside her belly.

***

Almost a month had passed since Ronald's kidnapping. To Ravenclaw's relief, Bellatrix was yet to figure out how to let Ronald into her palace. The wizards she had summoned to break the jinx failed miserably in their mission. Bellatrix ensured that those wizards were punished adequately.

When Ravenclaw entered Ronald's room, he was lying on his small bed, blankly staring at the ceiling. He didn’t even stir when he heard the door to his room open and close.

"I just came to check on you," Ravenclaw tried to be as comforting as she could. He said nothing.

Over the past one month Ravenclaw had shared many details of her dark life and Ronald shared his experiences. They became much more civil to each other, if not friendlier.

"Look I never wanted to put you through this—"

"Bellatrix came here yesterday," Ronald blurted out.

Ravenclaw's palm automatically covered her mouth over her hood; her eyes popped so wide that it could have bounced out of its socket.

Ronald stared at her for a moment and then said, "You knew about her intentions, didn't you?"

Ravenclaw slowly nodded her head. She knew that he would now hate her forever.

"Then why did you bloody kidnap me?" he yelled.

"Or else she would have sent the Dementors after you. They are the worst kind of species. They would have plundered everything you had in Gryffindor and scarred your people for life," she screamed back.

"Huh, Dementors! As much as Bellatrix called you a brilliant witch who traced me out of her dreams, you failed to understand that I am not afraid of any mortals or demons. But since you wanted to become this angel," Ronald marked quotes in the air, "you could have spared me too. Why did you bring me here?" Ronald asked sarcastically.

"Because I was stupid and thought that I could protect you. Besides, I knew that Bellatrix's palace was forbidden for man. Her father, King Salazar, was a wizard and a blood purist. He cast those unbreakable spells so that no man of lesser blood ventures near her. And I knew you didn't have royal blood running in your veins. But I must admit that I didn't know Bellatrix well. I didn't think that she would keep you a hostage and…," Ravenclaw's eyes were downcast with guilt and she faltered.

"What if I refuse to oblige. Would my head be displayed on the wall of that scary hall?" Ronald asked, frowning.

"No. I will never let that happen. Tonight you will escape from Durmstrang. And you needn't escape through that tunnel underneath your bed." Ronald stood up in attention.

"You think I didn't notice," Ravenclaw said with a chuckle. Ronald deliberately bumped his head against one of the posters on his bed.

"Don't do this," Ronald snarled. "I don't want you to risk your life for me."

"You needn't bother about me. I'm tired of my life, anyways. People like Bellatrix keep me safe, but scar my soul. Your world will not take me back because of who I am," Ravenclaw turned away to hide the tears glistening in her eyes.

Ronald tentatively placed his hand over her shoulder. This was the first time he touched her in the past month of their acquaintance.

"You never asked me why I didn't kill your friend Draco when you asked me not to kill him," Ronald said gently. Ravenclaw turned around in surprise.

"The day you kidnapped me, I heard your voice coming out from the flute an amazing girl once gave me. She was a witch, but she didn't know that I knew. We seldom met. But I remember all the moments we shared together in the village of Hogsmeade," Ronald paused. Ravenclaw's eyes began to shed those unshed tears of years.

"One day she told me that she cannot be friends with me anymore. Rumors of her being a witch had already rippled through our village. I told her that I wanted to be friends with her no matter what. I would stand by her even if the gods were against her. She cried. Just like you're crying now."

He brushed his fingers against her tears. Ravenclaw closed her eyes.

"She gave me a magical flute and said that if she ever needed me she would call out for me through that. She had indeed called out for me on the day she vanished from her village. I went in search of her, but the entire village was in shambles," he hesitated and then added, "her family was murdered too."

"OH, RON!" Ravenclaw wrapped her arms around Ron's torso and buried her head into his chest and cried. He embraced her with equal passion.

They sat down together on Ron's bed. She craved more of Ron's warmth and comfort, which he was more than willing to give.

"What gave me away?" she asked softly.

"Your voice, Hermione!" Her body tensed at the mention of her name which she thought had died a thousand deaths already.

"You could have found me using your magic. Why didn't you do so?" Hermione could sense hurt in Ron's voice.

"I was in captivity, mind you. But after that I thought that you would never want to be my friend after knowing my truth," she said with a shaky whisper.

"From the day we met here, I wanted to say something to you, but couldn't sum up my courage—," Hermione covered his mouth with her palm before he could complete his sentence and said, "Say it Ron."

"That Ravenclaw is a stupid name and your costume is ridiculous," he chuckled.

Hermione punched his gut.

"Ouch! Hermione it hurts!" He gasped in pain.

"I can curse you and make you speechless," she threatened him with mock anger.

"I know you won't because, I — I wanted to say that I was and will always be yours," Ron whispered.

Words didn't seem enough to express what Hermione felt at that moment. She lifted her hood in one swift motion and kissed Ron's mouth. She was finally back with the one she belonged to.

***

Hermione braced herself to execute the plan of their escape that she and Ron had hatched. If caught, she knew both of them would face a gory end. Ron was, however, amused to find her so worried.

"Come on, love," he said, "I am the best commander of Gryffindor. I know the rules of the games. From what I could make out of the excellent details you have provided, we are on the right track."

We are on the right track—We are on the right track— She kept on repeating.

And then she found the person she was searching for — Draco. He was standing on the edge of an open terrace.

"Good Evening, Prince! Have you gotten tired of spying on me so soon?" Hermione cooed. Draco was startled. "And oh! Please don't let yourself stand on these edges. A sweet little shove could be fatal," Hermione murmured into his ears and smirked mischievously.

For a moment Draco was shocked at her audacity, but thereafter he composed himself.

"Why did you come here?" he grunted. "Are you not supposed to be guarding your captive?"

"Umm… the Queen herself guards him now."

Draco glanced at her sharply.

"Didn't you know why she made me kidnap him? She wanted to have an heir to her throne. The Vision told her that Ronald is the man who should father her child if she wanted him to be invincible."

Draco was gobsmacked. "And did she tell you all this when she summoned you?"

"10 points to you. At least you figured this out. Yes, indeed she told me. You should have known that he meant more to her than other men when she refrained from killing him after he created all that nuisance on his first day here."

Draco was staring at her in silence.

"But I pity you, Prince. After how she murdered your grandfather and your parents, you still believe that she will let you be the king of Slytherin."

"You are lying. My parents murdered my grandfather and she punished my parents for spilling the blood of their father. She brought me up like I was her own progeny," Draco countered.

"For a Prince, you have an intellectual range of a teaspoonful," Hermione snorted.

"What do you mean by that?" he growled.

"Your aunt staged everything. She didn't kill you because you're not capable of harming her while you're a kid. But times have changed."

Draco contemplated for a moment.

"But why are you telling me all these things? I have never been really good to you. In fact, my words only confirmed my not so good intentions for you," Draco said plainly.

"Like I said before, I believed you could be better. I always considered your behavior towards me as an act of spite. You said those things because you were jealous of me and wanted to rile me up. If I am not wrong you would have considered it to be a personal insult in laying your hands on the dirty knickers of a witch," Hermione said in a breath.

"What now?" Draco asked intrigued. He had dropped all his pretense and listened to Hermione with rapt attention.

"News is that Ronald is going to escape tonight. If I were you I would have never stopped him," Hermione finally made her move.

"I will not stop him. But who's going to stop Bellatrix? Her Dementors will find him from any corner of the earth," he stated matter of factly.

"Did you know how your grandfather was murdered?" Hermione asked.

Draco scowled and shook his head affirming his lack of knowledge.

"Bellatrix turned the Dementors against him. And from what I know, you have access to her palace being of royal blood. Bonus — the Naginis would not be very happy with her if they knew that Ronald does not have royal blood running in his veins, yet she had been pursuing after him."

"Ravenclaw, you are simply a genius. I would have actually married you if you were not a witch. What do you want in return? I will give you anything," Draco blurted out. His eyes were gleaming with pleasure.

"I want to leave Slytherin. No one should come hunting for me," she said boldly.

"Granted. Tonight you and Ronald can leave Slytherin, and no one from Slytherin will come after you. I will handle the rest," Draco announced.

"Fine. I take your word. Goodbye," she said.

"Ravenclaw, one final word. If Ronald does not accept you, you can still be the old witch of Slytherin," Draco sniggered.

Hermione left him without another word.

***

The death hour had arrived. Ron didn't agree to be flown away by Hermione. He wanted some action during his escape so that no one became suspicious of Hermione helping him. In case Draco ditched them and Ron was captured, he didn't want her to be tortured.

When it was dark, Hermione reluctantly let him crawl out of the tunnel he had dug out on the wall. She supplied him with all the ammunition he wanted. They kissed each other before he left promising to meet soon.

Hermione watched through her window as Ron dropped himself on the ground with the help of ropes suspended from the tunnel. He was dressed in the robes of sentries of Slytherin. After some time, she saw his silhouette riding a horse towards the entry gate. And then she saw the big gates ajar. Draco had ultimately kept his word. She heaved a sigh of relief. She watched until she could see his silhouette fading away in darkness.

Hermione swept her glance one last time all over her little room and then with a smile on her face leapt out from her window to fly away. She deserved to share her home with Ron. They had always belonged with each other.

***

The news of murder of Queen Bellatrix by her own pet Naginis spreaded like wildfire through Gryffindor. The king of Gryffindor, James, announced a feast for all his countrymen in honor of his dead friend Sirius, who was framed and killed by Bellatrix.

Hermione watched everyone making merry from the small quarters where both Ron and Hermione now lived together along with Fang.

Ron watched her golden wedding ring glisten under the sun. He tried to steal a glance of her content face as she examined her ring. As much as he tried to watch her smile, the cascade of her brown untamed hair teased him by causing hindrance.

In a way, her wild hair was like dark clouds in the sky, hiding away the brightness of the sun beneath them, he thought. In his case, it was the pleasure of experiencing the sweetness of her smile that her hair was robbing him off. Ron smiled. He was a goner.

Ron trudged towards the window beside which his wife was standing. He lightly grasped a fistful of her hair and kissed her neck. Hermione sighed. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling.

"Ermynee! You're so intoxicating. What have you done to me?" Ron breathed into her ears.

Hermione turned to face him. They kept on staring into each other's eyes.

"What did I do?" Hermione asked, raising her brows.

"I was a savage warrior. And now I am a moonstruck lover."

He pressed his hand against his heart and staggered backwards.

"But how could I help in this situation?" Hermione asked with mock dismay.

She flung her arms around his neck. He embraced her with fervor and crushed her chest against his.

"As much as I like your clothes, your skin suits you best," he hummed breathlessly, lacing his fingers in her hair. And then they kissed.

"I love you so much, Ron," Hermione murmured in between kisses.

"I love you more," Ron panted and smiled.

They kissed deeper and became hungrier. The anticipation of intimate touches became too much for both of them to bear. Ron pulled Hermione to their bed and worshipped every inch of her body with every inch of his until both of them surrendered to spasms of ecstasy.

Hermione smiled. She would never need those black robes and the stupid name with Ron around her. His love was enough to keep her safe.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest platonic #canon fest romantic #submission

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bookstantrash · 3 years

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A/N: Sup folks! I apologise for my complete lack of schedule for posting but, as I promised @perseusannabeth , here we have Part Three! Delivered on Saturday, the last day of my self imposed deadline lol

Our dear boy Cass is back, so grab some popcorn and enjoy the show!

In which she makes a friend, Part Three

Two months and two weeks.

Cassian had been away from Windhaven for seventy-five days.

Seventy fives days spent going to each of the fifty war camps, overseeing the trainings – specially the female’s — and trying to cease the fire that seemed to be leading to the first Illyrian civil war since the Night Court’s High Lord had taken control of the land.

He was tired. Both physically and mentally. His wings seemed to weight ten times more, and he couldn’t help but think of the female he had left alone in his secluded cabin.

He had not wanted to leave.

He had not had a choice.

He should have written to her.

Should have tried to ask her to go with him.

He remembered Feyre saying in passing how Nesta once wished to go and sail the world. But that was a long time ago. When she had been human. When she had not suffered the horrors of the war.

Cassian was not concerned about her safety. He had wards on his house, wards that made it impossible to anyone deemed dangerous or suspicious to get inside. Specially other males apart from him and his brothers. Although Cassian didn’t think that Nesta would try and take anyone to his house. He had made sure to scare the fuck out of every male in camp once Nesta and him had arrived at Windhaven. They knew to not get close to her.

Nesta going to their houses seemed as much unlikely. She had not left her room since they’d arrived. He doubted she’d do so after he had gone away.

No, Cassian was concerned about her health.

In the first month, Cassian had taken upon himself the task of helping Nesta go through her detoxification. Not that she had wanted his help at all.

It had not been pretty. It was not an easy process. Cassian knew it. That was why he had been so concerned when she’d locked herself in her room and went through the pain all alone.

He had stayed awake, listening to her empty her guts day and night, unable to comfort her. To hold her hair back from her face. He’d leave water and food outside her door, the best he’d offer given the situation.

She usually took all the water. She left most of the food.

In the last week of her detoxification, the worst phase, he stood in front of his closed door all through the week, awake. Just waiting for a sound that would have him throwing the door open and running to her room, her anger at him be dammed.

She didn’t call for him. Or for anyone. She stayed unusually quiet.

Cassian died a thousand deaths during that time. He had been so afraid he had dared to open his door and almost knocked on hers. But he heard her breathing.

She was sleeping so quietly that only Fae ears would have been able to hear her.

That night, he stayed outside her door. And when he heard her wake up on the next day, he quickly went to the kitchen.

Acted as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t prayed all night for her well being, his stomach filled with dread.

He left food for her and went to oversee the morning training.

The males were smart not to provoke him that day.

And so their relationship stayed that way, Cassian trying to give her space. Waiting for her to talk to him. Or scream at him. Even hit him.

She did no such thing. Stayed practically all day in her room. In good days, Cassian would see her sitting in the stone bench outside his house when he came back. Those days were rarer then he liked.

And then he left. For two months.

She did not leave his mind not even for a second of those seventy-five days.

Landing outside his house, Cassian took a deep breath, bracing himself for what awaited him.

He entered the house, silence being his only greeting. He was not surprised. He had left Ironcrest as the sun was raising, eager to return home, and Nesta was not one to wake up early.

Cassian had stayed at Ironcrest for longer than the other camps, given how that prick Kallon was raising distress among the Illyrians.

He hoped Kallon met his demise at the Blood Rite that year.

But something was amiss in his house. Cassian spotted a duffel bag beside the sofa, which had a pillow and a blanket neatly folded on it. And there was a new scent, one which was not Nesta’s. His heart started to beat faster, his mind running the possibilities. Had the wards became weaker somehow? Had someone gotten inside his home? Or was this some arrangement Nesta had made? Was she planning to leave?

Dumping his things in the hall, Cassian practically ran towards her room, and after knocking and receiving no answer whatsoever — not even a low curse — he opened the door to find the room empty. The bed was made, and Nesta’s scent was still there, which calmed him a little bit. But where the Mother was she?

Closing the door, he strained his ears to listen to something, anything that would tell him that she still was in the house. And then he heard it, a voice coming from outside, very faintly.

He went to the kitchen and opened a side door that connected to an outdoor patio behind his house, which he used for training when he wanted to let off some steam instead of sparring with the other Illyrians.

The scene which Cassian was now seeing made him believe he had fallen sleep and was dreaming, for Nesta and an Illyrian kid were outside, doing what appeared to be some sort of training.

There were four tree stumps positioned to form a big square, in which Nesta was standing inside while the young Illyrian stayed airborne.

“FOUR!” the kid shouted, and flew towards what Cassian guessed was the stump marked as number four, Nesta running towards the same stump. She had just come close to it when another number was shouted, both the kid and Nesta moving towards the new spot.

And Cassian realised, after the initial shock of seeing Nesta outside, of seeing her filled with energy, that the young Illyrian was training Nesta. The exercise in question was one of the first the small Illyrians learned once they started training, to both create a sense of direction and balance while flying and having to suddenly change positions, and to start building their stamina.

He could not believe that somehow Nesta had started training, that she was wearing the Illyrian leathers he left for her among her other clothes. He had done it out of hope that she’d warm up to the ideia of training, to help her manage her powers, to help her learn how to defend herself, so she never found herself in a situation similar to the one with Hybern or his twin spies, all that time ago in Velaris’ library.

The leathers were a little big on her, and she still looked like she should eat at least five full banquets, but something had changed in the time he had been away.

Cassian was afraid to move. Was afraid to even breath. He remained frozen, and kept staring and staring at the female in front of him. A female that two months ago was a shell of her previous self, but that now had a little spark of life back in her eyes. A reminder of the untameable fire she once held.

“Anak”

The word — Commander in Illyrian — caught Cassian’s attention, and he came back to reality to find Nesta looking at him, unmoving, whereas the kid was back on the ground, one fist across its chest, wings tucked and head bowed down.

A soldier, greeting the Commander. A soldier, waiting for orders.

“Küroch” Cassian said, and the young boy raised his head, taking a relaxed attitude, with his feet apart and hands behind his back.

“Kaelin, you should go” Nesta’s voice broke the awkward silence that had fallen among them, and Cassian eyed their interaction with interest.

“But—”

“No buts. You have training in an hour right? You may go”

Kaelin’s eyes darted to Cassian, and the boy hesitated a fraction before muttering a quick goodbye and launching to the skies.

Leaving Cassian and Nesta alone.

~•~

“So you’re back”

“Did you miss me sweetheart?” Cassian teased, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air.

Nesta had gone back inside as soon as Kaelin had left, not bothering to give Cassian a single glance. He had obviously followed her inside, and now eyed her from the kitchen door as she gulped down a glass of water.

“Did you feel so alone that you got yourself a roommate?” he said, pushing her, wanting to get some reaction.

But it seemed the wrong thing to say, for Nesta stiffened and became a pillar of ice and steel he had not seen since the war.

“If Kaelin goes, so do I” she said, fire burning in her eyes “Do not blame me for taking him in and not consulting you when I thought you’d left for good. Two months. For two months you didn’t—”

She stopped herself, and Cassian was reminded of another conversation like this.

“You didn’t come to—”

“The next time, Emissary, I’ll come say hello”

Another broken promise. Another failure to add to his ever growing pile of mistakes.

“No one is going anywhere” he quietly added, trying to bury those memories again “But I’d like to know the reason why he’s here”

“He’s an orphan. He’s a thirteen year old kid who has nothing and no one to take care of him. And who’s left to live in some piss poor tent in the mud while the weather is as cold as Death’s kiss.”

“I lived like that too” Cassian said, reminding those cold and harsh days before Rhysand’s mother took him in, before he knew what it felt like to sleep on a bed, to have a warm meal and hot bath.

“Does it make it right then?” Nesta snapped, and the way she seemed to care for Kaelin made him think that maybe he’d judged her wrong.

She had pleaded for both humans and children’s lives back at the High Lord’s reunion. Had passionately demanded for them to stop being selfish and save them.

How could he have ever thought that she’d let Feyre go hunting as a fourteen year old and say nothing? Do nothing but just twiddle her thumbs while her youngest sister risked her life? With each passing day, Cassian found himself being more and more drawn to the interesting persona that was Nesta Archeron.

“No. No it doesn’t” his voice softened, and he decided to try and be a little less of an asshole “He stays. For as long he wants”

Cassian thought he saw Nesta almost sigh in relief and got even more curious about their relationship.

“How—” he cleared his throat, hoping to find a neutral topic “You are training”

“I figured that if I was to stay here for Mother knows how long I’d better find something to kill time with” she snorted “It’s not like there’s a library here”

“I can— I can ask for books to be delivered here” he gave her what he hoped was a teasing smirk instead of a grimace “I’m sorry my small private collection was not enough stimulation”

Cassian was tripping over his words, he knew that. He thought he must sound pathetic, but he had gotten Nesta to talk, and if his two months away had taught him something it was that he was done keeping his distance.

Nesta only shrugged, in thanks or dismissal he didn’t know, and walked past him to leave the kitchen. Probably to take a bath and get rid of those leathers.

“Stay” he grabbed her fingers, softly, just to hold her back.

She turned her face to look at him, their proximity and the meaning of his words making Cassian drop her hand and place some space between them.

“Have breakfast with me” he quickly added “You should always eat after exercise to regain the lost energy, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

He waited for a heartbeat. Two.

“I mean, I don’t know about you but I’m starving. I left Ironcrest too early and didn’t eat and—“

Gods, he sounded like a green boy talking with a girl for their first time.

“I’ll keep you company” Nesta cut his blabbering short, and sat in the kitchen chair, the ever picture of the mighty queen she was.

Cassian almost jumped with joy. Almost. Because she said she’d keep him company, not that she’d eat with him. And she needed to, desperately so.

Washing his hands and typing his hair back, he went through his cabinets and gathered lots of different ingredients. Nesta stayed silent while he cooked, and when he placed the food on the table — also giving her a plate — she only raised an eyebrow in question.

“This is Imu Yanisa Kiyauriri” he said, gesturing to the dish in front of her “It’s a traditional Illyrian dish. Kind like the human for porridge, but better.”

He didn’t wait for Nesta to start eating, but secretly eyed her as he ate.

“It tastes better hot” he tentatively said, silently willing her to grab the spoon and eat.

He cheered internally when she did, and swore he heard a silent moan of pleasure when she swallowed it. Imu Yanisa Kiyauriri was a dish know for its high energy potencial, and consisted of milk, water, sugar and mbe'yu, a type of wheat that the Illyrians grew. It was a simple dish to make, and was the first Cassian had ever learned to cook. He had faint memories of his mother feeding him Imu Yanisa Kiyauriri, and had almost begged Rhysand’s mother to teach him how to make it, if only to get closer to his mother one way or another.

Cassian had also cooked eggs, bacon, made some toast and brewed coffee. He left it all on the table, and didn’t force Nesta to take it. He would have to take small steps to help her. He could only offer her the possibilities and pray she would take them.

But as he sipped his coffee — the hot drink warming his tired body — he thought that maybe the new occupant of the house would turn out to be a very precious ally.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arin1030-blog @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan

{Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list}

#sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm fanfic #sjm books #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #cassian x nesta

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ivy-kissobryos · 3 years

Text

Defining Witchcraft

This post is made in response to some topics I find commonly debated about within the Thai witchcraft community, but I want to post the English version here too. I will never tell someone who is or isn’t a witch- that is for you to decide. But if you claim to practice traditional witchcraft, especially those which lean towards western traditional witchcraft, then I will argue that the word ‘witch’ has a weight and history to it which you cannot ignore. It has a meaning.

A witch, traditionally, is someone to be feared. A witch to the common folk is a terrifying figure, at times appearing vindictive, ‘intent on wrecking economic and physical havoc’ (Tangherlini, 2000). As discovered from stories and court proceedings collected between the seventeenth century to early twentieth century, witches have been accused of horrific crimes, ranging from assult to sabotage, poisoning to larceny and kidnapping to murder (Tangherlini, 2000). The book by Bever (2008) also name the crimes commonly associated with witchcraft to include ‘harming livestock’, and ‘physical acts like poisoning and surreptitious battery of children and animals through ailments’, and ‘cursing’ through ways such as ‘subliminal forms of communication like eye contact’. Hence, a witch is someone who practices ‘maleficium’, a word which originally meant ‘wrongdoing’ or ‘mischief’, but later became specifically associated with harmful magic in Roman times (Bever, 2008). Between veneficium and casting the evil eye and worse, witches were never good.

The usage of natural materials within the casting of witches’ spells were also commonplace. Historians have found ‘various cursed things, or fatture,’ like ‘bones ... human nails ... seeds ... coals ... and the teeth of the dead’ which were ‘found in a sick woman’s mattress’ (Bever, 2008). Curses, as done in the past, were not pretty and palatable. Likewise, ‘a mixture called lazaro puzzolente containing quicksilver, urine, and asafetida resin was known to be made to work a similar magic when placed under victims’ thresholds’ (Bever, 2008). Bottling urine and harmful material under the ground of someone’s threshold is a classic method to curse an enemy. Historians had also discovered ‘spells, herbs, roots ... and hair’ believed to ‘cause hailstorms and untimely frosts, sickness in man and beast; impotence; miscarriage and death’, alongside other forms of sympathetic magic such as ‘cursing tablets’ where one sample was made with ‘the skin and bones of a frog, which had been pierced by several large pins’ found at the ‘bottom of a well’, and curse poppets were also found historically, an example being ‘a wax figure with a pin through it’ (Bever, 2008).

Witches also work with an otherworldly entity (or entities) who teaches them and guides them, the most infamous being the Devil. Who the Devil is is a question for you to discover on your own. Witches of the past has been reportedly flying to meet the Devil in what is called a Sabbath. Bever (2008) touches upon this, noting that ‘witches flew to Sabbaths to worship the Devil through a variety of obscene rites, including perversions of the Christian sacraments’. Those familiar with witchcraft may notice that the description of the ‘perversions of the Christian sacraments’ sound similar to what many practicing witches call the ‘red meal’, which can be one way to commune with otherworldly forces. There have also been numerous claims and confessions of those who claimed to have met the Devil.

A man named Hanß described the Devil to be ‘a black man with horns’, who had appeared ‘to him both day and night, scaring and threatening him’ until one night ‘he had finally agreed to give himself to the Devil, who thereupon carried him to the “merry and happy” festivities where he saw the women and the musician.’ This description of the Devil as a horned dark man fits traditional folklore well, and so does the tale of the Sabbath. In the tale, ‘at the dance, the Devil fussed over him, carried him on his shoulders, brought him bread and meat, “told him to call him father, and called him his son,” and eventually carried him back home’ (Bever, 2008). This correlates with how many traditional witches nowadays may associate the Devil with the Witchfather, the father of witches and maker of witches (as I have seen the term Witchmaker used too).

The relationship with the Devil may also be partly devotional, like a woman who claimed that ‘she did homage to him’ and prayed ‘I worship you, oh lord and Devil, attend my soul’. This is similar to the admission of Maria Gekin’s testimony, who claimed to have said an incantation that dedicated herself to him:

To the Devil I want to be, To the Devil I want to stay, To the Devil I want to be bound, To the Devil want never from his hand, The Devil has made me, The Devil has saved me, The Devil has sanctified me, In his hands I want to stay, To the Devil I want always and eternally to be.

All of the above claims are explored in Bever (2008).

Historically, there have been claims about uses of a salve: an ‘ointment witches reputedly used to travel to their dances’ (Bever, 2008). The witch Apolonia, whose case occurred late in the period of the witch trials, claimed to have used the ointment which is commonly referred to as the flying ointment. Moreover, Apolonia reported her ‘flights to the witch dances’ to have ‘merged dream content with reality’. The concept of an oneiric Sabbath is also commonplace today among currently practicing traditional witches, with groups such as the Cultus Sabbati placing a high importance on the concept of the dream Sabbaths. An interesting point that should be taken into account though is that in the past and in certain cultures, there is no difference between dreams and reality. Likewise, as stated in Bever (2008): ‘dreams in which the dreamer was transported to another place to participate in magical events and which the dreamer experienced as real rather than as dreams, were, as we have seen, experienced in other parts of early modern Europe, and indeed, were recorded in other cases in Württemberg, by younger people whose cerebral integrity was not in question.’ It can be concluded that these witches who flew in their dreams were not insane, and their experiences should not be dismissed just because they were dreams.

These spirit flights or dream flights were not also known to be just flights where witches fly to meet the Devil, but witchcraft can be accomplished through these journeys. Bever (2008) notes that ‘in Slovenia sorcerers flew to fight against each other in trance or dream, as some Siberian shamans claimed to, and some Hungarian witches both fell into trances to make soul journeys and also were said to abduct victims and transport them similarly to their revelries’. Similarly, ‘other Hungarian practitioners specialized in traveling to the land of the dead while in trance and in Milan, ‘four women claimed in the late 1300s that they had ‘ecstatic experiences with the ‘good lady and her folk’ and were therefore able to cure and to look into the future’. Soul flight can be used to connect all kinds of otherworldly forces, and knowledge can be gleaned and lessons learnt from these flights.

Aside from the aforementioned acts accomplished by the old witches, a concept which I believe is integral to walking the path of traditional witchcraft is the concept of initiation, through which a witch faces spirit death and their eventual rebirth. Not only were witches ‘thought to gain from their attendance at the Sabbaths the power and knowledge to commit maleficium’, some historians believed that ‘the next step in a witch’s initiation was to fly to a witch dance at which she worshipped the Devil with other witches.’ Other historians disagree, claiming that ‘shamanic initiation often, but not always, involves a ritual experience of death and rebirth, while a witch’s initiation did not’. Still, the author of the previous quote added that ‘the witch’s renunciation of her Christian identity and assumption of a new, diabolical one could be seen as a symbolic equivalent, and overall the parallels seem strong enough to raise the question of what possible connection there might be’ (Bever, 2008).

In my personal view, cutting off old vows, making new vows, initiating, dying and being reborn is vital to being a witch in the traditional sense. To quote Aaron Oberon, a practicing witch and author of Southern cunning:

Folkloric witchcraft in the American South: ‘initiation is a death [...] something in you has to die in order to be initiated, to be given the information or power these spirits have. Sometimes initiation can result in physical illness, life changing events, job losses, or emotional upheaval’. Oberon (2019) stated that ‘initiation comes from spirits, and so what the spirits put you through is going to be different for each person […] It is incredibly personal and involves being torn apart.’

I will not go into detail about my personal practice, but every word he says rings true. In my view, to have something bore your way through your very spirit and irrevocably change you is what it means to be a witch.

So far, my attempts to define witchcraft has been quite negative. Yet, a witch does more than maleficum too. To quote Vita Tortuosa, a book co-written by Daniel Schulke, the presiding Magister of Cultus Sabbati: the path he practices is the path which ‘serve with both hands alike’. To ‘serve with both hands’ is an idiom that is commonly said among the traditional witches I have known, meaning that a witch may do harm with one hand and give blessings with the other. Magic is manipulation and so is witchcraft. Bever (2008) had found from cases of witch trials that:

‘[...] among the manipulative uses of magic, healing was by far the most important, accounting for half the manipulative cases, or almost a third of all beneficent magical practices, and was almost as numerous as all types of divination combined. Furthermore, the other kinds of manipulative magic comprised a polyglot miscellany including various enhancements to normal human capacities like strength and marksmanship; a limited number of magical countermeasures against natural and supernatural aggression by others; exorcism of bothersome spirits; a few cases involving claims of truly supernatural powers; and a couple of occurrences that were anomalous even within the magical worldview of early modern Europe.’

Witches can heal and bless and are capable of more than harm, just as there is more to magic than cursing. Not all magical practitioners are witches, but witches are a type of magical practitioner. Moreso than hurting or blessing, witches are liminal creatures, dealing with life and death and spirits and ghosts and necromancy. Bever (2008) describes how ‘technically, necromancy meant conjuring the spirits of the dead, but in the late Middle Ages it was used more broadly to refer to conjuring spirits in general’. Witches are spirit workers, as modern occultists may say. To be a witch is to work with the Otherworld, to have a foot standing in this world and the other planted in another.

Witches historically have also used the power of words and poetry to their benefit. Take this case study explored in Bever (2008), done by the accused witch Maria who was said to use an incantation to keep a horse from eating. For the curious, the incantation went:

Your mouth must blocked be, Your mouth must stopped be, You are the Devil’s, You must bewitched be, You must the Devil’s be You won’t eat for 24 hours.

At the risk of providing a checklist and a box one must fit to be considered a ‘witch’, I want to again state that this essay is simply exploring what it means to be a witch from a historical perspective. You decide what it means for you, but to fly, to curse, to bless, to work with spirits, to deal with some Devil, to initiate and die and be reborn and more- that is what I mean when I say the word ‘witch’.

Diverging slightly from the main topic and venturing more into the area of UPG, I want to argue that at its core, this tradition of witchcraft has existed since over two thousand years ago. As explored in Ogden (2009), pharmakeia - which is the art of poison and magic from plants - has been practiced since the times of Ancient Greek. Likewise, there also existed the usage of bindings known as ‘katadeseis’, whether it be through binding tablets or kolossoi dolls. And so is the use of incantations, referred to as epoidai. Necromancy was also talked about in the past, with ‘divination from the dead’ described in Homer’s Odyssey. Hekate and Medea and Circe are witches and witch-goddesses people may typically think of when hearing about Ancient Greek witchcraft.

Moreover, consider this quote from Ogden (2009) by Ovid, writing about the drunken bawd-witches:

“She knows the craft of magic and Aeaean incantations. By her craft she turns flowing waters back to their source. She knows all too well the powers of the herb, the threads twisted by the spinning rhombos-wheel, and the secretion of the mare in love. At her wish, clouds crowd over the entire heaven; at her wish, the daylight shines in a clear sky. If you believe it, I have seen the stars dripping with blood. The face of the moon was deep red with blood. I suspect that she shape-shifts and flits about among the shades of the night and that her old body is covered with feathers. This is what I suspect, and this is what they say. Also, double pupils flash from her eyes, and the beams shine from twin circles. She calls forth great-grandfathers and the great-grandfathers of great-grandfathers from their ancient tombs and cleaves open the solid ground with a protracted incantation.”

The quote from a 1st-century BC poet bears striking resemblance to what I consider to be a witch of the traditional, crooked path. It describes a witch who uses incantations, who draws power from the herbs and natural materia, who commands the natural world like a witch commanding the wind to howl or rain to fall, someone who practices necromancy and perhaps ancestor veneration, and also perhaps what we now call spirit flight as she ‘shape-shifts and flits about among the shades of the night’ in a feathered form of a fetch. Personally, the description of the moon and stars dripping with blood reminds me chillingly of not just the witches of Thessaly but also the witches of America, as it speaks similarly of a ritual where a silver bullet is used to kill the moon and initiate the witch (Davis, 1975).

In conclusion, the craft has been alive far, far longer than we are. Therefore, there is a history associated with witchcraft, giving weight and meaning to the word ‘witch’ whose definition is both complex and particular.

Bibliography:

Bever, E. W. (2008). The realities of witchcraft and popular magic in early modern Europe: Culture, cognition and everyday life. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

Davis, H. J. (1975). The silver bullet, and other American witch stories. Middle Village, NY: Jonathan David.

Oberon, A. (2019). Southern cunning: Folkloric witchcraft in the American South. Winchester: Moon Books.

Ogden, D. (2009). Magic, witchcraft, and ghosts in the Greek and Roman worlds: A sourcebook. New York: Oxford University Press.

Schulke, D., & Fitzgerald, R. (2018). VIA TORTUOSA: An Exposition on Crooked Path Sorcery. Xoanon Publishing.

Tangherlini, T. (2000). "How Do You Know She's a Witch?": Witches, Cunning Folk, and Competition in Denmark. Western Folklore, 59(3/4), 279-303. doi:10.2307/1500237

#traditional witchcraft #greek magic #witchcraft #the devil #spirit flight

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notebooknebula · 4 years

Video

youtube

Andrew Campbell and Multifamily Investments

https://www.jayconner.com/andrew-campbell-and-multifamily-investments/

Today, Jay Conner interviews Andrew Campbell about multifamily investments.

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———————————————————

Jay Conner (00:01): Well, Hello there and welcome to another episode of Real Estate Investing with Jay Conner. I’m Jay Conner, your host also known as the Private Money Authority. And if you’re brand new to the show, a special welcome to you here on the show, we talk about all things relating to real estate investing, how to find deals, how to fund deals, how to sell deals quickly, how to automate your business. So you’re running it and it’s not running you. And if you’ve been tuning into the show, my land, since we launched in June, 2018, we’re blowing right on through 300,000 downloads. We appreciate all of our subscribers. So if you’re tuning in on iTunes or Google play, or one of those type formats, we really appreciate if you will subscribe and rate and review us and give us five stars. And also if you’re new to this show the reason I’m called The Private Money Authority is because back from 2003 to 2009, I relied on local banks to fund our deals.

Jay Conner (01:11): And I got cut off like the rest of the world in 2009, I was introduced to this wonderful world of private money to where you actually do business with individuals. And so I’ve got right now about 50 different private lenders investing in our deals. And I also coach and train and educate other real estate investors on how to get funding for your deals without relying on banks and mortgage companies and et cetera. So if you’d like to learn all about that, and how you can get plugged into the money and get plugged into funding, I’ve got a free trial for you to come join my membership, where I actually do live training twice a month, and you get all kinds of content and training inside the membership. It’s called The Private Money Academy and for you to come check it out for free for 30 days, get on over to www.JayConner.com/trial.

Jay Conner (02:11): Glad to have you in there. Now, another thing about the show is that I’ve had just some amazing experts and guests join me here on the show and today is no exception. My guest today is a native Austinite in case you don’t know what an Austinite is that someone from Austin, Texas, and he’s a real estate entrepreneur and he broke into real estate investing first back in 2009 as a passive investor. Well, in 2012, he transitioned into active investing and management as a personal portfolio that grew to 76 units across Austin and the San Antonio areas. Well, he earned his stripes if you will, building and managing his personal portfolio before moving into much larger multifamily buildings and deals. Well, the name of his company is Wild Horn Capital. Well at Wild Horn Capital, he’s focused on acquisitions, finding deals and maintaining investor relations.

Jay Conner (03:19): Also leveraging his marketing background to build long term relationships. Well today, his company Wild Horn Capital controls over $200 million in it’s portfolio. And they have over 1700 units in Texas. Well, my guest’s background is in market research and brand strategy, and he’s spending time in both advertising agencies and emerging technology consultants where he was most recently a partner and an award winning app developer. That’s pretty interesting right there. In addition to that, he received a BS in advertising from the university of Texas at Austin, and he has his MBA from Baylor University. With that! well, welcome to the show, Mr. Andrew Campbell. Hello Andrew.

Andrew Campbell (04:12): Hey Jay, how are you?

Jay Conner (04:13): I am doing fantastic! So you grew up in Austin, Texas, right?

Andrew Campbell (04:19): Yes Sir.

Jay Conner (04:20): Excellent. Well, my wife Carol Joy, she’s from Wichita Falls, Texas. And so we got a little bit in common right there. So you actually started in real estate back in what year?

Andrew Campbell (04:33): Kind of 08, 09 kind of move back to Austin around then right as the world was ending and thought it was a good time to jump in.

Jay Conner (04:42): Wow! Well, I tell you that reminds me of what I just shared. I mean not, from 2003 to 2009, I was relying on local banks for my single family house business and wow! With no notice I mean, I got like cut off with no notice, but you know what, for me, Andrew, it was a big blessing in disguise cause I learned about private money very quickly. And actually within 12 months of being cut off from my funding, our business actually tripled because I had access to the funding. So I was able to do, you know, so many more deals. So with you coming in back in 2008, 2009, what was your first year or two like?

Andrew Campbell (05:25): Well, I was probably you know one of the guys you might have been borrowing money from then. I think the first the first few years kind of based in passive investments or I was not real active, you know, kind of barrow lending money and admit it and as a passive investor in some ground up deals in Austin, some infill condo developments and kind of you know, got to see the business happen, got to see things be built, got to see returns come in and, and I think caught the bug a little bit. And really it was started looking for creating a little bit more longterm, passive cash-flows which led me into more on the active side, you know, buying duplexes, fourplexes, and ultimately kind of graduating and now we’re buying, you know, call it 200, 300 unit apartment complexes.

Jay Conner (06:07): I got you. So you and your company is totally focused right now on multifamily units, right?

Andrew Campbell (06:17): Right, yes Sir yeah. Austin and San Antonio, our focus is really kind of class B, B plus assets that have some sort of value add component but you know, good assets and good location. And the business plan is to hold them for five to seven years and you know, make everybody real nice return and just fortunate to be from a market that’s growing as fast as Austin’s growing.

Jay Conner (06:42): Well now, just to make sure our audience understands what is a, B, B plus project or property?

Andrew Campbell (06:48): So, you know, most properties, is kind of a subjective, you know, but ABC properties, maybe a D people might have D properties, which I certainly recommend steering clear of, you know, A-class is going to be typically brand new, highly amenitized, you know, might be downtown B class a little bit older, you know, I’d probably say stuff built in the eighties you know, or nineties, early two thousands, even it’s somewhat based on the asset type and somewhat based on the location.

Andrew Campbell (07:17): You know, but I think for us B, B plus, you know, that’s a good grade in school and that’s a good grade in the real estate world, it’s, we’re not trying to get top of the market rents, but we’re also, you know, we’ve got a good professional base of renters, young professionals, teachers nurses, that sort of thing that are, you know, good, good quality folks and looking for, you know, rental property, but you know, kind sort of middle of the market.

Jay Conner (07:42): What would you classify or list are the benefits and investing in multifamily versus single family houses?

Andrew Campbell (07:51): I think efficiency you know, as I started out kind of with some duplexes and fourplexes, you realize the more sort of shared units you have say under one roof you just it’s more efficient. So if your roof goes out on a single family, you know, you’re out $20,000 on an eight unit building, you know, it’s the same $20,000 to replace that roof or to replace that concrete you know parking lot or whatever the system might be. So I think that’s a big one, I also think as you get into larger,

Jay Conner (08:23): So, Scott I’ma need for you to come to the forefront and save the day for a moment because I just lost connection. And I think you all can hear me. I’m gonna sign out and sign right back in. So pick it up, Scott, I’ll be right back.

Scott Paton (08:39): I don’t know if we lost him or not, but continue on Andrew cause you’re live for us.

Andrew Campbell (08:45): Okay. yeah, so, you know, I think they’re just more efficient and, you know, as I saw you get better, I guess better management, as well as something I saw that you can afford and a property is big enough to support onsite management. You get a better quality of manager. You’ve got, you know, one, two, three, four people whose full time job is to oversee and over that, that asset. And also just logistically of us as the asset manager, having one place to go where you’ve got a collection of you know 250 units, I think it’s a little bit more efficient than you know, kind of if you had 250 single family homes, you’re trying to drive around and keep tabs on it’s just a little bit more difficult.

Jay Conner (09:26): Alright, I’m back with you Andrew, Sorry I got bumped up there for a quick second. So you were talking about efficiency and you know you got one roof and you know, it was $20,000 and you know, you got eight units versus, you know versus one unit. So, let’s talk about acquisitions cause you focus a lot on acquisitions in the company, right?

Andrew Campbell (09:45): Yep.

Jay Conner (09:46): Yeah, So how about help us out and understand, what’s your criteria when you’re looking for a deal? What is it that determines what a deal is? And I know that’s a Multifaceted answer to that question, but at least give us the 30,000 foot view on what’s your criteria on whether to buy or not to buy and what are you looking for?

Andrew Campbell (10:10): Yeah, I think the first thing for us is it’s gotta have some sort of value add component. You know, whether that’s an interior renovation play or it’s a land entitlement, but something that you we’re buying an existing asset and there’s a path, a very feasible path forward to increase the value of that asset. And then we’re going to look at location, you know, so we want to be in good locations. We want to be you know, where we don’t want to bet that the city is gonna make a left turn. This is going to be in a good area. You know we’re pretty strict about our rule of being kind of class B neighborhoods. And I think the final thing is just looking at what those investor returns ultimately become. You know, I think our job is very much to sort of pair you know, good interesting real estate plays with investors.

Andrew Campbell (10:54): And it’s gotta be something that we feel like is a good risk adjusted return that’s also competitive and that you’re gonna feel good about, you know, take into your friends and family your investor base. It says, Hey, this is a play that’s gonna double your money in five years or seven years or whatever that business plan is. So it varies a little bit into your point it’s very multifaceted, but it starts with having a good asset with good bones and then a business plan we believe in, and then, you know, is it, do we think it’ll make money?

Jay Conner (11:24): So when it comes to funding these deals obviously your company raises private capital for some of the funding. Do you use some institutional funding? Do you have some owners that will actually sell to you on terms or is it all the above?

Andrew Campbell (11:45): It’s all been kind of private individuals is where we get our funding. We don’t have any bunch of institutional partners. It’s been just relationships and folks that we know and folks that have heard about us that we’ve gotten to know, you know, based on our focal geographic focus, kind of our track record and, you just a lot of recommendations. So it’s, you know, putting those together and really focused on just helping people understand. I think there’s other alternatives out there to investing and you don’t have to you know, you can have a small piece of a large deal and if you like real estate, but you want to be passive that’s kind of been who our investor base is.

Jay Conner (12:26): Alright, So I know it varies, you know, what year are you in? It varies on the project, but what’s a ballpark type of return that your investors can receive these days.

Andrew Campbell (12:41): So we’re kind of on a typically thinking about things on a five or seven year horizon. You know, so again, that it taken advantage of where we’re located in Austin and how much the city’s growing. You know, we’re not looking to do something in 18 months or two years. So on a five to seven year horizon, typically looking for something that’s going to get you sort of a two X or a one eight X multiple on a five year investment. You know, it’s gonna have some cash on cash. I think that’s the advantage of buying an existing asset as we know kind of going in what that’s gonna look like, in Austin right now it’s been really competitive, you know that may be 4% in year one. But you’re going to get some initial cashflow and you know, looking for a total IRR of kind of a low teens maybe 12 to 14% somewhere in there.

Jay Conner (13:28): Say, if you can double your money or somebody can double their money in five years that is a whale of a return right there.

Andrew Campbell (13:37): Yeah, no it is. And I think that’s you know, when you pair the getting some cashflow with some of the appreciation and being you know, the advantage of leverage I mean we’re pretty conservative in our leverage about 68% across our portfolio, but the power of leverage really allows you to get some outsized returns in real estate.

Jay Conner (13:56): Yeah, for sure. So what are the what are some different ways that you can increase the value you know, of a you know multi-family you know, apartment complex property?

Andrew Campbell (14:11): Yeah, the most straightforward is just in improving it, you know, going in, we typically will buy an asset, we’ll rebrand it kind of change the story, update the look and the amenities, update the clubhouse, so it feels like a newer more modern property, and then we’re going to go update the interiors as well. If it’s a deal that was built in the eighties you know, update the cabinetry, knock out some walls, open up the floor plan, modernize it. When you do that, you’re able to raise the rents. You know, maybe you raise them $75 or a hundred dollars. But again, over 200 units, you know, that’s increasing the NOI quite a bit. We’ve also got some strategies, you know, parking, adding covered parking adding private pet yards, you know, or just, if you’re on a first floor unit, you want your own sort of private space for your kids to run around or a grill or anything.

Andrew Campbell (15:01): You can charge 75 to a hundred dollars a month for that. Amenity fees, package lockers. There’s lots of little strategies that you can employ and you know, add to the NOI. And at the end of the day, these deals are I think one big difference with single family is these are valued like businesses. So it’s based on a cap rate in the market. If you can improve the NOI on a property by a hundred thousand dollars, and the cap rate in Austin as a four and a half, or maybe sub, you know, maybe it’s a 4% you’re getting an outsized return on your value of the dollars you’ve spent. So that’s really the name of the game is finding ways to to increase the NOI

Jay Conner (15:39): Is your exit strategy typically to be in a project for five to seven years add value to it and then sell it?

Andrew Campbell (15:46): It is , and I think a lot of that is driven by you know, investors. I mean most investors want to recycle their capital. You know, my personal we’ve got some personal properties and the goal is to own them forever, you know, longterm cash flows but when you partner with investors, people want to recycle that capital. And the hope is they’ll recycle that and potentially might do a 10 31 with those investors but yeah, typically you’re going to sell it in five or seven years.

Jay Conner (16:15): Excellent! So here we are at least in today’s show we’re still in the midst of COVID-19 and the aspects of that. So is now and today still a good time to be investing in melded family with whatever consequences and ramifications of COVID-19 that’s going on.

Andrew Campbell (16:39): Yeah. You know, who knows what the world looks like? It changes by the day. We think it is, you know, and I think couple of reasons our investment thesis has always been you know, people need to live somewhere and offering that kind of B class property you know, It’s a good thing to do you know, people are gonna not pay their car payment, There’s a lot of things you’ll do to make sure you got a roof over your head. We’ve seen collections be very, very strong you know, over 98% across our portfolio since the beginning of cope. And so people have if they can pay their rent they are paying their rent. And so far they’ve been able to do that. I think when you compare it with other asset classes, you know, we feel like multifamily and industrial have been the two asset classes that are outperforming.

Andrew Campbell (17:23): Obviously office is a lot of concern about office space downtown across the country. The office space in the coast is people are kind of leaving the coasts retail, you know, a lot of question marks about how fast, how many of those businesses come back. So, you know, if you look at what your options are and kind of keep cash under your mattress or, you know, you put it in the stock market and kind of, how do you feel about where that’s going to be, or your multifamily it’s always been for us a pretty conservative play and not a business it’s get rich slow. You’re not gonna go we’re not trying to hit, you know, 30% returns on development deals we’re buying existing assets, conservative leverage, and they have good returns. And we think that thesis has held up so far in COVID. And certainly we’ll continue to look for the right opportunities. Obviously you gotta tweak your underwriting and some of your assumptions now with as the market softened some, but it’s still relative to your other options a very strong bet.

Jay Conner (18:23): Yeah. I’ve experienced the same thing here in Eastern North Carolina. We’ve got quite a few people that are purchasing single family homes by using our rent to own program. And we are at 100% collecting all the way through a COVID-19 and, you know, like you just said, a moment ago, people are going to do what they can do. You know, all they can do to keep a roof over their heads. One thing I’ve heard you say Andrew, is that in this line of, in this investment class, if you will, the way you offer people, you know, investing in your business and et cetera, really four ways to get returns. And, you know, you talk about cashflow, appreciation, amortization and depreciation. Can you talk for a minute about what’s the difference between those four and what are those four returns and what they mean?

Andrew Campbell (19:20): Sure, so you know, cashflow is just, it’s pretty simple. It’s kind of the, what’s leftover at the end of the month after we pay all the expenses. And again, a benefit of buying an existing asset, you know, we know how that’s performed, so there’s cashflow and that when we make those distribution to investors, that’s a pretty simple concept appreciation, you know, that’s us benefiting from being in a market that’s growing really quickly. And there’s new people moving here every day, there’s new jobs. So the values go up, you know, I think a lot of people talk about real estate as an inflation hedge, which is another thing, you know in today’s day and age where there’s lot of concern about inflation with the FED and their conversations and real estate, you know, if inflation runs people for paying, you know, tomorrow’s dollars for our assets.

Andrew Campbell (20:09): So it’s a nice hedge there, but that’s just appreciation. It’s the market saying that, you know, your house, you bought it for $200,000 and in five years later, it’s worth $250,000, that’s your appreciation. Depreciation and amortization are kind of based on the leverage and the tax structure. So we’re able to depreciate these assets. We actually had one advantage of large properties, cost segregation. So we can come in you hire an engineering firm and rather than taking a straight line, 27 and a half year depreciation schedule, they break down your property, you know, 200 lines on a spreadsheet and say well, your roof has as a useful value of X years, your appliances, your flooring, your mechanical, et cetera. We can depreciate about 80% of that property in the first five years which lowers your, you get a K1 that shows you, you made little to no money, even though you made got distributions. And then amortization is just us paying down the loan, you know, so every month as we pay our mortgage we own more of the property. And so you kind of combine those four aspects and it makes it’s another big advantage of really any real estate investing. But I think from a passive standpoint you know, what we’re doing multifamily it gets pretty powerful.

Jay Conner (21:26): Last question I’ve got for you Andrew, what are some of your favorite ways? I mean, you’re in acquisitions. What are your, some of your favorite ways to locate these deals?

Andrew Campbell (21:36): You know, we just are inherently focused on relationships, you know, so we’re born and raised in Austin. We’re focused on Austin and San Antonio. And so we pride ourselves on having really good relationships and being very plugged to the community, with the brokers and the other owners. And so we want to hear about every deal that’s coming out and we want to underwrite them and just see where the market’s going and trending. And, you know, we want to get the opportunity to buy stuff off market, which we’ve been successful three or four times, or you know, getting the first phone call if somebody’s gonna get a listing. It’s just been very laser focused on our market and building relationships here at home.

Jay Conner (22:14): I got you. Well, you can’t beat the network, you can’t beat the referrals. So folks you’ve been listening to my special guests today or watching, depending on how you’re tuning in to Andrew Campbell. And so Andrew final thoughts and comments.

Andrew Campbell (22:32): No, It’s been great. You know, I enjoy talking real estate and you know, mentoring people or talking through investing. And so if anybody is interested in reaching out you can see the website here, WildhornCap.com My email’s AndrewWildHornCap.com be more than happy to have a conversation, and I’m kind of a real estate junkie and love to have conversations. So it would be more than happy to reach out to anybody if they were interested in learning more.

Jay Conner (22:58): That’s great! So for those of you that are listening in, let me give you that website specifically it’s www.WildHornCap.com. That’s spelled WildHornCap.com One more time that’s www.WildHornCap.com and you can reach Andrew specifically himself. And that email address again Andrew, correct me if I’m wrong, [email protected]. Is that right?

Andrew Campbell (23:37): That’s right.

Jay Conner (23:38): Alright, Andrew, thank you so much for joining me here with the show today.

Andrew Campbell (23:42): Thanks for having me, I enjoyed it!

Jay Conner (23:44): Alright, very good! Well there you have It folks! Another show Real Estate Investing with Jay Conner. I am Jay Conner, the private money authority wishing you all the best and here’s to taking your real estate investing business to the next level. We’ll see you on the next show, Bye for now.

#Jay Conner #Private Money Lender #Real Estate Business #Real Estate #Real Estate Investing #Real Estate Investor #Real Estate Profit #The Private Money Authority

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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WandaVision Finale Ending Explained

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This article contains WandaVision spoilers.

After eight near-perfect episodes, the story of WandaVision has concluded with a finale installment that sticks the landing on all fronts, including multiple cinematic battles, several heartfelt goodbyes, and a long-overdue moment of agency for a heroine who has so often been denied a choice in her own future.

But while “The Series Finale” is a deeply satisfying coda to what is probably Marvel’s most emotionally satisfying outing to date, it leaves us with more than a few questions about where these characters go from here. Let’s break down what happened in the WandaVision finale, and what it might mean for the Marvel Cinematic Universe going forward.

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Wanda Transforms Into the Scarlet Witch

Thanks to Agatha’s pronouncement last week, we already knew that Wanda was the legendary Scarlet Witch but in “The Series Finale” we see her fully embrace her chaos magic, right down to an amazing contemporary riff on her traditional comics costume. (That headpiece! The cape! We love to see it!)

There’s even a return of the mind control visions we saw her deploy to such great effect in Avengers: Age of Ultron. What can’t this Wanda do?

Granted, we still don’t know what all this power now means for her character in a larger sense, but to be fair, neither does she. Wanda’s abilities as displayed in this episode are fairly tremendous, as she uses witch runes to neutralize Agatha, wipes her mind, and brings down the Hex she’s built around Westview, freeing its residents.

In the episode’s post-credits scene, however, her abilities appear to have grown even further, as she’s able to take in a scenic lake view even as her astral self is also busy reading the Darkhold, right down to making its pages turn on their own.

This is a move we’ve seen Stephen Strange pull before, but according to Agatha, Wanda is even more powerful than the Sorcerer Supreme. So….what else will she be able to do? That seems to be what she’s trying to find out.

Westview Returns to Normal (Sort of)

During her (quite frankly pretty badass) battle with Agatha, the older witch frees several Westview residents from Wanda’s mind control, forcing her to face what she’s done to the townspeople in her quest to build a perfect life. The simultaneously angry and desperate crowd of Westview residents – who look like nothing so much as a suburban take on a horde from The Walking Dead – confront Wanda and reveal a bit of what it must really like as a person who lives under the town’s spell.

The most harrowing victim is certainly town queen bee Dottie, who comes to herself long enough to beg Wanda to allow her to see her daughter, or perhaps write her into the larger storyline as one of the twins’ friends. But we also learn that Wanda has been projecting her grief and pain into Westview’s nightmares, forcing them to suffer right alongside her, rather than providing a peaceful, perfect escape.

What Happened to Agatha Harkness?

At least one resident of Westview won’t be returning to normal, however. After Wanda defeats Agatha by scattering witch runes around the Westview Hex to neutralize her magic, she uses her own power to wipe Agatha’s memories and essentially turn her into nosy neighbor Agnes, the WandaVision “role she chose,” for good.

Your mileage may vary on whether this is an acceptable ending for Agatha – a character who was, admittedly, often monstrous, even though she was right about the way that society is all too willing, even eager, to vilify powerful women out of fear (and often just because it can). On the plus side, since nothing lasts forever in the Marvel Universe and Agatha Harkness is a pretty powerful witch in her own right, there’s every chance this character will reappear down the road. After all, Agatha was Wanda’s mentor in the comics and she tells Wanda here that her magical expertise will be needed in the future.

We Said Goodbye to Wanda’s Kids (Or Did We?)

As products of the Hex, young Billy and Tommy Maximoff’s fates were always going to be tied to it, so in choosing to break the illusion, Wanda also accepts that she’ll have to say goodbye to her sons. In one of “The Series Finale’s” most heartbreaking scenes, she and Vision, knowing what’s coming, tuck the boys in for bed one last time, as the red glow of the shrinking boundary line edges closer to their house.

Wanda also thanks the boys for choosing her as a mother. Reader, I cried. Plus, this basically confirms that Billy and Tommy aren’t entirely constructs of Wanda’s imagination. They’ve come from somewhere, and possess something like souls. How that all happened is anyone’s guess – here’s your entry point for Mephisto, folks! – and it’s something future series can explore, but it’s certainly the way I’d prefer to read it.

But, since the last thing we hear on WandaVision is also the voices of Tommy and Billy shouting to their mother that something is wrong, it seems pretty likely we’ll see some version of these characters again. There’s precedent in the comics after all, and finding her lost boys is a pretty powerful narrative throughline to carry over to Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness.

What Happened to White Vision?

Paul Bettany’s dreams of essentially working with himself are realized, as Vision and the White Vision come to blows in the skies of Westview. But despite the epic battle between the synthezoids – or, synthezoid and Mind Stone-fueled recreation of that same original, as the case may be – physical combat isn’t the most compelling, or even interesting part of their encounter.

Instead, it’s philosophy. Yes, you read that right. Upon realizing that the two are too evenly matched for either to emerge victorious, Vision decides to engage the White Vision in a thought experiment about their shared existence, and whether either of them is truly the man (robot?) they claim to be. The two end up in a sort of pseudo-philosopher’s debate about The Ship of Theseus, a thought experiment centered on issues of identity and meaning, and what makes a thing real.

This is surprisingly deep stuff for a Marvel property but the conversation contains tantalizing hints about what we could expect as we head into Phase 4 of the MCU. After all, it will likely contain stories full of magic, mutants, and transformation of all types; this is simply WandaVision giving us a metaphorical anchor to hang onto throughout. Well, that and providing a way to bring Vision – or some version of him – back for good, as Westview Vision restores White Vision’s memories and gives us all a reason to hope that he and Wanda will one day be reunited again.

Was the Vision in Westview Real?

Yes and no. The Vision that lived in Westview and shared a house with Wanda wasn’t physically the Vision we’d previously seen in the Avengers films. He was a flesh and blood construct, created by Wanda’s power, informed by her grief memories, and born from the piece of the Mind Stone that lives inside her. (This makes sense, given that the rise of Wanda’s magical abilities was connected to her initial exposure to the Mind Stone. As Agatha puts it, the Scarlet Witch is forged, not born, and for Wanda, that crucible was her time with Hydra and the Infinity Stone that served as a sort of cosmic gasoline on her sleeping abilities that might never have stirred otherwise.) This Vision represents Wanda’s hope and sadness, but mostly her love.

And, as a result, even Westview Vision doesn’t greet his oncoming demise with sadness, or even fear. Instead, he reasons, he and Wanda have been here before twice already, forced to say goodbye before their time. And since their relationship has survived before, there’s every reason to believe it will again, and they’ll find their way back to one another.

Monica’s Powers, the Skrulls, and Captain Marvel 2

Unfortunately, thanks to everything else going on in “The Series Finale,” Monica Rambeau doesn’t have a ton to do here. However, she does get a straight-up hero moment, where she throws herself in front of a bullet (or four) for Wanda’s kids and reveals a heretofore unseen ability to phase through objects and slow them down. She also frees the real Ralph Bohner, and happily helps send dirtbag SWORD director Tyler Hayward to prison.

Happily, however, despite her limited screentime in this episode, Monica’s MCU future looks bright. In the mid-credits scene, she’s approached by a Skrull disguised as a SWORD agent who takes her aside and reveals she was sent by a friend of her late mother, Maria’s. And that friend, who is most likely Nick Fury, would like to see Monica – in space.

We’d all basically assumed that Monica, who is Maria’s daughter and clearly has some as-yet-unprocessed resentment toward Carol Danvers, would be a significant player in the upcoming sequel Captain Marvel 2, but perhaps there’s an even broader future in store for her, as part of the SWORD-like organization Fury and the Skrull named Talos formed at the end of Spider-Man: Far From Home.

Who Was the Fake Pietro Maximoff?

Sadly, the character played by Evan Peters in WandaVision was not actually Wanda’s brother Pietro ported over from the FOX X-Men universe like we all hoped. So, yeah, unfortunately, that means mutants technically still do not exist in the MCU, and that’s a problem another movie or series will have to address.

While trapped in his self-described “man cave”, Monica discovers that the Fake Pietro is really just Ralph Bohner, the mysteriously absent husband Agnes was constantly complaining about throughout the season. Agatha kept him under her spell using an enchanted necklace, and when it was removed his real identity returns. Whether the fact that Agatha’s punishment to live as her Agnes identity involves being really married to Ralph is unclear but in Westview, anything is possible, I guess.

Wanda’s Future and Doctor Strange 2

Wanda has long been confirmed as a major player in the upcoming sequel Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, but we haven’t known how exactly she would fit into this story, having never exactly met Stephen Strange before. But since the WandaVision post-credits scene confirms that the new Scarlet Witch is determined to learn more about her powers, it seems that will change fairly quickly. The only question is, how?

Stephen Strange has served as a mentor to many magic users throughout Marvel Comics history and could certainly be someone that Wanda seeks out to help her access and control her new abilities. But, given that she’s also currently DIY-ing her knowledge of witch history with a magical item that is basically subtitled the “book of the damned” it’s also very possible that she and Strange will end up at odds over the Darkhold’s existence, her possession of it, or both. Plus, there’s that interesting wrinkle of her still hearing the voices of her construct children that shouldn’t still exist outside of Westview thing. Time to explore the multiverse, anyone?

The post WandaVision Finale Ending Explained appeared first on Den of Geek.

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chaoswillfallrpg · 3 years

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CAIUS BURKE is TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD and a SHOP ASSISTANT at BORGIN AND BURKE’S in KNOCKTURN ALLEY. He looks remarkably like GREGG SULKIN and considers himself aligned with THE DEATH EATERS. He is currently UNPLAYABLE.

→ OVERVIEW:

Always the life and soul of the room, Caius Burke is from a long line of sorcerers who know that simply to be liked is a very undervalued power. The eldest son of KRATISTA FLINT and EELIS BURKE, Caius was born into a family of great privilege and thus in the best possible position to ascend amongst the wizarding elite residing in London. From the incredibly wealthy and noble house of Flint, his mother Kratista was not overly thrilled at the prospect of becoming a Burke. A woman raised with finery on a sprawling estate which held large dinners and lavish parties, moving into the Burke residence in Bloomsbury was a dark and dismal downgrade. The townhouse stood tall over four floors surrounded by beautiful gardens, but for Kratista it was less than enviable. Whilst Caius’ uncle had kept his mother’s family home to raise his children, his aunt married into the Yaxley family and moved to their estate. His cousins were often said by his mother to have a similar upbringing to that of her own, taking tea and scones in great glasshouses and hosting other families for long weekends. Meanwhile she had been landed with his father whose assets were tied up in a shop in Knockturn Alley she had no love for and was owned by Caius’ grandfather CARATACUS BURKE who refused to sell it or bump out his partner CALLISTHENES BORGIN and thus prevented his mother from living her dream life in the Home Counties.

For Kratistia Burke, Borgin and Burke’s was the chain around her neck she’d been burned with but had taken it on to ensure she was married and children to someone within The Twenty-Eight. But to Caius and his younger sister LYRA, Borgin and Burke’s was their entire world. Whilst most children shied away from things they found strange, he had a fondness for dark objects and odd things just as his grandfather did. Caius liked the grandeur of Borgin and Burke’s. His family were in possession of centuries worth of strange and wonderful pieces of history, each with its own backstory. Whilst his father worked for Borgin and Burke’s in a travelling capacity, scouring the county for new artefacts to bring home to the shop, his mother was doing the rounds of various tea rooms, restaurants and houses rubbing shoulders with important families to ensure her children would make good marriages. It was because of this, Caius and Lyra were often left in the care of their grandfather. Their days were spent on the shop floor and making up scary stories about the things they found there and never failing to get chills when Caratacus and Callisthenes told them the real history behind them. There he and his sister would be each day, their eyes wide and beaming smiles on their faces as they explored the wonders of the shop, marvelling over each new addition and pouting when ones were removed.

It was the time spent in Borgin and Burke’s that ignited a deep love of magical history within Caius and a respect for those that had come before them. His mother had certainly raised him a traditionalist and Caius was incredibly proud and honoured to come from two incredibly important families. Social status certainly mattered to him and from an early age he began to understand the importance of presentation, being well liked and that intelligence, charisma and good connections meant a lot within the circles their family moved. Caius was proud of Borgin and Burke’s and of his grandfather’s achievements, but he had a feeling their family could do more with what they had. Unlike his mother, Caius had little interest in ousting the Borgin family from their shop, it was an important part of Borgin and Burke’s history and with such big dreams and ideas he knew that having help was certainly important. Thankfully, his best friend understood that too. ERIK BORGIN was the great nephew of Callisthenes Borgin and the only person who could continue to run the shop from their family after he passed away. The same age as Caius, the two quickly became close. Erik was like Caius and Lyra. He was strange. He wasn’t frightened by darkness; he was curious about it and had enough charisma to convince other people they should be too.

The three of them fit together perfectly, the next generation of Borgin and Burke’s laughing about the future and concocting great plans as they watched Knocturn Alley bustle below from the windows. Caius knew his and Erik’s talents lied with running the shop. His sister, however was destined for better. Lyra dreamed of adventure and distance between the restrictive arms of their mother, she had always known her own mind and Caius admired her persistence in trying to forge the life she wanted. Whilst Caius was happy for his mother to speak on his behalf and arrange marriage contracts for them both, Lyra despised it. Love meant something more to her than it did for him and Erik. For them their life would be the shop, marriage would be for security and status but Lyra didn’t want that. She was his very best friend and the only person he would willingly face his mother’s wrath for. Leaving Lyra to go to Hogwarts hurt him, but at least he had Erik and they were determined to ensure their presence was known at Hogwarts and amongst the rest of the young members of the wizarding elite. Sorted into Slytherin, Caius felt at home with fellow intelligent folk and natural born leaders. He was every inch the Slytherin, sure of himself willing to do and say anything to win the opinions and favour of others and attracting friendships with incredibly influential figures, LAVENDER BULSTRODE and CORNELIUS CRABBE.

Though he was the head of his small group of Slytherin students, Caius was part of a much wider group he shared with Erik. ANYA ROOKWOOD, LACHLAN MCTAVISH, Caius, Erik, Lavender and Cornelius owned the halls of Hogwarts, garnering a reputation amongst their fellow students of being elitist and pureist. Caius himself, was neither of these things. Erik was a ¼ veela and not from The Sacred Twenty-Eight, though Caius had never viewed him any differently. He didn’t think blood made you better than anyone else, but that was the society they lived in. Caius wanted to be somebody and was he was willing to play the role life had handed him in order to get there. Graduating from Hogwarts a member of The Slug Club, with brilliant grades and important friends, Caius returned home to Borgin and Burke’s to begin his education with his grandfather. For the first few years he lived a double life, spending his days learning about how to identify objects, studying their history and dealing with cursed items, travelling with his father and searching for objects before he was trusted to take the occasional one himself. The other side of his life was rubbing shoulders with the elite under the instruction of his mother. Kratista had big plans for her son and had entered him into a marriage contract with ALECTO CARROW some years ago before her family had lost their fortune.

Now she had designs on someone else she firmly believed was a better match for him. ADRASTIEA GREENGRASS, was a beautiful witch from a very powerful and wealthy family. Though his mother liked the idea of Caius and NARCISSA BLACK, which Caius liked as well, Kratista thought Adrasteia was a good match for him. Adrasteia was certainly beautiful and a handful, which Caius liked, but as a natural flirt with a fondness for forbidden fruit, a certain redhead still held his attention. Alecto Carrow would never bring him any happiness only trouble. But for a young wizard who liked to dance with danger, trouble was exactly what he wanted. It was this same love of darkness and dangerous situations that have resulted in Caius ending up in the midst of a war he has little interest in the cause for. Convinced to start speaking with BELLATRIX BLACK through his close friend RABASTAN LESTRANGE, the pair quickly had their services called upon. Given a list of artefacts including Salazar Slytherin’s Locket, The Sword of Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup and Merlin’s Book, the boys have been doing their best to track down the objects but have increasingly felt out of their depth. After his cousin ROSALIE FLINT went missing after The Yule Ball, Caius considered the worst and has been doing his best not to put a foot out of line ever since, even if there is an ever growing voice in his head telling him to run for the hills and take Alecto with him.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Pure-Blood

Pronouns → He/Him

Identification → Cis Male

Sexuality → Up to Roleplayer

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Slytherin)

Societies → N/A

Family → Eelis Burke (father), Kratista Burke (mother), Lyra Burke (sister), Caratacus Burke (grandfather/boss), Dionysus Flint (uncle), Lotte Flint (aunt), Decius Flint (cousin), Rosalie Flint (cousin), Elijah Yaxley (uncle), Ismena Yaxley (aunt), Eleanor Yaxley (cousin), Victor Yaxley (cousin)

Connections → Erik Borgin (best friend/colleague), Lavender Bulstrode (best friend), Cornelius Crabbe (best friend), Anya Rookwood (close friend), Lachlan McTavish (close friend), Rabastan Lestrange (close friend), Walden MacNair (close friend), Christiano Parkinson (close friend), Adrasteia Greengass (friend/potential love interest), Alecto Carrow (friend/potential love interest), Jonathan Reeves (friend), Bellatrix Black (boss)

Future Information → N/A

CAIUS BURKE IS A LEVEL 6 WIZARD.

#gregg sulkin #death eater #borgin and Burke’s #mob rpg #city rpg #alleys #knockturn alley #caius burke #unplayable #unplayable wizard #unplayable death eater

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fc5holidayexchange · 4 years

Text

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 [FIC]

‘come things only happy and whole’

Original Character/Sharky Boshaw -Pre Relationship. Deputy Rook, Sharky Boshaw, Earl Whitehorse, Original Characters

@ask-chibi-rook

This was a really fun experience with a really cool character concept! I think I scrapped like five ideas, which almost never happens. TYSM and I hope you enjoy!

Notes: general warning for Jacob Seed who is Sir-Not-Appearing but still felt, brief non-graphic discussion of miscarriage, gentle flirting, as close as I get to fluff.

–

The circumstances are specific.

Eden’s Gate has a now unusually large population of pregnant women. The Resistance has few in the family way and explicitly no children in or around the compounds. So colour Pastor Jerome Jefferies and Father Joseph Seed surprised when they received identical messages asking them to parley a little north of Dutch in a zone they’d been habitually calling Bear Trap. Because of the bears. Twelve women who had been friends on Facebook before the Reaping started had kept to the agreement they’d made to meet up at Sally Sue’s old cabin and stay the days or weeks it took for all of them to give birth. This would have been a ridiculous thing to organise if a) every single woman involved hadn’t been previously part of a larger prepper group before making a smaller, more intimate one and b) that smaller group hadn’t been specifically for women who’d survived multiple miscarriages.

“They’re ah, not coming down.” Some poor son of a gun has to tell Whitehorse at two am on a Thursday. They’re out in the chill, on the porch of a little house. “They’ve got four doula’s and a bunch of equipment they’d set up beforehand as well as a doctor. Marcie, that’s, uh, Walter Whit’s Marcie, says that we can shove it up out be-hinds if we want them to come down. It’s between them and God now.”

“She tell Seed that too?”

“She told Walt that.” The boy sighs. “She told Seed that he should have kept that prize winning show dog of his brother under better control as he stressed Wendy and Carlie something awful with their atonements. And that keeping any pregnant women near Faith, who she did have something unpleasant to say about as per her use of Bliss, was just about his greatest crime.”

Whitehorse snorts. “Has she seen the bodies?”

The boy holds up his fingers to make quotation marks. “That’s killing folk, not killing babies, and Seed was coming awful close to asking them to kill babies.”

“That explains the Peggies. When it came right down to it they picked their kids over the Father.” Whitehorse muses. “Would’ve been nice if they’d stood up for us. No, don’t relay that Jimmy, that’s me being an old grump. If those girls need things from us, you get it to them, alright?”

“Yessir.”

“And you,” he turns to point at Rook, tucked under a blanket on the front step with him, “go get some sleep.”

Rook points at herself, flips to the page in her small notebook that says me?

“Yeah, you. Relax Rook. Ain’t nobody around here going to need you to fix this.”

She probably should have figured that Whitehorse would catch on. It’s been a week, maybe two, since Jess took an all terrain bike and an exhausted, largely non-responsive Rook back to the Henbane. She has marks she doesn’t remember and bigger, scarier blanks in her memory, left to white knuckle it through whatever recovery is possible. Rook spends a lot of her life kind of tired. When it’s hard to communicate you have to be quick and clear about what to say. She’s gotten it right down to essentials by now but that leaves out everything complex. There’s a lot of things sitting just behind her teeth, just behind her gums, that she’ll never have time to tell anyone. Certainly not if Joseph gets his way.

From what she understands they are at a critical junction in Joseph’s plan. Months at most from his intended end of the world and he has been reacting with his expected fanaticism. A bunch of women trekking off into the woods should be a minor concern. All of this would be a minor concern, solved by Jacob, who had no one among the Prosperity Prepper Pregnancy Yarning Circle, but for one Miriam Lee, of John’s faithful, who led security. She’d changed the locks on any number of critical supplies and literally taken John’s secret stash of solar panels with her, leaving John to explain why he had solar panels in Joseph’s unreasonable and unlikely future, and why Miriam Lee was the only person who knew how to change all the passwords. This still wouldn’t have stopped Jacob but for Joseph, who had decided he’d had a vision and his eldest brother would be cast from paradise should he take arms against the innocent. The absurdity of that statement about that particular redhead aside it seemed the Father was dead serious.

For all his numerous faults it seemed Joseph Seed was unwilling to harm a child.

(Ha)

So the circumstances? Very specific.

Rook takes his advice and heads in to sleep. In her dreams places red and deadly pass and prosper, knives sharpen and music plays, a familiar voice sweet and betraying. It’s further away than usual, buffered in her dreams by smaller, stronger feelings currently unsaid. Her mind is dark, not quite unpleasant. When she wakes in the morning, just a few hours later, the Montana morning is fiercely pleasant. The weather is beginning to suggest it’s turning but it hasn’t done more than throw up some surprising afternoon wind changes. Enough that a light jacket and a scarf stashed somewhere is enough for almost any day.

Someone knocks on the door of the small space she’s been allotted. Rook pulls on her clothes. Soft flannel, thick socks. Two shirts for those aforementioned wind changes. She makes sure she has a small notebook and pen on her. There’s a small box of blue ones under her bed here, liberated from John, so she never feels quite bad enough about how often they get snapped. The door knocks again and she rushes to open it.

On the other side Sharky Boshaw has a chipped mug of tea and a little bit of a nervous look.

The soft feelings from her dreams return in daylight’s full glory. She waves hello, takes the mug and invites him in. Sharky takes in her messy nest of blankets, the pens scattered on the floor from her dash to answer the door and how, apart from her bed, there isn’t anywhere to sit. She can see him thinking, her own embarrassment flooding her face with colour, before Sharky kneels down and starts picking up her pens.

“I heard from Isaiah -that prepper with all the grenades? The one the Peggies stopped going near because he set landmines attached to flamethrowers, well he’s been rehabbing a Judge. Found her ripping through Jacob’s territory baiting his people into traps. Clever as hell. He invited me up there ‘cause I brought him some beer a week or two ago and I made a bet against Hurk about it. Says she’s nearly ready to get the hell off his property on account of how she keeps activating his traps to scare the wildlife.” He pauses, glances at the ceiling while he scratches his chin. “Also I owe Hurk money.”

Rook hears all that and as usual has specific questions. She opens her book. Sharky hands her a pen. She writes: You brought a man surrounded by landmines beer?

Sharky looked faintly offended. “I ain’t afraid of fire.”

But the landmines? She asks with genuine concern.

“Landmines are fine if they’re attached to flamethrowers.” He waits a moment to see if she has anything to say to that, then adds, “Obviously I just figured out how those worked and went backwards. Easy.”

Easy, obviously.

Sharky rubs the back of his neck. “So, wanna pet a dog?”

–

Whitehorse is a paternal combination of pleased and worried that Rook is leaving the relative safety of the Prison to pet a dog with a pyromaniac. On one hand, she’s been a mess since she came back from the Whitetails -the Whitetails that want her back pretty badly, not including Jacob- and a strong interest in doing things that involve walking outside in a relative state of peace is indicative of the good mental health she never exactly had. On the other hand Sharky Boshaw is taking her through woods not quite Resistance and not quite Peggie to pet a wolf that kills people.

“Kills Peggies.” Sharky corrects when Whitehorse manages to stop grumbling long enough to state his problem. “And Boomer does that too.”

“Boomer is a good dog.” Someone Rook doesn’t know says from their left. “Let the girl pet a dog, Earl. It’s not the most dangerous thing she’s done for us.”

Whitehorse makes a face she dimly recognises from her early days, when she stayed at the station all hours and didn’t so much as a glance at forming a relationship outside of work. At her one month review he’d said that he hoped that she’d one day find people here she could trust, that he hoped to be one of them, but until then he’d do his best to at least be a soft place to land. It’s months later, and there’s a war on, and his face still says that. Rook spends all her time trying to be what the Resistance needs, the person it needs. There’s not much room for being soft.

Whitehorse relents, settles on take the shovel and gives Sharky back the rocket launcher and the nun-chucks that Whitehorse personally took out of his trailer about three months before all of this started. Sharky treats both of these gifts with a reverence that they have all learned to tolerate while living in close quarters. He also gifts Sharky with a ten minute long lecture while Rook goes and resupplies her day pack. There’s no explicit mention of her but she gets the feeling Whitehorse has been telling everyone to just be nicer, try to get her out of her shell.

They take a car part of the way and leave it tucked in an overhang that the Peggies have yet to figure out. The way requires crossing the river and taking a circuitous route through some unallied areas. The trees are just sparse enough to let the sun bite her on the neck. The dirt is coming up off the ground at a rate that’s alarming covering them to their knees in grime and debris. The greenery sings with the sounds of small animals, cautious bird calls and absolutely no gunfire. Silence will fall all across the county for a few moments every now and then, as if the whole world is being as cautious as the birds.

Sharky just talks and talks and talks. But he’s Sharky enough, whatever weird thing in the Drubman-Boshaw family makes them simultaneously caricatures and decent folk, to look back at her every so often and make sure she’s okay with him. Maybe it’s that he’s used to sound without answer, even if it’s from the opposite side. Maybe he’s just a guy who needs social skills and less access to nitroglycerine.

“Whaddaya think?”

Rook hasn’t actually been listening.

“Ah well, not important anyway.” He holds his hands out to her, baffling, before she realises he means to help her up into the knot of a tree. “Oh shit. Come look at this. Haven’t been back here in ages.” He plants himself and all but throws her up into a curvature of branches. “Man I got a twisted twunkle in this tree once.”

Rook takes his hands. He guides her carefully among the brown bark and the sparing leaves.

The tree itself is huge and old. It might once have been several different ones that melded together as trees sometimes do. Under her hands the bark feels warm and dry, aged away and tough. It feels alive but waiting, like it’s been here before and will be here again long after. She tries to take that feeling inside herself. Being steady and rooted instead of the constant swaying that digs deeper and deeper after every nightmare. Sharky helps, first by literally pulling her further in until they can sit on a thick branch together, and then by telling her all about the things he knows about this place. She’s not sure how much is true but it’s nice all the same. From the height, and the little raised hill the tree sits on, they can see a little bit of the space around them. The occasional smoke of a fire, or a plane flying in circles. She pulls out her radio, more habit than need, idly flicking it on and off, frequency to frequency, in case someone needs help.

The radio speaks for a moment: -coming off the mountain-zzzt-no sign yet-zzzt-heads on a swivel A-Team, targets tricky and lean- Jacob hunting Whitetails, even in so-called peacetime.

Sharky turns it off, not soon enough to stop her sense of self crumbling at Jacob Seed’s voice, but soon enough that when he gives her a quick hug she clings to it. Sharky smells like a heavy mixture of adult male body odour, what was left of the laundry powder and wet ash. It’s pungent enough to clear her head. Sharky holds onto her for a moment or two past appropriate then slides away not quite smooth enough to be cool.

“Hey, Rook, look at that.” He points straight out, and she assumes it’s just to change the subject, but soon enough a small dance of butterflies flies across the sky. They twirl in a circle and pass the tree close enough for Rook to see that they’re spotted with blue and bright green, creatures of the Bliss for certain. They dip down intending to take a pass right through the tree Rook and Sharky are sitting in. Sharky says oh shit just before they’re hit-

The butterflies fly around them, the whole world the colour of wings and white, before it’s the clear Montana sky again. One lands on Sharky’s nose and he pulls a face of intense disgust.

She can’t help it, she laughs at him.

He looks at her for a moment trying to figure out what the fuck she’s doing with her face. When she’s done she begins to climb down, the small bubble of mirth still sitting high, right behind her teeth.

–

It’s just past dusk when they get there. All of the Resistance keeps odd hours. Isaiah’s house involves a hike that’s near vertical. They see signs of Peggie work as they circle closer -spray cans next to symbols on trees, a copy of Joseph’s Bible, the occasional item of clothing for some reason- but those signs thin as they get closer to the house. Instead scorch marks and gun holes pepper the land like confetti at a wedding. Rook pulls out her shovel.

Eventually Sharky takes a sharp turn, ducks behind a thick crop of trees and leads her to a neatly kept front yard in front of a shabby barnhouse-cum-fortress. There’s even an American flag hanging from the roof of the added-on porch. Sharky whistles loud and clear across the space. After five minutes or so a man emerges.

His thick beard and scarred hands tell a story all their own. He shuffles across the porch with a bag under his arm and a cane in his other hand. His leg acts like dead weight across the wood, scraping and scratching along. He makes an unhappy groan low in his throat. Acid burns. Isaiah never had a last name. Or if he did, he refused to give it.

“Hey, buddy.” Sharky hops over some line only he sees turns and holds out his huge hands for her small ones. Like before she hands him her trust and no small amount of affection and amusement and then they do the world’s silliest looking dance:

“Over here -that’s a trip wire, don’t hit that, good-”

“-now this’ll sound strange, two inches left with your bum or you’re gonna lose a bunch, and you’re small enough, ow, from your leg Po-Po-”

“-did you just trip? Dep, this is a real hotzone, come on-”

“-look, I know what it means when a woman makes that face at me, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to grope you, but they’re nice, so-”

“-Good, great, no, nope, that way goes Sharky’s testy festy and he needs ‘em for the Testy Festy seed swap, so come over here-

Finally they come up to the porch. Isaiah sits on his rocking chair under a blanket with ice tea next to him. His chest keeps expanding in little giggles. Both Rook and Sharky are sweaty and breathing hard. Rook’s hair is stuck to her neck and she’s sure she’s never been this embarrassed before. No wonder the Peggies stopped trying. Sharky stops her with a solemn hand. “Okay now we’re gonna hop twice.”

She abruptly realises he’s fucking with her. Gently, with good humor, but still teasing her. She kicks a clod of dirt at him now that they’re close to the porch and reasonably unlikely to die in a fire. Isaiah makes this noise, like a cat yarking up a bird, his whole upper body moving. He’s laughing. Sharky laughs as well and proclaims he’s going to see if there’s any beer. With nothing else to do Rook climbs up onto the porch and takes a seat against the railing of his porch. Isaiah passes her a glass of the tea. He taps his own throat, the angle revealing its scars and warps, then pulls out a pen and a board. With unpracticed fingers he writes on his own whiteboard: I heard you speak like this.

Rook nods. Isaiah nods back and returns his writing implements to their bag. Within reach but out of the way. The tea is blessedly cool against her forehead when she presses it in.

“He-ey girl!” Sharky calls from inside the house. “Guess who found beer! You don’t have to guess, it’s me.” He sticks his head out, probably to ask if she needs something, so she holds up her half full glass.

The Judge trots onto the porch. Her coat has been shaved down, patches still that bone terrifying white where the hair is longest, but all over are swathes of grey brindling. Her sharp blue eyes are clear as water in a face returned all the way from the Bliss. Around her foreleg a bandage is slowly turning pink from the injury beneath. She comes to rest her huge body near Isaiah but with her sightline out to the world.

Sharky pats her cautiously then fits himself down next to Rook. “What’s her name?”

Isaiah considers. Then he opens his throat. “Boudica. Queen stayed free.” His voice isn’t clear. It’s pained and filled with the feel of disuse. He names the wolf anyway.

Boudica rolls on her back and shows her fluffy, scarred belly.

Rook stands and shuffles closer. Her hand shakes as she brings it down, firm, on her upper chest. Boudica wriggles but stays still. Rook keeps patting. Her skin is scarred all the way up to a sharp cut right across her throat. She didn’t die. She can see it: Jacob’s knife, his music and his soldiers. Running as far and fast as you can because you can never be free but you can be away. Boudica defies that, though. Her fur is turning back from the Bliss and there’s not a hint of madness in her eyes.

Rook returns to her seat. Isaiah gives her more tea.

Boudica snuffles, rubs her nose with a huge paw. She picks herself up and trots through the front yard they had to dance through. Her path is noticeably straightforward.

“What the fuck?” Sharky says.

Isaiah laughs again. “Bad leg. Don’t have time.” He flings his hand towards Rook, the yard and possibly the entire concept of the war beyond it.

“‘t’s not fair.” Sharky whines. “When I brought you stuff you made me strap it on my back and crawl!”

Isaiah slaps his knee, giggling again, points at Rook and then back at Sharky. “You danced.” Isaiah rubs his throat, as if it pains him. Then as if it would pain him more not to tease, “Fair.”

“I- Well-” Sharky chugs his beer instead of talking. Isaiah refills her glass to the top and bullies Sharky into pulling out Boudica’s bespoke sleeping pen, giving lie to the idea that she’d ever be coming back down with them.

Night falls properly. They eat together. Isaiah has no room for them inside but Rook’s slept rougher and he brings out a little heater and a bottle of bourbon. Sharky unearths a pile of excellent quality sleeping bags in a shed hidden on the side. Rook watches him whine his way through the whole thing since they don’t actually know there aren’t landmines. The bourbon makes Sharky feel better, though.

He’s talking about…something, honestly she’s not sure how he transitions from topic to topic. She pulls out her notebook. She wrote it earlier in the day, never said it. Thank you, Sharky.

He smiles, face lit by what little ambient light there is. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, Rook.”

Rook stays sober under a pile of blankets. Sharky has long since collapsed into snoring. The night is starry and silent. If she sleeps now she’ll have nightmares: falling through red rooms, black blood dripping down her mouth, her tongue returned but unable to make human noise, another layer between her and other people. Another place for someone to slide a knife. The night is starry and silent and in Hope County that will have to be enough.

Boudica comes back in the early hours. Rook is still awake. Her muzzle is a little bloody but mostly she seems tired and pleased with herself. She comes over for a very quick pat but returns to the nest of hand sewn blankets and repurposed pillowing that she calls a bed. She tunnels in, turns and wiggles her body, huffs, sleeps.

Not his wolf, she thinks, and goes to sleep herself. She was right about the dreams. But between terror and noiseless pain is her own feet under her running like she thinks Boudica would.

#sharky boshaw/deputy #sharky boshaw #deputy oc #earl whitehorse #oc #brief non-graphic discussion of miscarriage #gentle flirting #mild fluff #gift: fic #fc5holidayexchange #ask-chibi-rook #submission

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shirtlesssammy · 6 years

Text

1x19: Provenance

Now:

We open to a fancy couple admiring an olde tyme portrait they recently won at a charity auction. They won it, loved it SO much they ran home and hung it above their fireplace first thing --didn’t even change out of their fancy clothes. That’s love, folks! The wife finds the family in the photograph to be a bit creepy, but it seems to turn the husband on.

They decide to take the evening into the bedroom. As the husband locks up, we watch the father in the photograph move his head! The house gets darker, the music gets creepier, the straight razor in the photo gets missing-er. The wife calls for the husband to hurry, and the husband strips as he heads to bed. He starts to crawl into bed in the pitch black but recoils and turns on the light to find his wife dead and blood everywhere! He falls to the floor, turning to see something off screen, and screams!

Sam and Dean are enjoying some downtime at a bar. Well, Dean’s enjoying it, but Sam’s busy doing research. Dean wants a bit of shore leave (omg, that’s all he ever wants but the life keeps reeling him back in. DEAN.) He tries helping Sam hook up with one of the women he’s talking to, but Sam is not interested.

So much is said --and not said-- with this exchange. Dean’s trying to make Sam feel better then only way Dean knows how, but it’s the exact opposite of what Sam wants (Just wait Sammy, older brother’s got your back.) He does want to hunt though and he caught a case. Couple, throats slashed in own home. Their dad’s journal(!) notes a pattern in history. Time to check it out. Dean wants a little more time with the ladies at the bar before they head out though. I don’t necessarily miss this part of Dean, but he is one charming motherfucker.

The next morning, while Dean sleeps off the night before, Sam sweeps the couple’s home and comes up with nothing. It’s free of the supernatural and all of the couple’s belongings. They head to the auction house to investigate. (Sidenote, love the tracking shot of the cars, and Baby all muddy and vintage at the end!)

Ah, because I’ve never fully bought the blue-collar vibe we’re supposed to take from Sam and Dean, when it’s highlighted it strikes me more than usual. Dean is out of his element at the auction house. Sam is not. (But Dean is also smart and can read people and read a room.)

They’re wearing their overshirts and Carthartts though and stick out like a sore thumb to Daniel Blake, the auction house owner.

The brothers start to look over all the pieces up for auction, and Sam sees the portrait --and he sees Sarah Blake, the proprietor's daughter, and an intellectual rival that stirs Sam’s heart.

Sarah and Sam make heart eyes. Dean notices said heart eyes. I had heart eyes all over this moment.

Daniel Blake breaks up the little party and tells the brothers to leave. They head to the motel and Jerry Wanek went a little overboard with the decorating this week.

Sam gives Dean a lesson on provenances and how they could use them to track the pieces of art--see if they match with the past. Dean suggests Sam call Sarah to get the information.

Sam and Sarah get that dinner (and Sam’s bang game is STRONG.)

Sam’s wine ordering game? Not so strong. (Um, I know he was studying a lot and I guess he’s just a doofus white college boy so maybe wine country wouldn’t be that interesting to him but he lived in wine country adjacent land for four years. You picked up nothing, Sam Winchester?) Sarah bails him out and orders “a beer.” Lol, fancy place only has one kind probs.

They bond over college and lack of dating, and loss of loved ones (Well, Sam can’t quite talk about it. SAMMY.) Sarah’s speech about losing her mom and going into a safe shell kind of hurt --like, has Sam ever left his shell?

Back at the motel, it’s revealed that Sarah just handed the provenances over to Sam (and I’d like to discuss Dean acting like he doesn’t have a spot on memory and flubbing the word again...Sam’s getting leads and taking control in this case. Do you think Dean’s trying to help him feel better by encouraging him this way?)

Sam finds that the portrait is the link to all the murders. They break into the auction house (and young Dean can scale a fence like a ninja) and salt and burn the portrait.

Easy-peasy. The rest of the episode is just Sam and Sarah making googly eyes at each other. The end.

Oh, wait. NM.

The next morning, Dean realizes that he dropped his wallet at the auction house. They rush over there before it opens. Sarah finds them --and they’re both adorkable dorks. Sam feeds her the line of them leaving town, but Dean steps in an insists they’re sticking around for a bit. Heehee. Also, he found his wallet. Sarah suggests another date. Sam shuts it down. Frowny Face. He also sees the portrait they burned the night before! His “Oh my God!” cracked me up. His panic over the painting is pretty gold, insisting that they don’t sell it and hightailing it out of there to alert Dean of this new development. They decide they need to learn everything about the family in the painting.

To the library!

(Or bookstore or something?) The man helping them dumps a lot of information about the family. It seems the whole family was murdered, bodies cremated.

Meanwhile, Daniel Blake sells the painting anyway.

Sam points out some differences to the painting in a book and the real one. Dean reveals that he’s a very savvy reader when he admits to not reading The DaVinci Code. (Natasha: LOL) The brothers also talk about Sam’s reticence on forming a connection with Sarah. Sam doesn’t see the point --they’re just going to leave anyway. Dean thinks Sarah could be good for Sam. Sam’s evasive eye roll says he knows that to be true as well. Sam Winchester, king of running away from Dealing With It. For once, Dean is earnest and trying to find a way to help Sam. There were some walls broken down this evening, guys.

In the end, they need Sarah for the painting, so Sam calls her again, and finds out it was already sold.

At the buyer Evelyn’s house, our next victim sits in her chair and reads a book while the creepy family portrait gazes down at her from above the mantle. (Seriously what is it about this painting that makes people hang this IMMEDIATELY in their cozy living spaces?) The father in the painting moves again and a straight razor lifts into the air…

Outside, the Impala and Sarah’s van pull up like a swat team arriving on site. All three sprint into the house and find Evelyn nearly decapitated, still sitting primly in her seat. Sarah manages the presence of mind to notice the painting has changed (the father is now looking forward), even as she’s freaking the fuck out over finding a dead body.

Back at the Winchesters’ motel, Sarah demands answers. Sam lays out the truth for her. The supernatural is real and there’s something in that painting that’s killing every owner it can reach. Sarah takes this remarkably well and insists that she’ll accompany them on their monster hunt, thank you very much.

Can we take a moment to appreciate Dean’s laptop decoration? Dean, you adorable dork.

“Are we going or what?” Sarah demands about their mission to catch a murdering ghost, heading out the door without them.

“Sam,” Dean says (possibly halfway seriously), “marry that girl.”

Back at the latest victim’s house, they check out the painting, comparing it against the photocopy of the original they got from the book shop. (This is like those puzzle pictures I used to read as a child.) There’s a switchblade opened and closed, the father’s head position has changed, and the painting in the background is different. Now the painting behind our ghosty family features the family mausoleum instead of a placid landscape. Armed with this clue, Sam takes Sarah on a whirlwind date featuring not one - but four local cemetery visits!

The find the mausoleum de Merchant and break inside. The mausoleum features the family’s internment plaques for cremation, urns, and a handful of toys encased behind glass. As they examine the toys, an ominous breeze blows through the crypt. Dean notices that there aren’t enough urns on display. The dad’s cremains are missing.

Sam’s epic dream date continues, as he sits outside of a hospital with Sarah while Dean tries to dig up information about what happened to the dad’s body. Sam picks an eyelash from her cheek and implores her to make a wish. It’s...pretty cute, actually. Sarah takes a moment to press for answers from Sam about their relationship status. Sam’s answer: It’s complicated.

“When people are around me they get hurt,” Sam tells her. He doesn’t want to see the same thing happen to her. (Me: thinks about Sarah’s eventual death in season 8 and cries angry tears.)

I love Sarah’s response to Sam’s “stay away from me for your own good” line. “That’s very sweet, and very archaic,” she tells him. “I’m a big girl, Sam. It’s not your job to make decisions for me.” It starts to get emotional between them when TA DA! Interrupting Dean interrupts.

Dean reports that he’s uncovered the location of the dad’s body. They proceed to literally uncover it, digging out his grave and then salting and burning it while Sarah stands around and holds the flashlight.

Sam and Sarah head into the house to check out the painting. The dad is back to normal but now the little girl is completely gone from it. Uh oh. (Holy parallels to The Real Ghostbusters, Batman.) As Sam realizes the razor is also gone from the painting, a small girl’s evil cackling fills the room. The door slams shut.

Dean tries to open the door from the outside while Sam and Sarah scramble to find salt or iron to fend off the ghost. Enter: small creepy girl ghost dragging her dolly and holding a blade. Sam fumbles for an iron fireplace poker and swats the ghost away.

Sarah uses her antique know-how to bring Sam’s attention to the fact that dolls used to be made with the child’s actual hair. Dean races off to the cemetery and tries to break down the pane encasing the little girl’s doll. Meanwhile, Sam’s getting battered by the ghost (and Sarah’s turning her back on a blade-wielding homicidal ghost to try to help him).

At the mausoleum, Dean tries to bash the pane with the butt of his gun and then realizes...oh wait, he has a gun. He shoots, he scores. Dean bashes away the glass, pulls out his most unreliable lighter, and finally lights the doll on fire just as the girl advances on Sarah with her blade.

The doll’s burned. The girl’s back in the painting. And Sam got to fall onto Sarah during the fight and exchange a Moment. Yay? Sam - because he’s Sam - does not take advantage of this opportunity.

At last they wrap up the case. Sarah orders her people to burn the painting. Sarah and Sam share an awkward goodbye, made slightly less awkward when Dean stops third wheeling it and heads back to the car. Sarah points out that she made it through her Sam encounter alive so...if Sam wanted to see her sometime, then he should. (Boris: I will NEVER forgive Crowley for killing her.) Sam leaves, wistful looks still turned up to 11 but seconds later knocks on the door again. When Sarah opens it, they smile at each other and kiss.

The Da Vinci Quotes:

So what are we today Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?

Like a Da Vinci Code deal?

We think that that painting is haunted.

This isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?

What kind of house doesn't have salt? Low-sodium freaks.

You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this.

We’re there, chuckles.

Oh My God!

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 1x19 #provenance #dean winchester #sam winchester #sarah blake #supernatural season 1

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www-suzannerichardsonwrites · 6 years

Text

On Connection, Disconnection, Memento Mori, and “In The Pines”

In my creative writing classes I use a text by Janet Burroway, Imaginative Writing. In this text there’s an entire section about fiction, and plot, but specifically stories being told through the concepts of connections and disconnection. Though I’ve taught this portion of the text many times, I’ve often confessed to my students that I was never fully convinced by the idea that connections and disconnections make for good stories or plots--or at least not in the way Burroway describes. She claims each moment in a story is a moment of connection or disconnection building towards a climax. She charts out Cinderella with certainty and quotes Claudia Johnson, “The conflict and surface events are like waves, but underneath is an emotional tide--the ebb and flow of human connection” (Burroway). Each time I’ve taught this section I have re-read it and tried to more deeply understand how periods of connection and disconnection make good stories and it hasn’t really made sense, until now.

It is safe to say I have been disconnected. I find myself single again at thirty-four and while it feels somewhat hopeful, it also feels like an overwhelming task. Each break-up I go through takes me back to the original break-up of my twenties, the place where all that pain lives pressed like dead flowers on display. I struggle with feeling like a failure. Feeling like a lonely failure. Feeling like I fought tooth and nail for something that I should have let go years ago. It feels a bit like being underwater while people breathe deeply and splash around on the surface. It feels a bit like being the party guest who wants to go home within five minutes of entering the party. It also feels like being a newborn--all this focus on me, my needs, my wants, what matters to me, is almost like I’ve grown a new set of eyes and I am seeing the world anew. I take long walks, I stop whenever I want. I get up in the middle of the night and eat citrus fruit or drink down gulps of grapefruit juice over the sink (some of my old single girl behavior). I shower in the dark sometimes--a fun game. Entering a gas station is like landing on a new planet--the thrum of the neon lights, the low growl of the refrigerators; rows and rows of cold beverages and I can drink any, or all of them. I have lots of choices; which is both freeing and scary. I wake up with answers to some of my own questions that I ask myself at night; it’s like my life is now one long, deep conversation with myself that I occasionally invite people to. I started dreaming again--something I was too stressed out and depressed to do for almost two years. I dream first about myself, looking in a mirror and I’m so interested in what I see, I take my shirt off and examine my naked breasts (like I’ve never seen them before). Next the women come rushing back; I dream about girlfriends I’ve been disconnected from. Stress dreams of one who just had a baby, two others who are both pregnant appear in a dream inviting me to sit down in the kitchen of our old apartment we shared in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. I dream about circles and wonder what the universe is trying to tell me. Turn? Keep going? Roll? This is a cycle? I try to pay attention.

I find inspiration everywhere--tree bark, jewelry I haven’t worn for many years, parts of books I love that I revisit when I can’t sleep. I’m reminded of the fiction about vampires, how they grow fangs and begin to know a hunger they’ve never experienced before--I too am hungry. I think many emerge from heartbreak a little undead, a little closer to the coffin, a little more evil, a little more interested in feeding themselves than those around them.

But it isn’t just me. For months others are telling me their own stories of disconnection. This semester almost every person in an office left of me has disconnected, struggled, tried desperately to stay connected to the people they love, made sacrifices they never thought they’d have to make. I love them all, the way they have bent, twisting, contorting, drooping, so as not to break--the ones who break (like me) I love them even more. I love them for risking everything--risking all connection-- to burst into pieces alone. The ones who are about to break--I can see it in them, their eyes pooling. Is it a kind of insanity to want to break? During snowstorms in March, Rosie would wake me at 3,4,5 am to go out--so quiet then. Snow flakes the size of quarters traveled to the ground. The tulip tree in the front yard was doubled over. I kept waiting for it to break, every day, more, wet heavy snow, more pressure, the boughs and branches brought all the way to the ground. I walked around it looking for a breaking point. A shame to lose this much of a tree; I kept thinking. The nubs of its fuzzy buds glowed gray-green in the dark. The winter wouldn’t let up--unforgiving and snowing until the first week of May. But slowly spring came. First, I noticed the perfect circle of a bird’s nest; then I realized it was nestled in the part of the tree that had spent months on the ground and was now in the air; elastic; resilient; it gave; it gives. I want to learn more from this tree. It is teaching me. I am now drowning and drunk off the perfume of its blossoms. Passing the tree makes my circuits jump; the pink soft folds of the blooms; a deeply sensuous reward for such a bitter broken disconnected winter. I want to show my colleagues this tree-- proof of connection and disconnection making a good story so that in moments of pure doubt, when they ask themselves why they are bending, and breaking, they’ll know there’s an end to the suffering.

* * *

In April, on a trip to Rhode Island with students, I was lucky enough to view a pilgrim’s compass on display in a glass case. The tour guide had leaned over and casually pointed out the menento mori etched into the top of the compass.

“Sickos” he’d chuckled.

“Maybe it’s a comfort,” I’d retorted, standing up straight to meet his gaze.

“Ah, so you’re a sicko too,” he winked.

I thought about fear, all the fear I had inside me about being alone again. I thought about fear, all the fear a pilgrim might have in the woods not knowing if they should go north, or south, or east, or west, and how no matter what, death in every direction; always. How it makes the choice easier.

* * *

In Rhode Island we visit houses Edgar Allan Poe wrote in, lived in, loved in. In some of my darkest moments I always turn back to him. Later in life he was interested in philosophical dialogues between fictitious characters about the process of death and dying. In his piece, “The Colloquy of Monos and Una” he describes the end of bodily attachment and the deep sensual state of death where all who are dead gain a 6th sense, and all touch, and pleasure is enhanced ten-fold with no dull, dirty, body to process it. Both Monos and Una describe to one another the story of the end of the world (disconnection) and their deaths one by one (disconnection) then Una’s coffin is lowered onto Monos’ and the space around his body becomes the body--the idea of “being” is replaced with location, “perpetual place and time” --things with no form (disconnection). “For that which was not--for that which had no form--for that which was soulless, yet of which matter formed no portion--for all this nothingness, yet for all this immortality, the grave was still a home, and the corrosive hours, co-mates” (Poe). Ah, nothingness, still somehow a trap according to Poe (disconnection). I start to realize I have a habit of staying in relationships longer than I should for bodily comforts even though I start to spiritually suffer. Only when I reach a spiritual breaking point do I leave--

Back in school I lecture to my students about the haunting American folk song “In The Pines,” or “Black Girl,” or “The Longest Train,” or “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” We are reading Rob Sheffield’s book Love is a Mixtape and he is lamenting that the only artist who is writing about and singing about marriage and its strange cultural link with death is Kurt Cobain. Sheffield talks about the strange and scary vows, how marriage is a death pact. He unpacks Cobain’s version of “In The Pines,” a wailing and warbling version that builds into a sorrowful howl. Before he plays, Kurt attributes his version as inspired by Leadbelly’s recording. All covers of this song seem to stem from two early recordings though the song has been dated back to the 1870′s. Either Leadbelly’s or Bill Monroe’s versions are inspiration for newer ones. It should be no surprise the country covers follow Bill, and the more emotionally charged blues versions follow Leadbelly. The song’s lyrics change slightly in every version I’ve heard--each singer adding to the narrative, or trying to make sense of what has remained true and real about the song. Sheffield is convinced it’s about a married couple; their married troubles. I don’t buy his interpretation--it feels very clouded by his own worldview. There’s something else that bothers me about interpretations of this song: it’s the fact there’s clearly a call and response, or a female voice that gets crunched into the main narrative--her story, her words are not separate from the man who is angry, wounded, and accusatory in both versions. My college boyfriend used to play Nirvana’s version for me. We would talk about the lyrics together.

If your lover isn’t sleeping with you, where are they? A chilling question for the ages. Is she dead? do “the pines” become a metaphor for a burial place? Is sleep death? Does she know she might as well be dead if she didn’t come home to her husband last night? Is her lover about to kill her? When did the song become one voice telling the story? This becomes the ghostly part for me--her answers become squelched into the story her lover is telling about her betrayal. Why can’t she tell it? What happened to her? She “would” shiver, as in, she can’t? In Leadbelly’s version a murder does take place, but it seems it’s possibly the man who is asking where his girl went. Someone is decapitated, their body never found...but how can that be if he’s telling the story?

This song is a story of disconnection; death, anger, questions unanswered.

Even in the country version it’s sad, though it opens with descriptions of trains from Georgia. By the end of the country version the singer is heartbroken, wants to know why a woman treated him so badly.

After a while, all the versions start to blend together; Nirvana, Leadbelly, Bill Monroe, Dolly Parton, Loretta Lynn, The Carter Sisters--whose version haunts Youtube. They sit, still as dolls with long crazy dresses adorned in bows and curls like they’re trapped in a cult reporting about it live on a country TV variety show. Their harmonies so sad it breaks you.

Both versions are love gone bad. One murderously bad. One just plain old ass out on the street, bad.

My recent ex climbs his anger like stairs, I want you to feel pain. Feel the pain you’ve made me feel. I want you to hurt. I rearrange these words: I want to hurt you. You want I to hurt. I think about a dream I had once where I was shaking a friend hard by the shoulders, but then halfway through, realized I was choking her and couldn’t stop. I. Hurt. You.

He rages at me. I almost want to laugh in his face--this idea that I’m not suffering at all. That I will never suffer like he does. Like his suffering should eclipse mine, show up and beat the shit out of me. That because he’s certain I’m not in pain, or not in enough pain it’s now his responsibility to make me feel it, a kind of justice in his mind to see me suffering. Is someone with you? Is someone there? Are you seeing someone else? (Where did you sleep last night?)

I don’t answer.

(Disconnection).

youtube

#Disconnection #Connection #In The Pines #Nirvana #Leadbelly #Carter Family #Bill Monroe #Memento Mori

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kateemmerson · 4 years

Text

Malaga Momentos - My City of Healing

This is my tribute to a city that held me tight while I grieved a part of my life no longer real or relevant, cried a whole river of tears, let the sun warm my bones and fell in love with me again. Like L’Oreal says …‘cos I’m worth it, baby!

I have lived my entire life believing that certain places call out to my soul. They whisper quietly and then if perhaps I don’t listen timeously, they yell a little louder. It always feels like threads of energy are attached to my heart and they start tugging gently at me. I have never been able to adequately explain it, suffice it to say that I am a gypsy-traveller-nomad at heart, and love to move. Often. I also understand the innate value of a home, a base, and roots, but I have danced and moved between these two extremes all my life.

The way it happens varies – it might be the first time someone utters the name of that place and it feels like the words leave their lips and send a cupid’s arrow straight to my heart; or an image lands on my retina for the first time, or the words jump off the page in a book and just…won’t… let…go…!

Sometimes it’s just a whispering deep inside…that inevitably becomes stronger and stronger. Having traveled alone on a plane at the tender age of 8, that bug bit early. Many times I have literally sold up everything I own in order to make a trip to follow the strings that are pulling the hardest. The yearning that will not quieten down. 4 years ago I even took it a bit further, and as a ‘late-in-my-40’s’ year old, packed up again and went #LocationFree with my business still intact and growing. I have just written about that journey for my 5th book, due for release later this year.

For 4 years I have had no fixed home of my own, simply following the strings pulling at my heart; combining retreats, talks and coaching work around the world – and LOTS of online work, along with many visits of the heart to South Africa. One suitcase and a large armful of dreams. But now, I am finally looking for my next home. A little place to call mine – a nest to return to. Roots to plant and lavender to pick. Listening once again to the stirrings in my heart. I’m also getting clear about where I DON’T want to be, which can pave the way for where I do. There is a very loooong back story as to how I landed up coming to Spain – my business partner Sarah walked a part of the Camino in 2018 and together we decided it would be a spectacular way to combine writing and walking. So we did. Another whole story layered on top of that was that in my personal relationship, Spain seemed like somewhere to explore as a potential home for us in the future.

But where to explore? And where to explore for my heart?

Choosing Malaga was easy. My mama-bear lives in a beautiful retirement village in the UK and I have gotten to know many of her lovely neighbors. Cue a wonderful couple who spends a LOT of time in Spain and own homes here. So I popped across for tea asking for some necessary advice. I was presented with a good old fashioned map and a destination. They know my age, my interests and I just said – “where do you think I should spend the winter to write my book?” “MALAGA!”

“Where?”

“Malaga – you will LOVE it. Lots of culture, museums, history, art, expats, locals, awesome food, warm etc, etc.

“Where? Oh there, on the coast – I see it.”

“But not to the West Kate; Malaga or East.”

Got it. Done. That’s all it takes for me sometimes. A clear directive delivered at the right time. Apparently, many people I know have already been to Malaga, including my parents (and Hemingway of course); but I didn’t know that at the time (in my active brain). Go figure.

So I duly went into my trusted housesitters profile (click link if you want a 25% discount) and started looking for a Malaga based house-sit for the winter. Mmmmalaga. A 2.5 month house-sit for one kitty popped onto my screen. Looks easy peasy. And warm – just like a Durban winter. If you are not from South Africa just think cozy, sunny and warm, a bit like Florida in the winter. Where all the human “swallows” might go in search of thawing out. You just need a light jacket in winter, no serious heating and can soak up plenty of vitamin D.

Well, yes, that beats the dreary UK over the winter, dunnit?

Fast forward – we facilitated the Walk ‘n Write Retreat in Northern Asturias region; my partner doesn’t join me as originally planned; Sarah and I visit Madrid for 4 nights; I plonk Sarah on the plane and then I head South. Alone. I like the way Malaga rolls off my tongue. Sounds exotic – I’m spending winter in Malaga. Tra la la – like I’m some millionairess with a house on the hill. Ha – If only I knew what was in store.

The potential house-sit didn’t pan out, after all, so while in Madrid I had booked 6 weeks in a glorious modern Air B‘nB New York type loft, thinking I could get writers to join me for a residency while I wrote over winter too. Or perhaps friends could pop over from the UK? It was gorgeous and trendy and just a short walk from everything. The morning after I arrived, I walked the 18 minutes across the “dry river” bridge into the historic city center to go and sign up for Spanish Classes. After all, I needed a total immersion if considering living in Spain. I thought it best I scrub up a bit and take the language plunge. Plus it would get me to meet people in a city where I knew literally no one and I could use it with my significant other.

I fell in love. INSTANTLY. Everywhere I looked made me beam from the inside out.

I have three innate questions when visiting a new place: Do I love it? Will I ever come back? Could I live here?

It was an instant YES to all three. It took me by surprise actually. These questions get asked and answered internally for me, without having to actively process them the moment I arrive somewhere. Most places I visit I generally tend to really like, or even love. Some, I definitely know I’ll be back to visit again and then a few grab me and my heart almost instantly. Malaga was an instant cupid moment and it has stayed with me. Four months later, I still absolutely love this city, and I absolutely could live here – but I also have come to realize that Spain is somehow not my next home. It’s a hard one for anyone else to fathom what I am saying – but that is how it feels for ME. It’s been a really interesting concept for me to lean into. I could live in Malaga but not in Spain. Mmm ok – so it’s off the list as a permanent base then.

I am still on the hunt for my next country! How exciting!

Malaga will 100% be a place I return to. It feels like home even though it won’t be my permanent home. Does that make sense? The first Air BnB apartment turned out to be inappropriate ‘cos I couldn’t sleep, thanks to the neighbor’s TV on till 3 am. Thankfully I managed to cancel the rest of my booking and moved straight into the center of the historic town. There is a fabulous brand called ILOFTMALAGA – great curated apartments of very high standards. Funky, modern and minimalist – me to a T. My quiet apartment looked onto a bustling street in the heart of the olde town. Bliss.

I started looking for another house-sit. I also found the awesome website GUIDE TO MALAGA and reached out to it’s founder, Joanna Styles, and joined a networking session to meet like-minded business women. Bliss! Her guide really is the GO-TO for anything that you want to know about. Be sure to grab it when visiting Malaga.

“Why a house-sit Kate”, you may ask?

Mostly because I love to feel like I’m really IN a city, living there like a local, with animals to look after and using local transport – rather than being a visitor looking from the outside in. Can you believe that the same housesit from my initial search, was back in play on the membership site, as she had been seriously let down by anther house-sitter? Only this time I was already IN Malaga and could meet the “pussycat’s slave” in person. I got to visit the exquisite property just to the East of Malaga, and it instantly felt like Cape Town – Camp’s Bay to be precise. With a sweet black ’n white kitty to love and vice versa. I needed some animal love! It was a done deal. I had a winter home and a base from which to write my next book and heal my heart. The Cat slave, Melanie, is helping shift people’s perceptions to become Vegan through her recipes and coaching.

This might be another whole blog post one day, but at a very personal level, suffice it to say I was walking into the “Devil’s Den” by wondering if I could actually LIVE in Spain. It was part of another story of my potential future that was rapidly changing before my eyes– a future that it seemed was sadly not coming to fruition. And yes, I am being a little cryptic on purpose. If you know me, pick up the phone and call to chat for a more personal update! But, sometimes we need to face the fire. Spain was that for me. Healing, writing, walking, crying, yelling at the universe, sleeping, laughing, walking, reading, writing, creating a new community. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. Malaga Momentos.

After about 2 weeks of being in Malaga – already with some favorite spots under my belt, an innate understanding of all the cobbled streets, local coffee shops where locals hung out, many, many beach walks, clients taken care of, and my resonance with the city deepening, I realized I needed to really LIVE and CONNECT and be less of a hermit. I was spending too much time alone if this was going to be my home for a few months. Working mostly online can be deceptive that way. I am always connecting with coaching clients, mastermind folk, writer’s and my mentorship groups and always interacting with people, friends, and family. But I needed more connecting IN THE FLESH. I knew I was going to be staying for a minimum of 3 months and I thought I best get to work on building a community of people. Playmates, colleagues, connections to yackety-yack with. Solidarity and friendships. The best way I know how to do that is to do it via something I love. I looked at dance classes, but they started at my bedtime. So what about writing?

I had decided it was the time to start writing my 5th book and had lodged that in my heart as my “winter” project. It’s about the past 4 years of living location free. So I searched for and joined the local Facebook group for Expats, and put up a post about how I was writing a book and asked who fancied joining me for some writing sessions? A simple post. I often do these writing sessions with our writers in our mentorships and regularly sit in community with writers. I was bowled over by the responses, especially a lady from Scotland who lives here all winter who started pointing me to all sorts of people she instinctively thought I’d like to meet. Instant networks and threads for me to explore.

I wasn’t starting the Malaga group as a paid membership or community –simply more to meet people and anchor myself in front of my computer. In the first meeting, there were 5 of us – and in 2 short hours, I had planned my whole book in 13 pages of hand-written notes. I always have a rule that every time you sit to write you need a goal to aim for. I offered this one rule to the group to get everyone to set minimum word count/goals for the writing session. Very little talking – lots of writing and lots of coffee. Word quickly spread. This week, as I leave Malaga, two other writers have taken over the group to keep the energy going and to keep writers writing! Thanks to a lovely young lad Matt from the USA and Marta from Scotland (a belt loving scriptwriter) who took over, I somehow feel as if I have managed to leave a little piece of myself here in the form of a committed writing group. That makes me so happy! I had been shown a PERFECT writing spot by my house-sit host. La Galerna is right on the beach in Pedregalejo, and we sit upstairs looking over the Mediterranean. I gathered folk who wanted to write together, once or twice a week. Within just 11 such writing sessions I had finished the first draft of my book. FANBLOODYTASTIC! Thanks to the regular committed folk Marc, Ruth, Carolynne, Eunice, Gian, Jan, Matt, Caroline, Marta and Lina. My regular writing tribe!

I have a small community here now, favorite places that call out to my heart, little back streets I always walk, bus drivers I know to greet, the place I buy my breakfast, an awesome physiotherapist, a weekly co-working meet-up with the fabulous Victoria Watson, a brand & PR expert, my regular pit-stop to the El Haman Turkish hot baths that soothe my muscles as I let the stress slip onto slabs of heated marble. I literally used to pray onto the slabs of marble while pouring buckets of piping hot water over my soul. The power of rituals. Then there is the powerhouse that is the incredible Nathan Manzaneque who runs the BTB networking club. I was also bowled over by the powerhouse of heartfullness, Victoria Ahlen who runs The Vilostrada Foundation doing phenomenal work in Morocco, and she is based between Morocco and Malaga. Or how about early morning Pilates with Ruth on the beach watching the sunrise.

I found a funky hairdresser and the best nail technician I have ever found anywhere. She’s called Angelica – go figure- and she is like a little butterfly on my nails. Or for the gals who need Frida type eyebrows – visit these two gorgeous Polish sisters who make this an unforgettable experience. Lashes and brows with love. I also have many other local coffee shops. I even get to tell established residents where to eat a certain food or entice them to a piano concerto in the magnificent Art Deco Concert Hall. And a guy I make sure I go and visit every time I’m near Plaza Constitution with his puppy called Kitty to offer an ear as he battles the streets. It’s a community for me. I know I will entice you to come and visit and …I already have plans afoot to host a Writing Residency in November 2020. Hosted at a gorgeous, brand new Retreat Centre called VegaHouseSpain run by Ana Capucho Maybe you get to explore this city with me soon?

I walk through it like a local. Smiling!

For me, life is usually about going TO something rather than walking away FROM somewhere else. I know it’s still Europe / Uk that’s pulling me. That’s what I know for now.

But I needed a blank page in between the old and the new. Malaga was my place. Officially leaving South Africa after to-and fro-ing for 4 years, I am in the place of – oh hell – so where next? Where is the place I let myself “pot”. You know- when you POT A PLANT? I have picked up my roots from the 50 years of being in SA, but am now dancing in the air waiting for the drumroll of ….YES, IT’S HERE. To feel the resonance of “This place wants me to stay.”

Malaga offered me a precious place to pause. To regather me to myself. Process and ponder life and where I am going. How do I want to truly live going forward, and how do I want to show up for my work and purpose. Where do I wish to create a proper home and retreat center? What does this new chapter look like and who joins me on it? Do you know what I mean when I say certain cities have the ability to help you heal – from the inside out? Malaga just mostly made me smile – or when I was grieving I could still smile through the tears as I stared at the ocean. It is an outrageously wonderful city to be in over Christmas and New year – the shops and Christmas lights and concerts are simply magnificent. I also had a dear friend and my mum come visit – and it was so easy to show them “my” city. Every time I spot the ‘Catedral’ I burst into a smile- she suddenly appears as you walk along a narrow street then BOOM – her majestic dome and “manquita arm” is right in front of you. Or walking past Octopus- the multi-million dollar yacht that was berthed in the Puerto all winter. I never did get an invite onto it. Rooftop terraces to bask in the sun sipping vino and tapas. Buskers playing everything from harps, to flutes to opera. A little Flamenco passion and “Naranja” lined streets. I also happened to have a fabulous Spanish teacher who lived in my complex – if ever you need a Spanish language immersion, she’s your teacher! I met many, many, amazing souls and you all know who you are, even if not mentioned in person here. Thank you for making my time in Malaga so precious.

I would really LOVE to know where you have ever found yourself doing some deep inner healing and re-assessment work? Or where you are right now? Was it a bustling city, a new country, or a wee village on a remote island? Was it summer and sun, or snow and shovels?

How long did it take you to come back to yourself – to find a sense of inner rhythm again? I feel like my winter sojourn to Malaga has revived me, and I know everything is gonna be just perfect, even though it’s totally different from what I had imagined unfolding these past few months. Life has a plan for us – we just have to show up and be present.

Drop me a line on [email protected] to connect- or leave me a comment

If you feel like you need to take some time to gather yourself towards yourself, be sure to come and grab my latest series about THE STRATEGIC POWER OF DISCONNECTING

Love Kate xx

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Malaga Momentos – My City of Healing was originally published on Kate Emmerson - The Quick Shift Deva

#grieving #healing #location free #malaga #new beginnings #p[urpose #write your book #writing #writing retreat

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tigereye771 · 7 years

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Bend the Knee, Lose All

This story is in response to some alleged ‘spoilers’. I haven’t read them but have gotten the gist from several people. A story was asked and this is my interpretation of things. I had quite a good time writing this. It is long, there are major character deaths and if you’re a Daenerys fan, it might be best if you avoided this story.

Tagging: @heathergee25, @jonsa-gives-me-life

Title: Bend the Knee, Lose All

Parts: 1/1

Characters: Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, Bran Stark, Tyrion Lannister, Samwell Tarly, Varys, Arya Stark

They are a sorry sight, bedraggled and wounded, their horses emaciated and near dying as they approach the gates of Winterfell. It had been a hard journey back from Kings Landing where their ill-conceived idea of treating with the Mad Queen, Cersei, resulted in devastating losses they could never had imagined. Daenerys dragons, all gone. Her mighty Dorothki and Unsullied troops, smashed. They had barely escaped with their own lives, their pitiful party of the Mother of Dead Dragons, Varys, Tyrion and Jon. All others had been lost as they realized that a cunning and mad queen willing to risk everything was more than match for three dragons and two armies. Especially if they were stupid and naïve enough to believe Cersei would be willing to listen to their talk of alliances and a greater threat. They only made out alive with the timely arrival and assistance of Brienne and Podrick, who were sent by Sansa to protect Jon.

He should have listened to Sansa. She had tried to warn him to not trust Cersei and yet again, he ignored his cousin’s sage advice and it was only the intervention of Sansa’s sworn sword and her squire that he lived.

Jon had left Winterfell many moons ago to bring back dragon glass and powerful allies. While he was able to get a shipment of dragon glass sent to Sansa, all he had to show for his trip south was a broken would-be queen, a dwarf, a eunuch and a wounded shoulder.

“Who goes there?” a voice bellowed out.

“Jon Snow, your King,” he called out firmly. He saw a head pop out to regard the party below. While he could not see the man’s expression, the sneer and derision in his voice could not be mistaken.

“Oh, it’s the Targaryen scum with his foreign whore.”

He heard Daenerys sharp intake of breath. Jon flushed angrily. “Opened the gate! As your king, I order you to open the gate!”

“You’re no king of mine, Targaryen!” spat out the guard.

“Then you will open it for me!” Brienne rode forward from her position in the back where she and Podrick had protected their group.

Another head popped out. “Tis Lady Brienne. Her Grace will want to see her.”

“’Her grace?’” Dany’s head turned sharply towards Jon.

Jon shrugged, realizing that as soon as the Northern Lords heard he was really Rhaegar and Lyanna’s child they likely crowned Sansa. He did not mind, he welcomed it. The mistakes he has made in the last few moons showed he had been a poor choice.

Slowly the gates opened and Jon and his party rode silently in. They were greeted with hostile stares and he realized the courtyard seemed extremely crowded with more troops and small folk gathered than he had seen before. An old woman carrying a basket spat at the feet of Jon’s horse and he tried not to react. A pile of dung was thrown at them and it splattered on Dany’s cloak and some hit Tyrion on his leg.

The whispers began.

“He gave away the North.”

“Wasn’t his to give away, Targaryen bastard.”

“That’s his foreign whore, who is his aunt too. Sick and evil is what them Targaryen’s are.”

“A Lannister! He should be hung!”

Jon stared straight ahead but he could see from the corner of his eye Daenerys glaring at everyone, her back stiff and her neck held high. Your foolish pride will get us killed, Aunt, Jon thought wearily.

Aside from the whispers, the spitting and one lobbed pile of dung, no one bothered them. Brienne’s presence assured them of their safety. They dismounted and moved forward, but it was not Sansa who greeted them, but a round solemn face that Jon loved so much.

“Sam!” he cried out as he hurried forward to embrace his old friend.

However, before he could do so, Sam held out a hand to stop him. Sam’s eyes went to Dany who was several steps behind Jon and settled on her. She smiled prettily at Jon’s friend, but Sam’s eyes remained hard and cold, a look Jon had never seen before.

“Are you the one? Are you Daenerys Targaryen?” Sam asked in a sharp voice that startled Jon.

“Yes,” Dany replied, slightly taken aback. “I am Queen of-“

“Burning Men!” Sam snapped. “That is all you are!” He turned furious eyes on Jon, so heated and angry they were that the former King of the North took a step back. “She burned my father and brother alive! Just like she did with your relatives yet you stand with her! Fuck her! Turn your back on your family for her!”

“Sam-,” Jon began, his heart breaking. He reached out to his friend who stepped back.

“No!” Sam said sharply. “There is nothing to say. You made your bed, now you must lie in it.” He looks over Daenerys dismissively. “I hope you think it was worth it.” He gathers himself. “The Queen is in a meeting with her war council. She has asked that you be shown rooms, provided baths and food. She suggests you rest and she will speak with you later. As you can see, we have limited room here in Winterfell as the Queen has tried to shelter as many refugees as possible. Only two rooms are available so you’ll have to share.” He looked stonily at the little party. “I’m sure you already have a plan worked out. Follow me.”

They had no choice but to trail after Sam and the prospect of a warm bath, bed and food sounded too good to resist. Sam led them to the guest quarters far from the family’s wing and Jon felt a pang at that, but it was no less than he deserved. Brienne and Podrick had peeled off to their own rooms, but Jon noticed they had been joined by four guards. Sam showed them to two small rooms. “I’m sure you’ll figure out you own sleeping arrangements.” He turned to go, but Tyrion stopped him.

“Are we to be constantly guarded?”

Sam paused and turned around. “While they are here to ensure none of you cause issues, be glad that they are as they are also charged with your protection.”

“Protection?” Jon queried.

Sam stared stonily at him. “None of you are popular here in the North. None. I can think of a dozen people who would happily slit each of your throats, but the Queen will not permit it. At this point, your cousin is the only one standing between you and the fury of your former bannermen.” Sam turned to go again, but Jon stopped him.

“Sam, please,” Jon begged. “Please, let us talk.”

“There’s nothing to say, Jon,” Sam snapped. He took a deep, steadying breath. “My father was not a nice man. He was fairly terrible, but he was my father. And I did care for Dickon.” He looked over at Dany who was watching them closely and his face hardened. “But she burned them alive. Alive, Jon! They didn’t deserve that and yet you still sided with her!” Sam looked almost pityingly at Jon who could only stare at his friend with shattered eyes. “You were a good man once, Jon Snow. Kind and honorable. Decent.” Sam shook his head. “But I can’t see you like that anymore. Not now.” He turned and strode away.

*/*/*/*/*

They gave Dany one room while the three men slept in the other one. She looked pointedly at Jon who ignored her. After their tryst on the boat, there had not been much opportunity to couple. Just twice in their travels back to Winterfell. Each time Jon, felt dirtier knowing he was laying with his aunt, but in those bleak times on the road, he was desperate to hold onto anything. He wondered how word of his relationship with Daenerys had reached Winterfell. Jon had asked his question out loud in a soft murmur, but the other two men heard him and Tyrion replied it had been he who had written to Sansa.

“I was outside her chamber door,” the Imp told him. “I heard the two of you. She’s quite verbose.”

“And you felt the need to write to Sansa about it?” Jon inquired sharply.

“I mentioned that it seemed a great alliance was forming and I suggested perhaps we should make our marriage more lasting,” Tyrion shrugged.

Jon rounded on him and grabbed Tyrion by the shirt. “You will get it out of your head that you have any type of claim on Sansa!” Jon growled.

The little man’s eyes narrowed and he laughed bitterly. “What is this Jon Snow, trying to keep all of the beautiful women to yourself?”

Jon released Tyrion and stepped back, trying to control his anger. “There is nothing between me and Daenerys. Not anymore. And I will offer my sword in service to my cousin.”

“Hmm, good luck convincing our Mother of Dead Dragons you’re walking away. Men don’t do that with her. She does the discarding and walking away. Cousin, how easily that label falls from your lips now. And so much more convenient for you. Cousins frequently marry each other.”

Jon fisted his hands and spun around to stalk over to one of the windows, ignoring Tyrion. He heard Varys move over to the Imp and speak to him in low tones, but Jon was not interested in what they were scheming. What he had said earlier was true. All Jon wanted to do was swear himself to Sansa’s service and protect the North. Maybe then, he could find some of that honor he had lost in the last few moons. It was the best he could hope for because the other dream, the one he had kept buried in the deepest part of his heart that had copper hair and eyes as blue as a summer sky would never be his. Not after all this.

*/*/*/*/*

They were finally taken for an audience with Sansa. They approached her in the Great Hall where she was flanked by Lord Glover and Yohn Royce. Brienne and Podrick stood sentinel behind Sansa’s chair and to Jon’s surprise, Edmure Tully and a young boy sat on the right side of the room.

Sansa wore no crown, but needed none as her copper hair shined brilliantly. She wore a plain grey gown with the double dire wolves broach nestled at her neck.

“Kneel Targaryen Scum!” one of the guards that had escorted them cried out.

They were forced onto their knees and he saw Sansa frown at the guards.

“There is no need for that,” she reprimanded them. She gestured for Jon and the others to rise.

“They were not showing respect for the Queen of the Three Kingdoms,” Lord Glover rumbled out.

“Three?” Dany cried out.

“The Vale and the Riverlands have sworn themselves to Queen Sansa,” Lord Royce replied as he regarded them evenly. “We have no use for Mad Queens, Targaryen or Lannisters.”

“I should be the queen! Your king bent the knee to me!” Dany cried out before a sharp elbow from Varys silenced her.

“A false king who had no right to the crown,” Glover snapped as he looked at Jon with mild distaste. “Queen Sansa has convinced us that you knew naught about your parents, bastard, otherwise we would have thought you conspired with this-,” he sniffed distastefully in Dany’s direction, “Targaryen to steal the North.”

“I told you, I didn’t want the crown,” Jon began.

“Aye, we were to blame partially, and we believe the Queen when she declared your intentions honorable, if not wise.”

“Is that the Dragon Queen?” the young boy suddenly asked as he stood up.

Edmure Tully tried to shush him. “Quiet Robin, yes, it’s her but there are no more dragons.”

“Oh,” Robin replied as he sank back into his seat. “Then there’s nothing interesting about her.”

Jon glanced at Sansa, whose face to many, remained impassive, an icy mask of bland neutrality, but Jon detected the slightest softening in her eyes.

“Why have you all come here?” Sansa finally asked, her eyes on him.

“I come to ask to do what I have always wanted to do, which is to serve and protect the North,” Jon replied. He heard someone let out a snort over his words, but he ignored it. “I’ve come to pledge my sword to you, Your Majesty.”

“And these others?” Sansa asked, turning her attention to Dany, Tyrion and Varys. “What do you seek?”

“I too come to serve you, your Grace,” Varys replied.

Sansa quirked her lips. “And I would be your fourth? Fifth master, Varys? You go through them so swiftly. It makes me question your loyalty.” Before he could respond, Sansa turned to Tyrion. “And you, Lord Lannister.”

“I simply seek shelter,” the little man replied blithely. “I’m imposing upon our past relationship and asking you for old times sake to help out a fellow creature in distress. We were married before.”

A guard poked Tyrion in the back. “Mind how you speak to the Queen, Lannister!” Glover growled.

Sansa turned her eyes towards Daenerys. “And you, Daenerys Targaryen, what do you seek from this court.”

The two women regarded each other silently for a few moments, Sansa with her cool calmness, and Daenerys fairly vibrating with hot anger. “Queen of the Three Realms?” hissed the petite woman. “I should be the one called queen! It is my birthright-“

The guard who had poked Tyrion suddenly came up to Dany and cuffed her roughly against her head sending her stumbling slightly forward. “You will respect the Queen!”

“Bael!” Sansa said sharply. “I appreciate your wish to protect me from everything, including a disrespectful guest, but do not strike her.” She watched silently as Jon helped steady Dany and inquired if she was okay. “Now, as you can see, what you think you are entitled to has little currency here. Right now we are fighting a war with the undead, a war we had hoped you would be our allies in. However, at this time, you have nothing to offer us but yourself. You have no armies. You have no dragons. We appreciate the first shipment of dragon glass, but since Cersei reclaimed Dragonstone, that is all we received. Forgive me my lady, unless you are an experienced fighter or a trained maester, I do not see what you have to offer the North but another mouth to feed. How will you earn your keep?”

Dany looked at Sansa in shock and began to sputter. “I am a Queen! I am royalty!”

“You are another person who is taking up resources of which we have very little. I need people who can contribute in the fight against the Night King. I do not need a woman who only wishes to rule, but has shown very little capacity for it, nor do I need a Master of Whispers or a drunkard.” Her eyes fell upon Jon again who gazed at her silently. “I need fighters. I need maesters and healers. I need workers. Everyone in the North is contributing in some way in our fight, even the smallest of children.” She tore her eyes from Jon and looked at the other three. “If you are willing to do so, I will offer you sanctuary, as much as I can, because at this point, with the Others marching towards us, I cannot guarantee anyone’s safety.”

In the end, they agreed and while Varys and Tyrion would have preferred a role among Sansa’s advisors, they knew it would never happen. They are assigned to Sam who would find them something to do. The maester appeared, still not meeting Jon’s eyes and took the other two men away with him, two guards trailing after them.

“Daenerys Targaryen, I will assign you to help in the infirmary.” A broad, solid looking woman entered the room from a side door. “This is Thayla and she will show you what needs to be done.” Dany looks mutinously at being forced to work, but she remains silent. She gives Jon a slightly worried look which he returns, but she follows the other woman out, a guard following her. Sansa watches their silent exchange with an impassive look on her face.

“She will be alright,” Sansa tells Jon gently. Jon looks back at her in surprise. “She won’t be harmed in any way.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Jon replied honestly. He didn’t think Dany truly had anything to fear, physically, from the Northerners, at least not here within Sansa’s castle. “I’m just not sure she’s ever really done much manual labor.”

Sansa’s lips quirked. “She’ll learn with Thayla supervising her.” She stood suddenly and walked around the table, gesturing for Jon to follow her. “Come Jon, Bran is waiting to speak with you.” She paused when she realized Jon was not following her. “Jon?”

“Bran? Bran’s alive?” Jon asked hoarsely.

Sansa frowned at him. “Jon, I wrote to you that Bran arrived at Winterfell not long after you left and Arya right after him. Did you not get my letters?”

“Arya?” Jon repeated stupidly. “Letters?”

“Jon!” Sansa peered closely into his face. “I wrote to Dragonstone about them coming home, asking you to come back to see them.”

Jon closed his eyes. “The letters must have been lost,” he murmured, not wanting to believe the alternative.

“Or intercepted,” Sansa replied crisply, suspicion darkening her eyes. She motioned for him to follow her and this time did not wait to see if he did. “Come, it’s time you speak with Bran. There is much to do.”

*/*/*/*/*

Bran was in the Godswoods beneath the Heart Tree, Meera and two other guards by his side. When Jon spotted him, he let out a cry and rushed forward to embrace his brother, but the guards stopped him.

“Let him through,” Bran commanded and the guards stepped aside to allow Jon to drop to his knees and pull his brother into a fierce hug. “Hello, Jon.”

“Bran!” Jon choked out a sob as he squeezed Bran’s slight form tightly. “Brother!”

“Well, really cousin,” Bran said mildly and Jon dropped his arms and pulled back to look at the boy with wounded eyes. Bran smiled slightly. “Despite all that has happened, and all that we know, I do think of you as my brother.”

At his words, Jon smiled slightly. “Where have you been? Tell me all that has happened to you.”

Bran shook his head. “Later, we have more important things to speak about.” He looked up at Sansa. “I can feel them coming closer.”

Sansa took a step forward. “How close?”

“At the rate they’re moving, they’ll be on Winterfell’s doorstep in two moons.”

“We don’t have much time then. We’ll have to mobilize much more quickly than we had planned,” Sansa replied grimly.

“Send me to the front,” Jon begged. “I can fight there.”

Sansa stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. “You’d be useless up there. Brienne told me about your shoulder wound and I can see you favoring it even now. No, you’ll still need some time to recover before you’re ready to fight. In the meantime, you can help train the fighters. I’ll have Brienne arrange it. I must go now to inform the Lords that we will have to move more quickly.” She inclined her head and took her leave.

Jon watched her go with a mixture of pride and awe until Bran’s voice made him turn around.

“She’s a very good queen,” Bran said in a light voice. “And with Brienne, Glover and Royce’s tutoring, become quite good at understanding and making military decisions.” He leaned back against the heart tree. “But she was quite disappointed to hear about your actions in the South, Jon. Bending the knee to Daenerys Targaryen?”

Jon dropped his head in shame. “I thought I was doing right for the North. We needed her armies and dragons.”

“And lusting after her and desiring her as your queen had nothing to do with it?”

Jon’s eyes snapped up. “Tyrion told you all that?”

“Did he lie?”

Jon looked away, unable to meet Bran’s steady eyes. “No. Maybe it’s the cursed Targaryen blood within me, but I was seized by some type of madness. And then when Brienne arrived and told me about my father…I felt ill over what I had done.”

“Yet you continued to couple with her.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it judgment.

Jon snorted. “By then, what did anything matter? She had lost all of her troops, her dragons. We were running for our lives. I failed at everything I tried to do and could only think of coming home and dying trying to protect what I loved most. But sometimes the nights got so cold and my despair so dark, and she was a warm body to fuck and she thought the same of me.”

Bran simply shook his head. “So that is why you’re here now? To simply die?”

“At least I’ll die protecting those I love and my home.”

“You know no one believes you.”

“What?!” Jon gave Bran a startled look.

“That you love the North. That you love this family, us, the Starks. You turned your back on us, Jon, for Daenerys. Many people view you as a traitor. I’m afraid you won’t find it easy here. Neither you nor your friends.”

“I’ve already seen that,” Jon said in a wounded tone, his eyes dropping.

“That is nothing!” Bran bit out so sharply Jon looked up at him in surprise. “Many wanted to strike you down as soon as you set foot in the North. You and Daenerys! That woman’s vanity and stupidity along with yours has made this coming war nigh impossible for us to win. You sold the North for nothing but what was between Daenerys legs! The only reasons you all aren’t dead is because Sansa declared no harm would come to any of you until she had a chance to talk with each of you.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Jon cried out in anguish. “If I could go back, I never would have done the things I did, but I can’t change that Bran. So all I can do is try to make up for it as best as I can. Will you help me?”

Bran gestured for one of the guards who came to wheel his chair. “I cannot help you with that, Jon. Only you will be able to decide how to prove yourself not only to the North, but to Sansa. It will not be easy.” He started to move away when Jon stopped him.

“Bran, where can I find Arya?”

Bran paused and would not look at Jon. “Arya isn’t here anymore. She’s…changed so much that being within Winterfell’s walls did not provide her with the comfort and security it once did.”

“You mean Sansa let her leave?” Jon exclaimed.

“Sansa did not have a choice. Arya wished to leave. Her place was no longer here. Sansa begged and pleaded with her, but Arya’s fate is not within the walls of Winterfell.” He turned to give Jon one more measured look. “Had you returned sooner, you would have had a chance to see her and say goodbye.” He gestured for the guard to continue and they left Jon alone in the Godswoods with the snow falling gently upon him.

*/*/*/*/*

The work was hard and Jon rarely saw Sansa. He would catch a glimpse of a flash of copper around a corner and he would hurry after her, but she would be gone before he could find her. As his wounded shoulder healed, he trained the fighters, Northern men, women and children, many of whom looked at him distrustfully but obediently followed his instructions without comment. Jon saw Sam regularly as the maester checked on the latter’s shoulder, but Sam kept the conversation focused on Jon’s injury. After the first week at Winterfell, Sansa had removed the guards who watched over them, though there were enough suspicious eyes around to report any misdeeds should any of them be foolish enough to commit them.

He had never been surrounded by so many yet felt so alone.

Varys and Tyrion settled into their roles with little complaint. Sam had them researching for ways to fight the White Walkers and while Winterfell’s library was not as extensive as the Citadel, it did carry many books on military strategies and history of Westeros.

Daenerys found her duties less pleasant. Thayla had her cleaning bed pans.

“This is an outrage! I am Khaleessi! And I’m cleaning up shit?! Your bitch of a cousin is deliberately trying to humiliate me!”

“Do not speak of Sansa that way!” Jon yelled back at her. “The only reason you’re cleaning bedpans is because you have no other skills! They have no need of someone to sit on her ass on the throne and look pretty!”

She had glared at Jon who spun around and stalked out of her room. He didn’t know where he was going, but knew he needed to get away from Dany. They didn’t interact much with other people when they weren’t working and had only each other for company. Jon soon found that they were not as compatible as he thought, at least not when they were both left with nothing, would-be monarchs that had no kingdom or people to rule.

Jon headed for the battlements, needing some solitude and the bracing winter air, but found to his surprise that someone was already there. The woman he had been eager to speak to all these weeks was standing before him, alone for once, though he could see Brienne in the shadows at the opposite end watching him closely. Sansa’s head turned as his boots crunched the thin layer of snow beneath his feet.

“Jon,” she greeted. She turned her head to look at Brienne and gave her sworn sword a small nod and Brienne faded back into the shadows.

“Your Majesty,” Jon inclined his head respectfully.

He saw Sansa’s lips quirk and a sad look come into her eyes. She returned her attention to the wintery landscape. “How are you faring in the training?”

Jon moved to stand beside her, staring out into the frozen land as well. It was easier to speak this way, not looking into one another’s eyes.

“Good. There are some decent fighters there.” His answer is short because he does not want to say what he really thinks. However Sansa is far more intuitive and she has studied the situation much more thoroughly than he thinks.

“It’s not enough is it? Not enough to defeat the Others and the Night King.”

“No,” Jon replies softly as his head drops in shame. He had one thing to do and that was to bring back resources that would give the North a fighting chance, dragons and dragon glass. Instead, all he brought back was a spoiled child, a dwarf and a eunuch. He glanced at Sansa who still stared out into the frozen land.

“Run,” he said to her softly. “Sansa, get Bran and head across the sea to Braavos, the Free Cities.” He stepped urgently towards her. “Go now, while there’s still time.”

She turned startled eyes towards him. “Run? Jon, I can’t run, my people need me.”

“There’s nothing you can do for them, Sansa, because I ruined things,” Jon spat out bitterly. He grabbed her by her arms. “But you can live. You and Bran! Take him, get Brienne to escort you. Save yourselves!”

She glanced down at where his hands held her arms and then back into his face. “Where was this concern for us when you lay with the Dragon Queen giving away our home?”

Jon dropped his hands. “I know I can’t go back and change things. I can’t say sorry and expect to be forgiven for something so egregious. But trust me, Sansa, I only want to protect you and Bran.”

Sansa looks out him a moment and lets out a hollow laugh. “Remember how we stood here once and you said we needed to trust each other? I did, and you gave away our home. How do you expect me to trust you, Jon? How do you expect me to believe anything you say?”

“I don’t know,” Jon replies softly. He reached up his hands to cup her face, her beautiful face that he had tried to forget and thought he could with another woman, but Jon knew that Sansa was imprinted on his very soul. “But I would do anything to keep you safe and I will work until the end of time to make you believe and trust me again. Sansa,” he murmured softly as he leaned his forehead to hers.

Their breaths mingled as the stood there in a moment far more intimate than any he had shared with Daenerys, but all too soon, Sansa pulled away and Jon immediately felt colder.

“It will not be easy, nor quick to earn back that trust, Jon,” Sansa told him as she started to turn away. “You may find it could take longer for me to trust you than the North itself.” She paused and then said in a low voice. “But I’m willing to try. Good night, Jon.” She glided towards Brienne who held open a door for her and disappeared from his sight. Whatever it took, Jon was willing to do it to have her back.

*/*/*/*/*

The bright glean in Daenerys’ eyes when she came to him should have been Jon’s warning. He had been walking towards his room when she popped out of hers and dragged Jon inside.

“Jon!” she hissed in a whisper even though they were alone and behind closed doors. “I know what we can do!”

He looked at her in confusion. “Do? What do you mean?”

“How we can get our thrones back! Your cousin isn’t as smart nor does she have as strong of a hold over her kingdom as she thinks! I’ve heard some men whispering about their doubts about her ability to lead them through this fight. I’m sure if you were to talk to some of the men they’d back you-“

Her words ended in a gasp as Jon grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her. “Shut up! Don’t say such things! I would never do that to Sansa!” He pushed her roughly back and she stumbled against a table. “If you do anything to harm Sansa, or my family, I will cut you down myself.”

Jon spun on his heel and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Daenerys coldly snubbed him the next few days and Jon found himself glad for the respite of not having to deal with her. Varys and Tyrion looked at them curiously, but asked no questions. Jon found himself preoccupied with other matters to care too much about Daenerys’ silent treatment. In addition to the training he did, Sansa was suddenly more available to him, occasionally engaging in short conversations. Jon’s heart began to hope again as he watched her eyes sometimes soften when in his presence.

After a particularly long day, Jon undressed down to his breeches and crawled into bed. Varys and Tyrion were still in the library. They often had very late nights as they became engrossed in their research. He had begun to drift to sleep when his door opened and a figure slipped silently in. Jon raised his head to see who it was and recognized Daenerys immediately.

Given their chilly relations the past few days, he was surprised then when she slipped into his bed and began to kiss him. Jon pushed her away.

“Dany? What are you doing?”

“I’m lonely, Jon,” she murmured pleadingly as she straddled his body and began to grind her wet cunt against him. “Please. I just need someone to hold me, to make me feel good again in this wretched place!”

“Dany, no,” Jon began to say as he push her off. He bit off a groan as he felt her hot, wetness through the thin layers of their clothing as she moved over him. One of her hands snaked down and slipped inside his breeches to stroke him.

“You want me to,” Dany purred. “Come on, Jon, just a good hard fuck and we’ll both feel better.”

“Stop it! I don’t want to!”

“That’s not what your big cock is telling me,” Dany laughed as she pulled him out of his breeches. “I’ll use my mouth. I know how much you love that.” She started to move down on him.

“Dany, I said stop-“

Jon’s words were cut off as the door was banged open and guards filled the room.

“Grab the traitor and his whore!” one of them yelled out.

Dany was yanked off of Jon and he was pulled from the bed. They were dragged out of the room and marched towards the Great Hall, he clad only in his breeches and Dany in a shift. When they got there, it was filled with the Northern Lords. Varys and Tyrion were already on their knees before Sansa and Lord Royce and Glover in a repeat of when they had first arrived. Jon and Dany were thrown down next to the Varys and Tyrion. Jon looked up in bewilderment towards Sansa.

Glover stood up. “Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, you both are accused of conspiring to commit treason against Queen Sansa, Ruler of the Three Realms. How do you plead?”

“What?” Jon sputtered. “Sansa? What is going on?”

“Answer the question!” Glover snapped out.

“Not guilty, of course!” Dany yelled. “This is just something this frigid bitch has made up because she knows Jon loves me and not her!”

Jon snapped his head to stare at Dany and then looked back at Sansa who had remained silent and impassive so far. Glover sputtered and would have said something else, but Sansa held up her hand. Jon noticed it then that she had a letter in the other hand. Sansa rose to her feet.

“This letter was intercepted and brought to Lord Royce earlier today. It is addressed to Jorah Mormont, a loyalist of Daenerys Targaryen and it says that Daenerys has convinced Jon Snow to help her recruit men at Winterfell who will back his claim as King and over throw the reigning queen, Sansa Stark. She asks for Mormont to ride North to Winterfell to assist with this and help her rightfully reclaim her lands.”

Several people gasp and Varys, Tyrion and Jon turn to stare at Dany in disbelief. She simply returns Sansa’s icy look with a fierce one of her own. “That letter is a forgery. You have no proof. I bet you created that to just to try to get rid of me.”

“Martin,” Sansa called out.

A young guard strides forward and bows before Sansa.

“Please tell us what you told Lord Glover earlier.”

“I notice this Targaryen has been trying to listen in on what the guards are saying so I says to me friends, let’s see just what she’s up to. We begin to talk like we’d want the bastard to rule instead of you, your grace. I can see she’s just lapping this up and sure enough, today she comes to me and offers herself up if I could find some men who thought like me and would help Jon Snow.”

“She actually offered to lie with you in exchange for betraying your queen?” Royce exclaimed.

Martin nodded. “Aye, almost hiked up her skirt and spread her legs right there, but I told her we talk later.” A look of distaste crossed his face. “Like I would bed a Targaryen,” he spat out.

An angry murmur went through the crowd and Dany’s face flushed and then paled. “Lies! Again, this is just cooked up to justify the Queen in ordering my death.”

Sansa’s eyes turned towards Jon. “Have you nothing to say, Jon Snow?”

“I have nothing to do with any plot against you, Your Grace. I only wish to serve my queen.” He paused and something in his face caused Sansa to tilt her head and ask,

“But?”

“A few days ago, Daenerys did speak to me about possibly challenging your claim on the throne, Your Grace. I thought it was simply silly talk and ignored her. I forgot about it as I thought she did too.” He glared at Dany who seemed to shrink. Varys and Tyrion groaned.

“So you knew of a plot to commit treason and remained silent?” Royce shot out.

“I didn’t think she was serious!”

“I knew nothing of this, Your Majesty,” Varys piped up. “Neither Tyrion nor I have heard of this plot before.”

Sansa nodded. “I believe you Varys. Sam has said the two of you have spent practically every waking moment in the library and no one has seen you approach the guards or talk much with Daenerys herself.” She sighed softly.

It began with only one person calling out, but soon there were chants of “guilty” and “hang the traitors” that filled the Hall. Jon watched as both Glover and Royce leaned towards Sansa to talk to her. Sansa held up her hand for silence. She stood.

“Daenerys Targaryen, do you have anything to say in your defense?”

“I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet you force me to clean up shit and wait on those who should be serving me. It is my right to rule!”

Sansa did not look at the other woman with any hatred or malice, only weariness and pity. “Long ago, I thought it would be the most wonderful thing to be queen. A pretty life full of pretty dresses and things. But that is not a queen. A queen is not one who sits there simply to rule over people. A queen is someone who serves her people. I have seen many bad monarchs. We still have one in the South. A happenstance of birth does not mean you will be a good ruler or should rule. If you have nothing to add to your defense, than I will issue my judgment.”

“I have nothing else to say,” Dany spat out.

Sansa looked at Jon.

Jon glanced at Dany and then lifted his chin. “I am prepared to accept whatever judgment my queen has to offer.”

Sansa took a deep breath. “Daenerys Targaryen, you have been found guilty of attempting to commit treason against the Queen of the North. Jon Snow, you have been found guilty of conspiring against the Queen of the North for failing to inform anyone of this plot.” She paused and looked into Jon’s eyes. “For these crimes, I banish you both from Winterfell, from the North, the Vale and the Riverlands. Leave within an hour and never set foot in my lands again or you will be executed.” Glover and Royce were already leaning forward, ready to argue she was being too lenient, but Sansa held out a hand once again. “This is my sentence.”

“You need us!” Dany screamed. “The prophecy said that only the Prince or Princess who was promised can save you from the Long Night. That is either Jon or me! We should be your rulers!”

“Prophecies have a way of being twisted to have the most convenient interpretation for those who espouse them,” Glover sneered.

Sansa stood and began to leave the room. She walked past Jon and paused to say softly to him.

“I guess I couldn’t trust you after all. But I spared you and the woman you seem to love beyond everything and everyone else. I’m giving you the wish you had back at Castle Black. I’m letting you go to some place warm. Do not come back here, Jon Snow.”

Sansa moved away from him and left the Great Hall. Jon could sense the ripple of displeasure within the room, the others clearly thinking Sansa had been far too generous in her sentence. Within an hour, they had been packed up and escorted far from Winterfell where they were left with just two packs of their belongings and a small purse that Sam had brought down to him before he had left.

“The Queen asked me to give this to you,” Sam said stiffly. “It’s enough to book passage for you both to the Free Cities from White Harbor.” He looked into Jon’s eyes. “I hope Daenerys is worth this.” Sam nodded his head and without another word, went back into the keep without a word of goodbye.

As they trudged towards White Harbor, Daenerys continued to rant and rave about the injustices she had received. Sansa may have thought she was being kind in sparing their lives so they could be together, but Jon could think of no worse punishment of being stuck with Dany as she went on yet another diatribe about how she should be queen. Sam’s words came back to Jon and he could only think of one reply.

No, it had not been worth it.

The trip by foot to White Harbor took weeks and by that point Jon had grown thoroughly sick and tired of Dany. She remained fixated on getting her crown. Jon had learned to simply tune her out, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Once we get to Meeren, I’ll bring back more men and both Cersei and Sansa will pay!” Dany muttered as Jon checked over their things. She glanced down at the ticket he handed her and a small amount of coins. “What’s this?”

“Your passage to the Free Cities,” Jon replied. “And some money to help you along the way.”

“You’re not coming with me?” Dany asked in surprise.

“No, I’m going back to help in the fight with the Others.”

“Alone? Are you insane? Wait until we’ve raised an army.”

Jon sighed. “WE are not raising an army. I’m going to go and defend my home. Our association ends here.”

“You are my blood, Jon! A Targaryen! A dragon!” She reached out to grab his arm, her nails fruitlessly sinking into the thick layers on his sleeve. “Come with me. Be my mate and my king.”

Jon gently shook her off. “No. I’m a Stark. A wolf. And for the first time in ages, I’m going to start acting like one.”

*/*/*/*

He watched as the ship that carried an angry Daenerys sailed away and for the first time in a long while he felt he could breathe again. Jon made his way back into the North and headed towards the one place he thought he may be welcomed.

“Jon Snow, I wondered when you’d show your pretty face,” Tormund Giantsbane bellowed out. The wildling pulled Jon into a fierce hug.

“Tormund, I’ve been a fool, but I still want to fight.”

“Aye, I know what has happened, Jon Snow. I know your death has been ordered if you set foot in thiese lands, but we need men. We need you here for this fight and here you can stay.”

In the moons that came, the fighting was fierce. With nothing left to lose and only the hope of regaining some honor, Jon became the fiercest of fighters taking the greatest risks. His exploits and identity soon became known but as the North fought for its life, people became less concerned with his presence.

But they were steadily losing the war and nothing they had would stem the inevitable tide. Jon knew there was only one chance and that was to cut the head off the snake itself and kill the Night King.

An opportunity came one night on the battlefield and Jon faced off with the leader of the Others. But it was all for naught as he fell onto his back, winded and injured. He watched as the Night King loomed over him and waited for death. At this point it would be welcomed and then he heard a cry,

“Stick ‘em with the pointy end!”

A small dark flash stepped between them and a dark sliver of dragon glass was driven into the Night King’s chest. The figured pushed the demon backwards but it reached out to grab the figure’s throat. Jon struggled up to his knees and watched the two locked in what could be a lovers’ embrace, but Jon knew was one of death.

“Arya!” Jon screamed out as the two fell over the side of a cliff.

With the Night King dead, his armies simply stopped and turned to dust, ashes and snow. Jon, Tormund and a few others scrambled down from the cliff to found Arya and the Night King still locked in their tight embrace, both dead.

As everyone celebrated and cheered, Jon led a somber party back to Winterfell as he and escorted Arya’s body back home. The celebratory cheers died down as the covered body of the Princess of Winterfell was unloaded and presented to her sister and brother.

Sansa dropped to her knees and sobbed as she reached out a hand to touch some of the dark brown hair that had come uncovered. Jon knelt beside Sansa and held her close as they wept for their lost sister.

*/*/*/*/*

Later, Jon went to visit Bran in the Godswoods.

“You knew. You knew neither Daenerys nor I was this so-called Prince that Was Promised. You knew it was Arya all this time, didn’t you?” Jon accused Bran.

“It was her destiny,” Bran replied simply. “She wasn’t meant to rule. She wasn’t meant to be a lady or have children or lived to be old. She was meant to save the world.”

“And Sansa never knew?”

Bran shook his head. “I only spoke to Arya about it. If Sansa knew, she would have tried to find some way to make sure Arya didn’t do it because it would mean her death. But she was the only one who could kill the Night King. She was the Princess Who Was Promised.”

*/*/*/*

Jon visited Sansa in her solar one evening. The Northerners still look at him with some suspicion, but his exploits against the Others and bringing Arya’s body back to Winterfell to be laid to rest has done much to help restore his name and reputation. It will never be the same. He will still be looked at with some suspicion, but no one is calling for his blood.

Jon has not seen Sansa much since he came back. Her duties have kept her very busy as has her mourning. It is a rare opportunity when he does catch her in her solar alone and in a quiet moment. She allows him to enter, but does nothing more as she continues to stare into the fire she sits by. Jon simply enjoys looking at her for a few minutes. The winter has been harsh on all of them and he can see Sansa is paler and thinner, but she is still lovely and with all that has been lost, even more precious to him.

Jon settles himself down beside her at her feet and leans against her leg, much like Ghost will do sometimes. He takes one of her hands in his and presses his lips to her palm. Sansa allows the kiss to linger a heartbeat or two before she pulls away only to use her hand to stroke his hair.

“I’m still not sure I can completely trust you,” she says softly.

“I understand.” Jon pauses. “But maybe some day?”

“Maybe some day,” Sansa replies.

As he sits here, next to her, in the warmth of her solar with the threat against their world gone, Jon is content with that promise for now.

The End

Epilogue:

The storm lashed against the boat like it was nothing more than a toy in the hands of a cruel and capricious child. A strike of lightening and a low crack split the ship in two and the screams of the crew and passengers were drowned in the fury of the storm.

Daenerys thought it was an irony that her name would be Stormborn and it would be a storm that kills her. Her last moments were spent thinking how this was not how her story was supposed to end, but it was how it did.

#jonsa fic jon x sansa fic alleged got s7 spoilers jon snow X sansa stark fic queen of the north

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comicteaparty · 5 years

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October 21st-October 27th, 2019 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party week long chat that occurred from October 21st, 2019 to October 27th, 2019. The chat focused on Unlikely Heroes by Azalea Ortega.

Featured Comment:

Chat:

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- WEEK LONG BOOK CLUB START!

Hello and welcome everyone to Comic Tea Party’s Week Long Book Club~! This week we’ll be focusing on Unlikely Heroes by Azalea Ortega~! (http://unlikelyheroes.thecomicseries.com/)

You are free to read and comment about the comic all week at your own pace, so stop on by whenever it suits your schedule! Remember, though, that while we allow constructive criticism, our focus is to have fun and appreciate the comic. Below you will find four questions to get you started on the discussion. However, a new question will be posted and pinned everyday (between 12:01AM and 6AM PDT), so keep checking back for more! You have until October 27th to tell us all your wonderful thoughts! With that established, let’s get going on the reading and the chatting!

QUESTION 1. What has been your favorite scene in the comic so far? What specifically did you like about it?

QUESTION 2. Why do you think Allie’s world is mired with sexist attitudes towards women? Also, in light of that, what do you think of Allie’s dad’s choice to ignore those attitudes for the benefit of the town at one point? How will sexism continue to affect Allie?

RebelVampire

QUESTION 3. At the moment, who is your favorite character? What about that character earns them this favor?

QUESTION 4. What do you think the significance of the title is to the entire of the story? Why are the heroes to be focused on unlikely, and how do you think they’ll manage to become heroes in spite of that?

RebelVampire

QUESTION 5. What has been your favorite illustration in the comic so far? What specifically about it do you like?

QUESTION 6. How do you think the events in the story so far have affected Allie emotionally, especially in terms of growth? After becoming hero of the town, do you think Allie will be content to stay, or do you think she’ll want more adventure?(edited)

Delphina

Just finished the archive! I thought the celebration montage scene was very sweet and probably my favorite http://unlikelyheroes.thecomicseries.com/comics/140/

It seems like the story is just starting, so I assume we have yet to meet the other "unlikely heroes" but I'm curious if it's going to be more folks who are coming from underestimated or environments of discrimination.

Delphina

It's not hard to get me excited about lady paladins, but I really liked seeing Allie come out in the armor, and this is probably my favorite scene with her. http://unlikelyheroes.thecomicseries.com/comics/99/ She's definitely got the most development at this point. Her parents also seem sweet, supportive, and encouraging despite the overarching societal views of women of the land. It seems like Allie hadn't even really noticed that she'd been discriminated against for being female until someone mentioned it, which is interesting. Clearly the machisimo/idolization of the men of the land is pretty widespread if Lord Valerus was able to take advantage of it to the extent that he did, though. I wonder if it's just because she'd been more of a head-in-the-clouds girl before now or if there's some other factor in play. I'm glad at least in her own village she was able to be the hero. Hopefully the news will spread to other villages, and if Lord Valerus intends to continue his evildoings, they can get out a warning that the dude is bad news.

RebelVampire

1) My favorite scene so far has been the one where Allie heals someone at least and her dad is just "Well looks like you're a paladin." Despite the seriousness of the moment, I kind of found some levity in the line that was much appreciated, just cause it sounded like only just then did he remember being a paladin is a valid D&D class. But levity aside, I just think it was a positive development for Allie that felt earned after all the stuff that happened. 2) I feel like the attitudes just stem from ego, to be honest. Cause lots of people seem to be fine and have no issues with women. The only people who have in so far demonstrated this are a power hungry creep who probably feels superior to everyone and those guys who kept losing to Allie and needed something to blame cause of course it's totally not their fault or anything. As for Allie's dad's choice, I really liked how that's kind of this really gray issue. Cause fighting for equality and fighting for the many over the few are both good virtues. But when you have two good virtues, how do you pick one over the other? I personally lean more towards the dad's point of view, but at the same time, his lack of support was really lacking and that made me sad. I'm sure this will not be the first or last time Allie experiences sexism. However, I think she'll learn to turn it to her advantage, since opponents are easier to beat when they right you off as "just a girl."

3) My favorite character is probably Allie right now, if just for the fact she's had the most prominence and has already grown as a character. I'm interested to see her journey so far. 4) I feel the title is signifying that were going to be dealing with outcasts and those who don't fit the social norms. Like Allie, even if you don't count the fact she's a girl and there's clearly sexist attitudes in the world, even her dad told her she couldn't be a soldier and a healer. And yet she overcame that and became a Paladin. I think the other heroes will be in a similar vein, where their ambitions and dreams don't match up with what society tells them they're capable of. And that other features of their identity will make people judge them versus by their actual skills at first. And I think in each case they'll band together and prove them wrong through determination.

5) My fave illustration is probably the last panel on this page: http://unlikelyheroes.thecomicseries.com/comics/132/ I just really appreciate the effort that was put in here because this is a lot of characters to draw for one panel, and all the designs are really unique as well. It makes the town/village feel more lively because there are so many varied people living there. 6) Emotionally speaking, I feel like the events have given Allie a lot more confidence that she can actually use her skills. During the earlier parts of the story, I felt there was a disconnect. Like she knew she had the skills, but putting them to practical use when everyone was looking down on her was a different matter. And I think she's just overall gained the confidence to know that she can put her mind to it and achieve what she wants. However, I also think on the downside, she might have some slight over-confidence, since she's not taking a dangerous threat very seriously. XD So there may need some balance to be struck. As for Allie staying or going, I actually think she'd be content to stay. However, I think that threat will cause her to leave home, as to protect her town, she'll need to go beat up some bad guys who prefer to do their evil from long distance.

IzzyNinjaMaster

Aaah! All these answers are so good! I just want to thank you guys for really putting thought into your answers. It's very much so appreciated. Your insight into the different situations in the comic is incredible.

IzzyNinjaMaster

By the way, feel free to ask me questions about the comic. I'll do my best to answer without giving any spoilers.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 7. Which characters do you enjoy seeing interact the most? What about their dynamic interests you?

QUESTION 8. Will the attitude changes towards Allie in the town be temporary or permanent do you believe? Thematically, what do you think the sudden changes in attitude say about people’s general ability to change and what causes it?

snuffysam

I love the comic so far! I do wonder what Allie does now. Because, like, she could move on to bigger and better things (exploring the world as a paladin), but I really don't see any reason to leave home when they still need protection.

I think the change in attitude towards Allie is permanent, at least for now. ... that may be an oxymoron, but what I'm saying is - I think it's possible some outsider turns the town against Allie again, but I doubt it will happen naturally.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 9. What sorts of art or story details have you noticed in the way the comic is crafted that you think deserves attention?

QUESTION 10. Do you think Allie can excel as a paladin, or was Allie’s dad right in regards to it being better to choose one specialty? In what ways do you think Allie being a paladin might serve her better than being a soldier (besides the obvious)?

RebelVampire

7) I enjoy seeing Allie and her mom interact the most I think. I just enjoy its a positive, mother-daughter relationship. And honestly, I don't read enough comics that have that. So for me it's a nice break from what I usually read and just gives me warm fuzzies. 8) I think the attitude change towards Allie will be on a more permanent nature for the town. Cause you don't really brush something like that aside so easily. As for the thematic stuff, I do think this story shows how disaster can really change someone's perspective on what's important in life. I actually think there's a positive message here that at the end of the day, even if you hate your neighbor, you can come together if you try to overcome a mutual threat. And it's nice to see a story where attitudes can change once common ground it struck.

9) I've mentioned this a bit earlier, but I like the detail put into the character design. Like so many of the people are clearly just background characters, yet there's a lot of care to make sure everyone is fairly unique. And like I said in this chat earlier, that's a lot of effort but brings a really nice touch. 10) I think Allie can excel as a paladin, but I also think she's gonna struggle at first. Especially in this case cause her healing showed up in a moment of desperation. And without dedicated training there's no gurantee that she can just heal on command. And I think that will give her some amount of anxiety. I do think being a paladin is just better suited to Allie. Cause there's a good balance between methods of protection. And so rather than the benefit of abilities, I think there's a lot to be said about how Allie will emotionally benefit from being able to dedicate herself to her goals in every way that she wants. Plus, I imagine it'll give her an advantage if people just assume she's a soldier and then is like "wa bam healing powers."

IzzyNinjaMaster

By the way, new pages of the comic are up today!

RebelVampire

QUESTION 11. What do you think are this particular comic’s strengths? What do you think makes this comic unique? Please elaborate.

QUESTION 12. Do you think Runian can do anything to Allie from jail, or is Runian just bluffing? Also, who do you think Runian knows that makes him so assured he’ll get out of jail? What other consequences might there be for Allie’s actions?

RebelVampire

QUESTION 13. What are you most looking forward to in the comic? Also, do you have any final thoughts to share overall?

QUESTION 14. Given the comic’s description mentions other party members, what other sorts of characters do you think we’ll be seeing? In what ways do you think they’ll challenge Allie as a person, and why do you think they’ll join Allie’s team?(edited)

RebelVampire

11) I think the comic's strength is how it lives up to the title. While there are plenty of titles that do tackle themes of discrimination, "unlikeliness", and people's journeys overcoming, this come has a really special way of just integrating every moment comic with those themes. Like even small moments speak to this journey, so the ultimate triumphs so far really stick with you. 12) I 100% think Runian can do stuff to Allie from jail. Not necessarily personally, but I'm sure he can hire some people to go after her. Alas, money is the Achilles heel of prisons. It just takes one person willing to take a bribe. Given that Runian seems well-off and nobility to some degree, I'm sure he has friends in high places who are happy to rig things and get him as slap of a wrist punishment as they can. Who I can't say, but there's definitely a someone in the ranks. As for other consequences, I'm sure Allie has made her town a target, not just her. And I feel like that will be a hard pill to swallow since in an effort to save her town, she probably made the crosshairs on it bigger.

RebelVampire

13) I am looking forward most to meeting some of the other heroes and just finding out their general place in the world. It'll be interesting to see how they and Allie work together. 14) As for what other sorts of characters, I assume were at least gonna get a mage, probably one who has trouble with magic. I also feel like some of the other races are gonna be in there - like an orc or something. As for the second part of this question, I think they'll each challenge Allie to consider society in a bigger whole and realize that nope, there's a lot more problems than she realized and not all of it is physical threats. And I think she'll have to discover how to overcome societal pressures and values alongside each companion. Something to that nature.

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- WEEK LONG BOOK CLUB END!

Thank you everyone so much for reading and chatting about Unlikely Heroes this week! Please also give a special thank you to Azalea Ortega for volunteering the comic and creating it! If you liked Unlikely Heroes, make sure to continue to support it via some of the links below!

Read and Comment: http://unlikelyheroes.thecomicseries.com/

Unlikely Hereos’ Twitter: https://twitter.com/unlikelyheroesc

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #book club #bookclub #webcomic book club #webcomic bookclub #comic tea party #ctp #unlikely heroes #azalea ortega

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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