brutalise

(LONG long post. click on the title to go to the link)

SHERLOCK WHUMP:

The Breaking Wheel (J_Baillier) - The instant classic. Prolonged, nuanced medical angst. The best. (and the J_Baillier sequel On the Rack  )

Lunar Landscapes (J_Baillier) - This author is a genius. And this work has practically every colour of Sherlock angst/whump that exists.

Fratros, Eros and Agape (emma221b) - John finds Sherlock bleeding in Magnusson’s office. What happens next (is glorious)

Harmless Things (J_Baillier) Scorpions do horrid things to Sherlock

All the Best and Brightest Creatures (wordstrings) - This is epic; and heartbreaking and beautiful. So beautiful….

My Will’s Not My Own (SailorChibi) - Read the warnings. This one broke my heart; oh Sherlock. It’s never his fault… 

The Dying Detective Remix (SailorChibi) - When will Sherlock EVER ask for help.

Whenever it’s right (Aliea) - John sees a beautiful man with green eyes on the train. And then the train explodes…

Electric Pink Hand Grenade (BeautifulFiction) - Everyone knows this one. The greatest brain in the world gets the world’s worst migraine…

Dangerous Mould (Benfan) - (Near) death via a petri dish

Raison d’etre (AmphigoricSymphony) - This is like the War and Peace of Sherlock whump. Bloody Mary…

Lopov (AmphigoricSymphony) - Mycroft saves a brutalised Sherlock in Serbia

Addicted to a Certain Lifestyle (sfmpco) - Another fill-in-the-gaps after Sherlock’s collapse at Baker Street during HLV.

Your Visible Ghost (anactoria) - Read the warnings. Sherlock goes missing and John receives a video message…

Staircase Wit (splix) - Sherlock just keeps getting beaten (up). And asphyxiated. Quite beautifully.

The way it was meant to be (whitchry9) - John leaves Sherlock for just four days. And of course; pneumonia.

Fever (thecommonplaceofexistence) - John leaves Sherlock again. Sherlock gets pneumonia. Again.

How to torture John (Dlvvanzor) - Read the warnings. Seriously. Read them. This is Sherlock whump but almost equally John.

The Yellow Poppies (SilentAuror) - Mary is a bad person. Sherlock suffers.

Rush (Valxyri) - Sherlock gets drugged with a massive overdose

In The Silence (ScopesMonkey) - A longer saga (Sugerverse) is worth the read but this section is quite angsty and Sherlock gets concussion. Chapters 3 – 5 esp.

A More Vicious Motivator (ShezzasCompanion) - Read the warnings. Sherlock returns from Serbia and well, things just go from bad to worse…

Perfectly Fine (cabintardlock) - Sherlock gets ill and like an idiot hides it from his doctor…

Pain Management (TheGracefulBlueCat**) - Missing scenes from HLV most about pain and angst and trauma. **So many of this author’s works are wonderful Sherlock / John whump which I am not going to list here but recommend…

The Game has Changed (youtextd) - Mycroft arrives in Serbia too late to save Sherlock from terrible, long-lasting trauma. This is the story of how John and Mycroft help Sherlock back.

Not the King’s Men (StoneWingedAngel) - Oh god. Sherlock :-( this is as far as you can go before Sherlock is too traumatised to recover…

Getting Over It (The_Cool_Aunt) - Something’s not quite right with Sherlock. John starts to notice…

Finger Painting in the Dark (whitchry9) - Read the warnings. Moriarty gets his hands on Sherlock and well… it doesn’t go well. At all.

Tears of the Violinist (SUPRNTRAL LVR) - Moriarty steals Sherlock again. It’s brutal.

Cleansing (CumberbatchCritter) - John stumbles across Sherlock detoxing after being in hospital for so long. It’s a painful process.

Confessions (hockeylass) - John and Sherlock hit the road on a case; and then everything goes to hell.

Not Quite in his Right Mind (BakerTumblings) - Sherlock gets a head injury and it’s a shock for John…

No Incentive So Great (thisprettywren) - Sherlock argues with John. And then gets kidnapped. John is awesome.

The Fix (peg22) - Sherlock goes out for milk. And is injected with heroin.

Blind-Spot in Your Intellect (Only_1_Truth) - Sherlock tests a drug on a military-trained flatmate with PTSD…

The Emergency Contact series (blueink3) - Who Sherlock has as his Emergency Contact when he gets hurt, changes over time…

 *******

JOHN WHUMP:

And a Doctor (StillWaters1) - One of my absolute favourites. Sherlock whump too.  Doctor John everybody; stand clear.

De Ses Cendres (Amphigoric Symphony) - Tortured epic saga where Magnusson goes after Sherlock and well, everybody suffers. Endlessly

The Third Brother (uglycrow) - Another favourite. John gets wounded during a visit to the Three Garridebs.

The River Variations (withoutawish) - John gets hurt during a Three Garridebs encounter and Sherlock fractures

Into Dark Waters (Breath4Soul) - (TFP) John waits for Sherlock in the Holmes mansion’s well. He runs out of time.

We go anywhere but to the ground (geordielover) - Read the warnings. Sherlock is gone and John…. breaks.

There but for the Grace of John Watson / The Boys of Baker Street (skyefullofstars) - Parts one and two of a trilogy where John is kidnapped, drugged and becomes addicted and Sherlock is tested to the extreme. Bonus Sherlock whump amongst this sweeping narrative.

Reaction (Blind_Author) - Read the warnings. What happens to John before the semtex and vest incident at the pool.

Triage (scullyseviltwin) - John gets shot. Sherlock falls apart. The aftermath of that…

Handle With Care (TheGracefulBlueCat) - John gets attacked with a scorpion. What is it with these men and scorpions??

Very Good Indeed (stillwaters01) - John diagnoses what toxin he’s been drugged with and has seconds to guide Sherlock to saving him.

Deal (Basser**) - John underestimates his injury and scares Sherlock (**this author does lovely whumplets)

Vital Organs (firstdrafted) - How can John whump be so goddamned sweet. This is lovely

Reasons to read Captive Prince it has quotes like

  • What’s a death but easy, quick. It’s supposed to haunt you forever that the one time he beat you was the one time that mattered.
  • I don’t share your craven habit of hitting only those who cannot hit back, and take no pleasure in hurting those weaker than myself.
  • Like a man who enjoys owning an animal who will rake others with its claws but eat peacefully from his own hand, he was giving his pet a great deal of license.
  • A golden prince was easy to love if you did not have to watch him picking wings off flies.

It also has quotes like

  • You hit like a milk-fed catamite.
  • How lucky I am to have servants to point out my shortcomings.
  • “Is there anyone at this court who isn’t my enemy?’
    ‘Not if I can help it,’ Laurent said.
  • Laurent could inspire homicidal tendencies simply by breathing.
  • Nephew. you were not invited to these discussions.’
    ‘And yet, here I am. It’s very irritating, isn’t it?’
  • Damen had never before seen half a dozen soldiers reduced to compliant housekeeping by the sheer force of one man’s personal arrogance.
  • Yesterday I brutalised him. Today I am swooning into his arms. I would prefer the charges against me to be consistent. Pick one. 
  • Yes, apparently I have fucked my enemy, conspired against my future interests, and colluded in my own murder. I can’t wait to see what feats I will perform next.

The Brutalisation Effect is the hypothesis that increased exposure to acts of violence causes a desensitisation in individuals thereby increasing the possibility of such acts escalating in frequency because their occurrence no longer ‘bothers’ the exposed individuals. In other words, rather than having a cathartic effect on an individual, repeated exposure to certain situations is believed to have the opposite effect: An individual is more likely to commit violent acts because of previous and sustained exposure to them. Studies on the deterrent effects of capital punishment have endeavoured to illustrate the brutalisation effect by showing a relationship between increased rates of homicide during the period of time around executions.


Anders is sometimes accused of being a terrorist, which is interesting, since the game provides multiple examples of actual terrorists as a counterpoint. I don’t think the idea is entirely the fault of the audience, as Bioware is clearly aware of the current cultural association between exploding buildings and terrorism, and I know some of the writers made comments in that direction. But if that’s what they were going for, it’s one of those places where authorial intent failed utterly.


They seem to have forgotten that the defining feature of terrorism isn’t violence (although of course by its very nature it is often violent) but fear. It’s right there in the word, but even so.


When Anders blows up the Chantry in Act 3, it is not meant to inspire fear. It’s not a threat: ‘Let us go, or this is what we will do to you’. If it were, it would be a pretty bloody useless one. Though, of course, magic is used to light the fuse the primary weapon is gaatlok – gunpowder. He is incredibly secretive about the formula – even Hawke, helping him, doesn’t know he also needs charcoal – and has no expectation of surviving the act. Repeating it would be a pain in the arse. Anybody who wanted to would have to start from scratch.


Rather, it is a public demonstration of the helplessness of the mages. He commits a very public crime. And it immediately becomes clear that no authority figure is even slightly interested in dealing out justice. Hawke can kill him, if they are so inclined. But if they don’t, no one is going to force them to. You can be a completely pro-Templar Hawke and waltz into the Gallows with Anders in your party to participate in the Rite of Annulment, and the Templars do not call the whole thing to a halt – because, hang on, here is the actual perpetrator.


It is an excuse to do what they were planning to do anyway. They’d find an reason, one way or another, regardless of Anders’s actions. But this one is handy. Meredith claims that her hand is forced because the city would demand vengeance. Would it? Maybe. We never find out. It does, however, tell us how Meredith plans to spin the attack. The mages were always going to be victims of her fear and her power grab. This just makes it visible.


The people who really do deliberately inspire terror in Kirkwall are the Chantry. Meredith has been ruling the city through threats of violence for decades:


Meredith’s message was clear: remember who holds the power in Kirkwall. Remember what happened to Threnhold when he overreached. To drive home her point, she presented Marlowe with a small carven ivory box at his coronation. The box contained the Threnhold signet ring, misshapen, and crusted with blood. On the inside of the lid were written the words ‘His fate need not be yours’.

World of Thedas II


She’s also practising on the mages in the Gallows – three Starkhaven mages are made Tranquil at random, just to demonstrate to the prisoners in the Circle that it is within her power to do this. By Act 3, of course, she’ll have expanded her reach further, using her Templars to harass and assault Kirkwall’s citizens.


But, until Act 3, Meredith is something of a background figure. The ultimate villain lurking behind the scenes. The clearest foil for Anders is Petrice.


Here, then, is our actual terrorist. Petrice’s end goal is violence: she wants the people of Kirkwall to take on the Qunari. Of course it wouldn’t end there. There would be a war, and an Exalted March and (in her head – almost certainly not in reality) the crushing of the Qunari by the might of the righteous Chantry.


And her method is inspiring fear. Her assaults are relatively small, but calculated to make each side think of the other as violent, dangerous and evil. She’s arranged for the murder and mutilation of Qunari before: the bodies left for Arvaarad to find, so he would think Hawke and the Saarebas were responsible. She’s used poison gas on her own people (it would have been blackpowder, had she been able to get her hands on any) in an attempt to frame the Qunari. Here, she has arranged for the torture and murder of a Qunari delegation, to demonstrate to the Arishok how far the ‘faithful’ will go to be rid of the Qunari. Eventually, she will have a high-status Qunari convert murdered so she can use his death as propaganda.


Everything Petrice does is designed to frighten people. There’s a threat behind every strike: If we don’t fight the Qunari, look what they'll do. Each act of violence is aimed at inducing a panic response – in the full knowledge that, eventually, people will be frightened enough to make war.


The contrasts are numerous: Anders is a commoner, a Fereldan (in addition to the whole mage thing), and at present living in the sewers. Petrice is apparently of noble Orlesian stock (so says The World of Thedas), and belongs to the most powerful institution in Kirkwall. The first quest actually makes a point of this: while the people of Darktown rally around their healer and Anders is quite at home there, Petrice, a Chantry sister supposedly responsible for the wellbeing of Kirkwall, is painfully out of place even in Lowtown. Moreover, whereas the underground falls apart around Anders, Petrice is a rising star – a Sister when Hawke first meets her, a Mother by Act 2. Where Anders’s plan requires that he take the blame for his actions, Petrice does everything she can to shield herself – she always works through agents, and here she sells out her own accomplice.


The common ground is a fervent belief in a cause, and at some stage (right off the bat for Petrice; in the endgame for Anders) a belief that violence is the only way to move forward.


And in the cause lies the important contrast.


Anders’s plan is only of value if he’s right. He’s not trying to inspire fear. It’s knowing that the fear is already there that prompts him to act as he does. If he’s wrong and the Circle and Templars are not oppressive institutions designed to control and brutalise mages – then he gets hauled off to prison (and no doubt subsequent execution), and nothing happens to the other mages. Once the Chantry blows up, he can’t lose. It doesn’t matter whether he lives or dies. It doesn’t matter whether Hawke saves the Circle or helps destroy it. The Templars do hold innocent mages accountable for something they had nothing to do with. The word goes out that the Annulment of the Kirkwall Circle was unjust. The Templars impose harsh restrictions on mages of other nations, who had even less to do with all this than the Kirkwall mages – and Fiona seizes her chance.


Point pretty well made.


Petrice, though, is trying to control people’s actions through fear. She is trying to make the people of Kirkwall think the Qunari are a terrifying threat, while still making them think they can take them in a fight. She is using fear to manipulate people, without any regard for the truth. By the time the Qunari uprising begins, Petrice is either dead or disgraced, making her a personal failure. But the uprising itself demonstrates how painfully wrong she was. A small, depleted Qunari force takes control of the city in a matter of hours. No fight, no war, with the Qunari is ever going to be easy – and one that started in Kirkwall would almost certainly result in the loss of the city. It turns out that the Qunari were easy prey for her before this because they didn't want to fight.


And that shreds her other argument. She has been depicting them as unthinking savages. Terrifying in their brutality, yes, but so inherently less than Chantry folk (specifically humans), that they cannot help but lose. But the truth is that they have thought about this. The Arishok has been trying to avoid bloodshed. The Qunari troops have resisted provocation to a heroic degree. The Qun is what it is, and certainly no better than the Chantry. But the Qunari – the horned people who make up the majority of its adherents – are not monsters, just people like any other. Big, strong people who could have wreaked havoc a hell of a lot earlier, had they not been trying to keep the peace.


It’s easy to make people afraid, particularly if you’re willing to lie and kill to do it. But if that’s all you’ve got to work with, you’re pretty well screwed. And, well, there you go. Terrorism. Inspiring fear in order to achieve political ends. That’s Act 2′s story.

anonymous asked:

So, seeing a lot of posts lately about cultural appropriation and various practices of the craft, if wording it right. Example, where they say white people shouldn't practice hoodoo. Is this true in your opinion for other cultures practices and not to incorporate them at all? How to know which ones to not even consider if is case. Thanks in advance.

Wow, you’ve really asked a big one there.

Cultural appropriation is a huge issue in the witchcraft community, and for good reason. As white people, our collective ancestors colonised (read: invaded) basically the whole world, and brutalised (and in some cases annihilated) indigenous peoples as a result. Native religions and spiritual practices were mocked, demonised, and often wiped out. It is the height of injustice and arrogance, then, that we should feel we have some right to practice the traditions of those people we destroyed. Some things are not for us.

It can be a tricky issue trying to find out what traditions are open and what ones are closed, but it is made all the easier by simply asking someone of authority in that tradition. If someone of that culture tells you that it is not for you, then you must respect that. Think of it in microcosmic terms: you wouldn’t just walk into a stranger’s house and help yourself to whatever was in their fridge. You would knock and wait to be invited in, and if you were refused entry you would respect that.

N.B.: when I speak of ‘collective ancestors’ I mean just that; you personally may not have had an ancestor involved in colonisation, but collectively we come from a culture(s) that is responsible for horrific crimes against indigenous peoples.

International Socialist Republican Solidarity with Standing Rock!

We, the undersigned socialist republican organisations from Ireland, Scotland and Wales, express our complete solidarity with the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe and their heroic resistance against the imposition of the Dakota Access Pipeline on their sovereign territory.

The ongoing resistance at Standing Rock in defence of land, natural resources and the right to water, is providing inspiration to anti- capitalist and anti- imperialist struggles around the world. The resistance at Standing Rock resonates in particular, in Ireland, Scotland and Wales, where our peoples have, and continue to fight against the joint systems of Capitalism and Imperialism and in defence of our homes, our natural resources and our right to clean safe and free drinking water.

We recognise that the fight of the Lakota is our fight and we further recognise that Standing Rock is a key battle ground in the struggle of the international working class and oppressed peoples around the world against the exploitation and oppression of Capitalism and Imperialism.

We condemn the US Imperial administration for its ongoing attacks on the Standing Rock Sioux. The militarisation of tribal lands, and the brutalisation of those acting in defence of their future is unacceptable and must end immediately.

We note with concern the recent raid on Last Child Camp and the subsequent mass round up of protestors. We demand that all those arrested are immediately released.

It is our view, that the US administration, acting as it is, in support of the private capitalist interests behind the Dakota Access Pipeline, have convincingly demonstrated, the fundamental truth of James Connolly’s maxim, that ‘governments in capitalist society are but committees of the rich to manage the affairs of the capitalist class’.

We call on all progressive forces in the United States to rally behind the resistance at Standing Rock. For our part, we pledge our continuing support and solidarity and vow to do what we can in our own countries to highlight the outrages being committed at Standing Rock and to build international support for the resistance!

Defend natural resources!
Release All Prisoners!
Stop the Dakota Access Pipeline!

Signed (List in formation)

Ireland- Éirígí
Wales- Yr Aflonyddwch Mawr - The Great Unrest

Malcolm Turnbull claims the 26th of January is our day, our national day, but what he’s really saying is it’s our day as the white people of Australia. He’s saying that the 26th of January is the national day of the white people who came to Australia and brutalised, infected and enslaved the original, rightful owners of the land. He refuses to change the date of Australia Day because it’s ‘our day’. But it’s only our day. It’s only a day for white Australians to be able to celebrate, and even then, many of us don’t want to.

The PM is not being asked to eliminate Australia Day. He’s being asked to move the date, so that we can celebrate the incredibly mixed and rich culture Australia has become without celebrating the day we came to this land and destroyed so many lives of those who were already living here. But he refuses, because Australia Day is ‘our’ day, which clearly means it has nothing to do with the Aboriginal people, the terrifying brutalities white man put them through, or their claim on this land at all.

anonymous asked:

Could you please write a version of s/o getting severly injured with Cor saving them and some adorable aftercare? I would love to read how Cor would react ٩(♡ε♡ )۶

Your wish is my command, dearest Anon! <3 Sorry this took so long to get out to ya! I hope the huge dosage of sensitive!Cor makes up for the wait! (Seriously, I headcanon that Cor is a complete softie inside who has this hidden little boy locked up inside his mind who’s just insanely scared of losing people he loves- especially when he knows he has the capability to save them from a terrible fate!)


It’s been two years since the endless darkness consumed the lands of Eos. You and Cor were out on a search and rescue mission, and for the most part, everything went well. You both managed to reach the rescue site two days before your estimated arrival date, you found all of the reported refugees, and most of their injuries were able to be treated with a single Hi-Elixir each. Amongst all the good fortune you and Cor had experienced, your battle-hardened boyfriend couldn’t help but feel that something was amiss.

“Watch your back, y/n. This mission is going too well,” Cor says to you. You throw him an incredulous look and brush him off immediately.

“You’re such a pessimist. But I find that strangely cute, so you lucked out there big guy,” you quip playfully, smacking his shoulder before making your way towards a group of young men and women standing idly by one of the large tents you and Cor had set up at the haven you’d escorted the group to. “You guys all good?” you ask, ensuring that there was a smile on your face when you approached them. They all turned to you and flashed grins of their own at you.

“Yeah, all good here. We were just talking about that Red Giant we saw wandering close by a few hours ago,” one of the girls spoke up, her voice laced with worry. You shook your head, trying your best to dissuade her fears.

“Don’t worry about that- Cor and I can go and check it out right now!”

A thirty minutes later, you were kicking yourself for not keeping any Hi-Elixirs for yourself or Cor. It turned out that there were three Red Giants moving in a group, destroying everything in their wake- including smaller daemons. You cast a worried glance at Cor, who was busy landing precise blows on the Red Giants’ weak spots with his katana. Biting your lip out of nerves, you hauled what you dubbed a triad-elemental spell flask at the Giant standing furthest away from Cor and covered your ears with your hands as the powerful fire, ice and lightning spells exploded with power.

The shrieks that the Red Giant let out started off extremely loud before they turned into low keens before it fell to the ground with a resounding thud. Your knees buckled and you went sprawling onto the earth below you at the Red Giant’s impact on the ground.

You were moving to get up, but then Cor had felled his Red Giant almost immediately after you’d defeated yours, and the strong shudders on the ground from the heavy weight falling onto it had you sprawling straight back to the ground. You groaned and let out a few curses before attempting to get back up again, only to find that you were being crushed by an impossibly red and extremely flaming fist.

All you could do was mentally curse before the third Red Giant squeezed the life out of you while Cor desperately hacked and slashed at the Giant’s legs and arms.

“Damn it!” Cor yelled as he fought, though his voice was becoming faint as pain took over all your senses. You whimpered and slumped in the Giant’s tight grip. Your ribs were burning, and it was getting hard to breathe. Suddenly, you were in limbo, flying through the air in a straight downward motion before impacting harshly with the ground.

The next thing you knew, you were prying your eyes open and trying to lift your hand to remove the oxygen mask that had been placed over your mouth and nose while you were out. You felt incredibly weak and sore, and you whimpered pathetically out of helplessness.

“Y/n…” the first voice you heard since waking was the last voice you’d heard during that terrible battle. Cor Leonis. Your boyfriend. You try to tilt your head in the direction of his voice, and you’re successful, but damn did it take a lot of effort.

“Hey, you’re hurt…” you frowned at the sight of the small, stitched up gash on Cor’s forearm. Cor glared down at you and moved his hand to softly bop you on the nose. You scrunched your nose in response to his ‘attack’ before slowly lifting your hand and gesturing at your white-clad body. “Nice look for me, huh?”

“I thought you were dead.” Cor said, ignoring your attempt at lightening the situation. “When I finally killed that Red Giant and saw your body… I thought you were dead.”

You didn’t know why, but you found yourself tearing up at Cor’s words. He’d never been so candid about his inner thoughts before- especially when they had to do with anything that happened on the battle field. His face was as stoic as ever but… you could hear the residue of his panic in his voice. It broke your heart a little, and then pieced it back together when you realised that he cared about you A LOT.

“Cor…” you whimpered. You hated sounding so weak, especially in front of Cor Leonis, the marshal who valued strength and mental fortitude. But he didn’t say anything to rebuke your behaviour. He just grasped your hand in his and squeezed your soft palm in his calloused hand.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t keep you safe.” Cor growled, averting his gaze, but squeezing your palm tighter. You squeezed back- and with what little strength you had, you lifted his hand to your cheek and nuzzled his hand softly. At the feeling of your soft skin on the back of his hand, he turned his clouded steel blue eyes to your face. You smiled and lifted your other hand to remove the oxygen mask from your face. Your muscles protested at the movement, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to make your obviously distraught partner feel better… you wanted to let him know you were okay despite the brutalised state of your body- because he was there with you.

You brought his hand to your lips and you peppered soft kisses onto his hand, maintaining eye contact with your marshal as you did so. Cor breathed out hard through his nose, his nostrils flaring slightly, before he quickly closed the distance between you and himself. He pulled his hand away from your lips and replaced it with his own insistent lips. You applied pressure to the kiss and you felt a wetness that wasn’t your own trail down your cheek.

Opening your eyes, you found Cor’s were shut tight as he kissed you, his silent tears of both relief and guilt streaming down his face. Your heart swelled at his rare display of emotion, and you brought him closer to you as he retracted his kiss, guiding his head towards your chest and pressing his ear right above your heart.

“I’m okay, Cor. I promise.”

“You promise?” you held back tears of your own as Cor’s unsure tone reminded you of a small child. The immortal was truly shaken, and it was heart breaking.

You pressed a kiss to the top of your love’s head and smiled into his short, coarse dark brown hair.

“I promise.”

You feel Cor’s shoulders shudder before you hear his low rumble of a voice against your chest.

“Good. I don’t think I could live in this darkness without you.”

Violences & réalisme en fantasy

Il y a quelques jours, j’ai critiqué un roman de fantasy de Gabriel Katz, s’inscrivant dans un contexte médiéval. L’on m’a reproché de critiquer un réalisme culturel qui serait représentatif de l’époque du Moyen-Âge. Ces dernières années, ce débat a été au centre des critiques avec l’œuvre écrite et audiovisuelle de George Martin, Le Trône de Fer. Les violences envers les femmes, et surtout le viol, y sont justifiées au nom d’un sacro-saint réalisme de l’époque médiévale. Quelques mots sur le sujet.

Le Moyen-Âge s’étend grosso-modo entre la chute de l’Empire Romain en 476 av. J.-C. et la Réforme Protestante débutée en 1517. La période s’étend donc sur mille ans et il est peu aisé de faire des généralisations sur la situation des femmes partout en Europe. Cependant, l’on peut dégager certaines constatations. Selon une amie diplômée en Histoire :

« La noble était respectée grâce à son lignage. Si elle était malmenée, sa famille la défendait. Surtout que les nobles dames avaient souvent un rang plus élevé que leur époux. Mais il fallait aussi qu’elle reste à sa place de femme. T’es gentille, t’es belle, tu t’habilles bien mais pas trop. [Par rapport au viol], tu le dis toujours à ton mari. Riche ou pauvre. Les femmes nobles n’étaient jamais seules avec un homme. On ne prend pas le risque que l’héritier soit le fils d’un amant. [Selon toute vraisemblance, donc] le viol viendrait uniquement de son mari. Dans les campagnes, les femmes et les filles pouvaient être violées par des soldats, ou les jeunes hommes non mariés. Le viol était rarement puni. Souvent, on s’arrangeait, en échange d’argent, parfois. [Mais seulement dans le cas des] paysannes de bonne famille. La misérable, elle ne parle même pas. Elle sait que ça ne servira à rien. »

Le viol, entre autres violences, était quelque chose dont on ne parlait pas et qui était toléré en temps de guerre ainsi que sur les domestiques. On le reconnaissait surtout lorsqu’on pouvait « le prouver » avec des violences physiques visibles. Certes, dans la vie civile, lorsque le viol était reconnu, il était considéré comme grave : le châtiment était la pendaison. Cependant, c’était un acte considéré au même titre que la luxure et l’adultère et il apportait le déshonneur sur la femme qui en était victime.

C’est alors un constat en demi-teinte. Cependant, certaines femmes bénéficiaient d’une certaine protection et le viol était tout de même mal vu. Oui, les violences envers les femmes étaient réelles. Elles l’ont toujours été, dans la majorité des sociétés. Mais à la question « Est-il bien réaliste pour toi de systématiquement brutaliser les femmes quelle que soit leur classe sociale, sans nuance, dans les œuvres de fantasy ? », mon amie répond :

« Mais la fantasy n’a pas à représenter cette idée. Le viol n’est pas automatique dans un univers médiéval. Ça ne va pas de pair. […] Après, il y a une part d’incertitude dû au manque de ressources et d’informations. Mais on ne peut pas être aussi catégorique. »

Et c’est justement cette incertitude qui remet en question les codes misogynes de la fantasy. C’est la culture du viol qui pousse les auteurs à utiliser le viol et les violences comme un outil de construction de leurs personnages féminins, pas l’Histoire. Ne systématiquement construire les femmes que comme des êtres opprimés, violentés est un symptôme d’une société qui perçoit la femme comme un être destiné à être brutalisé et dont l’histoire ne peut être valide que si elle inclut des violences genrées. Cette tradition misogyne écarte des possibilités de narration qui pourraient émanciper la femme des moules dans lesquels on ne cesse de vouloir la placer.

Certains demanderons : faut-il alors invisibiliser les violences qui ont été faites aux femmes à travers l’Histoire ? Mais la fantasy ne reflète pas l’Histoire. C’est une invention littéraire qui prend pour décor une époque floue de l’Histoire s’étendant sur mille ans et dont nous avons, au final, peu d’informations. Comment pouvoir prétendre au réalisme ? Le problème qui se pose alors est celui de la représentation.  Le réalisme en fantasy est ce que l’on en fait. Violenter les femmes n’est pas réaliste. C’est misogyne.

Merci à @p0is0n-ivy pour son intervention. Coeur sur toi.

Here’s a thing that happened to one of my friends. I was there.

Basically, we were walking through St. James’ Park, talking about something meaningless. I think it had to do with a play. Then this carriage rumbles up, stops next to us, and a bunch of people with “Down with Papists” waistcoats climbed out and started beating him up. I was punched and kicked a bit too, but I managed to avoid brutalisation by strangling them with my rosary. After figuring out what’s happening, I started attacking them back, getting them off of him. He was quite injured but I prayed for his soul in Mass and he made a full recovery with the physic. I was fine, with only a cut on my arm that they then amputated with a saw. 

anonymous asked:

(1/2)I love your metas, but I do have a point of contention WRT GC Elthina. From Sebastian's (canonical) short story and personal quest, it seems that she views the young Starkhavener as a sort of adoptive son, and it isn't hard to imagine that she feels the same way about the KC and the GE. Honestly, Elthina has always seemed like a tragic character to me. Watching two people you care about have a falling out is never a good feeling. I can't blame her for not wanting to look into the eyes of...

(2/2)… One of the people she loved and tell them she was siding against them. Both M and O were hardliners, refusing to: give magi the benefit of the doubt; and prioritise the stability of the chantry over the lives of his people; respectively. This was exacerbated by depression (O) and RL use (M), making it impossible for them to find compromise. Her devotion to neutrality didn’t help in the long run, but I can’t bring myself to hate a tired old woman who wanted her kids to get along again.


Hi, Anonymous person. Thank you for the compliment, but … really? I mean this, specifically:


Both M and O were hardliners, refusing to: give magi the benefit of the doubt; and prioritise the stability of the chantry over the lives of his people; respectively. 


Oh, Orsino. Why do you have to be so extreme with the ‘not wanting to die’, or even, let’s be really daring, ‘not wanting to be tortured to the point of committing suicide’? Why can’t you understand that it’s important for the Chantry, with all its wealth, power, political influence and privilege, to retain its iron grip on Thedas? I mean, think if it didn’t. We might have things like religious tolerance and basic rights and free speech, and then where would we be? Can’t you and your helpless mages just suffer quietly so the rich, corrupt and powerful can keep on being rich, corrupt and powerful? Look at it from Meredith’s point of view. All she’s done is illegally take control of one little city-state and spend nearly two decades abusing her power to the detriment of pretty much everyone, but especially the mages, who are dying in droves. Is that really so bad?


Look. In terms of his perseverance, and his courage in the face of terrible abuse and mortal peril, Orsino is fierce and heroic. But politically, the man is a moderate. He’s too moderate for me. I mean, I love him, because I understand how he got to this position, and why it’s hard for him to go further, but this is not a winning strategy.


Me, I’m with Anders and Fiona and Adrian and their ilk. The mages must be free. The Chantry – its wealth, its power, its status, its legal hold over so many lives – must go. Not just for the mages. For everyone.


Orsino isn’t asking for that.


As first enchanter, Orsino worked tirelessly to improve the lot of the mages. He wanted, as much as he could, to make their days in the Gallows worth something. Even if they were still prisoners, and even though it was hard, he wanted to give them hope. More importantly, he wanted to give them something of a life so that death would not be preferable.

World of Thedas, II


He’s not trying to tear down the Circles, or put an end to the Chantry, or anything like that. He wants the mages to be able to walk sometimes in the sun. To not be locked in tiny cells. To be safe from beatings and rape and torture. To not be made Tranquil when they’ve passed their Harrowings. To have meaningful work and leisure. To have a life inside the Circle, while living by Chantry rules.


That’s … not a hardline position. That’s … just a basic standard of living. Meredith is an extremist. The treatment of the mages in Kirkwall is considered remarkable even in other Circles. Even non-mages in Kirkwall have been stirred to sympathy for the mages:


Every Circle in Thedas suffers from individual mages who rebel and attempt to flee. These apostates are usually found and returned to the Circle or mercifully killed if they have fallen to demonic temptation. Until now, I have never served anywhere that the populace does not fully cooperate in hunting these rebels.

Here in Kirkwall, citizens actually help rebel mages escape. Escaped apostates have survived their freedom long enough to form the “the mage underground,” a network that feeds and shelters escapees and even transports apostates into remote areas of the Free Marches and beyond our easy reach.

– The Mage Underground


The mages are hurling themselves from the top of the fucking tower, it’s that bad in there, and people have noticed that something is wrong.


Note that Elthina’s ‘kids’, as you put it, have never got along. Meredith was against Orsino’s election the position of first enchanter. Not because she thought somebody else would be better at the job, but because she didn’t want the mages to have an advocate at all.


First Enchanter Maceron died in 9:28 Dragon without naming a successor. Many were surprised to learn that the Gallows still had a first enchanter; Maceron had spent nearly all of the last decade in his chambers, emerging only rarely. But now he was dead, and the Gallows in need of a new first enchanter. Knight-Commander Meredith was of the opinion that there was no need for one. After all, the Gallows ran perfectly under the Templars, without interference from Maceron. But Orsino realised that the mages needed someone to speak on their behalf, lest the Templars rob them of what few liberties they still had.

World of Thedas II


It seems she ultimately let it slide because she didn’t really believe he could accomplish anything. As far as I can tell, all he’s managed to do is slow her down a bit. The mages are being tortured to death, and are due for total liquidation in the very near future. But even that is too much for Meredith. The Templars regard Orsino as ‘a menace’ simply for winning his people a few small liberties – liberties of which, by Act 3, they seem to have again been stripped.


Elthina doesn’t give a shit about Orsino or the mages. You know how I know this? Because past a certain point, inaction is in itself a declaration of support. If you’ve got two friends, and they’re arguing about who gets to drink the last beer in the fridge, you can say ‘I’m just going to stay neutral, and let you two sort it out’. But if one of your friends picks up a rock and bashes the other’s skull in, then disposes of the corpse to obscure the evidence and makes up a story about how your now-dead friend was a dangerous criminal and had to be killed, and is awarded medals and accolades for it … and you stand there and watch, and say nothing, and do nothing, then you have sided with the murderer. You are protecting them, and keeping their secrets, and doing nothing to either help or get justice for the victim.


The thing is, Meredith doesn’t need Elthina to side with her. She is not in need of help. She is the de facto Viscount of Kirkwall. She is Knight-Commander of the Kirkwall Templars. She’s not only been brutalising the mages, but attacking the citizens of Kirkwall as well. She can, and does, do whatever the fuck she wants. Elthina standing in the middle of the street and yelling ‘Meredith is right about everything!’ wouldn’t actually change the situation much.


Orsino does need Elthina. He’s not some willful child who just can’t get along with his sister. He is a desperate man struggling to protect people who effectively have no legal rights from a woman who enjoys watching them suffer. He needs Elthina to face down Meredith. He needs her to write to the Divine to plead for their lives. He needs Meredith removed from power. He needs protection and care for his people. He needs these things, not as some ‘hardline’ anti-Chantry position, but just to live.


Elthina does not care about him or his people.


Now – she might care about Meredith. I’m fairly convinced she only cares about people insofar as she can use them (Sebastian included – Elthina has a prince in her direct service, remember), but she has been able to use Meredith, so she might care about her. That’s … not really a point in her favour, though.


Let’s backtrack a bit here, shall we? This is tricky, because we’ve mostly got Chantry sources to work with, and they don’t come right out and say what they’ve done. But the criminal partnership of Grand Cleric Elthina and Meredith Stannard is a long one.


Records indicate that Elthina was born in a small village nestled in the Vimmark Mountains just south of Kirkwall. When she was just a little girl, both her parents contracted a terrible fever that took them both. Elthina never caught the illness, thanks to a kindly neighbour who cared for her while her parents were sick. When her parents died, the neighbour’s husband refused to continue paying for the upkeep of the orphan child, and Elthina was given to the Chantry. She became a lay sister as a girl and, when she came of age, was given the choice to leave the Chantry or take an initiate’s vows. Elthina chose to stay. When she was twenty, she moved south, to Kirkwall, and became a revered mother at the chantry there.

World of Thedas II


That’s Elthina’s backstory. Note that she came from nothing: an orphan and a pauper. And yet her rise is incredible. By twenty she is revered mother of one of the largest cities in the Free Marches. Note that ‘revered’ means she’s actually responsible for the Kirkwall chantry, not just holding the rank of ‘mother’ like Petrice. This is a woman of drive and ambition. These are not bad things in themselves, of course. But they are noteworthy things. They demonstrate that Elthina is not weak willed or retiring by nature. She’s clawing her way up the Chantry hierarchy as quickly as she’s able.


Now, unfortunately, the way the Chantry works puts a bit of a roadblock in her career there. No further to climb until the boss kicks the bucket. And so the next point of interest …


Following the death of her predecessor, Elthina was appointed grand cleric of the Free Marches by Divine Beatrix III.

World of Thedas II


Not surprising, perhaps, but noteworthy still, because it reminds us where Elthina owes her favours. Now we get to the meat of it.


In 9:21 dragon, Divine Beatrix commanded that the Kirkwall Templars force the Viscount to allow Orlesian ships through the Waking Sea passage. Knight-Commander Guylian was against it.


It is not our place to interfere in political affairs. We are here to safeguard the city against magic, not against itself.

– History of Kirkwall: Chapter 4


However, there was a certain knight-captain who was not so scrupulous, and who was poised to take command of the Templars:


When Guylian gave a command, it was Meredith who enforced it. Her drive and her devotion to her duty made her a bit of a legend among her fellow Templars, and privately, many thought she possessed a hundred times the old knight-commander’s charisma. Many said that it was Meredith who was really the leader of the Templars, despite her junior rank.

World of Thedas II


The official story is that Viscount Perrin Threnhold hired mercenaries, who stormed the Gallows and publicly hanged Guylian.


Maybe he did. But. It’s a bit convenient, isn’t it? A man who did not want to fight the Viscount was abruptly replaced by a woman who absolutely did want to fight the Viscount. And he wasn’t just replaced. These mercenaries didn’t do anything sensible, like capture and hold the Gallows, or get hold of all of the Templars’ top officers, or gain control of the lyrium supply – you know, stuff you might do if you were actually trying to beat the Templars. No, they lynched the knight-commander, right out in public, and apparently left every other Templar free to retaliate. Now that they had the justification to do whatever they wanted.


Note that the mercenaries disappear from the story at this point. We don’t know who they were or what happened to them.


Interesting, isn’t it, that a Grand Cleric appointed by Beatrix resides in Kirkwall? Orders for the region would naturally filter through her. Likewise, the Knight-Commander would have first brought his protests to her.


In any case, the Templars stormed the Viscount’s Keep and Perrin Threnhold was arrested.


He was tried and imprisoned three days later by Grand Cleric Elthina and died from poisoning two years later.

– Knight-Commander Meredith


Three days? That’s quick, for deposing the ruler of a city. And with what, exactly, was he charged? This all happened because he opposed the Orlesian empire, and because the Templars were themselves going to war with the Viscount. We don’t know. We only know that Grand Cleric Elthina personally had him imprisoned. Then he died.


Also convenient, isn’t it, that he died mysteriously? Who would have motive to keep him from talking? Or, who might be concerned that he might be able to retake power? How about the people now ruling the city?


Because that’s what happened.


Following Threnhold’s arrest, Grand Cleric Elthina appointed Meredith as the new knight-Commander. At Knight-Commander Meredith’s strong suggestion, a new viscount was chosen: a man named Marlowe Dumar.

World of Thedas II


Meredith’s service to the Grand Cleric, the Divine and the Orlesian empire was rewarded. She was given the top job in the Templars. The Chantry effectively had control of the city. Meredith cemented that control by finding them a convenient puppet.


Look at who has benefited from this scenario. The Kirkwall chantry is wealthy and influential. Its large Templar presence ensures it is able to maintain its hold on the city.


Elthina has gained quite the reputation for ‘managing’ the Templars:


People frequently turn to her to mediate disputes—particularly those involving the powerful Templar Order, over whom she holds authority as the Chantry’s ranking representative.

– Grand Cleric Elthina


That sounds nice, until you remember that she appointed Meredith to her role, and that the Templars are ruling the city. There shouldn’t really be disputes with the Templar Order. They are empowered (however little I may like it) to take mages to the Circle, and to hunt apostates. They should not be interfering with the general populace at all. Of course they are. Meredith was selected precisely because she was willing to interfere, and she has kept on doing so. Elthina’s reputation is thus one long con. She has been smoothing over those occasions when her knight-commander (and partner in crime) stepped on a few too many noble toes.


And Meredith?


For now, she enjoys the grand cleric’s full support and has free rein in Kirkwall as the commander of its most powerful military force.

– Knight-Commander Meredith


Meredith has, all these years, enjoyed Elthina’s full support. Not just in her role as the boss of the Kirkwall Circle, but as Kirkwall’s military leader. Elthina has backed Meredith every step of the way, since she took control of Kirkwall.


That’s an almost pre-red lyrium Codex entry, from the very first time you meet Meredith. Elthina is worried now, because Meredith’s behaviour is becoming erratic. But prior to this, they have enjoyed a long and fruitful partnership. Whether Elthina cares about Meredith as a person is up for debate (she might!) but she certainly cares that Meredith is no longer doing her job as well as she once did.


So I’m sorry, but I don’t believe in sweet Grandma Elthina. Probably that was the writers’ intent, but either they wrote her very badly as a sweet old lady, or there’s some epic subversion going on here. Nothing I have seen in these games, or their Codices, or the supplementary material, has given me any reason to see Elthina as anything other than a manipulative, terrible person, who only works for her own advancement.


I don’t think of her as tragic, and I don’t mourn her death. She’s part of the problem. A bloody big part, at that.

Taken

Pairing: Negan x Reader, Daryl x Reader

Gender: F x M

Word Count: 1,710

Warnings: Swearing (it’s Negan mahn what do you expect), violence, major character death, innuendo, implied smut towards the end.

Summary: Reader (Tori) stood up to Negan and is taken back to the Sanctuary with Daryl, only Negan takes an interest in her.

Author’s Note: Okay I was supposed to do more Daryl x Reader but I got a tad bit carried away with JDM. Enjoy, and if any of you have requests please submit them:)

Originally posted by werewolvesxo

Originally posted by curious-tales-of-daryl-dixon

   Masterlist

  Blood splattered across your pale skin; the stench of copper and death filling your nostrils until you couldn’t stand to breathe anymore. Cries of protest and sorrow could be distinguished coming from all directions as the bat beat down again and again on Glenn’s corpse, the body directly next to you, laid on the cold dirt. He already brutalised Abraham as a way of punishment for killing a bunch of his men but the pain was still there.

  You were confused, angry, sad, mournful as Negan, the psychopath who did this, chuckled to himself, blood and brains staining his precious bat as he stepped away to admire his work. Your hands were clenched by your sides, knuckles white, shaking uncontrollably as you mustered a glare at the man.

  He caught your eye and grinned, pointing the bat towards your face so you were eye level with the gore. “Come on, why the fuck are you giving me that look, huh?” Glenn’s blood dripped onto your pants, staining the dark material. You winced at the sight, pulling yourself away from the weapon as Negan chuckled to himself. He gestured towards you with the bat, looking directly at Rick. You’ve never seen him look as broken as he did right then, kneeling in the dirt staring blankly in front him, powerless to do anything to save anyone. “Now, who the fuck is she and where the fuck have you been hiding her? You keeping her to yourself, Rick?” He crouched down in front of you so you were at eye level, his smirking face a few inches from yours.

  The temptation was difficult to resist. It was a bad idea and you know it would cost your life, but you did it anyway.

  You punched him square in the face, making him fall back from the unexpected impact. Almost immediately, you were tackled to the ground by one of the men who was pointing his gun at your head beforehand, his arm digging painfully into your back while the other held your hands to the ground. Grainy dirt was forced into your mouth as your face was smothered into it, the taste tainting your tongue.

  “Now,” you heard Negan laugh, “that lady has some fucking balls. God, the bitch made me bleed!” It was deathly quiet for a moment and you were ready to feel the impact of Lucille on your head, but it didn’t come. “Get her in the fucking truck,” he ordered. You felt yourself being dragged across the dirt on your knees before being thrown harshly into the back of a vehicle, the door slamming shut behind you.

  “Tori?” a hoarse voice made itself shown. You turned your head and saw Daryl in the corner looking hurt and tired, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, concealing the bullet wound Dwight inflicted upon him. He shifted closer to your shaking form. “Who was it?” he added, seeing your tear-streaked face.

  “Abraham and Glenn,” you said, coughing violently and wiping your friend’s blood from your hands with the bottom of your tank top. “The bastard killed them.”

  Just remembering the scent of blood being so strong, you could almost taste it and it gave you a sudden urge to throw up, and you did so. Your body convulsed on all fours as you wretched violently, emptying the contents of your stomach in the corner until the tears couldn’t stop escaping you.

  A comforting hand was placed gently above yours, squeezing as if trying to rid the pain. “Why are you here?” Daryl asked in a soft voice. “What did you do?”

  You let out a dry laugh, clearing your throat as your crawled to Daryl, interlacing your fingers. “I hit him,” you answered.

  He didn’t answer you right away, instead he dragged you closer to him. His arms wrapped around your waist and you rested your head on his shoulder – the uninjured one – wiping your face in the blanket he wrapped around you both. He held you tightly, not wanting to let go.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, his warm breath hitting your forehead.

  “I know,” was the only reply you could come up with.

  It was until a few hours later – the sun had just risen – when you saw Negan again, smiling smugly to himself as he took in yours and Daryl’s position. Your head was still resting on his shoulder and the urge to close your eyes and sleep kept consuming you, but you stayed awake. After a few hours, his arm started to feel numb so you settled for simply holding both of his hands, resting them on your lap.

  “Aren’t you two just fucking adorable,” Negan smirked to himself, climbing into the driver’s seat with his right hand man, Dwight, in the passenger’s. “Best not to get too comfortable back there. We’re going on a trip.”

  He drove for hours, making remarks about your group to Dwight. It angered both you and Daryl but you held your tongues, knowing what this man was capable of.

  “Hey, er… What’s her fucking name?” Negan spoke, looking back at you and Daryl.

  “It’s Tori,” Dwight told the man.

  “Right, Tori.” Your name coming from his lips repulsed you, it made your insides wither and crawl. “When we get back you and I are gonna have a long fucking chat about obedience and shit, since you obviously know fuck all about it.” Daryl squeezed your hands tightly. “I can teach you a few other things, too.” He winked at you, his innuendo making you want to throw up again. You needed nothing more than to shove a hatchet into his skull at that very moment.

  You and Daryl were separated as soon as you reached the Sanctuary; Daryl being dragged by Dwight and throwing him into some kind of cell while Negan grabbed you by your upper arm, taking you into a different building.

  The room he took you in was nice. A king-sized bed, sheets included, is placed in the centre of the room with a small table next to it. You couldn’t help but notice the small pocket knife underneath of the pillows, tempting you to grab it and drive it into Negan’s skull.

  Instead, you stood with your back pressed into the far corner of the room, trying to keep your distance between yourself and him while still observing his every move. He carefully leaned his bat, a piece of flesh hanging from the barbed wire making you feel sick once again, against the wall. He took his leather jacket off, leaving him in a plain white shirt.

  His brown eyes met yours, seeing your gaze glued on him. “You like the fucking view, doll?” he teased, sitting down at the foot of the bed. He patted the empty space next to him, adding, “Sit down. You and me are gonna have a nice little chat.”

  Reluctantly, you did so. You attempted to keep the space between you large but Negan shifted closer to you, his forearms resting on his knees as he turned his head to face you.

  Taking a deep breath in, you kept your gaze focused on the white painted wall in front of you.

   “You know what?” he said, shaking his head in silent laughter. “I fucking like you, I really do. Might not seem like it now, but I think we’re gonna become best fucking buddies real soon. I can see that happening.” He leaned his face closer to yours and you had to grip the sheets to stop yourself from hitting him again. “You humiliated me in front of my men, disobeyed the fuck out of me and let me tell you something, I do not appreciate that, not one fucking bit.” He shook his head again, eyes glued onto your face as you stared blankly ahead. “You’ve got more balls than the entire group fucking combined, I’ll give you that. It’s why I’ve taken you back here with that fucking redneck.”

 A scoff escaped your lips. “You think we’re going to work for you?” you asked him. “After what you did?” you licked your suddenly dry lips, turning your head to meet his steady stare. “Yeah, we killed your men, a lot of them if I’m being honest. I get why it would piss you off, cause you to lash out, because if anyone even tried that with our group, and many have, we would’ve wiped them out. You didn’t care about your men, you only cared about the fact you had strong numbers. Tell me this, did you ever have a nice chat with any of them? Did you know if they had a family or not, did you know what their favourite colour was, or even what they did in their spare time?” Noting his silence, you continued with, “Glenn and Abraham weren’t just another number in our group, they were family. We looked out for each other and not because we were forced to but because we love – loved – each other. Abraham was strong, you knew as soon as he got his ass back to Alexandria, he would plan a counter attack and kill you.” His cocky expression shifted, but you couldn’t quite tell into what. “You’re nothing but a fucking pussy.”

  You kept your eyes locked with his as he took in your words. After a few moments, he let out a low chuckle, moving from his place on the bed to kneel in front of you. “You should watch that pretty fucking mouth of yours before I put it to good use,” his voice was low, eyes darkening as he looked up at you, biting his lip. His bare hands traced over your jean-clad thighs, his thumbs rubbing small circles as they moved higher, the tank top you wore dragging up your body as his hands cautiously touched your bare stomach, as if testing your limits.

  When his fingers brushed the bottom of your ribs, you pulled yourself together and gripped his forearms, prying them away from your body.

  “Fucking tease,” he groaned, pulling his hands away from yours. He stood back up, tossing his leather jacket back on before grabbing Lucille. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  The door slammed shut behind him.

  • what she says: I'm fine
  • what she means: no but do u understand what Hamilton means to poc? people think it's just some fun quirky musical that decided to cast ethnic minorities as the old white founding fathers but do u kNOW what it mEANS to reclaim your country's history??? a country that was built on the broken backs of your people? a history that brutalised and slaughtered your people and tried to erase you from their narrative? do u know what it means to immigrants for their stories to be told? what it means for immigrant families who studied and worked and wrote their way out of hell? what it means to make people understand? this is not a story of the american revolution. the real revolution is people of colour putting themselves back in the narrative.

I guess I’ve seen it all now. Up is down on tumblr. 

Tumblr is a grotesque trainwreck when discussing WW2 precisely because the crimes enacted by Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan don’t at all fall neatly into the US racial paradigm where “white” = oppressor and “POC” = oppressed dichotomy. Yet people feel a need to shoehorn it into the conversation no matter how offensive it is to us. Both were cases where the primary victims were other European and Asian ethnic groups, who by US standards, inhabited the same race category as their oppressors. It therefore doesn’t fit at all into “White/POC”. It just DOESN’T. Privilege in 1940s Europe was some warped version of German/Nordic/Aryan supremacy. Privilege in 1940s Asia was about being Japanese. 

I really wish this website will stop this crass appropriation of WW2 crimes to it into a “white/POC” dichotomy. All too often, it’s done to minimise hideous crimes committed by Imperial Japan and to trivialise the suffering of Holocaust victims just because some of them are “white” by US standards. Because there’s the tiresome, incessant need to somehow force it to cohere to the US race paradigm where white people have power and POC don’t.

A mass murdering, brutal and expansionist empire killed millions of people because of its mad vision of Japanese superiority and people are so keen to make some bullshit statement about their lack of “white privilege”? Plus the obligatory “some European country made them do it! Waaaahhh!” (Btw, the first atomic bomb wasn’t operational until after Germany surrendered. Not to mention overall, more German than Japanese civilians died in the Allied bombings. Also, the Sino-Japanese War already started in 1937, which is before the invasion of Poland in 1939 that marks the official start of WW2. Tell me again how the Soviet Union tricked the poor, gullible Empire of Japan into conquering and slaughtering millions of their neighbours?) 

At the same time, one can suffer from a hideous, internationally recognised genocide but hey, you have light skin and you are an ethnic group that lived in Europe? WHITE PRIVILEGE~!!!!!! As if antisemitism, antiroma racism and anti slavic racism died with Hitler, as if European racism today isn’t still based on ethnicity and doesn’t involve hatred of these aforementioned groups of people. As if everybody killed in the Holocaust even looked “white” by US standards. As if Europe doesn’t have racist, far right parties actually in the EU Parliament and prominent politicians who are Holocaust deniers. 

Is that supposed to make us feel all warm and fuzzy? Like seriously, what even goes into this kind of thinking? Do they think my grandmother would have felt ANY sympathy or kinship with the Japanese soldiers who wanted to rape Chinese women and who were brutalising the entire region because, “yeah dude, we both don’t have white privilege!” Do they think those “you would have white privilege if you were American” or “people will bother remembering you because you’re white!!!” is supposed to be comforting to the people stripped of their humanity, turned to ashes before their time, of entire ethnic groups that bear the scars of an attempt to utterly destroy them? 

Is it that hard to understand that where we would sit in the power structure in the US is totally irrelevant to where the crimes of Germany and Japan were committed because they did not happen in the US? 

People talk about not derailing, and putting in US dynamics into a non-US tragedy IS derailing. If we’re talking about an intra-European genocide where the light skin didn’t confer any privilege to its victims, bringing US white privilege to the picture IS derailing. If we’re talking about a brutal Asian empire, your comments about how European imperialism was “so much worse anyway” is derailing.

The blatant disrespect for WW2 tragedies by people on this website who refuse to decentre from the US race paradigm when discussing it pisses me off to no end honestly. 

A Court of Hearts and Darkness Chapter Three

It’s been over a century since the epic and bloody war against Hybern, but a new, unprecedented horror lies in wait to threaten everything the Inner Circle holds dear.

At a mere 17, it seems that the only one who can save them is the Heir to the Night Court, Feyre and Rhysand’s daughter Eleana, but as a creature so vile promises to kill everyone she loves, she must combat the urge to succumb to the darkness herself. The key to success lies hidden within her mate, the bastard born Kaden, who is as oblivious to the bond as her Court is oblivious to the war on the horizon.

With the help of her cousin and warrior Felix, the son of the famed Nesta and Cassian, they will try to save everything they hold dear, hopefully before the darkness takes them all.

Link on AO3

Chapter One

Chapter Two

-

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

***

-Chapter Three-

 

It wasn’t often her mother woke her up in the middle of the night because a squadron of Illyrians had been slaughtered.

It also wasn’t often that the task of investigating was delegated to anyone but the Inner Circle.

Felix and Eleana stood in the office of High Lady Feyre, the former awake and alert and the other bleary eyed and dreary.

They were waiting on two things, the arrival of the High Lord and the arrival of his General and Spy master.

They didn’t know much about what had happened; all the really knew was that a group of Illyrians that were stationed to do rotations around the north area of the mountains has disappeared only for their remains – what was left of them – to be found a day later by another squadron in a completely different place.

Their bodies revealed that the way they had been killed was nothing short of brutalisation.  They had been torn limb from limb, making distinguishing each individual member impossible. The bodies had been drained of blood, the wings torn apart in unspeakable ways, and perhaps the most sickening is that no one had any idea what could have done this.

Eleana’s mother Feyre was fretting about, getting ready weapons and contacting all the appropriate people.

“Why are we here?” Eleana asked, making her mother stop what she was doing to focus on her daughter.

Feyre smiled at her child, her favourite thing in the world, and gestured for her and Felix to both take a seat.

“Cass will explain, but I’m under the impression that Felix will probably be asked to deal with this, and where Felix goes you inevitably do to. It’s just easier to wake you both now.”

Her mother approached her and pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead, and then one to Felix’s. Her mother loved Felix nearly as if her were her own son, which wasn’t uncommon for their family.

Her uncles and aunts had always, whether she liked it or not, treated her like a daughter and Felix like a son. She was sure as soon as they started having their own children they wouldn’t feel that way anymore but for now it was nice, if not a bit meddlesome at times.

Felix and Eleana both sat on the wooden bench that ran alongside the left side of the room, which didn’t last long. As soon as Cassian and Azriel walked through the door Felix jumped up and ran to his father to give him a hug. Cassian laughed, the two men perfect reflections of each other, and clapped his son on the back as he embraced him.  

“Bit old for that, aren’t you?” Cassian joked as he ruffled his son’s hair.

Eleana thinks she might’ve been the only one who noticed the awkward way Felix stepped away at that, even though outwardly he was laughing.

“Laya,” Az smiled. He walked to her and gave her a swift but tight hug. “How are you?” She knew he wasn’t asking just to be polite- she could feel how worried he was about her after her little breakdown a week ago.

“I’m well,” She answered.

It wasn’t a lie. She had yet to see Kaden again, she has an inkling that he’s avoiding her, but Felix admitted to her that Kaden regularly asks about her after they’ve finished training.

She does need to think of a way to corner him and make it look like they are meeting by coincidence. However else is she supposed to get to know her mate better?

Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop as her mother let out an excited squeal.

Eleana was about to make a joke about how un-High Lady like the noise was when she realised what the source of her mother’s excitement was.

He had a leash on his power, and was wearing a glamour to hide how powerful he truly was, but this was undeniably her father.

He was currently holding her mother so tight that Feyre had been lifted off the ground. His head was buried in her neck and she was peppering kisses to his head.

It was disgustingly sweet and Eleana was tempted to gag.

Cauldron she wanted a love like that.

You could have that with Kaden.

She dismissed the thought and approached her parents.

Rhysand - High Lord of the Night Court, the most powerful High Lord in history, death incarnate, night triumphant - teared up when he saw his little girl.

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I resent, thoroughly, the characterisation of the Arishok in World of Thedas II as ‘the Mad Ox’, an unstable individual who should never have occupied a position of authority in the first place.


There seems to be a push, in material produced after Dragon Age 2 to depict the events in Kirkwall as resulting from the actions of various ‘crazy’ and extreme individuals, all of whom are as bad as each other.


I’m not saying it started after DA2. Some of it is evident in the game itself – for example, the game’s start screen depicts Meredith and Orsino facing off, as though the two are equal partners in conflict, rather than she a brutal tyrant and he her increasingly desperate prisoner.


But still, I think the game itself allows more leeway to see the problem in Kirkwall as one of institutionalised abuse than much of the material that came after it.


The problem in Kirkwall is not Meredith per se, or Grand Cleric Elthina, or Mother Petrice, or Knight Captain Cullen – although all of these people play their parts. Rather it is that the Chantry is assumed by default to be good, and it is deemed right and just that it should have power over the lives of others. That means that no one checks what they’re doing, and if they do (see: The Seekers of Truth) the general assumption is that, if they’re doing awful things, there must be a good reason for it.


Granted, the game will turn around and give you mages bent on pointless vengeance or world domination for ‘balance’, but even then … these are people who have been abused by the Chantry. Many of them have come from the Circles, and have been told their whole lives that they are evil and dangerous. I’m not saying these are accurate or fair depictions of mental illness or of abuse survivors – just that these things are depicted as reactions to oppression. They didn’t wake up one morning and decide to be supervillains because mages are zany like that.


And the Arishok … I rather like the Arishok, as far as these things go. He’s not a hero. He believes some things that are typical of his culture that I find repulsive. He believes that forced conversion to the Qun is acceptable, and indeed desirable if people won’t submit ‘freely’. He fears magic so much that he is unperturbed by the deaths of a number of his men, as long as the ‘Saarebas’ dies as well.


I’m not going to try to excuse these ideas, because they are inexcusable. But still – he believes the ideas with which he has been indoctrinated, but still looks at Kirkwall and doubts that a Qunari invasion would help. There’s no point in bringing everyone to the Qun if they lose the city again a year later. There’s no point if most of the city dies in the process.


He does care about Kirkwall, even if I think his ‘solution’, the solution he has been taught, just as the Chantry believers have been taught their way is the only right one, wouldn’t help at all. He acts through Hawke when he can, his actions mirroring the Viscount’s (and Marlowe, while undeniably weak, is not evil either; he and the Arishok are both doing a dance, behind the back of the Chantry, to try to prevent conflict), and as he says here, he makes no threat.


He is in an extremely difficult position here. Granted, being a general does require some knowledge of diplomacy, but this looks more like Ben-Hassrath territory. The inability to recover their sacred book would be a psychological blow for the Qunari, and a victory for the Tevinters (and this is perhaps the only situation in Thedas where everybody else will be on Tevinter’s side). He can’t easily ask for help or explain why he’s here.


Calling in the Ben-Hassrath might sound like a plan, but here he’s hamstrung too. The Qun values mastery, and frowns on failure. Sten’s quest, in Origins, was to retrieve his sword, because his people would kill him if he returned without it. Murder they can look past, but the fact that someone nicked his sword while he was unconscious means he has failed as a warrior, is ‘soulless’ and must die. Qunari also rarely speak local languages, even if they know some of it, because it is shameful for them to appear inferior at something.


There would probably be consequences for these soldiers if they returned as failures. Qunari are not unfeeling monsters. They have friends, they have loyalty to one another. I’m not going to think too poorly of the Arishok for wanting to spare those under his command that.


Kirkwall as a place is extreme. The Veil is thin there, and the city is constantly neck deep in spirit-and-demon weirdness. Corypheus is just over there, thinking bad thoughts. It is a slave city, architecturally designed to oppress and disorient most of its population, while giving absolute power to whoever is on top (right now, the Chantry).


That isn’t … exactly the problem either. The same horrors happen elsewhere: elves oppressed, mages brutalised, Qunari demonised, dwarves and their tragedies largely dismissed … but maybe not all at once, all the time, without pause, and right out in public. Kirkwall just revels in its horrors, and it isn’t very good at concealing them. Dragon Age 2 was set up like that: a small story that shows you, in a short space of time, how bad it is everywhere.


After four years of kidnapping, torture and murder, the Arishok can have little hope of maintaining a large enough force to effectively search for his book. He has converts, whom it is his role to protect, and they are in terrible danger every day. He has made no threats, he has sent a delegation to the Kirkwall government, he has kept his people – who must be angry – from retaliating. It’s made no difference.


No one comes to Kirkwall thinking violence is the only way out. But hang around there a while and … well.


You could tell a similar story in Par Vollen, I’m sure. Pick a place and demonstrate the evils of the Qun. There are plenty of them to demonstrate. But that’s not this story. This story is about the evil of the power of the Chantry.


I’m not going to defend the Qunari uprising. I’ll defend the mage rebellion happily, because what the mages want is perfectly reasonable. The Qunari want to convert everyone to their way, and, nope, sorry, not okay with that. The Arishok does cross a line, and stopping him is the only option.


But he didn’t attack the city because he’s Crazy! And Unpredictable! And a Gambler! And why the fuck not, right?


He did it because he was a man pushed to his limit. He watched his people die in droves, and every other attempt to stop that happening failed. He found that talking got him nowhere, and discretion just gave his enemies the upper hand. He had reasons that make sense, if you’ve spoken to him and considered his predicament.


So … lay off the ‘Mad Ox’ stuff, all right, Bioware? I can’t believe you’re forcing me to defend the military leader of a bloody religious organisation, because that is not something I want to have to do.

Mor/Moriel Support post

Because there’s been some stuff going around recently that has been making me feel sad/mad on this subject I thought I’d spread around some love and positivity for my favourite ship. 

One of the biggest reasons I love this ship is the obvious history they have together and the mutual respect and  trust that that’s built up over the years. these two know each other so, so well. They understand each other’s reasons, motivations and histories - they were both there when most of the others’ demons were born. They care about one another so much and I love the…subtlety with this ship. They’re both quite quiet about things but…The depth of feeling and compassion they have for one another is…soul destroying to be frank. I’m just going to quote…a hundred or so of my favourite ‘tiny caring moments’ and scream about them all because this ship is just so good. And they love each other so much I can’t deal. Ahem. This post is gonna be loooong in case you hadn’t guessed. 

It’s really just…extended Mor, Azriel and Moriel meta. That’s it. All the things. All the meta. All the feelings in one easy to access place. 

I’ll do some Az first. The interesting thing about this dynamic is that his…devotion to Mor seems much more apparent emotionally. But it’s quiet and shadowed and rarely brought to the surface directly from him. We hear more about it from other characters or see it through Feyre’s eyes. Mor tends to be more…vocally explicit and also physically explicit (she does things whereas Azriel more just…feels them and lives them. This will become more apparent when I pick apart examples. I hope.) 

Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.

I love this bit, obviously for the insight into the history that we get, the fact that it was Azriel who crossed court lines and located Mor and brought her back to where she was safe. Which is..incredibly important for both of them as characters. Azriel has lived his entire life feeling and being treated as though he is unworthy of basic rights. His blood family saw him/treated him like an animal, he has never felt as though he had any value. Naturally Mor’s family almost repeating the abuse that he suffered and turning her into what he was perceived as (worthless) upsets him, it makes her want to help him and it makes her want to hurt the people who hurt her as they no doubt remind him of his own abusers. 

I think there are some..really interesting parallels going on here. Mor, had a very different upbringing to Az, she had so much power, so much status, as essentially a princess, but she almost had a similar problem? She was never treated as a person, as an individual. No-one ever so her, no-one ever saw her value as her. They saw her power, they wanted to breed that into their bloodlines, they saw her as little better than a prize bitch that they could use. 

Once she lost her virginity she no longer had any value to them any more. Her father brutalised her then left her with a sadist telling him she was ‘his problem now’ She went from broodmare to worthless problem all because of how her family perceived her. Which is exactly how Az grew up too. He knows exactly what she’s going through and that he is the one to save her, to think her worth saving despite the fact that all of her ‘value’ is now deemed worthless is…Important for their story. 

Maybe I should have asked Mor to come. But she’d left after dinner, pale-faced and jumpy, ignoring Cassian’s attempt to speak with her. Azriel had taken to the clouds to contact his spies. He’d quietly promised the pacing Cassian to find Mor when he was done.

I think, and I’m doing a liiittle bit of leaping here but I don’t think it’s a huge stretch, that Mor and Azriel can talk to each other about things they can’t really put on the others. And that’s because they understand each other. As I mentioned above even though the…class if you like, of their upbringing was totally different, their situations, the abuse that they suffered, is incredibly similar. It allows them to relate to one another, it allows them to understand one another and get through to one another even when no-one else can. Even when they won’t let anyone else…They’ll let each other.  There’s such a deep bond between these two, so much care and so much love, they’re constantly, quietly, looking out for one another. 

“Does he mind what he does? Not the spying, I mean. What he did to the Attor today.”

“It’s hard to tell with him—and he’d never tell me.[…]But Azriel … Cassian tries, I try—but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor. And that’s only when she’s pestered him to the point where even his infinite patience has run out.”

Two things in this part - as above, even when Az pushes others away and won’t let them in…He will with Mor (as she will with him) The second thing is Mor’s persistence. One of the arguments I’ve seen a lot about Mor is that she doesn’t seem to care about Az that much or that she doesn’t push him enough into overcoming his insecurities when it comes to a relationship with her. She doesn’t seem bothered enough to make the effort to get through to him but..That line of thinking is completely and utterly countered by this? We know how much Az will shut himself off and brood, we know how much he represses, how much he contains, how little of himself he wants to show, how hard Feyre has to work to even wring a smile from him when he’s upset with himself. We know how much patience Azriel has so we therefore know how much effort it must take for Mor to get through to him, to open him up, to let her in, to let him share his burdens and allow her to help. And she does that. She does that for him, she sits and she works away at his endless patience because she knows him and she knows that he needs to talk about this he just can’t. So she makes it possible for him to do that. 

Azriel continued his attempt to infiltrate their courts—still to no avail. I heard about it mostly from Mor, who always knew when he’d return to the House of Wind, and always made a point to be there the moment he touched down.

There’s just…so much in here if you actually dig into it? The fact that she knows when he’s going to get home from his super secret spy missions. (which is…a whole other can of worms that may or may not get opened at a later date) but the fact that she always makes sure she is there. She is the first thing that he sees when he gets back from spying and torture and risking his life. She is there and she gives him that opportunity to be vulnerable, to just be Az before he has to be the High Lord’s spymaster and report to him. She gives him the chance to talk to her and decompress and open up if he needs to. And just the fact that she’s there. Every time. Not even Az can mistake that, the effort she puts into this, into him, into making sure that she’s there to take care of him is just…So much? 

Especially when you factor in that this is the House of Wind. She can’t winnow in there and she doesn’t have wings. So unless she pesters Rhys or Cassian to carry her up every single time Az comes back (which I doubt) she climbs up ten thousand stairs just so she can be there when Az lands, just in case he needs her, just in case this time he lets her in and lets her help him (because this is Azriel. she probably satisfies herself that he’s physically okay, tries to ask after him emotionally and he just nods and tells her quietly, politely, but coldly, that he has to see Rhys) I have Feelings about this, okay. 

And this isn’t the only example of her going above and beyond the call of duty to help Az and make him even a little bit happier: 

Getting Azriel to take any time for himself that didn’t involve workor training was nearly impossible. And when I pointed out that he didgo to Rita’s with her whenever she asked, Mor simply informed me that it had taken her four centuries to get him to do that.

Four hundred years. It took her four hundred years to convince him to just let himself have a night off and go dancing with them. It took her four hundred years to convince him that he deserved that, that time off, that time to be a little selfish, to think about himself for once. She spent four hundred years doing this for him, she never gave up with it because she cares about him, she loves him, and it doesn’t matter how long it takes her, how much effort and energy she has to expend to coax him into doing these things…if it will benefit him she does it. And she ‘simply informs’ Feyre. She doesn’t make a big song and dance about this. She doesn’t wax eloquent about how difficult it was for her, how stubborn he was, how hard she had to work to get him to do this. Because it’s not about her. It’s about Az. And this has made his life a little bit easier, has made him a little bit happier…and that’s enough. 

Mor keeping her distance from Az and not crossing lines with him, not pushing him into a relationship with her and not trying to fix all of his problems isn’t because she doesn’t care. It’s not because she’s not willing to put in the effort. It’s not because she doesn’t love him. It’s not because he’s not worth it. She spend four fukcing centuries coaxing him into taking a little bit of time for himself. She would probably spend eternity convincing him that he’s worthy of her. The reason isn’t her lack of care/empathy/love/patience/whatever. It’s respect. 

(if you haven’t sussed it out yet…this is going to be Long. so. cuts are being introduced now…venture onwards for more of the above)  

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Dawn to Dusk (1/?)

I said I was writing a Gramander AU fic where Graves ran the mafia and here is the first chapter. He *spoilers* hasn’t actually started running it yet but you will see what goes down there next chapter. Hold out for it please, I swear it is all planned and it will be better than what is here, I am just very very tired and the clock has just struck three am as I write, which means this was all written in about 3 hours. Also, can you tell I am not a very practiced writer? Please give constructive criticism if you want. Without further ado, here we go. Chapter one. 

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six

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“The inheritance ceremonies for those pure of Magic, whether Dark or Light, is a matter of some dispute amongst those not directly involved in the process. What is known can be summarised thusly; that there are two types of magic to be inherited: the Lordship and the Heirship, that the former outstrips the latter in magnitude and variety of Magics, and that the inheritance thereof is precipitated by th emergence of a certain trait distinctive to each bloodline of import. The training of these magics and the exact skills they impart unto the fortunate few who gain access varies considerably ‘tween Families, and are unknown to those uninitiated in such deep magics as these. Surely the hopes our our community rest upon these few people’s shoulders, those who hold the balance of Law and Order; indeed it is this author’s belief that the restriction of their use is causing the present unrest in our glorious Britannia. Of the strengths of our cousins over the oceans I know not, they ever hold secrets in their hearts…” - Excerpt, “On the protection of the Wizarding Community and Our safe continuance within the Fiefdom of Lady Hecate.” by William Urquhart

1922.

The chill of a New York October hit Newt first. As he stepped off the boat, his blue coat wrapped tightly around his thin frame, he instinctively huddled down into himself, one hand hand tightening around his cases handle. Passing through customs was a matter of activating the muggleworthy section of his case. Thankfully, Newt’s magic was not acting up for once in his life, and he got through without any unexpected plant growth or animal attraction. He loved all animals, he really did, but when one got accused by wealthy women of carrying catnip around to entice their doubtless horrifically smothered cats away for the fifth time, one got rather tired of all the attention that a posse of animals following him around brought.

A shudder shook his shoulders. He should find some kind of lodging for the night, before the sun sunk too low and he was out on the streets after dark. Newt ended up wandering the wide boulevards, passing by the imposing Woolworth Building that housed MACUSA to pick up his wand permit from a sour faced man on the sixteenth floor, and in a stroke of good luck, found board from a flyer in the lobby there. By sundown, Newt had moved into a shabby room above a bar. He could taste copper on the back of his tongue as he settled his friends into their homes for the night. His dear creatures seemed to sense his failing body; Pickett whined on his shoulder, gently patting his hair and clinging to his ear and the mooncalves whimpered at him, gently nuzzling their oversized heads against his legs. Even Aziza let him administer the weekly tonic that stopped her breath filling with transmittable disease without much complaining.

It was, much to his surprise, Dougall who was the least worried, which gave Newt some heart. He had just stared at Newt, the blue of his eyes shining with foresight, and then wandered off quite happily. Perhaps that meant some kind of remedy for whatever was wrong with his magic would be found in New York. Once he had settled his baby Occamies in the hatchery, his limbs abruptly seemed to fill with lead and he headed off to bed, exhaustion pulling at his frame. Collapsing into the cot by his shed, his eyes closed into an inexorable sleep so deep he missed the wave of magic that uncoiled from his torso, its passing marked only by the sudden lack of tension in his slumbering body.

Director of Magical Security Percival Graves did not have that luxury. From his office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (or the DMLE for short), he was wrecked by a shudder as his magic tried to calm the frantic energy it was getting bombarded with. It failed miserably, his own magic was far too unsettled at the intrusion to try to calm down that of his unknowing assailant. All he could do was weather the storm, and as the assault on his magic diminished he began to breathe more freely. What in the name of Hecate was that? The ribbons of fractured light fluttered into the visible spectrum as the urgency of the foreign light was swallowed by its seeming joy at having found what it had been searching for.

Sitting back heavily in his seat, Graves raised one hand to caress a golden-rose band of pure power, dispelling his own magic as navy-black smoke to surround the tangle currently trying to curl itself into his core. As it calmed under the buffering of the Graves Heirship Magic, it disintegrated into small rivulets and slid deep into the astonished man, saturating itself utterly with Graves’ magic. That magic seemed to lift weight from his shoulders, his crushing loneliness checked somewhat by the flecks of sunlight running through the Dark. His magic gently folded back inside himself as he hoarded that precious Light to himself. This had been no accident. Someone out there has magic that was completely complementary to his, someone who, from the taste of their magic, was scared and alone and didn’t understand what was happening. His lips curled up one one side, his eyes darkening to near black as he dispatched a few wisps of his own power to settle back into the unknown wizard. He would find them.

Newt awoke feeling a hell of a lot better than he had since entering the outback of Australia, where he had spent a thoroughly unpleasant two weeks baking under the sun in full dress, studying the habits of Fire Salamanders. He felt well-rested, his magic was purring like a happy nundu, and he had arranged to meet the supplier of some dittany plants in the afternoon; leaving his morning free to spoil his creatures and let them play a little. Charlie, the mischievous bugger, had been quite eager to get out and play ever since the halfway point of the voyage from England.

He absently fed and doted on all his creatures, his children really, as he transfigured a little minefield of fake golden nuggets for Charlie to enjoy hunting down. The five little occamies whom he had yet to name chirruped and nuzzled into his body while he cooed at them as he let them climb up over his shoulders to watch the ecstatic niffler stuff his pouch full of transfigured fake gold. Charlie liked shiny things, he didn’t really care about the worth of the treasure so would be just as happy when the transfiguration wore off and they became glittery paper once more. The clock struck midday while he was mucking out the mooncalves’ enclosure, the owl eyed creatures eyeing him through the twilight of their habitat as if weighing up the likelihood of more cuddling and games of ball once he was done with clean up.

Sadly, he was due to meet his supplier at 1pm, and had to reluctantly leave. He bundled himself into his best outfit for it; that is to say, he put on a new shirt, polished his boots and ensured the cleaning charms on his waistcoat and peacoat had done their job. He carefully locked his case as he left the room, leaving it under heavy disillusionment and notice-me-not charms to ensure nobody would think to steal it away. Heading off to the little underground bazaar where they had arranged to meet, Newt considered the letters they had exchanged. When he had inquired of his usual contact about getting actual dittany plants rather than just the distilled essence thereof in a quest to become more self-sufficient, they had gone quite quiet for some time. Only two weeks after his initial enquiry had they directed Newt to the person he was going to meet that day, and the tone of their letter had been somewhat odd, as if they were not quite happy with their choice. Upon initial reception of the letter Newt had written this apprehension off as disgruntlement regarding his choice to switch suppliers, but as he approached the door to the market in the side of a dingy alley, his instincts flared wildly. This was not safe.

Nevertheless, something urged him on. The flame of his magic tugged him forth, as he dropped down a ladder and entered what he had come to realise was most certainly a Black Market in a daze. Once he saw what was happening inside, a burning rage took hold of him. Stalls were set up in a labyrinth of illegal goods; plants from every nation, artefacts that he was sure were cursed and worst of all, tortured creatures in tiny cages being used for their blood and bones, their feathers, fur or horns. Newt could feel them crying out to him; his magic swelled and ignited as he swept through the crowd, soothing the terrified animals and freezing the sellers as he went. Silence fell for a moment as he halted in front of a brutalised fwooper on an open perch, its feathers half plucked. The poor tiny bird cringed in his hand but remained silent, utter terror cloaking its mind. The tension broke.

Pure magic emitted from him in a wave as he was lit from within by the force of his fury. Sellers of all species tried to portkey away in vain and the magical blast shattered glass, ripped through the wooden stalls and threw the immobilised black market dealers to the floor. Newt himself was shaking with anger as he picked up the ring of keys from the terrified hags belt and unlocked the cages of all the birds she had confined. As he opened the last one to reveal four half dead jarveys and one rotting corpse, he lost any remaining semblance of control. His magic, gentled by the grief-inducing sight, swept the room, burning locks into melted sludge and sliding doors open to free the creatures imprisoned behind bars, trying to heal their wounds and calm their minds.

He did not notice the arrival of the Auror department. They had had their eye on the market for a long time for the trade of illegal goods through the USA, but the surging spikes of power emitting from the subway tunnel it was located in was unusual enough that headquarters was contacted. Graves perked up at the patronus report. A wizard with a power unlike anything Auror Slayde had felt before had entered the market - that had to be the man behind the mysterious magic last night. Rising from his desk, he immediately issued orders via communication mirror for anti-portkey and anti-apparition wards to be put in place while he got a team together. As he swept through the main office space for the DMLE, he hit an alarm and barked his orders.

“Slayde has blocked off the Black Market in quadrant four, we have reason for entry. Shafiq, Fleamont, Brandt, gather your teams we are doing a sweep and clean. Ricci, Moore, I want your teams on frontal assault. We have powerful pissed-off wizard in there and I don’t want to risk anything. I will run point. Let’s go people, we move in two minutes.”

The department behind him was a mess, people running this way and that as the four man teams lined up, summoning their dragon hide armour and secondary wands in preparation. Within the time limit, they were ready to portkey out to the coordinates Shayde had given.

Once in the field, they fell into their practiced habits, the frontal assault teams joining Graves and the cleaners waiting further behind, expanded sacks at the ready to tag and bag the contraband they would find. On Graves’ signal they moved. Senior Auror Johann Brandt blasted the boor open and they immediately entered the disused sewer-cum-market, only to halt at his outstretched arm, falling silent. Now Graves was certain it was the magic from the previous evening, the little tendrils he had sent out to mark the source of that power were reacting to his presence, urging him closer to the man who from the back seemed silhouetted by Light magic so powerful he felt compelled to- to sweep him close and let their power mingle, become one whole rather than two halves, to meet the magic that could complete him and bask in their glory.

A breath on the back of his neck brought him down to the realities of the present. With a hand gesture, Graves indicated the teams forward to collect the contraband items and detain the immobile sellers. He himself approached the wizard. As he stepped closer he took a gamble and carefully unleashed a little of his aura in the other man’s direction, just enough to get his attention. The copper head spun round from where he was intensely focussed on the small animal cradled in his hands to stare into his eyes, their colour the blue of the sky as the sun rose. Graves took another pace and unravelled more of his power at him, making sure to keep it away from the Aurors in the background. Familial Magic was rare and he was not known to be the Heir of the House of Graves; it would not do to reveal himself now.

As he entered the wizards personal space, the man turned fully to face him, his visible magic obviously attuned to the lure Graves was putting out. Graves barely had time to take in the blood trickling from the other’s nose before he collapsed  forward into the Aurors arms, whispering pleas into his ears to save the creatures as that beautiful magic cut out with the man’s consciousness.

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Next Chapter

Elthina in action


Okay. Just so we’re clear on this: hunting down assassins (that is murderers for hire) is ‘murder’ and very wrong. And completely worth making a giant scene about in the middle of the courtyard.


But, say, the offences committed against the Qunari – the murders, the abductions, the rampant slander?


The poverty and bigotry the elves face – the slurs you hear everywhere, the general agreement that no elf can expect justice from a human court, the simple fact that the elves ran to the Arishok for help, not the Chantry?


The fear and oppression in the Circle – the rapes, the grotesque misuse of the Rite of Tranquillity, the increasing restrictions on the way these already imprisoned people live their lives?


Eh. Not really her place to have an opinion.


I’m not trying to be obtuse, here. I get it. Vigilantism is hardly an ideal solution to any problem. But it seems to me that Elthina devotes an awful lot of time to trying to save the soul of one pampered princeling, while doing bugger all to help the many people in the city who are being brutalised by her institution.


Sebastian’s important. Royal and well spoken. Connections, even if he’s out of the running for the throne. Family has a solid history of offering its kids up for service in the Chantry.


People without all that behind them? Well, who cares.


Okay. Apparently the Chantry makes me very grumpy.